The Things We Leave Unfinished

by Rebecca Yarros

  “There’s one more room to show me,” she murmured. The bedroom. Their bedroom.

  Her heart thundered, and her body heated against his. She may have been a virgin, but the stories she’d heard from the girls she’d served with over the last year were enough to more than educate her about what was going to happen tonight.

  She felt as though she’d been waiting her entire life for this moment, this night, this man. He was her reward for waiting, for ignoring every other flyer with a proposition and a cocky smile. Perhaps she’d argued that it was her morality that kept her from crossing that line, but staring up at Jameson, she knew she’d simply been waiting for him.

  “There is.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I want you to know that this only goes as far as you want. I may be dying to get my hands on you, but not until you’re comfortable. I don’t want you scared, and the only trembling I want to feel beneath my fingertips will be from your desire, not your fear—”

  Fear was the furthest thing from what she felt as she rose on her toes and kissed him, stopping his words with her mouth. They had waited long enough. “I’m not scared. I know you would never hurt me. I want you,” she finished in a whisper, lacing her fingers behind his neck.

  He kissed her deeply, stroking and sliding his tongue against hers in a thorough, lazy exploration of her mouth that left her clutching at him for more. He took her mouth like he had all night and no other goal, as if this kiss was the culmination and not the preamble.

  Every time she tried to quicken the pace, he slowed the kiss down, holding her tight against him with steady, sure hands.

  “Jameson.” She flicked the first of his buttons open.

  “Impatient?” He grinned against her mouth, lifting his hand to cradle the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair.

  “Very.” She opened the next button.

  “I’m trying to take it slow for you,” he said between sipping kisses that left her arching up for the deeper ones as she tugged at the belt of his dress uniform.

  “Stop.” She put her lips to his neck.

  He groaned and kissed her hard, locking his arm around her waist and lifting her against him, all pretense of teasing a distant memory. This kiss was openly carnal, blatantly possessive, and everything she’d been craving since she’d faced him in front of the chaplain.

  They kissed their way down the short hallway and into their bedroom, where he set her down with a long slide along his body.

  “If there’s anything you want to change—” He motioned to the room.

  She gave it a glance. Serviceable furniture, light blue curtains that matched the clean bedding spread over a large bed. “It’s perfect.” She barely finished the words before she was kissing him again.

  He got the message and stripped off his jacket. It landed somewhere, but she didn’t bother to look. Her hands were already busy with his tie, making swift work of the fabric the way she did daily with her own uniform.

  The fingers in her hair gripped lightly, tugging her head back and exposing her neck to his mouth. Heat rushed through her, building hotter with every caress of his lips. By the time he reached the neckline of her dress—just above her collarbone—her breath was no longer steady.

  She started to undo his shirt as he found the trail of buttons down her back, never lifting his mouth from hers as he undid them one by one. Then he turned her gently and kissed a path down her spine, caressing every inch of skin he exposed. He reached the base of her spine, then guided her to face him again.

  She found him on his knees, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, looking up at her with eyes glazed with the same desire coursing through her veins. Her nerves almost got the best of her, but she pushed them aside as she slipped one arm from her dress, then the other, holding the fabric just above her breasts for the length of several heartbeats before she found the courage to drop it.

  The dress slid off in a flutter of satin, leaving her standing in nothing but the underwear and silk stockings she’d saved two months of pay to acquire. The look on his face made it more than worth the sacrifice.

  “You…” His gaze was hot enough to warm her skin as he took her in. “You are so exquisitely beautiful, Scarlett.” He looked stunned, astonished really, and…hungry.

  She smiled, and he gripped her hips and tugged her forward, kissing the sensitive skin of her stomach. After a year of wearing issued garments that made her just another identical cog in a large piece of machinery, she felt completely and utterly feminine. She speared her fingers through his hair to hold her steady as his mouth journeyed up her body.

  He stood, then shed both his collared shirt and the soft cotton one underneath.

  Her mouth watered at the sight of his bare torso, the soft skin that stretched over ropes of hard muscle. His stomach tensed when she traced the lines that ran down either side with her fingertips, memorizing the planes and hollows.

  She brought her eyes to meet his questioning gaze—as if this man had anything to worry about. He was just as carved as any of the statues she’d seen, but so very warm under her hands.

  “Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “You’ll do,” she deadpanned, fighting the purse of her lips.

  He huffed a laugh, then kissed every thought from her head. They were a flurry of questing hands as their remaining clothes fell to the floor with every step toward the bed. She gasped as he palmed her breast, then melted when he swept his thumb over the stiff peak.

  “Perfect,” he murmured against her lips, then lowered her to their bed. She devoured him with her eyes as he rose above her, his hair falling forward to brush along his eyebrow. Every single part of him was flawless. He was so much bigger than she was and infinitely stronger, but she’d never felt more cherished.

  “I love you, Jameson.” She brushed those locks back just to watch them fall again. Out of every sensation bombarding her body, from the feel of his strong thighs inside of her much smaller ones, to the wisp of cool air across her exposed breasts, the swell of love—of unfettered joy—in her chest flared the brightest.

  “I love you, too,” he promised. “More than my own life.”

  She arched up and kissed him, inhaling sharply as their bodies came in full contact. He brushed his lips over the patch of skin just beneath her ear, then moved down her body, slowly, methodically exploring her curves with lips and hands.

  He sucked the peak of her breast into his mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair as his tongue unraveled her. Everywhere he touched seemed to catch fire—the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the tops of her thighs. He turned her into a living flame, stoked a hunger she hadn’t known she was capable of. His hands felt so good, her entire body began to ache with it.

  He brought his mouth to hers again, and she poured everything she felt into the kiss when words failed her. Her hands stroked down the broad lines of his back, and he deepened the kiss, groaning into her mouth before yanking his away, his breath coming in the same quick pants her own did.

  “I forget my name when you touch me,” he said, bracing his weight on an elbow as his other hand traveled down her belly.

  “It’s the same for me.” There was a slight tremble in her fingers as she lifted them to the back of his neck.

  “Good.” He kept his eyes locked with hers as he reached between her thighs, gently cupping her. “You okay?”

  Her breath hitched and she nodded, her hips rolling against him, seeking pressure, friction, anything that would relieve the ache.

  The muscles of his shoulders went tight for a breath, and then his fingers were there, sliding through her, stroking from her entrance to where that ache centered. The first touch sent a jolt of pleasure so intense, she felt it all the way to her fingertips. The second was even better.

  “Jameson!” she cried out, her nails digging into his skin as he returned to that
spot again and again, swirling and teasing, overwhelming her senses.

  “You’re incredible.” He kissed her once. “Are you ready for more?”

  “Yes.” If everything he did felt like this, she’d always want more.

  His fingers slipped to her entrance as his thumb kept her on edge, building the tension inside her to a breaking point. Then he slid one digit inside her. Her muscles locked around him as she whimpered, her hips rocking slightly with need.

  “Okay?” he asked, the lines on his face taut with worry and restraint.

  “More.” She kissed him.

  He groaned and a second finger joined the first, stretching her. The pleasure more than made up for the slight burn as her body accommodated him. Then those fingers moved within her, stroking and gliding as his thumb moved faster, driving her higher, until she felt so tight she knew she’d snap or shatter if he stopped.

  “I…I…” Her thighs locked as that tension within her rose like a wave.

  “Yes, right there. God, you’re so beautiful, Scarlett.” His voice somehow grounded her even as she lost complete control over her body.

  He changed the pressure, curled his fingers, and the wave crested and fractured her into a million shimmering pieces. She flew, calling his name, the pleasure so blindingly sweet that the world around them faded as it washed over her again and again, until her muscles liquified and she went limp beneath him.

  Her entire body hummed with satisfaction as he withdrew his hand and shifted so the head of him pressed at her entrance.

  “That…” She struggled to find an adequate description. “That was extraordinary.”

  “We’re just getting started.” He grinned, but the strain was evident in the rigid set of his jaw.

  Right. She lifted her knees so he could settle deeper into the cradle of her thighs.

  He gripped her hip but held completely still above her, watching her intently.

  “I’m okay,” she assured him. She was better than okay.

  He relaxed slightly, then kissed her breathless, using his hand to build that fire again, flicking over her nipple, teasing her waist, finding the hypersensitive spot between her thighs. That same spiraling need built within her again as she kissed him back, stroking his shoulders and chest.

  When she rolled against him, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

  “Tell me if I hurt you,” he demanded, resting his forehead on hers.

  “I can take it,” she promised, her fingers sliding down his ribs and past his waist to his hips and the firm curve of his backside where she held firm, pulling him tighter against her. “Make love to me.”

  “Scarlett,” he growled, his muscles clenching beneath her fingers.

  “I love you, Jameson.”

  “God, I love you.” His hips flexed, and he pushed inside her, taking her inch by inch in rolling thrusts until he filled her completely, then moved once more, stretching her to a point near pain to hold him completely.

  Their breathing was ragged as he stilled, giving her body time to adjust.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was rougher than gravel.

  “I’m great,” she promised, her smile shaky as the burn lessened and her muscles relaxed.

  “You feel like heaven, but better. Hotter,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She moved slightly, testing the feel of him inside her.

  “God. Scarlett. Don’t do that.” His brow furrowed like he was in pain. “Give yourself a moment.”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled up at him and did it again.

  He groaned, withdrawing slowly and sliding back in. The burn was still there, but it was nothing compared to the indescribable pleasure of him moving inside her.

  “Again,” she demanded.

  A wicked smile lifted his lips as he did exactly as she ordered, making both of them moan this time. Then he set a rhythm, taking her with slow, deep thrusts that drove that tension within her a little higher each time. Every stroke felt better than the last.

  They moved together like one soul stretched between two bodies, seamless as they shared the same space, the same air, the same heart.

  “Jameson.” She felt that wave building again, and she tightened, her hips rising to meet his as he thrust faster, harder.

  “Yes,” he said against her lips, working his hand between them and pushing her right over that edge, hurling her into a kaleidoscope of bliss and color as she came apart in his arms again.

  She was still swimming in the throes of her climax as she felt him drive into her with abandon, keeping her with him as he tensed above her, shouting her name as he found his release.

  They were a tangle of sweaty limbs and complete euphoria as he rolled to his side, taking her with him as they struggled to steady their breathing. He traced lazy circles on her back as her heartbeat calmed.

  She felt spent and utterly, completely sated as her lips curved upward. “If I’d known you were capable of that, we wouldn’t have waited.”

  He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest into hers. “I’m glad we did. This has been the best day of my life, Mrs. Stanton.”

  “Mine too.” Her heart leaped at her new name. She was well and truly his. “I just wish we had time for a honeymoon.” As it was, they were both on duty in the morning.

  “Every night of our lives will be our honeymoon.” He caressed her cheek. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you deliciously, wonderfully happy.”

  “You already do.” She glanced at her fingers as they trailed over the defined muscles of his arm. “When can we do that again?” The craving for him had only grown.

  “Are you sore?” Concern filled his eyes.

  “No.” Tender a bit, but not sore.

  “Then right now.” He kissed her and started all over again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Noah

  Scarlett, my Scarlett,

  How are you, my heart? Do you think you could bring the roses here? I hate to think you and Constance put in all that work just to leave it behind. I promise you, when we get to Colorado, I’ll build you a garden you never have to move from and a shady place to sit and write on sunny days. I’ll build your happiness with my own two hands. God, I miss you. Hopefully I’ll find us some digs in the next few days, because I’m losing my mind here without you. Kiss our sweet boy for me.

  I love you with my entire soul,

  Jameson

  Use the opt-out.

  That wasn’t going to happen. I signed a contract that I’d complete the book, and I would. But keeping my word meant getting closer to the only woman who made me want to kiss the shit out of her as she drove me up a wall.

  This was dangerous territory, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Georgia had me just as knotted up about her as I was the damned book. The two were so closely intertwined that I couldn’t separate them. She was just as stubborn as Scarlett had been the first time Jameson met her, but unlike Jameson, I didn’t have a Constance to help me out.

  Unlike Scarlett, Georgia had already had her trust and heart broken.

  I was zero for two when it came to Georgia, and at an impasse when it came to the book.

  Georgia was right. Scarlett wasn’t a character; she was a real person who had really loved Georgia. Given what I’d seen from her mother and the asshole ex, she might have been the only person in the world who had truly, unconditionally loved Georgia.

  That’s what I kept in mind as I stood on Georgia’s front porch with one last pitch and an armful of what I hoped would be goodwill. I’d been in Colorado for two weeks, climbed two easy fourteeners, and as of yesterday, I had two plot lines ready to write. In a few days, I’d only have two months until my deadline.

  “Hey,” she said with an awkward smile as she opened the door.

  “Thanks for seeing me.”
One day I would get used to those eyes knocking me off my feet, but today was not that day. Her hair was up, too, revealing the long line of her neck. I wanted to run my lips along the column, then— Knock it off.

  “No problem, come on in.” She stepped back, and I walked through the door.

  “This is for you.” I handed over the muslin-covered root ball carefully so she didn’t prick herself on the thorns of the plant above. “It’s an English tea rose, aptly named Scarlett Knight. I thought you might like it for the garden.” It was quite possibly the most awkward gift I’d ever given, but here I was giving it, because I somehow sensed that even a tiny blue box wouldn’t move this woman.

  “Oh! Thank you.” She smiled, real and true as she took the plant, appraising it with a gardener’s eye. I knew that eye well. My mother had it. “It’s lovely.”

  “You’re welcome.” My gaze skipped over the table in the entry, catching on the vase. The edges of the glass wave had the same frothy texture as the piece in New York. “You made this, didn’t you?”

  Her attention shifted from the rosebush to the vase. “Yes. Right after I got back from Murano. I spent a summer apprenticing there after freshman year.”

  “Wow. It’s remarkable.” How did someone capable of doing that just stop? And what kind of man married a woman with that kind of fire and then systematically snuffed it out?

  “Thanks. I love that one.” A wistful look crossed her face.

  “Do you miss it? Sculpting?”

  “Lately.” She nodded. “I found the perfect space for a studio, but I can’t justify the cost.”

  “You should. I’m sure you’d have no trouble selling pieces. Hell, I’d be your first customer.”

  Her gaze jumped to mine, and there it was again, the indescribable connection that kept me up at night, thinking about her. “I should put this in the greenhouse.”

  “I’ll come with,” I offered, swallowing back the ball of nerves that had worked its way up my throat like I was sixteen again.

  “Okay.” She led me through the kitchen and out the back door, but instead of heading straight into the garden, she turned left, walking me along the patio to the greenhouse.