Fight From The Heart: a small town romance (Heart Collection Book 4) Page 9

  Mainly because I can’t. I physically cannot have her know she’s my everything. I’ll never deserve someone half as golden as the angel sitting across from me.

  “You’re . . . important to me,” I add. The comment sounds weak, even to me, and I want to kick myself. I’m a man of words, so why can’t I just tell her how I feel?

  Pam remains quiet for too long, and we need a change of subject.

  “Okay, so dinner first,” I state, hoping to sound more cheerful than I feel. “What should we have?”

  Her brows pinch as she looks up at me.

  “I’m hoping you can teach me the process here, plus I’m starving. What should we have for dinner?” I tip a brow.

  “Are you looking to have sex with me?”

  I choke on her honesty. “No, angel. I’m not playing this as a means to get into your pants. I really want to know how this works.” Wouldn’t it be a wonder, though, if it worked on her? If she gave herself to me willingly and not because of some process to woo her with dinner first?

  “So what you’re saying is, you really want me to just fix you some dinner?” she mocks.

  “I’m serious. Teach me your dating ways, wise Lilac,” I tease and find I do want to learn how to do things properly, because if I ever considered dating, I’d want it to be with her. I’d want to do right by her.

  + + +

  Following her into the dark kitchen, I hold the flashlight mode on my phone to help her look through my fridge. Next she opens cabinets. Pulling down a box of pasta and a jar of spaghetti sauce, Pam smiles at me.

  “Viola. Dinner.”

  “How do you microwave that?”

  Pam laughs. “We don’t as there’s no power for a microwave.” Duh. “You also don’t make spaghetti in the microwave.” Pam fills a pot with water, turns to the stove, and lights a burner with a match. The flame comes to life.

  “Were you a Girl Scout?”

  She laughs again. “This is not Scout training. This is broke college student training.”

  I wasn’t ever one of those, but I don’t mention it to Pam. “Fine. You cook. I’ll pour more drinks.” As soon as I offer, I realize I really don’t want another drink. I actually don’t need it either. I’m in good company tonight.

  “You drink too much,” she states sheepishly.

  “You’re probably right,” I say, lowering my voice.

  “It’s not my place to judge, but I worry about you.”

  I pause, lifting my head. I want to tell her she doesn’t need to be concerned about me, but something in her voice stops the retort on my tongue. How nice would it feel to have someone worried about me?

  “You know I value your opinion, Lilac. I want you to be honest with me in everything, not just my writing.” She has been bold over the years, telling me how to handle Ella, suggesting I hire Ethan, and stepping up in all the spaces in-between. “And I didn’t drink and drive the other night,” I remind her.

  She doesn’t respond but cracks open the jar of sauce for a separate pot. She flits around my kitchen, knowing her way around it, and acting as if she belongs here. Suddenly, I have a vision of her here, doing what she’s doing on a nightly basis.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching out for her hip and stopping her movements for bowls and silverware while the pasta and sauce cook. She stills, looking up at me in the dark kitchen. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  The quiet that follows my admission leaves a lump in my throat. I’m ready to retract what I’ve said when she slowly smiles at me.

  “Me too,” she whispers.

  “I’m sorry that guy didn’t marry you, but I’m also relieved he didn’t. You wouldn’t be standing here with me if you had.” I brush back a loose hair against her cheek. I want to kiss her just as badly as I had the night outside her apartment. I lean forward, and her eyes watch my lips. I’m so close, ready to take what I’ve been missing out on for the last two years, when we hear a hiss.

  The water is boiling and overflowing the pot. Pam breaks free of my hold and quickly turns to settle the water. Our moment is lost to a boiling pot, and I understand how that pot feels. I’m ready to explode myself. I want this woman. I want her to know how beautiful she is. I want her to know how worthy she is. I want her to know how important she is to me, and I want to show her because my words are not enough.

  “I don’t suppose you have real flashlights or candles perhaps,” she asks.

  “Candles? Sure, somewhere.” Candles would scream romance, but suddenly, I want to give those things to her, if only for the night. Then again, it’s dark. How else will we see?

  “If I leave you alone, can you finish this?”

  Pam smirks at me over her shoulder. She’s doing all the work anyway, and my phone battery won’t last if I use it as a flashlight all night. I’m so unprepared for emergencies—another reason to be grateful for Pam’s presence.

  “I’ll be back.” I make my own quick work, setting up candles I found in the credenza near the dining table. Most of them look used, and I’m wondering when I burned them. I don’t remember lighting candles, especially the large number that seem to have a spent wick. Not giving it another thought, I light several of the larger ones, bringing them closer to the fireplace. There’s a noticable temperature difference between the living room and any other space in the house, so I rush upstairs for an extra sweater for Pam and my comforter.

  When I return downstairs, I find Pam standing before the fireplace, holding two bowls of pasta.

  “Wow, this is beautiful,” she says, her voice soft and impressed with the candle display.

  Yes, she really is beautiful, especially with the firelight glowing on her skin.“Here.” I hold out the sweater for her. “It’s getting colder.”

  “Thank you,” she says, setting the bowls on the hearth before reaching for the sweater. I watch her tug it over her head. Her short hair springs free, and she fluffs it up a bit from the static. Her eyes slowly lift to mine, and she holds out her arms, emphasizing the bigger size. “Fashionable, right?”

  “Beautiful,” I admit. If she blushes at the compliment, I can’t tell from the fire glow on her cheeks.

  “Let’s eat.” Her voice returns quiet. She takes her seat on the couch, and I hand her a bowl. Then I cover her legs with the comforter. Her eyes follow me as I pick up my bowl and settle next to her, keeping the comforter only over her.

  Holding up my fork, I nod for her to pick up hers. “Bon appetite,” I state, then tap the metal utensil against hers. She slowly smiles before digging into her pasta. For a second, something warm and strange fills my body, and it isn’t alcohol, and it isn’t hot spaghetti. That genuine grin on her lips is more satisfying than either substance.

  We eat with less serious chatter than earlier, and I’m thankful to leave the heavy stuff behind for a bit. Pam tells me more about growing up in a small town and her family, who sounds amazing. Ella’s in love with Ethan’s parents—the Scotts—and I learn more about how the Carters and the Scotts intertwine. As the night wears on, Pam does take another glass of wine while I try to ignore the scotch bottle calling to me. Her body seated closer to mine feels more addicting.

  Eventually, her shoulder falls against my arm, and her head lowers to my shoulder.

  “Is this the hand holding portion of the evening?” I tease. Pam straightens, returning upright, and I don’t like the distance.

  “Too much wine and only pasta to eat today is making me sleepy,” she says around a yawn.

  “Why have you only had pasta today?” I’m a fanatic about women and eating after Ella had food issues. I don’t want to even think about Pam doing something crazy like my stepsister used to do.

  “My boss demanded I work for him today.”

  “In the middle of a snowstorm?” I sarcastically mock.

  “In the middle of a snowstorm.” She yawns.

  “Jesus, he sounds like an ass.”

  “He can be,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice.


  “He doesn’t always mean to be,” I admit.

  “He can’t help it,” she teases, and silence falls between us. I’m not hurt by what she said. She’s being honest like I asked, and I can’t seem to help being a dick on occasion. Still, I don’t want to always be the asshole boss.

  “Actually,” she says, her tone still low. “He can be really sweet when he wants to be.” My eyes latch onto a glowing candle, the small flame dancing. “He’s even romantic without knowing it.”

  I hold back a snort, choosing to reach for her legs instead and hitching them over mine. Straightening the blanket, I cover our leg combination. Pam returns her head to my shoulder, and I seek her fingers.

  “Hand holding,” I state, curling my firm fingers with hers. I’m nervous when this isn’t even a real damn date. We’re just trying to stay warm, slipping into sleep after a lazy day during a storm. But there’s nothing more happening here, and I wonder if Pam feels it, too.

  Chapter 12

  Cheap Date

  [Pam]

  We’d shifted in the night from sitting upright leaning against one another to lying down on the couch with Jacob’s front to my back. The fire is slowly dying, but my body temperature is a hundred degrees. Jacob’s like a human thermostat set to high, then add the comforter and the extra sweater, and I’m too warm to sleep.

  Slowly, I remove his arm from my waist and sit upright. As I’m tugging his thick cable-knit sweater over my head, his hand lands on my thigh. He remains lying behind me in a seated position.

  “What are you doing?” His sleep-roughened voice sends a thrill up said thigh, and I shiver despite the heat of my skin.

  “I’m too warm.” Holding the sweater on my lap, I fold it.

  “I like you in my clothing,” he says, and I recall wearing his tees and sweats while I was sick.

  “I still need to return your things,” I remind him, remembering I stole out of his house that fateful morning, taking his soiled clothing with me to wash at my place.

  “I’m not worried. I know where you live now,” he teases. “By the way, you’re the worst date. I didn’t even get a good night kiss.”

  When I glance at him over my shoulder, his eyes sparkle in the dull firelight. He looks so carefree compared to his normal hard edges. Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a kiss to his lips. Soft. Tender. Sweet. Drawing away, he catches me at the back of my neck with his hand, and he perches up on an elbow. His eyes switch from sparks to flames.

  “Lilac.” He breathes my name like a plea, pressing at my nape to return me to him. When I hesitate the slightest second, he lifts his head and captures my lips instead. His kiss is harder, more demanding, and I’d expect nothing less from my fighter. The man who punches the bag like he punches his keyboard—with intensity and ingenuity locked deep within the dungeon of his mind. His lips command mine, spreading them to allow his tongue to enter. Once our tongues meet, Jacob is falling back to the cushions, taking me with him, keeping our mouths connected as he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before, dark and deep like him, and I want more.

  Eventually, I press at his chest, releasing my mouth from his, and sit upright again. Jacob remains on his back.

  “Lilac, I—” His voice halts when I remove my own sweater, exposing my bra covering large swells with firmly peaked nipples. Jacob rushes upward, a hand coming to my lower back. His lips suck at my shoulder before nipping at my neck. Reaching behind his own neck, he tugs his sweater over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the fine lines of his abs. His fighter’s body is a muscular vision.

  With a shaky hand, I reach out for his skin. Jacob watches with rapture as I slowly glide along his collarbone, down the middle of his chest, and through the fine chest hairs. A tattoo inked over his left pec reads, Change your destiny. The wandering fingertip traces over the scrolling font. Looking up at him, I want clarification, but he guides my hand to continue exploring him. As my fingers lower, his abs flinch at my touch.

  “Ticklish?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, both rough from my own slumber and deep with desire for this man.

  “Too much,” he croaks before leaning forward and taking my mouth with his again. The power in his lips astounds me, firmly demanding mine follow his lead. He’s my personal addiction, and I can’t get enough of his taste. Scotch. Sleep. A week ago, he had me on those lips, and the thought intensifies the kiss I return to him.

  “Are we really doing this?” he asks, his fingers at the catch of my bra. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he unclasps my bra. We probably shouldn’t do this, yet I want nothing more.

  He tugs the silky material forward, and my breasts tumble free for Jacob’s inspection.

  “So perfect.” His eyes widen in delight, gazing at the achy globes like a kid longing for candy. No, like the devil ready to feast. Cupping the firmness of one in his palm, he lowers his head to meet the already hard nub. His tongue sneaks forward, and he traces around it before opening wide and filling his mouth. He sucks hard, his tongue wild until he pulls back, tugging at the sharp peak with his lips. He moves to the other breast and repeats the action.

  Pulling away from me, he lies back while rubbing a hand up my spine. His eyes meet mine.

  “Lie on top of me, Lilac.” With no willpower to deny my attraction to him, I ignore the niggling warning once more that we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m convenient. I’m present. Jacob isn’t really attracted to me. He’s seduced by our situation. Another night. A snowstorm. It’s forced proximity attraction and nothing more.

  Fool that I am, I dismiss all thoughts and climb over him, straddling him before lowering my chest to press against his. I hiss at the sizzle between our skin.

  “Your body,” he whispers without further explanation. “Must kiss you.” He tips up for my lips while his hands rub over my back, heating my skin further under his touch. While we kiss, my body adjusts, my center finding the covered tip of his hard length. In black leggings, the cotton material does nothing to lessen the heat at my core. I squeeze my thighs at his hips.

  He breaks from our kiss. “Need to be closer. Clothes. Off.” The final words are a demand I agree with. Scrambling off him, I stand, and he watches as I slip my leggings to my feet, revealing a light purple thong.

  “More purple,” he whispers, eyes lasered in on the lacy material hardly covering anything. He shifts to sit upright and reaches out for my hips. He tugs me forward and presses kisses to my lower belly. I’m aware that I don’t have a flat tummy, and the thin straps of the thong cut into my skin a bit, but Jacob pays no attention to those things. He sucks at my stomach and lowers to run his nose over the lace.

  “Do you know how perfect you are, Lilac?”

  I chew at my lip, unable to answer him, and he startles me by quickly standing. His hands come to my cheeks, and he leans forward to kiss me once more. His mouth is a wonderland, demanding and firm. Taking away every kiss before him and ruining me for every kiss moving forward.

  “I never would have imagined . . . well, I imagined, but I didn’t want to presume I’d get this chance. I need to grab something from my office.”

  I nod, knowing what he needs before he steps away, but I’m more focused on the fact he admitted he’s imagined something. Has he dreamed of having sex with me? How could that be?

  His disappearance lets reality seep in. What am I doing? Reaching for the comforter, I take a seat and tug the thick material to my neck. Jacob returns rather quickly, drops packets to the floor near the couch, and then adds a log to the fire, stoking it back to a blaze. I watch him as he shucks off his jeans and boxers. At some point, his socks were removed. He loves to be barefoot, and it’s a strange thing to note about him.

  I look up at him with the glow of the flames behind him. Standing before me is a magnificent man, cut in a way every muscle stands on display. His thighs. His chest. His dick. He’s firm everywhere, and my confidence wanes.

  Are we really doing this?

 
; Jacob tugs at the blanket I’m clutching like a shield and tosses it to the floor. I lean back, needing space to escape his hungry gaze. Lowering to his knees, Jacob wedges his body between the tight space of the fireplace hearth and my knees. He reaches forward and tugs at my underwear, forcing my hips upward a second to remove the material. He tosses my underwear over my shoulder, where it lands somewhere behind the couch.

  “I need another taste,” he growls. Spreading my thighs, he positions himself closer and lowers for folds already ripe with desire. He delves into me with his tongue as eager as his kisses. My legs quiver but firm palms hold me in place as he devours me like a starving man. My fingers wrap around his head while he laps and licks, and I quickly shatter. My heavy groan of pleasure mixes with the crackle of the fire.

  “So good,” he murmurs, kissing my inner thighs as I come down from the high. He reaches for a packet on the floor.

  Making quick work to cover himself, he tugs me forward by my hips, then positions himself at my entrance.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Startled by his words, he surges forward, filling me to the hilt in one swift movement. I arch into him. My head tips back. My eyes roll. I’ve never been so full, so fast. He’s solid everywhere, and this part of him is no exception. I pull back to lift my legs and wrap them around his hips, heels pressing into the firmness of his perfected ass to keep him attached to me.

  “Not going anywhere, angel,” he warns before thrusting forward again. My arms circle his shoulders while he remains on his knees, filling me. He surges forward several times before pressing me back. Confused at first, I realize the position is so he can watch. He wants to watch himself disappear in me. As I angle back, his eyes fixate on our performance. My hips lift to crash with his rhythmic pace.

  “Lilac,” he strains. The thrill builds again, something that’s never happened to me.

  “I’m going to . . . again,” I warn him, surprised at how quickly my body responds to him a second time. His hand presses on my lower belly while his thumb slips between us, working at my pleasure point.