She bites her lip, and her gaze does another lap around the room. She admits, "I don't remember it being this umm…"
"Beat up?"
"That's one way of putting it." She turns, grinning at me.
A spark of tension reignites, but it's the hottest it's been all night.
A lot of our best moments were in this room. Intimate, private, unforgettable memories, and they all come barreling at me. And the walls seem to come alive, as if they remember every kiss, every whispered promise, every time we swore this wouldn't be the last.
I glance at the bed, wondering if it'll rise and devour me whole. I take a few deep breaths and then blurt out, "Maybe we should go somewhere else?"
She arches her eyebrows, then closes the gap between us, putting her hand over my heart. In a sultry voice, she coos, "Wyatt Houston, I'd swear on my granddaddy's grave that you're more nervous than I am right now."
I take another pull of air and admit, "I guess I am. I don't want to mess everything up with you again."
Her pink tongue darts out of her mouth, slowly grazing her lip. She gives me a look that's always gone straight to my pants.
Tonight is no different. My belt buckle feels heavy, and my nerves shift into a state of desperate need. I wrap one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulder, palming the back of her head. I lock eyes with her, grazing her lips as I grit out, "You think we should go somewhere else, sugar?"
She doesn't say anything, just stares at me, her eyes wide and bright.
The need inside me builds, ready to explode. My thumb finds its way under the hem of her sweater, grazing the soft skin near her spine.
She shudders, and her breath hitches, but she doesn't step away.
I kiss her jaw, then murmur against her ear, "You remember this room and all the good times, don't you, sugar?"
Her body arches with the smallest shift, but it's the answer I need. Her hot breath sparks a tingle on my chest.
I sink my hand under her jeans. My lips brush the shell of her earlobe. "I used to spend nights dreaming about dragging you back here, laying you out on this creaky old bed, and reminding you why you love to beg me." I palm her ass cheek.
She whimpers, "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't talk about the way you used to cry out my name? Don't touch you like I already know where you're aching?" I ask, tone dark and husky.
"Wyatt," she warns, the sound barely a whisper, her fingers grasping my shirt.
I dip my head until our lips nearly touch, challenging, "Tell me I'm wrong. Lie to me, and I'll stop."
She doesn't answer. Just trembles in my arms. Her breath mingles with mine, and her gaze flicks down to my mouth.
It nearly kills me, but I've never been so ready to die.
This time, I'm not looking for a night of fun.
I'm looking for a second chance. I'm after a lifetime to prove to her I'm the only man for her, the only one who's ever counted.
And I'm going to make sure I'm the last one she ever has to bet on.
21
Willow
Wyatt's dark eyes challenge me to lie to him so this doesn't go any further.
I should, but I can't. My skin buzzes with longing and anticipation, and I'm way past the point of having any control over this situation. It ended the moment I got in the truck with him.
The atmosphere between us thickens, heavier than it was on the ride over, denser than it was in that damn jail cell, and more electric than it's been in seven years.
