Years. It’s been years since I’ve had her lips on mine and yet it’s like no time has passed at all. Kissing Cara is finding a ray of sunshine in a dark room. Every touch is illuminating, leaving a trail of scorching heat in its wake.
Cara leans into me, her hands gripping my neck, her mouth slipping open and deepening the kiss. She’s the one in control of this, and I’m not going to stop her. Let her remember what we had together, can still have together if she’d let us.
She pulls back, her breathing ragged. “I—”
The darkening sky opens up, rain pouring down from the heavens. In seconds, it soaks through our clothing. Customers run for shelter wherever they can find it, some families huddling under outstretched jackets.
We both look up to the gray late-afternoon sky, surprised at our unwelcome distraction. “I think we should probably get out of this rain,” I say, pushing myself off the hay bale that has become a sponge. I reach for her hand and she takes it letting me guide her towards the exit. “I know a place where we can dry off.”
Chapter Nine
Cara
Already soaked to the bone, we take our time heading back to the car. Smith pulls me after him stopping for my masterpiece waiting with Polly before closing us into the shelter of the car.
We kissed. I’m still reeling from that kiss. That perfect, heart-stopping kiss should never have happened, but god I’m glad it did. Alive. That’s what happened the moment our lips touched. I remembered what it’s like to feel alive. And I crave it. I crave the lightning that floods my veins whenever his hand brushes mine; when his lips meet mine.
How had I forgotten?
“We can stop at the bed and breakfast to dry off since it’s on the way. If you’re okay with that?”
Rain pounds against the roof of the car, the sound almost deafening. “Sure,” I reply, still on cloud nine. It’s a miracle I’m even coherent enough to speak.
Smith's hand reaches across the dash, coming to rest on my thigh and goosebumps break out on my skin. A shiver runs down the length of my spine and it has nothing to do with being soaking wet. Smith must have noticed because he reaches for the controls of the dash, turning the heat to blasting.
The downpour has made the roads a maze of potholes, the journey out to the paved road is like riding in a four-wheeler.Every bump and jostle made worse as Smith’s hand wanders farther up my thigh with each jolt making concentrating on the road near impossible.
Things between us have gotten even more complicated. The way he keeps asking me why I left has anxiety pooling in my stomach. He deserves to know, I know that much, but I can’t even admit to myself why I left.
By the time we pull into the long driveway to The Rosebranch, the rain is nothing more than a drizzle. It’s been years since I’ve been here, but I can’t say that it’s changed much. Darla comes into the shop from time to time and she’s as friendly as ever even if she does scoff anytime she sees the covers of my romance books. Old ladies can be such prudes sometimes.
Smith holds the front door open for me and it’s like stepping into a time capsule. I’ve been in Rose Prairie since I was a pre-teen and whenever family came into town, I would find myself bounding up these creaking stairs. The same pictures line the walls which might have been painted at least once in all the years I’ve been here. Smith chuckles, his hand resting on my lower back as I point out how little this place has changed.
Our shoes squish with every step and for a moment I worry that we’ll ruin the carpet with our soaking wet shoes. I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re not leaving a trail of water in our wake. Darla would throw a fit at me if I did.
“My room’s to the left.” He points down the hallway at the top of the steps. His hand never leaves my back and I wonder if that kiss has reignited something in him too. I know it has in me. If he were to take his hands off me at this moment, it’d be like sucking the oxygen from the room. I’d cease to exist.
This is what I’ve been trying to avoid. I started out wanting to keep things professional, and here I am, the one that crossed the line. Yes, he pulled my lips to his, but I had started it.
Truthfully, there wasn’t a lot of pumpkin in his hair, but I couldn’t stop my hand from sweeping through his hair. It unearthed memories of lying in bed together, his head resting on my chest while I played with the dark strands. Memories I’ve worked so hard to keep out of my head.
Smith showing up at my literal doorstep has thrown me for a loop.
He stops us in front of a solid wood door, a gold-plated eight nailed in the center. “Ignore the mess,” he instructs as he turns the key, the lock clicking open.
Stepping into the room, I can’t help but laugh. Clothes hang from the large four-poster bed and notebooks are tossed carelessly on the dresser. The picture of the half-naked man on the cover of our book club pick catches my eye, his dark-rimmed glasses resting beside it. “I guess that’s another thing time didn’t fix. You always were a mess.” Not just a mess, but the messiest person I’ve ever met. Sure, he looks all put together, but the man is a closet hoarder. Alright, maybe he’s not that bad, but he leaves a trail of destruction. I could always pinpoint his location by following the debris left in his wake.
He dodges wayward clothing and steps into the bathroom. “Hey, I’ll have you know I know exactly where everything is. It’s an organized mess. No.” He sticks his head through the door jam pointing a determined finger in my direction. “It’s organized chaos.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” I tease, catching the towel he playfully tosses at me as he leaves the bathroom.
Across the room, Smith unceremoniously removes his outer flannel, the fabric clinging to his arms as he struggles to get it off. I watch frozen, the towel pressed tight against my damp neck as the black shirt lifts over his head before landing on the floor with a wet splat.
He didnotlook like this six years ago. He was muscular before, but more lean. Now he’s downright built. Chest hair is sprinkled across his sculpted pecs leading down to a dark trail that slips below the waist of his pants.
Long gone is the twenty-two-year-old boy. Before me stands the man.
He seems oblivious to my ogling until I notice the slight smirk on his face. “Okay, big guy, I see what you’re doing.”
