“And what? You thought you’d just waltz back in here and fix everything?” She took a step closer. “All the little things you never had time for when we were married?”
I winced. “That’s fair.”
“Is it? Because I don’t understand what’s happening here, Rhett.” She gestured wildly around the kitchen. “You’re installing the pendant lights I bought two years ago. Lights I know you’d think were impractical and too expensive.”
“It’s your house.” I needed to remind myself of that, as much as her. “And they make the room, which is exactly what you’d have said if I had been around to argue about them.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say things that make it hard for me to stay mad at you.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to manipulate you, Pepper. I meant what I said the other night. I’m trying to be better. To show you I’ve changed.”
She stared at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. I couldn’t read her expression—it was a storm of emotions I couldn’t untangle.
“Damn it, Rhett,” she whispered.
Then her hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric of my t-shirt. She yanked me toward her with surprising strength, and before I could process what was happening, her mouth was on mine.
There was nothing tentative or sweet about the kiss. It was fire and fury, her lips as much a demand as punishment as they devoured mine. And I was here for every moment of whatever madness was driving her.
Matching her intensity, my hands found her waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her shirt. This wasn’t the careful, measured reconnection I’d been planning, but there was no way I was stopping now. Not unless she surfaced long enough to say no.
Pepper’s hands were everywhere—clutching my shoulders, sliding up my neck, fingers threading through my hair. She bit my lower lip, drawing out a groan. God, I’d missed this—missed her—with an ache that had never dulled, not once in all our time apart.
I stepped forward, and she moved backward, our bodies fully in sync as they’d always been. The small of her back hit the edge of the counter, and I lifted her easily, setting her on the cool granite. But it wasn’t right—too high, too cold, and there were upper cabinets she could hit her head on.
Without breaking the kiss, I scooped her up again. She made a surprised sound against my mouth, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her the few steps across the kitchen to the heavy farmhouse table.
The table that had been our first real furniture purchase together. The table she’d fallen in love with in that little antique shop in Mobile, with its thick, scarred wood and sturdy legs. I’d complained about the price, the massive size, but I’d never been more grateful for the solid heft of it than right this moment.
I set her down on its edge, and she immediately spread her knees, making space for me to step between them. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer until we were pressed together, chest to chest. The heat of her body against mine was intoxicating.
“Pepper.” I breathed it against her mouth, my voice rough with want.
She answered by kissing me harder, her tongue sliding against mine, her fingers working at the hem of my shirt, seeking skin. I simplified the matter by reaching back and tugging my shirt straight over my head. Those gray-green eyes went dark as her hands spread over my pecs, and I was grateful all the scarring from the shrapnel and the surgery was on my back. I didn’t want anything to take her out of this moment.
I pressed her back against the table, rocking my hips against hers while I worked up her shirt and tugged down her bra. Then I fastened my mouth on one nipple and feasted. Her legs tightened around me as she worked herself against my erection. Her fingers curled around my nape, fingers kneading as I did the same to her breasts, exactly how she liked it. I brought to bear every iota of knowledge I had about how this woman liked to be pleasured. She gasped and writhed beneath me, until at last she shattered, my name a keening cry on her lips.
Fourteen
Pepper
My body hummed with satisfaction, a pleasant buzz lingering in my veins as I gazed up at Rhett. My first love. My ex-husband. The man I absolutely wanted to take to bed. His brown eyes had darkened almost to black, watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle all over again. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the muscles in his shoulders and arms defined from years of hauling equipment and saving lives. The afternoon light streaming through the window caught the scattered freckles across his shoulders—freckles I used to trace with my fingertips on lazy Sunday mornings.
God, how long had it been since I’d allowed myself to really look at him? To acknowledge the way my body responded to his presence?
He stood there, hair mussed from my fingers, lips slightly swollen from our kisses. The button of his jeans hung open where my eager hands had started something we hadn’t finished. His arousal strained against the denim, and knowing I still affected him this way after everything we’d been through sent a thrill through me.
But this wasn’t just about physical need. This was about the man who’d spent days fixing my sagging porch, who’d quietly fixed the leaky faucet that had driven me crazy for months, who’d trimmed back the overgrown bushes without being asked. The man who’d made me dinner because he knew I’d forget to eat after a long shift. Who’d done half a dozen other things he’d promised in the past and failed to deliver on.
My throat tightened. All those years of feeling like I came second to the job, and now here he was, putting me first in all these small, meaningful ways.
I reached up, cupping his stubbled cheek in my palm. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and he leaned into it like a man starved for contact.
“Take me to bed, Rhett.”
