Page 100 of When the Smoke Clears

“Your sister is with him.”

“What if he dies?”

She rolls her head toward me and frowns. “A few seconds won’t change anything.”

“Still not kissing you.”

“An option, Will. It’s just an option.”

“My vision is less blurry. I can drive now.”

“Fine,” she says with a huff as she jackknifes to a sitting position. Then she stands and stretches her arms above her head before twisting from side to side.

“Here’s the thing. If I kiss you, I’m going to fuck you. There’s no middle ground. If I fuck you, I’m still going to live in Somers. And if I live in Somers, your fragile heart will break. If your fragile heart breaks, Jamie will be pissed at me. And if Jamie’s pissed at me—”

“I get it, William.” She crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes. It’s very unprofessional of her. “I’ve read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. I understand escalating consequences. If Jamie is pissed at you, then Fitz will have to take sides, and he’ll take her side. And I understand you need to call it fucking because it clearly delineates the difference between sex for a physical release and sex for an emotional connection.”

“You’re shrinking me.”

“You’re making excuses for your erectile dysfunction. It’s fine. I have to get back to work anyway.”

“Take off your clothes.”

She plants her fists on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You take off my clothes.”

“I want you to do it.”

“I wanted you to save my house.”

“I wanted you to tell me your age eleven years ago.”

“Whatever. I’m not that easy.” She tucks her feet into her boots and turns to exit the trailer. “Hope your eyes feel better.”

The door clicks behind her.

I sit up and run my hands through my hair while chuckling. I want to fuck her and love her, hate her and forget about her, yet remember her until the day I die. None of it makes sense.

Shoving my feet into my boots, I press my fingers to the corners of my eyes. They’re still sore, but no longer blurry. Just as I stand, the door snaps open.

Everleigh stomps her boots into the trailer and kicks them off with another exasperated huff. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be a psychiatrist.” She unbuttons her flannel shirt. “My common sense has been obliterated by a fireman. When I’m with you, my IQ drops below a hundred.” Her words hold an angry edge as she shrugs off her shirt. “It’s fucking embarrassing,” she enunciates.

My gaze drops to her fingers as she unzips her jeans. With no sort of sexy fanfare, she peels them down her legs and kicks them off.

One sock.

Another sock.

I barely get my boots toed back off before she wedges herself between my legs, grabs my face, and then kisses me.

It’s . . . magic.

She hasn’t been on my mind for eleven years, but she’s been the invisible obstacle to every failed relationship. Other women have felt good, but this one feels right. Dare I say, perfect?

My hands slide up the back of her legs and over her ass, gripping it hard until her breath hitches, muscles tightening beneath my touch.

I grin.

“Asshole,” she mumbles over my lips. “You’d better have a condom.”