“If only I could ask him,” I whispered, holding a finger to my lips as regret tore through me. “If only I’d known…”
I didn’t realize I was crying until Ethan used his thumb to wipe away a tear. “Hey, now. Don’t cry.”
“I just—” I swiped away the tears. “Everything I thought I knew was a lie.”
“Not everything.” Ethan’s smile was kind, his eyes warm. “Your mom loved you, and she left to protect you. And your dad loved you—every decision he made was with you in mind.”
“Yeah. And I spent the years blaming him, being so…angrywith him. And now he’s gone.”
Ethan pulled me to his chest, my tears flowing freely. I couldn’t stop them. All the years of anger, of confusion, or loss over my mom leaving—it all crashed down on me. Coupled with the loss of my dad, the wasted opportunity to make amends—I was drowning.
“Hey. Hey, now,” Ethan hushed, consoling me like one would a child. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“It’s not okay.” I hiccupped a sob, clinging to him like a lifeline. “It’s not.” I shook my head, clutching the soft fabric of his shirt. “I was a horrible daughter, and he died believing I hated him.”
Ethan gripped my biceps, forcing me to look at him. “He did not think you hated him.”
“But I—I…” I slowly unraveled, spewing a stream of consciousness that barely made sense. I could feel myself spiraling out of control until he cupped my cheeks and pressed his lips to mine.
I stiffened at first, blinking a few times as my head tried to catch up with the fact that Ethan—the man I thought couldn’t stand me—was kissing me. He was kissing me, and I didn’t hate it.
In fact, when I closed my eyes and leaned into the kiss, I found the opposite was true. Far from hating it, I… Wow.
He tilted my head to the side, guiding me as he deepened the kiss. His tongue, searching, searing. His touch gentle yet guiding. It was nothing I’d expected, yet somehow everything I needed.
Tender yet rough. Commanding yet unassuming. And though I knew it was only going to complicate things further, I couldn’t seem to make myself stop.
Chapter Ten
Ileaned my forehead to Audrey’s, our breath mingling. I continued to cup her cheeks, tracing my thumb along her jaw. Her skin was warm beneath mine, and she tasted so damn sweet, I needed seconds. I knew I should stop touching her, stop kissing her, yet my body seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Why did you do that?” she panted, a floorboard creaking when she shifted. “Why kiss me?”
Because I wanted to. Because I needed to help you, and it was the only way I knew how. Because you were broken, and I wanted to fix it.
“It was the only way I could get you to shut up.”
She shoved at my chest, and I stumbled back on my ass. She might have that fire burning in her eyes, but there’d been disappointment too. She’d enjoyed that kiss as much as I had, judging from her sexy little moans. Then there was the way she’d draped her arms over my shoulder, toying with the hair at the nape of my neck.
I needed more of that, more of her. And even though I knew she was grieving and processing her latest revelation, I wanted her.
I grabbed her hands, grinning as I pulled her down onto my lap. The past few days had made me rethink my previous perceptions about Audrey. And the more she let down her guard, the more she admitted the truth of who she was and what she wanted, the more attracted I was to her. Well, I’d always been attracted to her. But it was only more recently that I’d allowed myself to entertain those thoughts.
She gasped as my erection prodded her through our clothes. “Holy shit.”
I chuckled, gratified by her reaction. I cupped the back of her neck, pulling her to me for another kiss. While the first one had been a gut reaction, acting on pure instinct, this kiss was both searing and intentional. And it left no doubt in either of our minds—I wanted her. And from the way she writhed against me, she wanted me too. She smelled so damn good, her lavender scent mingling with pine. And she felt good in my arms.
I wanted to touch her everywhere—hair, back, hips. I slid my hands up her ribs, and she seemed just as desperate for my touch as she ground against me shamelessly. The layers between us were torture, and I needed to see, feel, taste, more of her. I needed to see that tattoo again. I pushed her shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a sports bra.
I traced the lines of the floral design, marveling at how much of her side it spanned. She shuddered beneath my touch.
“This was…a surprise.” I grinned.
“I bet.” She laughed. “Everyone thinks I’msostiff, so buttoned-up. Sometimes I like to do things just to prove them wrong.”
“What do they symbolize?”
“The peonies,” she said, and I traced them with my finger, “symbolize prosperity and good fortune. The dandelion is for emotional healing and overcoming hardship. Resilience. But also hope.”
