So, the instinct was there to rush things. To get down to business.
But so much of my life with Ian felt like a race against the clock. His time. His attention. His very presence here. I didn’t want to waste a single moment, but I didn’t want to cheat either one of us out of what might happen next.
One of Ian’s hands found its way beneath my sweater to my breast. He made a helpless noise when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Is this okay?” he rasped brokenly against my lips.
“Yes,” I breathed, arching my back and pressing myself more fully into his hand.
Judging by his enthusiasm, I thought he’d be a little rough or demanding, but he paused, his hand hovering there. I waited, holding my breath, anticipating the moment when his palm might cup me or his fingers might pluck at my nipple.
But that didn’t happen.
Ian traced a line down the center of my chest, his fingers bumping along my sternum before his thumb swept low, brushing the underside of my breast, just barely grazing the sensitive skin there.
He used soft touches to map my contours and curves, all while I panted against his lips, painfully aware that I was the eager, impatient one in this scenario.
Finally—fucking finally—Ian’s hand closed over me, gently plumping and squeezing my small breast as he nuzzled against my neck, placing hot, wet kisses along my jaw.
The friction of his stubble was delicious torture. I knew my skin would wear the evidence of his attentions, and I wanted it—needed it.
My hips canted, eager for contact. Ian groaned softly, cursing into my collarbone as my center moved up and down the ridge of his substantial erection in little pulses. He felt good, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to getting the clothes off this man.
But Ian’s hands came to my hips, stilling me. He brought his forehead back to rest against mine as he worked to catch his breath.
“I thought we’d worked on your stamina,” I teased.
He huffed a laugh and smiled against my lips.
“I just . . .” he started. “I don’t want to rush it because then it’ll be over. And obviously I want there to be more of this—of you and me—but I never know with you, Joan. This could be the only chance I get, and I don’t want to mess it up. Or disappoint you. Or?—”
“Hey,” I interrupted softly, cupping his cheeks and pressing a gentle kiss to his rambling mouth. “You’re not going to mess anything up. Whatever you’re worried about, you don’t need to be.”
But it was like he didn’t hear me.
After a deep breath, he admitted, “I know I’m going to make a fool of myself. I’m going to be so fucking stupid over you. And I can’t help it. Couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. I notice everything. The way you look. The way you smell like everything good and green in this world. The way you stretch your hamstrings after a run. Jesus, I can’t even watch. I get hard every single time.”
His words continued in a whispered rush, honesty freed from its confinement as he unraveled me, bit by bit. “The calm, competent way you drive a tractor or do anything on the farm, like you were born to work this land, like you rose up from these mountains, just as timeless and beautiful. Or the way you’re so stubborn and how much you care. The way you’re patient with Candace and protective of your parents, and quietly mischievous with Brady. How you give Georgie every bit of your attention and how you knew, right from the beginning, that was exactly what he needed.I know you think I’m immature and not a serious person. But all I really want—what I need, Joan—is to be someone worthy of you.”
My heart stuttered, and emotion clogged my throat. I couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe in the face of his brutal, beautiful honesty.
There was a time when I would have been worried that Ian’s words were practiced lines, memorized and recited for their target audience. But that time had come and gone.
He’d been a constant in my life for months now. Truthfully, he was my closest friend. I knew him, knew his heart. And now, I felt the way it beat against my chest, wild and out of control. I could detect the nervous tremble in his hands at my waist, and the nearly desperate way he held me to him.
So while the speech might have been moving and heartfelt and full of the most wonderful things anyone had ever said about me, it wasn’t a performance. It was just Ian, being honest. Being forthright. Putting himself out there, being brave enough for both of us.
He was telling me what he wanted.
And what he wanted was me.
As strange and inexplicable as that might be.
I stroked a thumb over his cheekbone, marveling in his courage, his sweetness, his fruitless worry.
I couldn’t remember ever being this careful with someone. Honestly, I hadn’t known I had it in me. But in the face of Ian’s self-doubt, I knew I needed to step up and reward his honesty with some of my own.
“You are worthy, Ian. I know I’ve been hard on you and judgmental, too. But that was before. Before I knew you. Before you were in my life every day, and in my thoughts the rest of the time. I let all my assumptions get the best of me in the beginning. I was wrong. I can admit that. And I’m sorry for it.”
