I half expect him to gently nudge me off his lap and beat a hasty retreat out of the woods. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy was ready to jet as soon as I let him know sex wasn’t on the table.
But that’s not who Beau is, I’m discovering. Because instead of easing me off him, he lays us back down again and tucks me in the crook of his arm. With his other hand, he clasps my fingers and rests our joined hands on his chest while he stares up at the passing clouds.
Pressed against his side, I feel his whole body relax when he sighs, and the sensation makes me sigh too.
Oh my God. This… This is snuggling.
The realization hits me like a freight train. I have never snuggled. I’ve been on dates (a few). I’ve made out (a handful of times). I’ve had sex (twice and not worth mentioning). But I’ve never snuggled.
And snuggling with Beau is heaven. Better than sex. Better than my battery-powered ordinary.
I should be gazing up at the sky, like he is, relaxed and easy. But I’m not. I’m staring at his profile because this feels so good, I don’t want to put my attention anywhere else.
Beneath me, supporting my neck, his arm is both solid and cushioning. Under my arm, his broad chest rises and falls with a soothing rhythm. The hard length of his body pressed against me feels like a safe place to rest. Beau’s hand wrapped around mine makes me feel… chosen.
Yeah, that’s new.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
The words from that first Cajun song we danced to come back to me in a rush, and I have to shut my eyes because my throat has suddenly gone tight.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
I swallow hard, eyes stinging.
Because I have nothing like this. I’ve never had anything like this.
And it feels pretty damn important. Like breath. And blood. And hope. Like something impossible to live without, and yet I’ve been living without it. But how could I be living without something as major as breath or blood or hope?
That would make me like a zombie or a vampire or some other undead creature fromHexed.And things never end well for them.
But since I don’t crave brains, and I can walk in daylight, undead isn’t the right word for me. Maybe it’s justhalf-dead.
My throat gets even tighter at the thought of that realization. When did I become half-dead? Was there ever a time I was fully alive?
With some serious eyelid aerobics, I blink back tears because I can’t let myself lose it in front of him.
Distraction. I need a distraction. Beau’s staring up at the clouds. He still looks relaxed and content. Maybe I should try cloud-watching too.
I roll onto my back and look up. What few clouds there are drift high, high above us. They are horsetails, painting the sky in wispy brushstrokes. My breath deepens and my throat eases a little. These clouds have it so easy. They don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do.
“I have no idea what that’s like,” I rasp aloud.
Beau’s arm around me tightens in a brief squeeze. “Whatwhat’slike?”
I nudge our joined hands toward the sky. “That. Those clouds. They’re just so… unbusy.”
His chest constricts once in a laugh. I feel it under my arm and against my side. It’s a nice feeling. “I like your word choice.” Then he squeezes me again. “Maybe you could learn what unbusy is like if we watch them a little longer.”
I cloud-watch for a second. “That might be a really bad idea.”
“Why’s that?”
I sigh. “Because if I learned how to be unbusy, I’m sure it would get me into trouble.”
I don’t think about how this sounds until Beau responds.
“You’re under a lot of pressure, aren’t you?” His voice is like a caress. So soft it’s dangerous for my composure—and the swelling lump in my throat.
