I held her to me, lightly rocking side to side—a little trick Aunt Violet taught me. I opened my mouth to console her, to reassure her, just…something, but no words came. None.
I didn’t need to ask her, though, to know why she was crying. I could see it in her eyes.
She reminded me of this one mustang I broke once. She had that same wild, terrified look in her eyes that he did when I first brought him to the ranch and put him in a stall. Despite the shavings, the quality feed, that mustang hated the barn. It wasn’t his home.
Hell…it’s almost like how I’d felt when I’d lost my parents and sister, my home. I’d had the Mooneys at least to help me through. It didn’t seem like Cheyenne had anyone.
She’d had everything taken from her in the blink of an eye. And I could only imagine how hard that must be for someone as wild and free as her.
Her entire body trembled as she clung to me as if her life depended on it. I just held her in my arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead as I ran my hand down her damp hair. But it didn’t seem to help. Nothing did.
I wanted to help her. I needed to help her. And standing there in a towel wasn’t going to do her any good. Scooping her up in my arms, I carried her back out the hall and all the way into my room—the only sounds that of my boots and Brandy’s toenails on the polished concrete, along with Cheyenne’s muffled sobs against my chest.
I flipped on the dimmer switch, turning the lights down low, and sat her on the bed.
“Wh-what? Why did you bring me here?” No accusation lingered in her tone, just mere curiosity.
Standing before her small frame, I tilted her chin up, forcing her stare as I cupped her face with my palm. I hoped she understood the silent question that I couldn’t bring myself to say aloud.
With a soft nod, my gaze flickered to her mouth then back up to her eyes just as I ran my thumb over her bottom lip. In an instant, the devastation in her gaze darkened to a glimmer of desire. She sucked in a sharp breath.
Slowly, painfully slow, I dipped my mouth to hers.
Chapter nineteen
Burn
Cheyenne
Maverick’s touch was magic.
It had to be.
Because with each passing moment, every fear and worry and thought withered away like ash under his scorching touch.
I clung to him as he kissed me, his mouth moving against mine in soft, unhurried motions. Lazy almost in nature, giving me the opportunity to decide what I wanted. Allowing me the chance to set the pace. I appreciated the thought, the respect, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to think, let alone make a decision. I just wanted tofeel. Feel his touch, his kisses on my skin. Wanted to feel those calloused hands over my flesh.
I slid my arms around his neck, pulling him in and deepening the kiss. He answered after the briefest moment of hesitation, laying me back flat against the bed. He moved to partially cover his body over mine, my towel completely forgotten as it fell around me. One of his hands still rested against my cheek, even as his other drifted down my neck, and slowly, slowly, slowly, over my breast.
I hissed at the touch, arching intohim.
This. This was exactly what I wanted.Needed.No talking, no coddling, just…action. Action always spoke louder than words anyway. Maverick was a living, breathing testament to that. I didn’t want him to console me, to tell me it would be alright. I wanted him to kiss me, use me, wreck me. I wanted him to make me forget why I was crying. Who I was, even.
Maverick’s hand cupped my breast, his thumb flicking over the peaked nipple. A shiver skittered through me and I let out a moan. “Fuck.”
His lips stretched up into a satisfied smirk as he pulled away.
Goddamn, he was sexy. But he was still wearing too much. I wanted to touch him, feel him. Feel those scars—those beautiful fucking scars—beneath my fingertips. To see his strength and bravery right there carved into his flesh. Not yards of black fabric.
I hastily tugged at the pearl snap buttons on his shirt, exposing the white tank beneath. He stilled, a look of concern washing over his face.
“Let me see you, Maverick,” I begged. In silence, I watched as a war played out on his face. “Please.” The word was but a whisper on my lips as I raised a tentative hand to his chest and began slowly pulling at his shirt.
Apparently, asking nicely was all I needed to do.
He stilled beneath my touch, giving me a stiff nod. Moving slowly, purposefully yet gently, I helped him slide the shirt off, revealing his toned arms and burns. I ran a finger up and down his arm lovingly, a silent show to him that he didn’t need to hide.I held his wild gaze, my hand moving up along the curve of his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, holding him to me. “Beautiful,” I murmured. “Absolutely fuckin’ beautiful.”
Something shifted in him then. No…broke. The restraints of his self-control shattered. His mouth descended on mine once more, his kiss holding a desperation to it I wasn’t anticipating.
