Page 80 of The Widow and the Wanted

She comes uncertainly, as if she expects one of us to change our mind before she settles in, but eventually she rests, nestled against Boone’s chest.

“Don’t get quiet on us,” he says.

She glances from him to me, then toward the fire. “I don’t know what the matter with me is.” Her eyes brim with tears. “I’m sorry. My tears are silly. Please don’t concern yourself with me.”

“Hey,” Boone soothes. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Lula’s mouth trembles. She looks at me instead of Boone, as if I might be the one to decipher it all.

“I feel—” She breaks off, swallowing hard. “It’s silly.”

“What?”

“I-I don’t know what to do with any of this.”

I draw her closer, inviting her to climb between Boone and I.

Her hand finds my forearm under the blanket, fingers curling there. She peeks underneath for the briefest moment, finding me bare. Her lashes flutter, and a soft, surprised sound escapes her before she settles.

“It’s all right,” Boone offers gently.

On her other side, I feel him shift closer, his knee bumping hers, then mine. He tucks the edge of the blanket tighter around us, his hand resting lightly on her hip for a second before he lets it slide down to the blankets.

Underneath, her fingers tap an idle rhythm on my arm, then slip away, skimming across her middle until they find Boone's hand, their interwoven fingers pressing against my hip.

She doesn’t look at either of us. Doesn’t say a word about it. Just closes her eyes and breathes.

The fire crackles. The wind hums through the trees outside. Boone’s breath comes slow and even.

For a long moment, nobody talks. There’s just the weight of us—my arm around her waist, his hand wrapped in hers, her tucked in snug between us.

Then Boone brushes her hair off her neck and presses a slow, careful kiss there. Watching him do it, catching the affection in it, tugs at my chest. A strange surge of affection for them both.

She relaxes between us, a little shiver running through her. A small sound slips between her lips, half sigh, half laugh, and it goes straight to the root of me.

“You smell good,” he says against her skin, voice husky. A tender voice I recognize. The kind that’s whispered in my ear a moment before we’re on each other.

I feel it in my bones as if it were meant for me, for Lula and me both. We’re close enough now that every little twitch and tremor passes through all three of us.

“She does, doesn’t she?” I add, lowering my head close to his, dragging the tip of my nose against her neck, beneath her ear. I let my breath seep slow, and when she shivers, the charge runs through me too.

“Like flowers,” he says.

“Roses,” I correct, pressing my lips to the last inch of skin where her night dress reveals her shoulder. She goes still in Boone’s arms, not with fear now, but with attention.

I kiss her gently, giving her every chance to pull away. She does not. Her lips are warm and soft, filled with a quiet hunger that makes something deep in me ache. Behind her, Boone lets out the faintest breath, and the sound moves through all three of us like a current.

I kiss her again, slower this time, my hand sliding from her cheek to the side of her neck. She makes that small sound once more, half sigh, half wonder, and I feel Boone’s arm tighten around her middle as though he too can hardly bear the sweetness of it.

She breaks away on a soft gasp, turning her face down into the pillow of blankets, like she’s embarrassed by her own want. Her forehead bumps my jaw. I feel her smile against my throat before she smothers it.

“Okee, you keep kissin’ all over our girl,” Boone murmurs, “I’m gonna start feelin’ left out.”

Lula makes a helpless little sound that might be a laugh. Boone huffs against her neck like he’s smiling too, then lifts his face to find my mouth over her shoulder.

I kiss him back, soft, my nose bumping his. Lula’s hair is caught between us, smelling like smoke and soap and roses. I taste her there as much as him, the three of us all tangled up in one breath.

When we part, he’s close enough I can see every fleck in his eyes, catch the curve of his mouth trying not to smile.