Page 32 of Speak from the Heart

What’s there for me? Certainly not a house in need of repair. Nor is there a hominess to my place or even a sense of purpose in my work. Most of all, there isn’t a Katie to teach sign language to and a Jess Carter to fight with.

God, I wish he’d kiss me. I wish just once I’d be good enough for someone to beg me to stay.

Only it’s not my birthday. I don’t get the wishes tonight.

Jess reaches for the cake plate, moves it from the cushion to the glass table, and falls back on the couch again. “You’d suffocate here.”

“You don’t know that,” I say defensively even though I’m not certain he’s wrong.

Shifting on my seat, I reach for the wine and take another pull directly from the bottle. My eyes aim forward to Nana’s dining room when tender fingers tickle my cheek, and he brushes back my hair, curling it around my ear, teasing the lobe.

“What are you really doing here tonight?” If he’s only come to pick a fight with me, I’m not interested. My mind is too full to argue.

“I came here for birthday kisses,” he mutters, and I turn my head to face him. My fingers circle the bottle, clutching it for support, but Jess takes it from me and sets it back on the table.

“Don’t you mean birthday wishes?” What does he wish for?

“No, I mean kisses.”

“What about that Sami woman?” He’s probably already shared kisses with her earlier. But if that’s the case, then what’s he doing here?

“Talked to her tonight and set her straight,” he says, his eyes holding mine. I should ask what he set her straight about. He’s not making any declarations to me, but I’m so caught up in the heat of his eyes that I don’t ask. The tension crackles between us like waves of an electric current, and the energy flows like a living thing.

I’m not certain who moves first.

In one second, his hands cup my jaw, and in the next, mine are in his hair, tugging it free of that signature ponytail. Our mouths clash, savoring the wine lingering on each other’s lips—sucking, licking, and tugging.

I willingly fall when I’m pressed back. This is what I want. This is what I need. I want this man between my thighs, and I shift my legs to allow him to settle against me. My dress rises, the lightweight material no match for the width of his hips.

“We should probably stop,” he mutters, but he returns to kissing me, lining his body up with mine. My hands move to his shoulder blades, and I pull him close, holding him to me.

“Probably,” I mumble against his mouth, but I don’t release him. A heavy length meets my core, and he rocks forward. The force makes my head fall back, breaking the connection between our lips only for a second, and then he’s kissing down my neck.

“You aren’t staying,” he whispers into my skin, taking his time and using open-mouthed suction along my throat to my shoulder.

“Probably not.” I exhale as his mouth finds my trigger spot—the juncture of my neck at my clavicle. I groan as he nips me, and his hand slides down my side, outlining the swell of my breast, the curve of my waist, and the roundness of my hip. His fingers wrap around my thigh, hitching my leg higher, opening me up to him. He sets a pace of slow thrusting, the thick bulge keeping time with the pulse in my core. Cool air hits my thighs as his fingers make their way over my skin, heading toward my center when I hear a heavy scrape over my head.

I still.

“What?” Jess says, continuing to pepper my skin with his warm mouth, but he’s sensed my hesitation.

“Upstairs. I heard a noise.”

Jess softly chuckles. “Little old to be worried about being caught making out on a couch.” I’d laugh if I didn’t hear the noise again. Furniture dragging over a wood floor.

“It’s not that. It’s Nana.”

Jess stops and pulls back as my hands come to his shoulder, gently pushing him away from me. “I need to check on her. I’m so sorry.” He throws himself back on the cushions, allowing me to disentangle my legs. My knees give as I stand. I was so close to the promised land, but the noise above has unnerved me. The anxiety of what she could be doing causes me to race for the stairs. To my surprise, Nana stands at the top.

“Nana,” I call out softly. I’m afraid I’ll frighten her, yet I’m frightened myself. I step over to the first stair and watch my grandmother quickly make it down three. She holds the front of her nightgown in her fist, lifting the weight of it like a princess descending the stairs.

“Nana, what are you doing?” I ask, my voice quivering as I watch her walk down the staircase. A presence at my back warns me Jess has heard the concern in my voice, and he stands near the bottom step.

“Emily,” he whispers, but I don’t look at him. I can’t take my focus off Nana. What is she doing?

“I’m going to him,” she says. “You can’t stop me.”

“Nana, you aren’t going anywhere,” I say, but this dials up the determination in her face. With her silver hair loose and wild, missing its nightly curlers, her expression screams defiance.