Page 38 of Melt the Ice

I smile, eyes fluttering closed as I lick against it before I release him. He grabs me by the hips and moves me further up the bed until he’s straddling my hips. “I’m a starving man for you, Scarlett. Don’t push me.”

I watch with rapt attention as he licks his lips, picking up the mix of us, eyes never straying from mine. I’ve never been looked at this way before, not even when we were kids. Like I’m both the answer to all his prayers and his eternal damnation, all in the same breath. He leans down again, interlacing our fingers before bringing them above my head. “This is better than I remember it being,” I murmur against his lips.

I feel them pull into a smile as they press back into my own. “You saying I’m a good kisser, Lettie Girl?”

“Mhhh.” I rock my hips up into him. “The best there ever was.”

He chuckles, rolling off to the side, only laughing harder when I whine. He pulls the corner of the blanket and rolls us together, wrapping us in our own little cocoon. His arms wrap around my waist, tucking me into him. My head fits perfectly under his chin. Little pricks of discomfort start to settle in my chest, afraid I may have pushed him too far.

“You don’t want to keep going?” I ask quietly.

He groans, chest vibrating against me. “I’d love nothing more, but you’re right. While I’m ready to kiss you every day of my life, I’m not ready for anything else. Especially not today, I don’t want our first time together to be tainted by the weight of burying my mom.”

Relief flows through me, and while I agree, I can’t help but push his buttons a bit. I lean back, giving him my best bedroom eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Lettie Girl.” He says, voice gravelly and oh so hot.

My lashes flutter in faux innocence, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips, “Whatever do you mean?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, a laugh brewing in him, soft until it cuts through the room. “I knew my girl was still in there somewhere.” He tightens his grip, his thumbs brushing against the exposed skin on my back.

His girl, the last time he said it, it felt like a trap. Like it was a cage he was trying to throw me in, but now, it doesn’t sound so scary. “I’m… trying.”

His gaze held mine with a quiet longing, as if he wanted to say something, but was afraid it’d be the thing that would make me push him away. “Who told you that you had to be any other way?” He finally whispers, eyes bouncing between my one. The backs of his fingers trail across my cheek, a feather light touch as he tucks a piece of fallen hair behind my ear.

If you had asked me how today would have ended, I certainly wouldn’t have said in the room we spent so much time in as kids, talking about my past. But if he needs a distraction, I’ll give it to him. “My childhood was a lot different back home. I couldn’t be who I was here. I had an image to maintain.”

An age-old fear creeps up before I can stop it, the familiar urge to deflect, throw up the wall that’s kept me safe for years. The one that suppresses my voice until it comes out sounding an awful lot like my father’s. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, hoping he won’t think the same things my parents did. Too loud. Too emotional. Too much.

No, Scarlett. You said no more. I tell myself there’s nothing to fear. Not with him. “After Nana died, everything changed. My dad told me the ranch had been sold, and he turned into a money and power hungry man. It was like Nana was the chain that kept the monster at bay.”

I look up at him, expecting to see doubt, or worse, pity. But neither of those things are what’s staring back at me. His eyes hold the kind of warmth that I used to only see in Nana. The kind that tells you there’s no judgment, that there simply isn’t anything that could make him think less of me. Not only that, but he isn’t interrupting me. He isn’t asking “who cares?” or “Why are you being so emotional?” He’s holding space, letting me get out what I need to. He’s listening to understand, not to respond. And I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had someone actually listen to me.

I puff up my cheeks, slowly letting them deflate as I buy myself some time. My hand moves to his arm, nails dragging back and forth over the ridges of his muscles, absentmindedly tracing the ink that decorates it. “I was allowed to be a kid here. Have feelings and work through them. You and Nana never made me feel bad for feeling a certain way, even if it was over something stupid.”

He tenses, but quickly relaxes as my hand halts its movement. “Sorry,” he whispers. “That feels really good.”

I smile against him, clearing my throat, my hand resumes its earlier motion. “When I’d try to talk to my parents, I had to hype myself up. Prepare for the battle I knew was coming.”

I wonder if my siblings ever had this issue or if they’re as emotionally stunted as our parents are. With them, things can be fixed if you throw money at them. Maybe a shiny new car, but it’s never going to fix what was hurting on the inside. But they don’t know any better. They never even met Nana, and that, in and of itself, is a tragedy.

A shiver rolls through me, and he pulls the blanket tighter around us. “I’d start strong, but could only get a couple of sentences out before they’d get angry. Agitated that they had to deal with me and whatever I was wrestling with.”

There’s only so much tiptoeing you can do until you just stop trying altogether. You learn to sit with your feelings alone, push them down, and cover them up with fancy dresses and practiced smiles. But the ache deep in your soul, the one that says no one understands you, that tells you you're all alone and it’ll never get better, gets louder in the silence. Then you do things out of desperation, desperation to just be seen, acknowledged.

“When I went off to college, no one knew who I was. I could reinvent myself. I felt so deeply that if I could just not be so emotional, then maybe when I came back, my father would love me like he did before Nana died. But that isn’t who I am. I couldn’t do it. Until…”

Sighing, I hide my face in his chest. “I met this guy. His name was Colton, and he liked the hardened me. Called me a black cat, mysterious and sexy.” I take an exaggerated breath, not brave enough to look up at the man whose every muscle just tensed beneath me. “I felt seen, validated, so I kept being that girl. He brought more friends along, and by the time we graduated, I didn’t even remember who I was before.”

A tear breaks free as I look back and realize I don’t talk to any of those people anymore. I killed the real me for four years of surface-level connection. “When I came home, my dad gave me a job. Of course he did. He couldn’t have his firstborn not be part of Arias Corp. But when he saw who I’d become, it was like we were suddenly best friends. I started wearing dresses that some would see as scandalous in our ‘high society circle’, but the men my father worked with ate it up.”

Lucas twists his arm, taking my hand in his, squeezing slightly before settling it over his rapidly beating heart. It’s a small movement, but it brings immeasurable comfort.

“I started closing deals, becoming colder on my journey to find the love I got here. I basically existed to close contracts, and I did it with the pair of tits God gave me. Sex appeal was my strength, the key to getting things done, which in turn gave me my father’s time. But I lost myself. Became a slave to more, just like he had.”

Digging deep, I find the courage to tilt my head back to look at him. “Somewhere along the way, love started to feel like a way to control and manipulate. He loved me as long as money was coming in, and when it wasn’t, or I didn’t live up to his expectations, I’d get the silent treatment.”

“When I overheard the ranch conversation, it was like the bubble popped, and I couldn’t tell you which way was up at that point. My entire adult life had been a lie. I could have been here for seven years. I could have been less confused about who I am and what I stand for. We could have built the life we always talked about.”

There it is, the words I’ve never let myself speak out in the world, the ones where I admit I’ve never forgotten about all the plans we made, and he doesn’t even flinch. “I wanted to be important to someone the way I was to you and Nana so badly that I let myself be hurt by others. I told myself I deserved it, the pain of only being noticed when I performed well was better than acknowledging the ache that grew the longer I was away from here, from you.” His chest rattles with his next breath. I blink just in time to catch a tear trailing down his cheek.