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His sneer communicates clearly exactly what he thinks of that. “They raked Dad over the coals. Like he couldn’t own a family destination unless he was without flaw. I know that I have that to look forward to, especially after this Abby Burks incident put me front and center on their radar.”
I wish I could disagree with him, but he’s right, especially given how specific and ugly Abby’s Army have been with their cutting remarks about Carson. Comments have ranged from ‘little dick energy’ and ‘fragile male ego’ all the way to calling for Carson’s resignation and threatening daily protests at the Americana Land gates until his head—either one—is on a pike out front. “What about your siblings?” I ask carefully.
His shrug is heavy. “Archer, we’ve talked about. He’s broken, but he never had any desire to put his pieces back together. He just slashes out at everyone around him with the jagged bits and then blames them for getting hurt. Toni is . . . amazing. She’s young, but so fucking smart. I’m protective of her because she’s gotten some shit over being Dad’s ‘love child’ or worse, but she’s old enough, and ballsy enough for sure, to handle herself.”
I examine the smile he’s wearing. It’s different, and I realize what it is. “You’re proud of her.”
“Hell yeah, I am. She’s earned it.”
“She’s a lucky girl,” I tell him, thinking of my own brothers. They might drive me crazy sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
His eyes bore into mine. “I think I’m the lucky one.”
We are not talking about our families anymore, but moving into talking about us is even more dangerous territory. “Carson,” I start quietly, “I don’t know if—”
He cuts me off with a press of his finger to my lips. When I go quiet, he traces my bottom lip slowly, relishing the texture of my lips. “I want to kiss you. I understand if you don’t or if the risk is too much for you. But I want you to know that I want to taste you, explore you. I want to see if this could be something.”
His words terrify me because they’re echoed in my body. My head is screaming ‘danger, danger, danger’, but even so, I’m considering it. I’m not impulsive, not with what I do day in, day out. Yet, I find myself covering the small space between us to press my lips into his. He must sense my hesitancy because he simply sips at me gently, continuing to build the heat that’s been burning since I walked through the door of his father’s office and laid eyes on him.
His hand weaves into my hair, tugging the strands gently. I gasp, the sound igniting us. He slips his tongue past my lips, and I meet him eagerly, but he takes his time learning me, teasing and nipping my lip to discover what I like. I’m not sure I even know anymore. I just know that I like him.
The shock of bright lights shines through my closed eyelids, and I jump in surprise, breaking the kiss. I cover my squinting eyes as Carson looks over his shoulder, hissing at the brightness. The car passes us, returning us once again to the quiet of the night as the engine’s roar is hidden by the next curve in the road.
Our eyes meet, mere inches separating us, but where only moments ago, we’d been on a path to something hotter, now there’s an intimacy that feels good. Comfortable and hot, but not insistent and urgent.
“Hi,” I whisper.
In response, Carson traces my bottom lip with his thumb once more. “Will you watch the sunrise with me?”
That’s not what I expected him to say. I don’t know if I thought we’d go right back to kissing or talking or if he’d offer to take me home. But we let the quiet of the night envelop us as I snuggle into Carson’s side, his arm wrapped around me.
We stay like that for hours, not saying much as we stay in our thoughts. And together, we watch the sun rise. I decide that maybe walking mountain trails sucks, but being on the edge of a cliff, both literally and figuratively, with Carson is a stress relief I didn’t know I needed.
CHAPTER 8
JAYME
It’s way too early for my phone to be ringing, so I ignore the ridiculously loud beep-beep-beep completely. For three rings I let it just buzz, and then I remember who I am and that avoiding a call isn’t something I can do. Shit hits the fan for my clients at all hours.
Fumbling, I reach for my phone. “Mello,” I mumble without looking at the caller ID.
“What the actual fuck, bitch? Were you gonna send me to voicemail? I don’t think so.” Taya’s voice is sharp and accusing, and even through the phone, I can sense her head swiveling as she reads me down. “That is not what best friends do.”
