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She wants this.
She wants me.
My cock is as hard as steel, and I know the time to flee is here. I can’t let anyone see me like this, or our cover is blown. I slide my hands into my pockets for two reasons. One, I’m hoping it will hide the fact that I’m hard for her. The other? It keeps me from reaching for her. It keeps me from sliding my fingers between hers or placing my hand on the small of her back. It keeps me from slipping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into my chest.
I’ve never had this raw need for a woman before.
Only with Palmer.
Deacon and Ramsey push open the door to the Willow Tavern, with Palmer and me right behind them. As soon as we’re outside, I pull in a lungful of fresh air. Slowly, I exhale, attempting to calm my ass down.
“Palmer, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Ramsey calls out as they walk toward Deacon’s truck, and we walk toward mine.
Palmer lifts her hand in a wave but doesn’t stop moving toward the passenger side of my truck. I want to race after her and open her door, but that would be too obvious, right? No, that’s not true. My momma raised me to be a gentleman, but before I can make a choice, she’s already tugging the door open. She slides inside and stares straight ahead. Opening my door, I take my spot behind the wheel.
My hands grip the wheel so tight that my knuckles are white. Starting the engine, I reverse out of the parking spot and pull out on the road. A glance out of the corner of my eye, even in the dim lighting of the cab, I can see her wringing her hands together. Not able to resist, I reach over and lace her fingers with mine.
“We don’t have to do this, Palmer.”
She takes an audible breath. “Did you change your mind?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I keep her hand in mine while we drive to my place. Sure, we could have gone to hers, but I don’t want questions as to why my truck was sitting in the lot longer than it takes to drop her off.
It’s more than that, though. Over the last three weeks, most recently, the last two, since the day we hung out at my place, I’ve wanted her there. I imagined her in my space again. I’ve imagined her in my bed, in my shower, on the kitchen island, and, well, every other surface in my house. It’s weird for me because I’ve never wanted a woman there. With Palmer, it’s a need. It’s more than an itch that needs to be scratched.
It’s indescribable.
The remainder of the drive is silent. Her hold on my hand never wavers, and that gives me hope that she’s not going to regret this. I know I’ll never regret this night with her. Whether it’s just tonight or a series of nights, I know without a doubt I could never regret any of them. Not with her.
* * *
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask Palmer as we make our way into the house from the garage. I went ahead and pulled my truck inside. I don’t need any of my brothers stopping by to annoy me. I don’t want anything to come between us tonight.
“No, thank you.”
She’s stiff, and that worries me. Dropping my keys to the counter, I pull her into my arms. Mine are wrapped around her in an embrace. I hug her until I feel her body relax into mine. “We don’t have to do this, Palmer.” I’ll be disappointed, but I’d never force her.
She tilts her head back to look at me. “I want to.”
I study her, looking for anything other than the absolute truth in her eyes, but find nothing. I want to lift her to the counter and devour her, play out one of my many fantasies where she’s concerned, but this is our first experience with this new benefits plan we’ve agreed to. I think my bed is the best place for us to start. Not to mention, I’ve lain awake for more hours than I care to admit wishing she lay there with me.
My bed it is.
“This way,” I murmur. I offer her my hand, and she takes it without hesitation and allows me to lead her down the hall to my room. Pushing open the door, I guide her inside. The moon is bright tonight, giving off a light glow. Enough that I can see her but not make her uncomfortable. This is an all-new version of Palmer. It’s one that I’m not used to. She’s usually more forward with what she’s feeling.
I wrap my arms around her again, and she does the same. She’s no longer stiff, and that’s a win in my book. “You hold all the control here, Palmer. If you want to stop, or hell, not even start, that’s your call.”
“Always the gentleman, Brooks Kincaid.” Her tone is light and teasing and more like the Palmer I know.
“If you could read my thoughts right now, you might not consider me so gentlemanly,” I say, my voice gruff.
“You might be thinking dirty thoughts, but you’d never cross a line I wasn’t willing to cross. If I didn’t believe that with all that I am, I wouldn’t be standing here with you right now, wondering when you’re going to make your move.”
There she is.
