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She tried to sound casual, instead of how she felt. “Well, you were a teenage boy. If you saw a tree that looked like it had breasts, the same thing would have happened.”
He cupped her jaw, turned her head to him and kissed her. Not an easy brush of lips, either. It involved tongue and teeth, and had her gripping his wrist to balance herself as he took his time.
When he broke the kiss, he stared into her eyes. “I put my hand on my cock, and thought about what you’d look like naked, straddling me, all that hair brushing my chest and face. Tangling my hands in it to pull you down on me.”
“Oh,” she said faintly.
“Yeah.” He caressed her throat. “I was a teenage boy. But there wasn’t one damn generic thing about that fantasy. We weren’t old enough to do anything about it then. We are now.”
He put his hands to her waist and lifted her up onto the cushion. “Lean back against me. It will help with your balance.”
It also put her against his chest and shoulder, like it had then. The cushion made it more comfortable, the bar not biting into her ass and thighs. The solid heat of him was the same. He dipped his head, pulling a breath from her as he nipped her throat, giving it a hard suckle, followed by a teasing lick. “Hold on.”
As he pushed off, she gripped either side of the basket. By leaning back, she was also inside the brace of his arms. As she kept her legs free of the wheel on either side, she turned her head to brush her mouth against his jaw, his strong throat. Then she tipped her head back, letting her hair stream over his shoulder.
Before college, being young had always been spoiled with the impatience of waiting. Waiting to be old enough to do…anything that seemed worth doing. Fill in the blank.
After the grind of her first two years of medical school, some part of her had gotten tight and grim. The chance to feel young, riding on the front of a bike pedaled by the man holding her heart as well as her body, felt good. He chuckled as he executed the transition to the bumpier terrain of the field paths and made her gasp. She was young. Young and in love, a crazy, exhilarating, wonderful feeling.
They’d reached the tree line. “Do I need a blindfold, so I can’t reveal the super-secret location of the boys-only treehouse?”
“You won’t need a blindfold for that. Maybe for other things.”
He nipped her throat again and biked them into the forest. As the trail narrowed, he seemed as comfortable navigating a bike on the uncertain terrain as he’d been back then. When he turned off onto a deer path, he brought them to a halt. He helped her off her perch, removing the cushion and lifting the wood cover to retrieve a cooler and a canvas bag full enough to be lumpy.
As he guided her deeper into the woods, she noticed a blue circle painted on certain trees. “Over the last year or two, I marked it when I came home, so even if the landscape changed, I could find it,” he said, noting her interest. “Rory had Thomas bring Daralyn here. Since he built it with Thomas and your dad, she wanted to see it. He wanted to make sure she did.”
“Yeah.” The thought summoned the usual regret and sadness, but Brick’s grip constricted, drawing her out of her head. “Having Daralyn to love and protect has reprioritized a lot of things for him, helped him make peace with stuff like that.”
She’d seen evidence of that herself, but hearing it come from a close friend, who had different insights into her brother’s state of mind, helped. She moved closer, hooking her fingers over his belt. “Thanks.”
“I know you worry about him. He’s good, though. Sounds odd, but I think he’s at a better place now than he’s ever been in his life. Love will do that.”
He touched her face, then drew her attention above them. “Here we are.”
Her brothers, as many in their county, were skilled at subsistence hunting to supplement the family food supply. It was no surprise they could camouflage a tree house like a hunting blind, making it difficult to find with a casual glance.
Brick took her to one of the trees supporting the structure and revealed a rope tucked into the Georgia creeper on the trunk. “No ladder. You can get on my back and I’ll pull us up,” he said. “Or you can climb it, if you feel up to it.”
Though she worked out, pulling herself up fifteen feet of rope hand-over-hand, even with her feet braced on the trunk, wasn’t in her wheelhouse of athletic feats. “I can do twenty-five non-girl pushups,” she informed him, just to save face.
He grinned and gave her the bag to hang over her shoulder and threaded the small cooler over his wrist. Then he bent his knees so she could hop on.
She wrapped her arms around his chest and shoulders, but hesitated. “If I put my legs around your waist, it may hurt where you were shot.”
“Grazed. And you’re good.” He reached around to grip her leg, giving her a start on the hop. He hefted her into place as he straightened and grasped the rope. “The bruising from the rocks in the creek did far more damage, and even they’ve been fine with a few OTC painkillers.”
She’d found the same to be true for herself, but she still tried to put her leg where it wasn’t directly on the spot. “Is this how Thomas took Daralyn up here?”
“I think he drove an ATV and they brought an extension ladder.”
“Sounds like an intelligent decision.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t trying to impress her with manly displays of strength.”
She chuckled. She didn’t mind his manly display of strength. The easy movement of his body under the grip of her arms and legs, the way he took her up toward the treehouse without obvious effort, was definitely impressive. As they reached the deck, he shifted her onto it, handed her the cooler and swung himself up.
“So if getting back down is no easier than up, I expect I’m at your mercy.”
