She stretched her neck and released a breath. Standing in her underwear in her closet, she surveyed her T-shirts.
All these years she had nursed her crush on Beau privately. She had kissed pillows, pretending it was his mouth. It had seemed harmless enough. Foolish, but harmless. It was just a crush. Not real.
Except tonight all of that had come to a head.
I want to kiss you, Pigeon.
She could not get his words out of her head!
For a moment, she had thought he would. He had leaned in and then that car behind them had honked. What if he had kissed her?
Shaking her head, she pulled an oversized T-shirt off a hanger and slipped it on.
A knock sounded at her door. Before she could call out, it opened to reveal Beau. “Hey, Nolan isn’t here. Guess your mom didn’t realize he . . .” His voice faded as his gaze landed on her.
Nolan wasn’t home. She had assumed Nolan’s truck was parked in the garage.
Her mom was in bed.
She digested all of that in the space of a second.
Emmaline froze, achingly aware that he stood mere feet away while she wore an oversized T-shirt and her panties. Beau seemed to reach the same conclusion.
His eyes tracked over her slowly. “Sorry, I should have waited for you to say come in.”
She swallowed. “Come in.” Yes, that throaty husk was her voice.
He shut the door and leaned against it. He didn’t come any closer though. His expression was like stone, revealing nothing as he gazed at her.
Her heart was racing, but a steady calm swept over her as she approached him. She didn’t touch him. She was careful not to do that. She had other ideas.
Emmaline reached past him and flipped off the light to her bedroom.
Instantly the room was doused in a red glow thanks to the lava lamp on her dresser.
She met his gaze, holding it, conveying, she hoped, everything with a look. Everything like: she was glad he was here, and she couldn’t get his words out of her head, and if he really wanted to kiss her she wanted to kiss him, too.
Slowly, she turned and walked toward her bed, praying that some of her time with Hayden had rubbed off on her. She tried to look sexy as she stopped and slid him an inviting look over her shoulder. He stayed motionless, his back pressed against that door as if he was the only thing holding it in place. As though moving away from it might send the whole house crashing down around them.
She didn’t care though. Let the house fall down around them. Let the whole thing crash to dust and rubble. It would be worth it. Being with him . . . making her crush a reality, bringing it to life . . .
It would all be worth it.
With her back still to him, she pulled her shirt over her head. It was bold, but somehow she managed it. Confidence. Hayden told her it was all about confidence.
She’d be confident if it killed her.
She peered at him from over her shoulder, hoping she presented an enticing image, hoping it worked. Hoping he didn’t open that door and walk out.
There was a soft thud as his head fell back against the door. “Emmaline,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Beau. I know exactly what I’m doing and exactly what I want.”
“No. You don’t.”
“I’ve always wanted you.” The air rushed from her lungs. There. She’d said it. She’d made a big show about getting lessons from Hayden so that she could attract guys, but the only guy she’d ever really wanted was him.
She was starting to get a crick in her neck from looking at him over her shoulder. She knew she should turn and face him, but her courage only went so far. It was one thing to take off her shirt and let him feast on a view of her back. Until he moved and showed the slightest indication that he was into her—into this—she wasn’t turning around and flashing him her boobs.
Beau didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just when she was thinking he would bail on her and leave her rejected, he cursed and shoved off the door, coming at her in a few long strides.
She didn’t turn around.
He stopped directly at her back, the cotton of his shirt brushing her bare skin. His hands landed on her; one at her shoulder and the other slightly lower, flat against her shoulder blade. His ragged breath fell beside her ear. “Is this okay?”
She shivered at his hands on her.
“Yes,” she agreed. “You’re staying.” Her voice didn’t even sound like her own. It was more like a strangled croak.
“You think I’m strong enough to walk away from you?”
His arm inched around her waist. He flattened his palm just below her breasts, his fingers splaying wide, almost covering her stomach completely, fingertips brushing her ribs. Not because she was so small, but rather his hands were so big.
With his other hand, he stroked her exposed back, tracing her spine, caressing each and every bump of vertebrae.
She felt her skin turn to gooseflesh. Air shuddered out of her. He made her feel feminine, small and delicate and precious.
Suddenly both his hands gripped her waist. She was airborne for the tiniest moment as he launched her onto the bed. She landed with a small yelp. He eased down, leaning over her, propping his elbows on either side of her head.
She refused to think about her almost-nakedness or how she might look bouncing around on her bed. She’d get too self-conscious if she mulled over that fact.
His face was so close. She reached for his jaw, reveling in the bristly scratch. He held himself still and she let herself explore his face, mapping out the arch of his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. Her fingers caressed his well-carved lips.
They moved against her fingers as he spoke. “The way you look at me . . .” His voice faded.
“Yes?” she prodded.
“No one has ever looked at me like that before.”
“Oh.” She breathed the word, not sure she understood. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re stuck in the desert and I’m the last drink of water you’re ever going to get.”
She couldn’t believe he didn’t have a dozen girls looking at him like that. He was Beau Sanders.
He settled himself between her thighs. One of his hands slipped under her, splaying at the center of her back.
His head lowered. She shuddered as he pressed a kiss to the top of her breast. Oh. She ran her fingers over his head, through the short silky hair.
His mouth closed over the nipple, taking her fully into the warmth of his mouth.
She gasped and surged against him, her eyes wide, staring blindly. She had no idea it could be like this.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think any boy could make her feel this way. This was Beau. It wouldn’t be the same with anyone else . . . it wouldn’t be so hot or thrilling if she hadn’t known the guy forever and had feelings for him that were more substantial than a crush.
She clawed at his shirt, pulling the fabric, wanting to feel him, his skin to her skin.
He sat up, reached behind him, and pulled his shirt over his head. Then he was back. This time they were chest to chest. His hardness to her softness. His mouth met hers. It wasn’t sweet or gentle or easy. He kissed her deep and hard. She kissed him back.
Her hands swept over his shoulders, gliding down his back. The flesh rippled and undulated under her hands. He pulled away and stared down at her, his blue eyes so deep and penetrating they glowed almost silver in the red haze of her bedroom. His breath crashed on the air as his gaze roamed over her. Her self-consciousness melted away and a thrill coursed through her, knowing he liked what he saw.