This was really a bad idea.
I shouldn’t be here.
My hands twist in front of me. Insecurities clash through my head. My fight or flight instinct kicks in and before I can even battle out why I should stay, I decide to flee.
I turn around, and make eye contact with Brig.
And oh my God, he looks so freaking handsome. Dressed in a navy suit with a white and blue checkered shirt, his eyes are highlighted by the colors. His hair is rumpled to the side, styled to look sexy messy, and his frame fills out his suit devastatingly.
But it’s the smile on his lips that’s capturing my attention, that has me transfixed and immobile.
Unbuttoning his suit coat, he walks toward me, swagger in his gait, intensity in his stare.
Unsure how to react, I do nothing but attempt to breathe as evenly as possible, so I don’t end up doing something stupid like passing out.
He takes his time closing the distance between us, his eyes traveling up my body, lighting my skin on fire as his gaze sears me. I chose a simple black dress that hugs me close in my torso but flares at my hips. My hair is pulled back tightly at the nape of my neck, and I put on more makeup than I normally do, adding a softer smoky eye and heavy mascara.
When he finally draws close, his hand lifts to my cheek as he studies my face. I try not to shake from his touch, attempting to calm my chattering teeth. I pray my legs hold me still.
Speaking in a soft voice, he says, “You look beautiful, Ruthie.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “But you covered your freckles.”
I don’t know what to say.
An apology seems weird.
A thank you also doesn’t fit.
So instead, I stare up at him, hoping and praying I didn’t humiliate myself the other day. I haven’t heard from him since, so all I’ve been able to focus on is how he pulled away and the disappointing silence that followed.
Sliding his hand down my arm, he links our hands together, our fingers entwining. “Come with me.”
Quietly, he leads me across the patio. I keep my head down, unsure what people might be thinking, but I see him shake a few hands as we pass by. He brings me around the corner of his shop, to the back opening of the Parlor, and then to my surprise, spins me around and presses me up against the wood siding.
“What—”
Oh God.
Brig is kissing me, behind our businesses, his hands capturing my face, his tongue swiping across my lips.
Am I dreaming? The sensation is far too strong—far too wonderful—so it must be reality. But . . . Oh God.
A million butterflies lift off in my stomach, making me feel drunk in lust as my mind whirls with excitement . . . and disbelief.
I’m almost too stunned to react, but he doesn’t pull away, he only presses in farther, and it’s what guides me to do the same. I float my hands up his stomach past his pecs, to the back of his neck where I hold on tight, not letting him go, not wanting this moment to end.
It doesn’t feel real.
My mind is playing tricks on me.
But it’s true, this is really happening.
The earthy sound of his groan as my tongue tangles with his.
The grip of his strong hand on my jaw, tilting my head, granting him better access.
The minty taste of him on my tongue mixed with pure masculinity.
The smell of his leather and spice cologne, intoxicating me, wrecking me from the inside out.
My senses burn for him, to be lit on fire and exposed to the headiness of his soul, the power of his virility.
One of his hands moves to my hip, pinning me so I can’t move, meaning I’m gladly forced to stay where I am as he tilts his mouth to the side and swipes his tongue past my lips. I reciprocate the action, tangling, feeling, tasting.
Taking.
Taking everything I’ve wanted over for years.
Letting this moment soak in, from the grip he has on me, to the way the scruff on his face scrapes across my chin, along my lips, and over my cheeks.
It’s burned into my soul.
Injected into the marrow of my bones.
Tattooed on my brain.
A moment I will never forget . . . for the rest of my life.
His lips lightly press against mine and I feel him slowing down, as my hand slides to the spot right above his heart. It’s racing, just like mine.
He presses one more kiss to my lips and then pulls away, not too far, staying close, connected.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Sorry? “For the kiss?” I ask.
He nods and once again, my stomach bottoms out. Disappointment laces my heart. No, please don’t let him pull away; please don’t let him take back everything I just experienced.
“Not this kiss.” He brings his lips to my forehead where his mouth smooths over the crinkle in my brow. “For the kiss the other day. For not kissing you back and then for not chasing after you when you bolted.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to apologize. I was . . . I was—”
“Perfect.” He looks me in the eyes now. “You were perfect, Ruthie Girl, and I was the idiot. I guess I was shell-shocked. I thought, I don’t know, I thought you were sad about that guy, and I didn’t want you to project—”
“It’s you,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“What?” he asks, a cock to his brow, confusion knitting between his eyes.
Oh God.
What have I done? Looks like now or never.
Taking in a deep breath, I say, “The guy.” I swallow hard and look him in the eyes. “The guy I’ve been pining after, it’s . . . you.”
“Wait.” He stands taller, his eyes locked on mine. “You mean, the guy you’ve been talking about, the one who you’ve had a crush on for years, that’s . . . me?” He points at himself completely shocked.
A wave of unease plows through me, threatening tears again. There’s something about telling your crush that you like them that’s both freeing and terrifying.
“Yes,” I say, almost so softly that I can’t hear it.
He steps back, pushes his hand through his hair.
“But . . . you said you found out he didn’t like you.”
I look toward the sky, wishing I wasn’t having this conversation right now. “I got the hints that you weren’t into me. I figured I should stop trying to get you to notice me.”
“Notice you.” He laughs sarcastically, hand still driving through his hair. “Are you fucking kidding me, Ruth?” His gaze pins me. “All I’ve done for the last few weeks is notice you. It feels like you came out of nowhere, flipped my world upside down, and made me question everything I ever thought was real. I’ve been confused, excited . . . horny. Those denim shorts, those running bras, your humor, your persistence. It’s been fucking with my head.” He levels with me. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I didn’t think you liked me that way. I didn’t think you could. We’ve known each other for so long, but you’ve never looked at me the way you looked at me tonight. I was terrified you’d reject me if you knew. And I didn’t want to take that risk, so I focused on treasuring the moments I did get. Your friendship. The alternative? Telling you? I would have lost those moments.”
“Hell, Ruthie.” He cuts the distance again and cups my cheek. “I wish I would have known.”