“Yes,” she answered honestly, pressing her beer bottle to the unusual tug in her chest. “Did you mean it?”
A beat passed. “Yeah.”
She swallowed. “Will you leave right away when her mother comes back?”
“That’s the plan. Move on and hope I made a small difference.” He blew out a breath. “There were people along the way that did that for me, when I was moving in and out of new homes. Teachers or a good foster parent who turned me toward a certain path and kicked me in the ass to get me moving. It doesn’t seem like much at the time and maybe it was nothing to them, but it was something to me. Maybe . . . for her, it’ll be me who does that.”
Her stomach jolted. “I didn’t know you were in foster care.”
He nodded once, but didn’t respond. In the glory of the moonlight, he looked older, more worldly and weathered. Or maybe it was the words coming out of his mouth. She didn’t know what it was, but all of it, everything, drew her closer.
“So Laura’s mother isn’t your real sister?”
“She is. Half. We have the same mother.” He seemed to gather his thoughts. “Becky had it a lot harder than me growing up. I could get hired to do manual labor and that made it easier to stay out of our foster home. Out of the way. There are good families out there helping kids, but the one where we were placed together . . . we weren’t as fortunate. Our foster parents had an issue with liquor and fighting. Money troubles, on top of it.” He squinted into the darkness. “Becky used drugs to cope. She stayed off them when she got pregnant with Laura and I thought she’d carved this new life out for herself in New York. But I don’t know. It worries me that she’s run off like this.”
Bethany couldn’t help but glance back toward the house, where Laura lay sleeping. What would this little girl have done without her uncle? As far as she could tell, no one in Port Jefferson had been aware of any discord between Laura’s parents. Definitely no one had spotted any drug use or she’d have heard. “Thank God you’re here, Wes,” she whispered. “You really stepped up.”
Her praise earned her a sharp look. A surprised one? “Yeah, well. I’m far from a saint. There’ve been a lot of times I’ve wanted to ignore Becky’s calls. I’ve just learned it’s easier . . . letting people pass in and out without trying to hold on or they just slip through anyway. But I’m glad I didn’t this time.” He made a jerky movement and took another pull of his beer. “This was one of those good stops along the way.”
“Along the way to what?”
He winked at her in the moonlight. “Gray hair and sciatica, I guess.”
She puffed a laugh, though she had a weight on her chest. “This isn’t just another stop along the way for you.”
He sobered. “It doesn’t feel like I’m supposed to . . . leave here. But I’ve thought that before.”
“Because of a woman?”
Now why did she ask that? Bethany mentally kicked herself. But before she could take back the question, Wes looked away from the moon and over at her, a combination of humor and heat snapping in his eyes. “No, not because of a woman.” He set his beer down on the back windowsill and came toward her slowly. “I spent eighteen years in and out of foster care. Lived in single-parent homes, stayed with married couples, retirees. When I was seven, the Kolkers took me in. They were warm and welcoming in the beginning. Happy. I let myself feel secure. But they eventually split over money troubles and I was spit right back into the system.” His throat worked. “I’ve found situations that felt right. Friends, a job, a foster family. I thought that was it. I’d stick. But it turned out I was just a stop along the way for someone else.”
Bethany could only partially relate to that. Her relationships had never been anything but pit stops, but at least she had a family and friends. They were constants for her. Constants Wes never had. “I’m sorry.”
Without sacrificing their cemented eye contact, he took out her ponytail and worked his fingers through her hair. “I don’t want sorrys from you.”
“No,” she whispered, wetting her lips. “You just want me to make this stop along the way more interesting.”
Conflict tightened his features. “Never lied about that.”
“No, you haven’t.”
His mouth was closer now, hovering just above hers. “Goddamn.” His gaze trailed over every inch of her face. “If there was ever a woman I’d stick for, darlin’—”
Bethany surged up on her toes and locked their mouths together. What was her other option? Hearing the rest of that sentence? No. No, sir . . .
Oh good God, his mouth felt great.
He didn’t lead her into some perfected dance or impose his will on her. He just let the kiss happen, let it unfold like an unwritten story. His uneven exhale filled her mouth and his body pressed close, slowly, swaying with the breeze as their lips parted and the tips of their tongues met once, twice. It was the exact opposite of what she would have expected from kissing a twenty-three-year-old man. It was unique to them and the moment and she could barely feel her fingertips.
Keep your head. Keep your balance.
Wes sipped at her upper lip and she quite helplessly melted against him, still on her toes, letting him guide his tongue into her mouth, sweeping it across hers. His fingers were gentle and reverent in her hair, his opposite arm finding a place wrapped around her hips, urging her close until their lower bodies pressed and they moaned into each other’s mouths.
That’s when Bethany expected him to turn it on, to impress his masculinity upon her, but he continued to slant his mouth over hers in savoring slides, rubbing the base of her spine with his thumb and brushing her hair sweetly. His worship of her was too much, too unexpectedly perfect that she started to panic, but he pulled away before she could stop the kiss. “I know you didn’t want to hear the end of what I was telling you,” he rasped, brushing their mouths together. “But I just told you anyway.”
I’m in trouble.
He didn’t allow her to acknowledge more than that single coherent thought before he swept her back into the tornado. Their lust had gone from a slow leak to a broken dam and Bethany had no choice but to ride the tide. His tongue played with hers almost tauntingly and when she tried to get a satisfying taste, he tugged away and snapped at her lower lip instead. “Got something else to tell you now.”
“No,” she breathed. “Shut up.”
Wes laughed low and husky while walking her backward into the shadows and steadying himself with a hand on the side of the house. “What did I say would happen when I got my tongue in your mouth?”
His hips pinned hers and she gasped. “That I would feel your, uhhm . . .”
“My lack of fucks about our age difference.” He captured her chin and tilted it up, his hips cinching forward so she could feel the thick jut of his erection. “Someone is finally paying attention.”
Her panties grew damp. Or damper, rather. “Don’t talk to me like that—”
Wes’s mouth stamped down over hers and made love to it. She couldn’t describe it any other way. He owned her tongue with possessive strokes, his hold firm on her chin to keep her mouth pried open. It was nothing like their first kiss and all the better for the contrast. Knowing he could do both, be gentle and demanding, was such a turn-on, her head was going to pop like a balloon.