he could cover it. She wasn’t wearing socks, so he could rub his thumb over her ankle, the visible top of her foot, feel her soft flesh.
“You can feel this, right?”
When she nodded, it swamped him. It didn’t so much anymore, but in moments like this, it did. The words came out choked.
“I sure wish I could.”
Her arms slipped around his shoulders, his head, drawing him down as he used his own arms to hold her hard to him, his forehead and nose pressed to her shoulder and breast. She was breathing slow and even, with little hitches. When moisture hit his temple, he realized she was crying. For him.
It made him get hold of himself, which meant the embarrassment hit hard. There was a time he would have lashed out because of it, driven everyone away while he pulled his ass together. But he’d learned that wasn’t the way to deal with it. He raised his head, cleared his throat as he brushed a tendril of hair away from her serious face. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry I yelled at you.”
“It’s okay. I understand why now. I thought… I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”
“No. It wasn’t that. You can do anything.” If she told him she could fly, he’d believe it. It was why he worried that, once she figured out how to use those wings, she’d go far beyond where he could reach her.
He’d had enough of dealing with his fears for one day, though. It was amazing how exhausting five minutes could be. He felt like he needed a three-hour nap. Maybe in that hammock behind his house. Maybe with her lying in his arms. He liked the idea more than the thought of Heaven. Maybe because it sounded like one and the same.
“I owe you dinner,” he said.
She slanted him a glance. “Oh?”
He liked that she didn’t assure him he didn’t. In fact, he thought he caught a glimpse of the kind of look a woman gave a man when she knew she had him on the hook, in the right kind of way.
Dr. Taylor was right. Today’s session must have gone really well.
“I could cook for you,” he said.
She lifted a brow. “You can’t cook.”
“That is not true. I make a hell of a fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
When she smiled, he tightened his hand on her foot. “So what’s your preference? A nice dinner out, or fried PB and J at my place? Mom has a church thing tonight. She won’t see what a mess I make in the kitchen.”
He said it as a joke, knowing she’d leave it to him to choose. But she surprised him.
“PB and J of course.” Her gaze flicked away, then came back to him, and he was lost in those mix of green and gold colors, the hints of blue-grey on the edges, the flecks of black. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice thick. “Anytime.”
Anytime you want.
She leaned in, her hand sliding along his chest, to his neck, then up, to cradle his jaw again. Did she take that leisurely track because now she knew how much he liked feeling her hands on his upper body? Or did she do it because she liked to do it for her own pleasure? Maybe both. He liked that idea best.
She shifted, so she was pressed against him as her mouth moved over his. Though she’d asked to kiss him, when their lips met, he felt the giving on her part, the invitation, the craving for him to take. He didn’t need to be invited twice. His hand was on her shoulder and throat, then up to her jaw and covering the rabbiting pulse beneath the heel of his hand as he pulled her across his lap. He held her close as he kissed her, parting her lips, diving deep, teasing her with his tongue.
His shaking turned into a deep shudder that leveled out, brought him back to himself. From her murmur against his lips, the shift of her body, he was pretty sure he’d started to get an erection. He didn’t know if the life-or-death adrenaline thing could be contributing to that, but he knew holding her on his lap sure did.
At length, Rory lifted his head. Mac’s truck was gone, and he hadn’t even noticed. Johnny was still in the store. Probably watching them through the windows and snickering, but that was okay. Way better than him worrying about having to come to Rory’s