The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,82

person who returns from combat needs at least a meeting like that. Other people who know what you’ve been through. You could tell me, and I would listen. But I wouldn’t really know what you’ve been through. The best people to talk to are those who’ve been through it themselves.”

He nods once. Not dismissively, but like he understands. And I feel a small victory for bringing up the meeting and not getting kicked out of Wes’s cabin with my suitcase tossed out behind me.

“I’ll think about it.” His voice is rough like gravel.

Time for a subject change. “Want to know what I’m thinking about right now?” My tone is playful, and Wes looks at me, a little spark back in those deep, dark eyes of his.

“What?”

“Breakfast. A big one, too. I hope you have something good in that kitchen.”

Wes turns his head sharply toward the homestead. “It’s Sunday…”

“Uh huh…”

“I have breakfast with my family on Sundays.”

“Oh.” My cheeks warm. “Well then,” I back away, offering him a lopsided smile as I go. “I’ll just change and get out of your hair.”

“I want you to come with me.”

I gulp. “I guess it would look good for them to see us together. Especially, you know, so early in the day. Hot and heavy, right?” The joke tastes bad in my mouth and I force myself not to wrinkle my nose.

Wes stares at me for a long moment, and I’d give almost anything to be able to see into that mind of his. “Right,” he says, drawing out the word. I know there is so much more behind that simple, one-word response.

“Should we talk about last night?” I blurt out. So much for keeping the good times rolling a little longer.

Wes hesitates, then says, “I suppose so.”

He watches me, waiting. I cross my arms and nod at him. “You talk first.”

“I guess we should decide what sleeping with each other meant, and what it means to our agreement, right?”

“Yes.”

Wes regards me for longer than I’d like, but at least he’s not stoic. If anything, he’s the very opposite of stoic. Expressions flit across his face. Squinting eyes, taut cheeks, twisting lips. It’s like he’s having an entire conversation in his head, teasing out every possible outcome like a game of chess.

Then he takes a step toward me. And two more, until only inches separate us. “I want the ranch, there’s no doubt about it. And I want to help you out, too. But last night did something to me.” He palms his chest. “You made space in here, and I feel like it’s easier to breathe.”

My pulse thrums at his admission.

His eyes stay focused on mine, but he reaches for me. His fingers skirt my wrist, slide up my forearm. It all feels… inevitable. Last night and right now, both are conclusions I should’ve seen coming. No matter what we did along the way, this was always going to be where we ended up.

His fingers feather up my arm, over my shoulder, down my side, sliding over the fabric of my T-shirt. He stops at my hip bone, his fingers digging in, pulling me until my body is flush with his. My skin is hot, a burning molten liquid, and I fill in every line of him until there is no way to tell us apart. His arm wraps around my lower back, holding me in place, while his other hand roams my hips, my side, my backside.

There’s an electric buzzing in the air, or maybe it’s just inside me but it’s so loud it feels like it’s all around us. My arms wrap around Wes’s shoulders, my fingernails skating the back of his neck. He shudders, and it reminds me of the tightening of his muscles when he came last night. I drag one fingernail up his neck, across his chin, landing on his bottom lip.

My breath is heavy, and the heat of his exhale seeps into my skin. He pulls my finger into his mouth and bites down gently. A low moan rolls around my throat. The buzzing in the air gets louder.

I take back my finger and brush my lips lightly against his. His gaze is dark and hot, and his heart beats furiously against my chest.

He must decide he’s finished with the prelude because his hand rises to cup the back of my head and he presses his lips to mine. He is sweet, and then not. Gentle, and then turbulent, and I’m matching him in every way. This