Page 113 of Thirst For Me
Then he takes my hand and draws me into the house, shutting the door.
“Leaving. Now?”
“Yeah. Tonight. Cutie Fruitie is done, so ...”
“I thought we had two more days.” He searches my eyes. “You aren’t leaving until Tuesday ...”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “Why haven’t you come to talk to me?”
He runs a hand through his wet hair. “I tried. I barely saw you all week. Every time I get a glimpse of you, you’re running in the other direction. Kind of feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Kind of feels like you don’t want to tell me the truth.”
“What truth?”
“I’m not in business with you, I know. But I did make a proposal that I thought you might actually take seriously. If nothing else, you could’ve given me a response after giving it some thought.”
“I was going to.Shit.” He struggles, like maybe he’s trying to find the gentlest way of letting me down. “It’s not going to work, Sierra. I gave it some thought. I really did. And you’re right, I never reallylooked at it quite that way before. Working with June never seemed like an option. And maybe it would be, if she’d actually consider it.”
“She won’t?”
“I spoke to her yesterday. There’s no way. She won’t work with Tommy, no matter how I present it to her. And working with me means working with him. My grandpa and I own all our businesses together, with Layne. And even if the restaurant is a separate venture, even if I sell off the bar to invest in Pier Seven, the money still comes from the same place. The way June sees it, that money is tainted.”
“Because of your grandpa?” I consider this. “And you’re sure there’s no old feelings still brewing between them or something? Because it sure sounds like it. Who holds a grudge that long over nothing?”
“It’s definitely not nothing.” He sighs, looking weary as hell. “But I don’t think it’s what you think it is. Land, property, money ... it makes people do crazy shit. Wage wars that last ... well, generations.”
“Yeah.” My gaze drifts down his naked chest. “So ... you were just gonna wait until the last possible moment to tell me this? Shout it at me as I drove away down the highway?”
He groans.
I allow a small smile to play at my lips.
“Maybe,” he admits. “Probably, yeah. Fuck.” He rubs his face. “I’m sorry. I’m shit at this.” His eyes lock on mine, blue, endless. “I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“How to say goodbye,” he says, then swallows.
“Me, neither,” I say softly.
Then I reach for him. His solid shoulders, his neck, the thick, silken hair at his nape. I don’t have to pull him to me. He’s here,his mouth claiming mine, his tongue delving inside, his hands in my hair.
I kiss him like it might be the last time, and I don’t want him to forget.
He picks me up and carries me up to his bedroom. There, he strips off my clothes. His touch is reverent, his eyes relishing every glimpse in the near-dark.
I peel off his towel, and we fall together on the bed.
When he fills me, the high I feel is like nothing else.
The way he rocks into me with hunger and need. The way his hands move over my body. The way he inhales my scent and tastes my skin.
