“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.”
― Zora Neale Hurston
~Jennifer~
Cletus exited the Piggly Wiggly like the hounds of hell were at our ankles. The suddenness of being thrown over his shoulder knocked the wind from my lungs and I gasped for air, unable to find purchase as I endeavored to cough. But I was never in danger of falling. Even though he moved swiftly, I didn’t budge or slip from his shoulder.
He carried us straight to the parking lot, set me in front of a car I didn’t recognize, then opened the passenger door.
“Get in,” he ordered, glancing over his shoulder.
I was dizzy, black spots moving in and out of my vision, but the time spent in the store—being tossed about by Drill and my brother and eventually Cletus—had finally registered in my brain.
“I’m not getting in.” I gasped, coughing, a surge of something dark and ferocious climbing to the surface and making my bones feel rigid and cold.
I was just so . . . I was just so incredibly angry. And I was tired of people telling me what to do.
“Dammit, woman, please get in the car.” Cletus pulled his fingers through his long hair.
“I’m not getting in your freaking car,” I screeched, shoving at his chest, needing to scream.
Cletus flinched, visibly startled by my outburst, but the very next moment he stepped into my space, bent his mouth to my ear, and said, “We are being watched by seven members of the Iron Wraiths—don’t look! They’re two rows over and behind me. I have just assaulted one of their brethren. You need to get in this car before Twilight emerges with his rearranged face or Tina screams bloody murder. I’m not going to force you to get in the car, but there’s no way I’m leaving you here.”
Sobering dread cut through my cloud of anger and my hands automatically lifted to Cletus’s arms, the feel of his solid strength beneath my fingertips reassuring.
He leaned a few inches away and glared down at me, his eyebrows raised just slightly. I could almost hear his voice in my head saying, “Get in the fucking car right goddamn now. Please.”
Without another word, I slid into the passenger seat and shut the door after me, hastily fastening my seatbelt. The urge to look at the bikers was strong, but I didn’t. Instead, I kept my eyes studiously affixed to the dashboard as Cletus rounded the back and entered the driver’s side.
He turned the engine, placed it in reverse, and pulled out of the spot like nothing was amiss. But then I heard a scream. Fright had me sucking in the breath as Tina Patterson’s form emerged from the grocery store and pointed at us.
“Get him! He knocked out Twilight! He’s taking his sister,” she bellowed, waving her arms.
Unable to help myself, I twisted in my seat and—to my horror—watched as the fleet of bikers glanced between Tina and us. Her words sunk in, spurring them into motion.
“Hold on.” Cletus peeled out of the parking lot, no need for clandestine maneuvers at this point, and set off at neck-breaking speed down the main thoroughfare. I did as instructed and held on to the door and the back of the bench, relieved I’d already buckled my seatbelt.
His car was fast, but it was big. And the bikers were more nimble on their motorcycles. Several cut across the lot, chasing at a diagonal when Cletus was forced to take a turn. Two were almost directly behind us, the others some distance back.
“My phone is in the glove compartment. I want you to call Duane and put him on speaker.” Given the situation, Cletus’s voice was remarkably calm. He split his attention between the rearview mirror and the road ahead.
With irritatingly shaking fingers, I fumbled for his phone.
“The password is one, zero, one, zero.”
I nodded, quickly typing it in, navigating to Duane in his contacts, and highlighting the speaker button.
The phone rang and I searched behind us. The two bikers hadn’t come any closer, because Cletus was driving like a maniac, still accelerating while he weaved through the sparse traffic.
“What’s up?” Duane answered on the third ring.
“Are you at the house?”
Duane hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m nearby.”
“How close?”
“Real close.”
“Listen to me. I have seven Wraiths on my tail, I can’t tell you why right now. I need your help.”
“Anything.” Duane didn’t hesitate, but his tone held an odd edge that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.
“My keys for the Buick are in the top drawer of my side table. Take the Buick to the end of the driveway, leave the lights off, and wait for me to drive by the house. I’m in its twin and will be there in approximately five minutes. After I drive past, pull onto Moth Run and turn on your lights. I’ll cut mine and take the side road behind the house. You lead them away.”
“Where do you want me to take them?”
“Lead these gentleman to the police station and get out of the car, so they can see they’ve lost me. They’ll back off when they see it’s you and where you are.”
“Or I could take them on a goose chase.”
“No. If they catch up, it won’t be good.”
“They won’t catch me.” Duane made a scoffing sound.
“Duane, just do as I say.” Cletus reached over and ended the call.
I gripped his phone and glanced anxiously at my side mirror. I didn’t say anything, because Cletus could likely see for himself, but one of the bikers was almost flanking my side. It was so dark, and I couldn’t decipher what the man was doing. He might’ve had a gun.
The next several minutes were terrifying, but I remained quiet, not wanting to distract him from what he needed to do. My heart was beating in triple time when the Winston place came into view, set back from the road and lit up like an old, stately mansion. The end of the driveway was dark, but I knew Duane would be there.
Cletus hit the accelerator and I was pressed back against the seat, my eyes on the side mirror. The motorcycles’ headlights diminished to small dots as he placed distance between us. Clearly they’d expected his destination to be the Winston house.
As soon as we passed the end of their drive, Cletus switched off his lights. Almost immediately after that, he slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel to one side, pulling onto a road I’d never noticed. Or maybe it wasn’t a road. Either way, it was too dark for me to see. We were surrounded by blackness and forest and the car jostled violently. For all I knew, we were about to hit a tree.
Rather than give voice to my uncertainty and fear, I rolled my lips between my teeth and braced.
The car came to an abrupt stop. He cut the engine and silence fell like a blanket around us. Then I heard the roar of a car engine pass, followed closely by the reverberations of several motorcycles. Less than a minute later I heard several more; they reached a crescendo, then began to fade. And then nothing.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, the suddenness of the sound startling me, and I listened as he did the same to mine. He reached for me, tugged me across the bench, and pulled me into a tight embrace. Cletus’s hands moved over my body as though he were searching.
I felt his heart hammer in his ribcage, the first real sign that he was anything less than calm and collected. Strangely, realizing that he wasn’t impervious to fear helped mine feel less cumbersome.
“Hey, hey.” I pulled away, just slightly because his arms wouldn’t let me go far. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” he returned, his hands coming to my face and tipping my chin back. I couldn’t see a thing, but I got the sense he could see me. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, then skimmed down the side of my neck, making me shiver. “That last stretch was rough on the shocks. You hurt?”
I shook my head, not quite able to speak because where I was—in the middle of nowhere—plus who I was with—the man I’d been thinking about non-stop—meant my body was responding and reacting in ways I didn’t have much control over.
Despite the lingering adrenaline, or maybe because of it, I couldn’t help notice the intimacy of our position. How I sat straddling his lap, how our chests were pressed together, how he smelled like mint and soap and aftershave and Cletus.
He released a breath; it fell over my face and sounded relieved. “Good. I didn’t know. You were so quiet. I can’t believe how quiet you were, the whole time you didn’t say a word.” I felt his eyes on me, but he remained in shadow. “Are you in shock?”
I shook my head again, sliding my hands from his shoulders to his biceps, liking how his muscles felt under my fingers. Touching him, feeling him beneath me, being surrounded by Cletus made my stomach twist and release, an aching warmth pooling low in my belly, between my legs.
“Cletus,” I whispered, climbing higher on his lap, wanting to press closer, wondering—quite suddenly—what his skin felt like. I wished—with equal suddenness—that the barrier of our clothes didn’t exist.
He grew very still and I sensed his breathing change. He could see me. Maybe he couldn’t see me perfectly, but he obviously could make out my features.
“Jenn . . .” My name was a low rumble, not quite a whisper, not quite a breath.
“I miss you,” I said, instinct had me rocking against him, trying to ease the ache at my center.
“Oh fuck, don’t do that.” He grabbed my arms as though to hold me still.
I didn’t want to hold still. I wanted to kiss him. So I did.
I covered his mouth with mine, shaking his grip from my arms as I wrapped them around his neck. At first he did nothing, but I didn’t care. He still tasted good, and his mouth was hot and soft and wonderful. I wanted him, so I took him. I swept my tongue out and licked him, like he’d done to me eleven days ago, loving how he parted lips and moaned in response.
Suddenly and quite forcefully, he was participating. He grabbed my ponytail and I gasped. He captured the sound of surprise, his tongue expertly loving mine, and he used his leverage to tilt my head to the side, opening me, consuming me with his kisses.
I felt him lengthen and harden against my inner thigh and my body shuddered in response. Unthinkingly, I pressed down, shifting my hips. His legs tensed, the muscles like granite, and he tore his mouth away.
“Jenn—”
“Don’t stop.” I know I’m not what you want, but don’t you dare stop.
I moved my fingers into his jacket, pushing it off, searching for his lips. Instead, I found the side of his face, but I didn’t care. I kissed his cheekbone, his jaw beneath his beard, and his neck.
“I’m not going to stop,” he growled, pulling his arms from his coat, sounding ill-tempered and impatient. His fingers immediately returned, digging into my backside.
I bit his neck again, liking the way he tasted, loving the texture of his skin on my tongue.
Cletus’s hands slid under the hem of my shirt, up the side of my waist to my ribcage, massaging and grabbing, each touch sending a thrill of nerves and awareness racing through me. Then higher, bunching the sweater under my arms, moving to cup me through my bra. I shivered and a short, hot breath of surprised wonder escaped me; he pulled my bra down and rubbed a tight circle around the center of my breast.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I chanted, arching, reaching for the clasp of my bra. “Touch me.”
I could offer no other direction, but that paltry demand seemed to be enough. With deft fingers, he unhooked my bra much faster than I ever could, and pushed my sweater and top over my head. He grasped my naked torso and brought his mouth to my breast.
My hips bucked at the sharp sensation of his teeth closing over my nipple, an instinctual movement. The aching heat had become a painful, restless thing.
“Shhhh,” Cletus said, blowing a cold breath over the wet patch left by his mouth, then scraping his teeth back and forth over the sensitive peak, sending a frenzied wave of goosebumps over my skin.
I tugged on his shirt, wanting the heat of his body. He lifted his arms obligingly, then immediately began lavishing my breasts with hungry, biting kisses, fondling and caressing with his big hands.
Everything felt so good. His mouth and hands felt essential. I could only push my fingers into his long hair and hold him to me, arching and straining for . . . something more.
As fantastic as this felt, it only served to increase my restlessness. “Cletus, touch me.”
“I am,” he said between frustratingly fantastic kisses.
“Please, Cletus. Please.” I couldn’t withstand this torture, this agonizing longing. I moaned, sucking in a needful breath followed by pleading words tumbling from my lips. He was holding back, I could sense his hesitation. I was dying and he gave me only raindrops to quench the thirst.
He stiffened, his hands moving to my sides and back. Hastily, he drew me from his lap.
I swallowed a groan of protest as he clamped a hand over my mouth and whispered, “Someone is outside.”
Cold fingers of fear unraveled the thread of desire, tugging me harshly back to reality. Deftly, he found my shirt and placed it in my hands while I strained to listen. A twig or a branch cracked. Leaves rustled and crunched under a booted foot. I held my breath and tugged the shirt over my head. It was too big. I was braless, swimming in soft cotton and the intoxicating smell of him. It was Cletus’s.
A flashlight moved through the trees, its beam passing over the car. But then it continued to move. They—whoever they were—hadn’t spotted us yet.
Then, Cletus’s phone rang.
He had it set to silent, so it buzzed and flashed. He lunged for it as though to reject the call, but then he stopped short, his frowning face illuminated by the small screen. His eyes lifted to the windshield, to the searching flashlight, then back to the phone.
He swiped his thumb across the touchscreen and brought the phone to his ear, whispering, “Hello?”
“Cletus It’s Jess. Where are you?”
I heard her voice in stereo, both dimly through the phone as well as distantly from outside the car.
He breathed out, switching the phone to his other ear.
“We see your flashlight. We’re not quite to the cabin, still on the side road.”
“We?” Her voice was still audible, and she made no attempt to lower it. The flashlight stilled, then moved in a slow, horizontal arc. “Who is with you?”
“We’ll come to you. Don’t move.” He removed the phone from his ear and ended the call, the screen fading to black.
“Cletus,” I fumbled for his hand, “I have to tell you something.”
The hand I searched for cupped my jaw just before he covered my mouth with a sweet, devastating kiss. His lips were amorous and cherishing; the slow slide of his tongue made me dizzy and breathless. I was reminded of drinking champagne two weeks ago at the talent show. Cletus left me fuzzy-headed and warm, wanting more.
Pressing our foreheads together, he said, “If you could just keep your thoughts to yourself for five minutes, I’d really appreciate it.”
“What? Why?” I asked automatically, covering his hand with mine.
“Give me five minutes to live the fantasy.”
I tried to see him, but it was too dark. His words sounded like a riddle and flooded my mind with questions.
Was I a fantasy? Or were we? Did that mean he wanted me? Or that we could only be together in a fantasy situation?
I cursed the dark, needing to see him to know better what he was thinking. My stomach fluttered with nerves, because—if we only had five minutes left in the fantasy—I wanted to kiss him again.
Before I could, I was blinded by the sudden beam of a flashlight shining directly into the car. I recoiled back and shielded my eyes, squinting at the shape hovering outside Cletus’s window.
“Dammit, Jess. I said we’d be right there.” Cletus released me and tugged his jacket out from behind him.
“What happened to your shirt, Cletus? And who is that with you? Are y’all making out? Did I interrupt?” The laughter in Jessica’s voice helped to ease my mortification.
Her light shone directly on him, dimly illuminating his body in high relief, and my gaze dropped to his naked torso. I felt my eyes widen, marking my surprise but also my appreciation.
I couldn’t help myself. I stared at him.
I don’t know what I thought he would look like without a shirt on, but the reality of his bare chest, arms, and abdomen affected me like another glass of champagne. He was . . . well, he was beautiful. I wanted to touch him again, and this time I wanted to do it in a well-lit room.
And I want him to lie perfectly still while I kiss and lick and touch and bite and do whatever I want to his gorgeous body.
“What’s wrong?”
The irritated edge to his words yanked me back to the present and I blinked at him, startled.
“Nothing is wrong,” I said too quickly.
Jess tapped impatiently on the glass of his window. “Come on, Cletus. Put the condom down and let me meet your lady friend.”
His gaze flickered to mine, then away, his expression grumpy but otherwise unreadable. “You’re going to pay for that, Jess.”
She laughed, the flashlight swinging away from the window. Actually, she cackled.
Cletus zipped his jacket to his neck and moved as though to exit. Remembering that I had on the wrong top, I reached for his hand.
“Wait. I’m wearing your shirt.”
“I know,” Cletus said, not looking me as he popped open the driver’s side door. “I wanted to see what you’d look like wearing it.”
***
“So . . .” Jessica was beaming. Her big brown eyes bounced between Cletus and me. “Good to see you, Jennifer,” she gushed. Again.
She’d brought us to her cabin—or Duane’s cabin, I didn’t quite know—and Cletus sat on one of the chairs adjacent to a small table. She asked us to remove our shoes, so we did, placing my heels and Cletus’s boots by the front door.
I sat on the second chair, the table between us, and tried not to twist my fingers while I stared at the dichotomy of our shoes: my high heels and his muddy work boots. For some reason the image of them together sent a thrill through me.
Meanwhile, Jess was sitting on the bed. The cabin was one room and quite small. Just the aforementioned table, two chairs, a bed, and a fireplace. It was cozy and meant for two. I liked it.
“Thank you. And thank you for your help.” I returned her big smile.
“Has Duane called?” Cletus—who wore his red and black-checkered jacket zipped over his bare chest—glanced at his phone. “He should have called by now.”
“He texted me before I left to find you. He made it to the station.”
Cletus nodded once, slipping his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “Good. That’s good.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened? Why were those bikers chasing you?” Jessica’s gaze bounced between us.
“They were upset I switched their tampons with Depends.” Cletus sounded so serious and reasonable, I almost believed him. And I’d been there.
“Cletus.” I shook my head and wrinkled my nose at him, then turned to Jessica. “My brother was there and he—” I swallowed, the words catching in my throat, so I cleared it. “He was being unpleasant. Cletus appeared and things escalated.”
“I punched him in the face,” he explained, his tone pragmatic like he’d just admitted to clipping his toenails. “Also, Tina says hi.”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “You punched Isaac?”
“I did.” Cletus nodded. “In the face. And Tina says hi.”
“Cletus, I don’t care about Tina,” Jess sputtered for a moment, blinking and frowning. Her gaze moved to me and softened with concern. “I guess Isaac must’ve been saying some real ugly things?”
“He did.” Cletus’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing just briefly. “But he won’t be saying much of anything for a bit. I think I broke his jaw.”
“Oh my God.” Jess covered her mouth and addressed her next question to me. “Are you okay? That couldn’t have been easy to see.”
“I’m okay. Just a little,” emotionally exhausted, “tired.”
She gave me a sympathetic nod and sighed. “Well, if y’all want to stay here, feel free.” Jessica stood and reached for her coat on the end of the bed. “The sheets are clean and there’s plenty of firewood.”
Heat crawled up my neck. My cheeks flared at her words. I couldn’t decide if her assumption—that Cletus and I were sleeping together—inspired embarrassment or pleasure. Either way, I felt hot, oddly delighted, and agitated.
Cletus stood and I stood in unison. Jess turned to us with a small smile.
“I’m glad you’re okay and I’m glad you called Duane.” She gave him a tight hug. “Sorry for giving you a hard time.”
“You’re not sorry.” He lifted an eyebrow at her as she pulled away.
“You’re right. I’m not.” Jessica shrugged, grinning.
“Hmm. Well, regardless, thanks for letting me borrow Duane’s driving skills.”
“You know he loves to help.” Jessica turned to me. “I’m sorry about your brother saying nasty things, but I’m glad Cletus was there to break his jaw.”
A small burst of laughter tumbled from my lips. I didn’t know how to feel about Isaac or his broken jaw. The things he’d said . . .
Her eyes moved over me, then she tsked and gathered me into a snug hug. “Let me know when y’all are ready for Big Todd’s. Duane and I don’t mind going back, whenever.”
My expression was both a smile of gratefulness and a frown of confusion as she pulled away. “What’s Big Todd’s?”
Her gaze jumped to Cletus then to mine, her eyes wider than before and her voice an octave higher. “Uh, it’s a shop. And, when you’re ready to go, just give me a call. Cletus has my number.” She tossed her thumb over her shoulder and walked backward to the door. “I have to get out of here now, before I’m late for the thing.”
With that Jessica turned and fled, shutting the door firmly behind her, and leaving us alone.
Completely and utterly alone.
. . . yep.
After a full minute, I slid my eyes to the side and up to his profile. He was staring at the door with a thoughtful frown, and his gaze appeared to be unfocused. My attention dropped to his neck, where his jacket met his bare skin. I licked my lips. Now I knew what his skin tasted like.
The evening had been a turbulent ride of emotion and crazy. I was tired, but I was also wired. And sad, because of Isaac. And elated, because of what had happened in the car with Cletus. But then, sad again, because . . . what did it mean?
I thought about the words he’d said to Billy at the restaurant in Nashville, while everyone was pretending not to listen. If it’s an empty, physical attraction, then there was no point in persuing a relationship with the person. Paired with his comment in the car moments ago, about living in the fantasy, my heart hurt at the possibility that Cletus didn’t much like me.
He liked the way I looked, the thrilling grope-fest moments ago had made that fact abundantly clear; but how he felt—or didn’t feel—about me as a person remained a mystery.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. His words at the Piggly Wiggly were still on my mind, but I hadn’t had the time to process them. Do you honestly think God would make a creature as lovely and talented and good as your sister, and then make the way she looks something sinful? Something to be ashamed of? No. He wouldn’t. If anything, your sister—her face, her body, her mind, and her heart—give glory to Him. And she shouldn’t be hidden. You don’t hide something that remarkable away from the world, like your parents have done, like you want to do. That’s the true sin.
Yet even though he’d said those lovely words in my defense, I wasn’t what he wanted. He’d made that abundantly clear.
Instinct and experience had me preparing my heart for rejection. But then a flare of anger surged and sent a spike of determination down my spine. I straightened, standing as tall as I could, and crossed my arms. I angled my chin, resolve chasing my fear away. I wasn’t going to twist myself into knots, try to be something I wasn’t. I wasn’t crying over him or anyone else.
I am who I am. I am who I’m becoming.
“I’d like to go home now,” I announced to the room.
Cletus flinched just slightly, as though I’d startled him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then turned to me. He didn’t touch me, just moved his eyes over my face as though it might’ve changed in the last hour.
“Jennifer,” he started, stopped, pressed his lips together, frowned, swallowed, then began again. “We need to talk.”
“Fine. Talk.”
He gathered a large breath and adopted his thoughtful frown, it was the face he used when delivering bad news. “Here are the facts: you and I aren’t suited, but I—”
“Fine. I’d like to go home now.” I lifted my chin higher, calm detachment permeating every syllable. My heart hardened further, growing cold in my chest. If he didn’t like me for who I was, then . . . he can keep his bull, because the cow just died.
“Wait. I’m not finished.”
“I don’t care.”
“Hear me out.” His frowned deepened, looking more genuine, and his hand rose to my arm as though to hold me in place.
I shook off his fingers and took a step back. “No, I will not hear you out. I will not stand here and listen to you tell me that we were just practicing, or that we’re not suited, or that you don’t feel for me what I so clearly feel for you. So save the shit for your garden and drive me home.”
Something sharpened behind his eyes as they narrowed on me, and he gained the step I’d placed between us. “What do you feel for me?”
“None-none of your business,” I stammered, the look in his eye unnerving, “Now either you take me home, or back to my car, or—”
“I hypothesize that you’re in love with me.”
My mouth fell open. “Pardon?”
“You’re in love with me.” He nodded, like I’d said the words.
I stared at his handsome face, gawking. My mind now completely devoid of thought because he’d chased it away with his hypothesis.
“I’ll take your silence as an implicit agreement.” Cletus’s voice lowered an octave and he gained another step forward, his eyes on my lips.
“You-you-you will do no such thing.” I backed away. “I’m not in love with you.”
. . . am I?
I shook my head, scrunching my face with frustration. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to be having this conversation.
“Really?” His gaze grew softer, his voice echoed the gentle and vulnerable quality of his eyes. “Because I’m in love with you.”
My mouth dropped open. Then it closed. Then it opened again. An explosion of sensations rocked me back on my heels. Those were not the words I’d expected him to say. Not at all.
Not ever
All the air left my lungs on a whoosh and frenzied heat slid up my neck and chest. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand you,” I whispered, shaking my head, rejecting his words while attempting to make sense of the moment.
We’re not well suited
Confusion clouded my vision, I couldn’t see.
“I’m not surprised. I’m not very understandable,” he said softly. “But understand this.” Cletus captured my chin with deft fingers and lifted it. I braced myself, preparing for whatever handsome assault he had planned, then met his eyes.
My knees wobbled. The way he was looking at me, at my mouth . . . Good Lord!
I swayed, feeling light-headed. He was going to kiss me again. And this time, looking into his eyes, I surmised the only thing stopping us from consummating our bewildering relationship was me. And I didn’t want to stop us.
“What are you doing?” I flattened my hands on his chest.
“You know what I’m doing,” he grumbly whispered, sending a wave of white-hot loveliness and tension through my body, making my toes curl.
I shook my head, panic and hope picking fights with each other, causing a ruckus. “I don’t. I honestly do not.”
“Then let me show you.”
“Cletus.” I bent my head to the side but maintained eye contact, moving my hands to grip is biceps. “I’m not made for this.”
“What’s that?”
“For love.” The words were out before I could catch them, before I knew I was going to say them.
I immediately regretted my honesty because his eyes both gentled and hardened. “I beg to differ. I propose it’s exactly what you’re made for.” An edge of anger entered his voice.
Giving into my panic, I blurted, “Because that’s what would happen. I would fall in love with you and then you’d break my heart.”
“I can’t break your heart without breaking mine, and I’m terribly fond of my heart.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to separate the act from the feeling. I can’t treat it like a sport. I’m going to burn the toast.”
He nodded thoughtfully, as though considering my words, his hand sliding down my back to cup my bottom; he rubbed my backside from hip to thigh, then squeezed.
“I’m good with that.” His tone was maddeningly pragmatic.
I moaned as he pressed my body to his and I felt the evidence of his desire. “Be serious, Cletus.”
“I am serious, Jenn. I need to finish what I started when we were prematurely interrupted earlier. Nothing is going to happen tonight beyond some serious touching.” He paused, then tilted his head to the side in a considering manner. “Depending on what your definition of ‘serious’ is.”
“This is not a game!”
He loosened his grip, his eyes turning earnest but no less desirous. “You’re not a game to me.”
“Then what am I to you, Cletus? Because you can’t possibly expect me to believe that you’re in love with me,” I scoffed, shaking my head.
But then he looked at me.
Just simply looked.
And I blinked my surprise.
The many different “Cletuses” fell away. No artifice, no mind games, no jokes, no walls—it was just the man. The raw truth of him—of his soul—was beautiful. It was precious to me.
He was precious to me.
“You want to know what you are to me? Fine. You’re my beginning, middle, and end.”
The words hit me square in the chest, through the heart, straight to my soul.
Our gazes clashed and held. I gasped for air, tears stinging behind my eyes one moment, then leaving hot trails down my cheeks the next.
Unable to help myself, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.