“Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
~Cletus~
Perhaps I was being selfish.
In fact, I was being selfish.
It was too much to ask of a person—to be my salvation, to teach me how to have faith, to balance my world-weary view with rainbows and sunshine and gardening in overalls—but . . .
Oh well.
Too late for second-guessing. I was in love with the woman.
Consequently, she was stuck with me. She wasn’t ready for marriage yet, and that was okay. I would wait. I might ask her to marry me once a month until she said yes, but otherwise I would be the epitome of virtuous fortitude and patience.
Maybe not strictly virtuous.
Sporadic virtue would do the trick, with frequent episodes of impertinence and indulgence . . . unwrapping of presents.
Also stuck with me, my family.
So while Jennifer was still upstairs in Ashley’s old room, asleep on Thursday morning, I called a family meeting.
“Who made this coffee?” Roscoe called from the kitchen
“Cletus did.” Duane sat next to me on the couch and sipped from his mug.
Roscoe strolled out the kitchen, mugless. “Then, no thanks.”
“Really? You’re going to be judgy with Cletus about his coffee right now?” Billy smirked at our youngest brother.
Roscoe crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care what he’s going through. I ain’t drinking his coffee. It smells like fish oil and tar.”
“Praise for my excellent coffee notwithstanding, I have something serious to discuss with y’all.” I sat forward on the couch, wanting to get to the point.
Roscoe had arrived late last night for the wedding festivities, which were set to commence this evening, starting with the bachelor party. All siblings were present.
I’d purposefully excluded Drew, because—as a federal game warden—he was law enforcement. I didn’t want him to feel any conflict of interest. Best to leave him in the dark.
It was time for me to share my proverbial burdens.
“Let’s hear it.” Ashley drank from her coffee mug, then smacked her lips. “My, my, that is some mighty fine coffee.”
Roscoe rolled his eyes, but ignored our sister.
I stood and crossed to the mantel, addressing the room. “I have two things to tell y’all. The first is a . . . theoretical situation, and I need your advice. I’d like for all of us to vote.”
“You want us to vote on a theoretical situation?” Duane, also drinking my coffee, frowned at me.
“That’s right.”
My siblings shared a sundry array of glances, most were wide-eyed and either confused or concerned.
Billy, sitting in Grandma Oliver’s favorite chair, folded the newspaper he’d been reading and set it to the side. “Okay. What is this theoretical situation?”
I cleared my throat, knowing this was the correct course of action. And yet, I hated losing control. I hated handing this over and not having a clear idea of what the future held. But Jennifer’s words the previous day had hit home. I’d been so busy trying to save my siblings, I hadn’t stopped to check in with them.
What did they want?
“Let’s say, theoretically, that I’ve been stealing evidence from the sheriff’s office that implicates members of a certain motorcycle club and placing that evidence in strategic locations.”
Again, my family traded looks.
Beau was the first to speak. “What does that mean? Why would you do that?”
“Because a RICO charge requires at least two acts of racketeering activity.”
The room fell silent. Coffee mugs everywhere halted halfway to mouths, and those mouths fell open.
“Oh my God!” Ashley gaped at me: part horrified, part proud. “What did you do?”
“RICO? You’re taking them down on a RICO charge?” Billy looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or shout.
“In this theoretical scenario, the stolen evidence will be found in the possession of low-ranking motorcycle club members along with exceptionally well-organized lists detailing names, places, and events of their racketeering activities. All information contained on these lists is entirely accurate. Just, you know, now well organized.”
“You set them up.” Duane gave me a thoughtful glare. “You organized their chaos, didn’t you? You helped them look better so every member will come under an organized crime charge.”
“That wipes them out.” Roscoe gazed at me with wonder, then huffed a shocked laugh. “That completely annihilates the Wraiths. Anyone associated with them goes to prison, all on the same charge.”
“It’s not the Wraiths. It’s a theoretical motorcycle club,” Beau corrected, smirking. Then he laughed. “I’m so happy you don’t hate me.”
My brothers and sister ended up staring into space, each lost to their own thoughts. I gave them a full minute to think the issue over. But a minute was all I could stand.
“So,” I said loudly, startling them out of their contemplations, “let’s take the vote.”
“What vote?” Duane looked to Beau, as though checking to see if he’d missed something.
“I want y’all to vote on whether I see this plan through. Everything is in place. All I need to do is make a phone call.” I glanced around the room, seeing they understood the situation. “It’s up to you.”
“It’s up to us?” Beau sounded truly perplexed. “Since when? Since when is it up to us?”
“Since he fell in love and realized meddling comes with a price tag.” Jethro set his coffee mug to one side and picked up his knitting. I noticed he was making a baby hat; it was yellow and it looked soft.
“Isaac Sylvester,” Billy said, drawing my attention to him. “You don’t want to pull the trigger because of Isaac.”
I shook my head and answered honestly. “No. That’s not it. He has to take responsibility for his own actions and their ramifications, just like I do. Just like everybody does.” Quoting Jennifer was strangely satisfying.
“That sounded very wise.” Ashley narrowed her eyes on me, heavy with suspicion.
“Then why do we get a vote?” Duane the Distrustful also squinted at me.
“Because I’m doing this because of y’all. Well, that’s not quite true. I’m doing it for me—because I’d like to see Darrell’s face when he realizes everything he ever cared about is destroyed—but I’m also doing it for all of you.”
Six sets of eyes stared at me, but it was Billy who cast the first vote.
“I say yes. Take them down.” He stood, glaring at me, his jaw ticking. His vote was not a surprise.
“I also say yes,” Duane put in, swapping a stare with Billy. “I hope they all burn in hell.”
“I say no.” Beau glanced between Duane and me. “I say let things happen naturally. If the law has evidence against them, let them use it. I don’t want any of us to be implicated. Let them make their own bed. It has nothing to do with us.”
“I agree with Beau.” Ashley nodded. “They’ll shoot themselves in the foot sooner or later. It has nothing to do with us. I don’t like you being involved, Cletus. What if it comes back to you?” The concern in her tone warmed my heart. I loved my sister. She was an angel. A beautiful, infuriating angel.
“I’m against it.” Roscoe finally spoke up. “For all the reasons Beau and Ashley said. Plus, I know some of those new recruits. I went to high school with several of those guys. They’re not bad, they’re just lost. They shouldn’t be held accountable for the actions of guys like Razor and Dirty Dave—those two are psychos.”
I nodded, making a mental tally. Duane and Billy were for my plan; Beau, Ashley, and Roscoe were against. Everyone must’ve been counting in their heads because Jethro became the focus of the entire room.
And he must’ve felt our stares because he gathered a large inhale, yet kept his eyes studiously on his knitting.
“Jethro?” I prompted. “How do you vote?”
He shook his head. “I abstain.”
“What?” Duane growled, glancing between our oldest brother and me. “What do you mean you abstain?”
“I mean I abstain. I’m not voting.”
“Why the hell not?” Again, thank you for your input, Duane of sunshine and rainbows.
“Because I’m the deciding vote.” The sharpness and intensity of Jethro’s voice took us all by surprise. He lowered his knitting and glared at Duane, speaking through clenched teeth. “And I hate those motherfuckers more than you. More than any of you.” His gaze swung to Billy and their eyes held. “But I’m not going to allow hate to make my decisions. If I voted, I would vote to destroy them all. So I can’t vote. Because I’m not that person anymore.”
Silence hung like a noose around our necks while Billy and Jethro traded glares. But Billy was the first to look away.
“Fine. You have your answer, Cletus.” He swallowed once, then sat back down in his chair.
“Stalemate means no one wins.” I twisted my lips to the side, considering how to proceed.
“Just leave it where it is.” This suggestion came from Beau and everyone turned their attention to him. “Leave the evidence where it is, if you can. Then, if you need it, if you need the leverage, you have it.”
Jethro huffed a laugh and shook his head. “You know, Beau. You’re a lot more like Cletus then you let on.”
“Thank you.” Beau grinned at me. “In light of recent events, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Beau’s point was a good one. Insurance against the Wraiths, against their influence and violence wasn’t a bad thing. I still needed to meet with Repo about the unpleasantness with Isaac last Friday. Knowing I was just a phone call away from taking down the entire organization wasn’t a bad bargaining position.
When the time came to make the call—and I felt a level of confidence that sooner or later the time would come—it had to be right. I had other considerations now. I had Jennifer, my Jennifer. I couldn’t keep manipulating people, not caring about the consequences. I didn’t want my machinations to adversely affect her.
She was my priority.
“What was the second thing?” Ashley asked softly, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
The second thing?
The second thing.
I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the abrupt wave of sorrow to wash over me, and then retreat. But it didn’t retreat. I needed more time to prepare. The first thing—the Wraiths and their downfall—was the easy thing. This . . . this was the tricky thing.
“Cletus?” Ashley pressed, sounding worried.
I didn’t have more time. The time was now.
I opened my eyes. I didn’t lift them beyond the carpet, I couldn’t.
“Darrell Winston had a third family.”
As expected, this news was met with a void of stunned nothingness. The stillness was so complete, it was deafening, and it propelled me to speak.
“Darrell had another son.”
Ashley made a sound, a quick intake of air, but nothing else.
I continued, surprised by how difficult this was to say. “His name was Eric and he died. He died of cancer. I found out two years ago, after he’d passed. I thought y’all should know.”
Curiously, my eyes stung. And this was curious because I’d never shed a tear over the loss of the brother I’d never met. I was not opposed to crying, I just didn’t do it often. I cried when my momma died. The wails and sobs were cathartic, until they weren’t. So I’d stopped.
But Eric, it didn’t feel right to cry on account of his passing. He’d never been mine to mourn. He’d been lost to me, lost to all of us, before I’d known he existed.
Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and I looked up to find Duane walking toward me. Unexpectedly, he pulled me into a hug. After a short moment I moved to pull away, but he held me tighter, squeezed me tighter, and wouldn’t let me go.
Jethro stood next and walked over to us, along with Roscoe and Ashley. Their arms came around us and each other, Ashley burying her head against my neck and breathing, as though breathing me in, and holding me in her lungs as though confirming that I was still here and alive.
Beau and Billy joined soon after, Billy ruffling my hair and squeezing the back of my neck, drawing my attention to him. Our eyes met and I almost lost it because I’d seen pictures of Eric and he’d looked like Billy. He’d looked like Ashley. He looked like my family, like a brother.
Looking at this brother who I loved, no matter how much I tried to ignore and reason away the pain, I realized I’d lost a brother. We’d all lost him.
Roscoe was the first one to sniffle. The unexpected sound drew light laughter from the rest of us.
“Aw, come here.” Ashley separated from the group and folded Roscoe in her arms. She sniffled too.
“This is shitty news, Cletus,” Duane said, making us all laugh again. “When are you going to share some good news?”
Billy gave Duane a small, indulgent smile, then moved his eyes to me. “Any more secrets, Cletus?”
I paused, meeting his searching gaze, debating how to respond.
I loved my family and I missed my momma. I would miss Duane when he left. I missed the brother I never knew. Some burdens were meant to be shared, those that centered on loss and love.
But some burdens were not meant to be shared.
Eventually, I shook my head. “None that I want to share.”
And that was the truth.
I thought back to my good friends in the sheriff’s office, officers Dale and Evans and the mechanizations I’d put into place to ensure Darrell Winston would always be within my grasp. His fate was at my whim, as it should be.
I’d allowed my siblings to vote on what happened with the Wraiths, and I would respect their decision. Taking down the Wraiths was for my family.
But taking down Darrell Winston . . . well, that was for me.
***
No one expects an eighty-five-year-old Navy SEAL stripper. No one. And that was the beauty of George.
However, actions have consequences, and as of today—today being the day after Jethro’s bachelor party—my brothers weren’t speaking to me. Collectively, all attendees of the bachelor party had come to an implicit accord: I was the enemy.
Consequently, I decided it would be best to make myself scarce.
Jenn had spent the previous day baking Jethro and Sienna’s wedding cake. Then she’d spent the evening at Sienna’s bachelorette party. She appeared to be in good spirits when I found her early in the morning on Friday, reading a book in my momma’s library.
Jenn had been staying at the homestead in Ashley’s old room, but she told me yesterday before the parties that she was determined to move into Claire’s as soon as possible, ideally by tonight.
Setting out early, we swung by the auto shop and picked up the Ford 360 we usually used to tow car trailers. We spent the day in Knoxville picking up supplies for her new place, including a few furniture items. Claire had taken about a quarter of her things when she’d moved to Nashville over the summer, leaving large items like the kitchen table and chairs, a big sofa, and an oversized recliner. The house had just needed a bed and a bed frame, a dresser, and side tables.
An efficient shopper, Jenn had known exactly what she wanted and how much she wanted to spend. I fought the urge to clandestinely pay for her purchases. I wanted to be supportive and part of being supportive—to me—meant providing material support. But when I saw the pleasure she derived from buying her new things with her own money, I didn’t argue the point.
I couldn’t.
It made her happy.
So I learned to support her in a different way.
After dropping the furniture off at Claire’s place—now Jenn’s place—we were running ahead of schedule. Jenn suggested we go to Daisy’s Nut House for a late afternoon snack, careful not to spoil our appetites as we had the rehearsal dinner in a few hours. A piece of pie or two doughnuts at Daisy’s sounded just right.
“Can I tell you something funny?” Jenn slid onto the stool at the counter and I motioned for the server.
“How funny is it?” I asked, not yet sitting.
“Why?”
“Because I have to go to the bathroom a little bit and I don’t want to pee my pants.”
Jenn laughed, scrunching her face at me like I had a screw loose, and it was cute. “Go to the bathroom then, you nut. I’ll order your pie.”
“Also order doughnuts. I can’t decide which I want.”
“Fine. Doughnuts and pie.” She waved me off, moving her smile and attention to the server who’d approached to take our order.
I made quick work of my business, and turned to leave after washing my hands, but was forced to stop short. In fact, I was forced to take a step back.
“Cletus Winston.” Repo gave me a sly grin, or at least a grin he thought was sly. These days his smile was looking forced. Nevertheless, forced or not, his grin was crooked, framed by his salt and pepper beard, and the curve of his mouth reminded me a lot of Jessica James.
My attention darted between the three men who’d just invaded the men’s room. Repo, Catfish, and Dirty Dave—three of the highest ranking members of the Iron Wraiths—stood in my path, blocking the door to the bathroom.
Jennifer.
My first thought was of Jenn, sitting on her own at the counter, and a spike of worry for her well-being had me quickly assessing my chances of fighting all three men at once.
But then reason prevailed.
Daisy’s place was extremely public. If memory served, and it always did, the diner was at least seventy-five percent full of customers. My woman was safe just so long as these guys didn’t become desperate.
“Uncle Repo,” I said cheerfully, and returned his smile, but mine was neither crooked nor sly, nor was it genuine. “I thought we were going to meet next week.”
“There’s no time like the present, Cletus. Your daddy taught me that.”
“Catfish wants retribution for what you did to his prospect’s face.” Dirty Dave’s gleefully raspy announcement had me glancing at Catfish.
The big man looked pissed.
I nodded once, a somber nod, and stroked my beard. “If we’re going to talk about this now, then so be it.”
“I don’t know if there needs to be much talking,” Repo cut in. “Just an eye for an eye, and all that. Too bad. You always did have a pretty face.”
“Sure, sure.” I nodded agreeably. “In that case, where’s Catfish’s old lady so I can manhandle her and call her a whore?”
The three men started, frowning at me and glancing at each other.
“Come again?” Catfish asked in his deep baritone, glaring at me like I’d sprouted goat horns.
“If we’re going to engage in true retribution—an eye for an eye and all that—then let’s do it right. Isaac Sylvester grabbed my woman, shook her, then called her a whore. So I knocked him out. Now,” I rubbed my hands together, “I’m ready to meet Catfish’s fist, but let’s do this right.”
Repo frowned at me, his eyes moving over my person as though searching for the truth of my claim, then turned to Catfish. “What’s all this?”
Catfish shook his head, appearing equally stunned. “Twilight won’t say what happened—”
“’Course he can’t, his jaw is wired shut.” Dirty Dave scratched his jaw, as though experiencing sympathy pains.
Catfish continued, “But Tina didn’t mention any of this.”
“Tina wouldn’t mention it because Tina only cares about Tina.” I shrugged.
Repo cast a narrowed glare over me. “You’re saying that Banana Cake girl—”
“She’s a queen, not a girl.”
He huffed impatiently. “Her majesty of bananas is your woman?”
I gave an affirmative head bob.
The three men traded stares, silently communicating with their eyeballs. This time I didn’t mind.
Catfish’s eyes cut to mine. “If that’s the case, if this is true, then I see no need for retribution. No one touches my woman and calls her a whore. Ever.”
And there it was: loyalty.
I studied the big man, surprised and impressed by his reasonableness. We might never be friends or even friendly acquaintances, but I could understand the desire to belong to something bigger, to have brothers, people who were loyal and had your back.
Suddenly, the decision my family had made, when I’d put the Iron Wraith’s fate to a vote, felt like the right one. These guys were criminals. They weren’t all evil, but they did bad things.
If they threatened me or my people, then we’d have the means to defend ourselves. If they didn’t, then the choices they made would determine the road they were on, as well as the pitfalls along the way.
Repo nodded slowly, glancing between Catfish and me.
“I guess we’ll be going.” Dirty Dave pouted, turning for the bathroom door and leaving in a huff. Clearly he’d been itching for a fight, but Dirty Dave was always itching for a fight.
In an extremely anticlimactic move, Catfish gave me one more head nod, then followed Dave out of the men’s room, leaving me to stare after the big man and the mysterious case of his vanishing murderous intentions.
Repo moved to follow, but a notion I’d held for some years made me stop him. And an idea.
“Repo, before you go . . .”
He twisted to look at me, a question written on his typically slippery features, his grip on the handle still holding the door ajar. I studied him a bit closer, noting the shape of his eyes, the lines of his nose and chin.
Based on this hunch, I said, “Jessica James is leaving next week for Italy.”
He winced. It was a subtle movement, but I was looking for it, so I caught it.
“Off to travel the world. She and Duane, they’ll be gone for a long time. They don’t know when they’re coming back.”
Repo let the door close and turned back to me, his dark eyes shuttered, and lifted his chin. “Why’re you telling me this?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling charitable.”
His glare narrowed on me.
“Okay, maybe I want a favor,” I corrected.
“Why would I give you a favor for telling me about . . . about Ms. James?”
A slow grin spread over my features and I watched the older man swallow. “You know why.”
Something flashed behind his dark eyes, but he said nothing.
Taking his silence as implicit agreement, I announced, “I want Isaac Sylvester to visit his sister, apologize for being hateful, and be nice to her.”
Repo stared at me, waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he frowned. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He shook his head slowly. “No. That’s not it. You’ve got something up your sleeve. You always do.”
I clutched my chest as though the accusation wounded me. “Uncle Repo!” and then I added with a respectful head tilt and mock sincerity, “. . . I’m flattered.”
He smirked, squinting and turning for the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”
***
After the rehearsal dinner—during which my brothers continued to feign ignorance of my existence—I drove Jennifer home.
Home.
The thought pained me.
Tonight I would leave her. She would stay, and she would be at her home.
At some point over this last week I no longer considered the Winston homestead my home. Not anymore. Not when my woman dwelled elsewhere.
As much as I wanted her home to be my home, if Jenn was going to live anywhere on her own, I was glad she’d chosen Claire’s place. The house was basically a fortress.
Jethro and Mr. McClure—Claire’s father-in-law—had taken extra measures to ensure the place was safe. It had two panic rooms, one on each floor, an alarm and surveillance system with three redundancies, and only three entry points. Every window could sustain anything from a hurricane to a bullet. They were shatterproof. All outside doors had double dead bolts and were steel, as were the door frames.
These were my thoughts as I drove, until Jennifer interrupted the silence with a softly spoken announcement. “My mother called me during the rehearsal dinner. That’s why I excused myself.”
I split my attention between her profile and the road. “Did she?” I knew Jenn had received a call, but I didn’t know who it had been from.
“She did.” Jenn nodded, pulling out her phone. “I told you about how I talked to her on Wednesday? How I told her I wouldn’t be going back to work until we’d finalized an employment agreement? And I told her about my father?”
“Yes.” I braced myself, because her voice sounded sorrowful.
“She’s sending me the agreement on Monday to review. And she’s decided to leave my father.”
We arrived at a stoplight and I took the opportunity to scrutinize her more closely. Ruining her father was still a priority for me. Whatever Diane Donner-Sylvester required in order to ensure Kip never saw a cent of the Donner family legacy, I would do it. This news, about her mother leaving the man, was a good first step.
“What can I do?” I asked, needing to help, needing to make things better for her.
Her extraordinary eyes glittered in the darkness. “Just love me.”
“You got it.”
We were silent for a moment and I turned onto her road before she offered philosophically, “I want you to know that I’m not angry with you anymore for blackmailing my father and trying to control the situation. But I’m glad he told me about it. I’m glad he thought you were bluffing. Because now I’m free of him.”
Her words hit me straight through the heart. I blinked, off-kilter, and readjusted my grip on the steering wheel.
“I’m glad you’re free of him,” I agreed, “but I wish I’d told you from the beginning and made the choice yours, instead of trying to make it for you.”
I caught her smiling at me out of the corner of my eye. “I know. And I wish I didn’t continue to feel loyalty to a man who has treated me badly my entire life.”
“That’ll fade,” I said with certainty, because I knew. I hadn’t always despised my father and I certainly didn’t feel any loyalty to the bastard now.
“I hope so.”
I shifted in my seat and switched on the blinker, pulling into her driveway. “Uh, by the way, I meant to tell you earlier at Daisy’s, I had a discussion with Repo and Catfish about Isaac.”
“Who are Repo and Catfish?”
“Two big deals in the Iron Wraiths.”
“You did?”
“Yes. The Wraiths aren’t looking for retribution for what happened last Friday. Not anymore. So that’s resolved.”
“That’s good.” She sounded relieved and I was pleased to remove any lingering concern about the episode from her mind.
“You said you wanted to know when or if I took action on your behalf, so I need to tell you something else.”
Her hand came to my knee, warm and comforting. “Oh? What did you do?”
“I requested Isaac pay you a visit, apologize for being hateful, and make an attempt to mend fences.” My eyes flickered to hers as I parked in front of Claire’s—now Jennifer’s—house.
She was staring in my direction, but I doubted she was really looking at me.
“If Isaac wanted to know me, Cletus, then he would have come to me before now.”
Her tangible grief made me want to beat the crap out of Isaac Sylvester. Again.
“Maybe,” I said, “maybe not. Maybe he’s lost and needs the love of a good woman to help guide him out of his foolish decisions.”
She cracked a smile, teasing, “You mean like you and me?”
“Exactly.” I covered her hand on my knee and slid it higher.
Lips parting in surprise, Jenn’s eyebrows jumped and she grinned, visibly delighted.
“Let’s go inside.” Her voice was husky. I liked it.
“Sounds like an excellent idea.” I bolted from the driver’s seat, the sound of her laughter chasing me, and jogged around the hood to her door.
I helped Jenn from the car, stepped forward, and swept her into my arms.
“Cletus.” She both scowled and smiled at me, shaking her head and winding an arm around my neck. “My feet are fine.”
Jennifer’s feet had mostly healed, but I still planned to use them as an excuse to carry her everywhere, whenever possible. Holding her in my arms was one of my favorite states of being.
“I don’t want to take any chances. Get your keys out.”
She pulled her keys from her purse and rested her head against my shoulder as I climbed the stairs.
“This certainly was an interesting evening.”
I nodded my agreement, but said, “It isn’t over yet.” I bent slightly so she could unlock the deadbolts.
Door unlocked, we crossed the threshold; I shut the door with my foot and she flipped the locks, kicking off her shoes.
“Where to now?” I asked, turning left, then right. “To the kitchen? Or to the living room?”
“I think I’d like to lay down.” Jenn snuggled closer, wrapping both arms around my neck and placing a kiss on my neck. “How about the bedroom?”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I carried her up the stairs and to her room, flicking on the light. She sighed, placing more kisses on my neck, one of her hands moving to the buttons of my shirt and undoing the first three. She was wearing a blue dress that looked like a long sweater, except it wasn’t baggy. It hugged her curves just right and had been driving me crazy all night.
“This dress,” I said, placing her gently on her feet in front of her bed, “it wants to come off.”
“Does it?” She grinned up at me, continuing her work on the buttons of my shirt.
“It does.” I frowned at the material, not certain how to proceed because I hadn’t spotted a zipper.
She placed a kiss on my collarbone, pushing off my jacket and encouraging it to fall to the floor. Then she tugged at my undershirt.
“Cletus, I miss your touch,” she whispered, pressing her body to me and brushing her lips against mine. “Won’t you touch me?”
I nodded, entranced as usual by this woman. I slid my hands under her skirt, relishing the silky skin of her thighs. Jennifer lifted her arms and I took the hint, removing the dress as one would remove a sweater, pushing it over her head.
This left Jenn standing before me in her bra and underwear, a sublimely luscious temptation.
Before explicitly telling my brain to do so, I’d unhooked her bra and bent to savor her breasts, filling my hand with one and my mouth with the other. I kneaded and massaged her flawless skin, tugging and twisting her nipple. She moaned and her breath hitched, the sounds driving me mad. Jenn slid her fingers into my hair, pressing on the back of my head, arching to get closer.
We were alone. In her home. And I wanted her. Very badly.
My lungs burned and my veins throbbed with how badly I wanted her, this woman. My woman.
Times like these, it was difficult not to take advantage. Times like these, my baser instincts fought to seize control, pushing me to tease her, leverage the advantage of my experience until she begged me to ease and fill her ache.
I wanted every inch of her perfect body. As my control slipped, I convinced myself I needed it. I needed her, to possess her, to claim her. The need gripped and suffocated me . . .
“I love you,” she whispered as her hands slipped under my shirt. She smoothed her palm from my chest to my stomach, curling her fingers into the waistband of my pants.
Her words, her confession of love, sobered me. I stilled my movements, waiting for the frenzy of recklessness to recede.
Her home was not yet my home. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
I may have wanted to possess her, but I didn’t need it. I needed to love her, not possess her. And she needed my love, not my trickery. Not my control.
So I breathed out. I did not possess her. I did not push her.
Instead, I eased her back to the bed, drawing the only remaining scrap of fabric down her legs, leaving her naked and vulnerable and stunning and shivering.
Lifting my greedy stare from her body—this body I coveted with raw desperation—I met her extraordinary eyes. On the floor before her I knelt, spreading her legs, and witnessed the beauty of her trust.
And then I loved her.