Page 120 of Repairing the Wreckage

She laughs softly and the smile finally lighting up her face and lifting away her sadness is better than anything else.

I cup the back of her head and pull her closer. Her eyes close as I press my lips to hers. Heaven. Exactly what I dreamed about for months. She tastes like cherry lip balm and minty toothpaste. I slip my hands under her butt and lift us off the steps.

A quick squeal pops past her lips and she wraps her arms around my neck.

“That’s it. Hold on.” I don’t go far. A few steps back until my heel bumps against one of the old rocking chairs. I lower myself into it, keeping Molly anchored to my lap. The chair tips back wildly, thumping against the house.

I curse and peer up, as if I can see through the walls and into Remy’s bedroom and figure out if the noise woke him. The last thing we need is him racing outside with a shotgun.

“Careful.” Molly giggles and throws her hand forward, bracing the chair so we don’t hit the wall again. “Although,” she tilts her hips forward and back, rocking the chair, “this could be fun.”

I groan each time she rocks herself against me.

“Slow down.” I scatter kisses over her collarbones and stop to nuzzle her neck. “I want to get reacquainted with all the things you like.”

“I like you…touching me…so much,” she says between choppy breaths.

“Happy to do that.” I sneak my hand under her tank top, skimming over her ribs. It feels so fucking good to touch her again.

As much fun as this is—and I’d love to keep messing around in the rocking chair—one of the neighbors could peek outside and get a free show. Not to mention Remy might decide to step outside and wind up seeing more than the starry night sky. I’ll be happy to tell him Molly and I are back together, but I’d rather not have him find out this way.

Molly dips her head, kissing my neck. Her long hair slides over my chest, tickling in the best way possible.

“Will you come downstairs with me?” I whisper against her ear.

She pulls away and stares at my face. “I guess we shouldn’t go upstairs to my room.”

At least our minds are both traveling down the same path. “Probably not.”

“Okay.” She scoots out of my lap and stands in front of me—all sleepy-eyed and kiss-ruffled. The strap of her top hangs off her shoulder and her thin top’s bunched under her breasts, leaving a sliver of her stomach exposed. I slide to the edge of the rocker, grab her by the hips and duck my head to kiss above her belly button.

“That tickles.” She rakes her nails through my hair and I close my eyes, savoring the shivery sensation that shoots straight down my spine.

“You’re awfully ticklish tonight.” I kiss her stomach again, then tug her shirt into place.

“Because you’re extra tickle-giving tonight.” She skitters her fingers over my shoulders and into the crook of my neck, giving me a dose of my own ticklish medicine.

How did I survive so long without having her hands on me?

Never again.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Molly

My heart gallops so fast, I’m sure Griff can hear it. We quietly open the back door and tiptoe into the kitchen. At least, I sneak in like a bandit. Griff doesn’t seem concerned that my brother might overhear us.

He opens the basement door for me and I stop, lean up, and kiss his cheek.

“What’s that for?” he whispers.

“I love you.”

He stares down at me with love-drunk eyes. “I love you too.”

Heart racing, I grip the handrail and carefully step down the smooth, wooden steps. The air’s warmer than I expected. This part of the house has been my brother’s domain since I moved in with him. I haven’t ventured into the basement since I was little. All the dark, dusty corners full of spiders deterred my curiosity. I usually picture it as a dark, dank expanse. But as I reach the last step, more of a homey man-cave expands before me. A dark overstuffed couch and large flat screen television are straight ahead. To my left there’s one door and to the right two more doors.

“Where?” I ask Griff.

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