Page 68 of To Have and to Scold

Except, is my unease at the thought of leaving about Willow Cove, or about staying comfortable? And if staying comfortable prevents me from living the fullest life I can, is that actual comfort? Or is it fear?

I put a small piece of Swiss cheese on her tongue, and she opens her eyes to chew and swallow. Why is this so sexy? We’re just in my kitchen, eating fruit and cheese.

It’s because it’s Dallas. Anything with her would be sexy.

“Let’s try the apple with the cheese on the cracker,” she suggests, turning from me to assemble the sandwich she’s just described.

“I don’t know if I can handle that level of crazy.”

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

She steps to me and goes on her tiptoes, the cracker in her hand and poised to feed me.

“Could you reach me better if we sit?” I ask.

She growls. “This is fine, Beck. I’m used to doing stuff on tiptoe, okay?”

“Which is probably why you have such nice legs.”

She smirks. “When have you noticed my legs?”

“When haven’t I?” It’s dangerous territory, this flirting. But I can’t seem to care right now. In fact, I take one step closer and wrap my hands around her waist.

Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, which makes me want to kiss her senseless. But she’s ready to feed me a bite of food and I oblige, my mind going through ten different ways I could finally kiss her. I could lift her onto the counter and she could wrap her legs around my waist. I could lift her onto the table to do the same.

Calm down.

I’ve got to be in control. Especially because she’s turned away from me and is walking back toward the living room.

“Where are you going?” I say around the food in my mouth. It’s not polite to speak while eating, I know that. But all reason is leaving my head.

She tosses a glance behind her, her auburn hair swinging against her cheek and neck. Her smile is even more “come hither” than before and now it’s my turn to groan.

In one step I’ve caught up to her and wrap one hand around her waist again, spinning her to me. With the other, I grasp her hand, drawing it close to me, resting her palm against my chest.

The movement sends her stumbling a bit backwards, and she butts up against the side of the refrigerator. I let go of her hand on my chest and lean towards her, placing my palm against the refrigerator near her head, my arm straight from the shoulder.

I take a second to breathe. I have to make sure she’s alright, that she wants this.

I gaze in her deep blue eyes, catching her gaze darting back and forth to my own. I look down at her lips and when I glance back up, her eyes have closed, just a little, like she’s ready for me to kiss her, like she wants me to kiss her.

I can’t disappoint her, now can I?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dallas

I might be imagining it, but there’s a rumble from Beck’s chest as he closes his lips over mine. It’s as if all these pent-up emotions we’ve had these past few weeks are finally getting their due.

He’s finally kissing me.

I can’t help the sigh that escapes me, either, and suddenly, we’re a tangle of arms and elbows as I cling to him, running my fists up the cotton of his shirt as I go even higher on my tiptoes to fling my arms around his neck. It’s hard to reach, but he bends toward me and I manage. I’m close enough to him that I can simply focus on his lips on mine.

Soft. Commanding. His lips are taking what he wants. Not in a possessive or demanding way, just as if to say, “I want this, Dallas.”

You can have this, Beck.

I arch away only to draw in a breath, and then his lips have covered mine again, and it’s all sensations of color and light and music, every particle of my lips dancing to some internal, longed-for song.

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