Page 55 of Loving You Always

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll drop it. Just stay right here. I hate it when you run from me.”

“I’m not running.” The lie soured the sweetness of syrup in her mouth. There were many things she was still running from. “I’m right here.”

“I mean running in here.” Walsh laid his hand against her heart.

He must have felt that stupid, traitorous muscle pounding furiously through the thin silk of her gown and kimono. His hand brushed against the soft curve of her breast, and she pressed herself deeper into his roughened palm.

He pushed the kimono away from her shoulders, allowing the silken folds to gather and hang at her elbows. Slowly, looking into the storm of desire she knew was gathering force in her eyes, he pushed the straps down her arms and watched the gown puddle around her waist. He swallowed hard at the sight of her naked breasts, rounded and full. He dipped his finger into the syrup on his plate, hovering over one nipple. Her chest heaved with the wait, every cell in her body impatient for his touch. The wicked passion lighting his eyes only intensified the torturous seconds before he slowly massaged the sticky syrup onto one nipple.

His fingers rubbed the syrup into the sensitive flesh, making Kerris gasp. Her eyelids dropped, white flags signaling her complete surrender. And then he was at her breast, the hot, wet worship of his tongue suckling the syrup away, laving the puckered areola.

“Ah.”

That one syllable was all Kerris could spare. He had stolen her next breath, stolen her next thought. She pressed into the heat of his hungry mouth, clutching his head to her breast. Her head fell back, and the rhythmic suckling of his lips and tongue was so beautifully erotic she wanted to shove the dishes to the floor, drag Walsh up to the table, and slather syrup over every inch of his body. There were acres of hardened flesh to explore and worship in kind.

Kerris pulled him away from her breast and their lips collided, their tongues tangling, until she heard only one thing. The beating of her heart.

Chapter Eighteen

You ever heard you can’t make a pot of water boil faster by looking at it?” Meredith’s eyes never left the spreadsheet she was studying on her laptop. “Same thing applies to that phone. Checking it every two minutes won’t make it ring.”

Kerris slid the phone into the pocket of her cotton dress and rearranged a few pieces from her Riverstone Collection on a shelf against the wall.

“What time was he supposed to call?” Meredith closed her laptop and stretched the muscles Kerris knew must be fatigued. Her friend had been at it all day.

“Five o’clock.” Kerris ruined her pout with a smile. “But I’m sure there’s a good excuse. His dad’s a real slave driver. It’s been hard for him to come here every weekend this month.”

“But you’re glad he has.” Meredith slid her glasses up into her spiky, cotton candy–pink hair.

Kerris answered with only a smile, her hand straying toward the phone in her pocket again, but she caught herself in time. Walsh would call soon. He always called.

On the few occasions they had “gone public” since Walsh had returned from Saudi Arabia three weeks ago, he’d been approached by everyone from the mayor to the neighborhood busybodies, all of them shooting speculative glances between Cam Mitchell’s best friend and his soon-to-be-but-not-yet-ex-wife. And each time she cared a little less. Let them judge or condemn. She had fought what was between her and Walsh, literally for years. With her divorce just two months away from being final, soon nothing would stop them from being together openly and happily.

Kerris was hunting through a pile of scarves for one that would work with the dress a customer had found when the noise in the shop slowly petered out until the room was eerily quiet for six o’clock in the evening.

“Mrs. Peterson, what about this one?” Kerris’s voice rang out in the unnaturally quiet shop. “Think this one will work?”

She laid the floral scarf against the dress Mrs. Peterson was wearing, and looked up to gauge her reaction. But Mrs. Peterson wasn’t looking at Kerris. Her eyes clung to the shop entrance over Kerris’s shoulder. Matter of fact, that’s where everyone’s attention seemed focused.

Kerris glanced around, doing a double take when she spotted Walsh, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders and imposing height. He wore a white Walsh Foundation T-shirt, stark against his tanned skin, and his standard-issue cargo pants. He surveyed the shop, and his eyes stopped as soon they met hers. His wide, warm smile and the heat in his eyes melted Kerris like the sun on an ice cap. He walked into the shop, ignoring the curiosity of the customers tracking his every step. Yes, he was handsome, but he was also Walsh Bennett. His family was like royalty in this town, and these people followed his moves in the tabloids and on blogs. Kerris actually saw one woman aim her phone his way and snap a picture.

He grabbed her hand as soon as he was close enough, pulling her to his side and dropping a quick kiss into her hair. Kerris stiffened under everyone’s inspection. They all knew who she was. Who Walsh was. Who Cam was. How had she fooled herself into believing she didn’t care what they thought? In that moment, as much as she had missed Walsh and wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms, legs wrapped around waist à la Whitney-loves-Bobby-Brown-fresh-from-jail, she couldn’t. She put a step between them, gently tugging her hand free.

“Hi, Walsh.” She offered a careful smile, her eyes pleading with him to follow her lead. “What a nice surprise. We weren’t expecting you.”

Walsh tilted his head and raised one dark brow.

“I tried to stay away,” Walsh said, voice deliberately loud. “But I missed you too much.”

Self-consciousness forced her to meet one curious set of eyes after another around the shop. These women had thrown her a baby shower. Kerris had helped them find dresses for special occasions and gifts for the people they loved. They had brought casseroles, magazines, and trashy novels to her home when she was confined to a wheelchair for months. In many ways, they were extended family, and though Kerris knew she would choose Walsh no matter what, a part of her wanted them to approve.

“Well, I think the two of you make the sweetest couple,” Mrs. Peterson said into the waiting quiet.

Kerris looked from the scarf she still held to the compassion in the other woman’s eyes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” Kerris managed to say.

“It’s obvious you two belong together,” Mrs. Peterson said, extending her hand to Walsh. “Dorthea Peterson, I’ve been coming to the shop since it opened. I knew your mother, God rest her soul. She was an amazing woman. We all miss her.”

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