Page 92 of Always a Bridesmaid
When Violet approached, he stood and exchanged one of the mugs for her camera.
The thing was heavier than it looked. He deposited his mug on a flat rock and held on to the camera extra tight, aware of how important it was to her. “Do I just point and shoot?”
“Hold the button halfway down to focus, and press it the rest of the way to take the photo, but there’s a lot more to it than just poin—”
Ford snapped a picture of her, and she cocked her head.
“I wasn’t even ready, and you didn’t let me fini—”
Click, click. That last one captured a blurry palm and not much else.
“Would you say your muse is back, then?” he asked as he surrendered the camera.
“Mostly,” she said.
A thread of worry stitched its way through his chest, the needle jab, jab, jabbing. Did that mean she might leave town soon? For some reason, he thought they’d have more time to figure everything out. “It’s because of me, right? I’m so inspiring and shit.”
“Yes. You and your handsome face”—she placed her hand on his cheek and a kiss on his lips—“and your fancy vocabulary.”
“Big talk for someone who didn’t know Shakespeare was a poet, too.” In addition to googling it, he’d memorized a line from one of the sonnets. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”
Violet laughed, and it bounced across the area, from rock to tree, and hit him square in the chest. Her eyes shone, and there was the goddess he’d unleashed the day in the mud. “That’s the bard? Well, don’t I feel sheepish. And honestly, most anyone’s more temperate than the Alabama sun.”
After downing the contents of her mug, Violet set it and her camera next to his backpack. Then she straightened and shook her hair out of her face. “As for my muse, I haven’t put her to the real test. So far I’ve only taken pictures for fun, not work.” She closed the distance and snaked her arms around his waist. “That’ll be the real deciding factor, and I have a couple of sessions booked—including one with Shelby and her family—so we’ll see.
“But let’s not talk about work right now.” Violet slipped her hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m assuming that’s not why you brought me all the way up here to enjoy this amazing view.”
She squeezed his butt, which had him hardening against her, and he could scarcely remember what they’d been talking about.
“I might’ve had ulterior motives.” He swept her hair behind her shoulder and lowered his lips to the base of her neck. As he licked and sucked that delicious spot of skin, he backed her against the tree.
With one hand braced against the trunk, he slipped the other underneath her shirt. Her soft skin contrasted the rough bark underneath his palm, and he stroked the line of her spine with his thumb as he kissed his way across her jaw.
His lips found hers in the dark, and then he was devouring her mouth between peeling her shirt up and off her. As soon as it hit the ground, he yanked her back to him, needing her skin on his once again.
He unhooked her bra and gave it a yank, exposing her to the cool night air and his heated gaze. “Damn. I keep thinking the next time I see you naked it won’t knock me on my ass, but every time it hits me just as strong.”
Pink flushed her skin.
His heart thundered.
Off in the distance, a whip-poor-will sang its song.
Ford took a moment to soak in the vision before him and revel in how lucky he was to touch this woman. To kiss her and hold her andfuck, if he let go, he could very well lose his mind over Violet Abrams.
Time slowed to a crawl as he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.
Violet moved to pull off his shirt as he went to tug down her pants, and they crashed in the middle. Giggles burst out of both of them, and she wobbled, her bound legs leaving her gripping him for support.
At the bite of her fingernails into his skin, his arousal pummeled the zipper of his jeans like a battering ram with one thing on its mind.
Once he freed her legs of the denim, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Violet reached around his back, her hands exploring and massaging as she kissed the line of his jaw.
Ford skirted a knuckle along the undersides of her breasts and down the center of her stomach. Her muscles contracted under his touch, and as he neared the waistband of her panties, he lingered there, torturing the both of them.
As soon as he dipped his fingers lower, Violet arched against him, searching for his touch.
A strangled groan rasped free at how wet and ready she was for him, and she shuddered as he found the sweet spot. Their moans filled the air, desperate and needy, and relief barreled through him as Violet undid his jeans.
