Page 62 of Sweet Escape
He hops down from the tailgate, and when I think he’s going to give me his hand, he steps between my thighs and places his rough palm on my cheek. My breath catches in my throat as his fathomless eyes speak without a single word passing between us. He tips forward, pressing his lips to my forehead, the kiss achingly beautiful in its simplicity.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, a cold chill taking up residence in the absence of his touch.The sudden crack of thunder rings out, followed swiftly by a flash of lightning. “We’d better go,” he says, helping me down from the tailgate.
The rain pelts down as we pull up outside the old farmhouse toward the back of the property. My laughter follows in our wake as we rush through the deluge into the shelter of the dimly lit porch.
The yellow door on the modest farmhouse seems out of place next to Wilder’s gruff exterior, but it calls to me like a beacon, beckoning me inside. A cascade of warmth envelops me when I step over the threshold, taking in the cozy interior.
There’s a stack of mail on the console table, a doll strewn across the entry floor, and a pair of tiny cowboy boots on the mat. It feels like a real home in all the best ways. To the right is a small living room with a matching plush cream sofa sectional. An open hardcover book is spread across the table, marking its place next to a pile of wooden blocks, like he had been interrupted in the middle of reading by the sweetest distraction.
Straight ahead is a beautiful kitchen with light wood cabinets and a marble countertop. There’s a massive island in the middle just begging for my attention. I can see myself there, with a recipe book open to my favorite cupcake recipe and ingredients strewn across the surface. In my vision, I’m a mess of flour and frosting. A little girl is perched beside me, licking a spoonful of batter. An ache takes up residence in my chest. This isn’t my home, and I have no business daydreaming about a life here, no matter how beautiful it would be.
“Wait here,” he says, placing his boots on the mat beside the door.
He disappears around the corner as I stand awkwardly in the foyer, my clothes soaked through from the rain. I’m dripping onto his hardwood floor. He returns a few minutes later with a towelin his hand and another slung over his head as he dries his disheveled hair. His button-down has been shucked off, leaving him in nothing but a damp T-shirt. He hands me a towel, and I do my best to dry off before tossing it onto the floor, cleaning up the puddle at my feet.
“Can I get you anything else?”he asks.
I sigh, letting the emotions of the day dissipate in the stillness of the night. “Just a bed, honestly. I’m exhausted.”
He nods once, placing his keys on the hook next to the door, twisting the lock. “Follow me.”
Wilder guides me down a narrow hallway off the kitchen. The storm rages outside as we stop at a door halfway down the hall.
“This is the guest room. It’s not much. We haven’t had time to make anything of it, but there’s a bed and it’s already made up. Two doors down is the bathroom. And that room is mine.” He points toward the door at the very end of the hall. “If you need anything, just knock.”
I turn to face him, lifting onto my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his massive frame.
He hesitates for a minute, his hands hovering around me before settling on my back.
“Goodnight, Wilder.”
“Night, Liv.”
I lean back against the wall, watching him retreat to his room, waiting for the quiet snick of the door before heading into the guest room. Another flash of lightning illuminates the sparse room, giving me a glimpse at the simple antique queen bed with a quilt that looks handmade.
The space smells faintly of Wilder’s cologne, and there’s something comforting in that. As I move closer to the bed, I realize I don’t have anything else to wear. I’m still in my damp jeans and blouse, and there’s no way I can get comfortable like this. While I fight an internal battle over whether or not to ask Wilder if Ican borrow some clothes, or strip down and slide under the covers naked as the day I was born, a soft knock sounds at the door.
I pull it open, and my eyes land on Wilder's exposed chest, trailing down to the grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. I want to follow the happy trail to what I know is waiting for me beneath the pretty wrapping.
Wilder is smirking down at me when my slow perusal finally ends on his face. “I thought you might want to borrow something to wear,” he says, holding out a neatly folded black tee.
I reach for the garment. Our fingertips brush, and I swear he takes a step closer.
“Do you know how much I hate this?”he whispers.
“Hate what?”
“Having you so close but so fucking far. In my home but not in my bed.”
Mustering more courage than I feel, I push out my chest and tilt my head so we’re as close to eye to eye as possible with the height difference. “What should we do about that?”
He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Am I?” I toss his T-shirt to the wayside, lifting the hem of my damp blouse and pulling it over my head. My hair cascades down my back. His eyes zero in on the swells of my breasts behind my nearly transparent, lacy white bra. I take another step closer, gliding my hand along the hard planes of his chest, my breasts brushing against his abs. Then, ever so slowly, I turn my back and sweep my long hair over my shoulder, glancing back in invitation.
His rough palms slide over my shoulders and down my back, the clasp of my bra giving way seconds later. His lips follow where his fingertips have been. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
