Page 95 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
“Here, watch this,” I said, shoving my phone into his hands and standing. “I have to find a bush to pee in.”
He laughed. “Gross.”
I curtsied, then skipped off behind the tents.
I had almost made it. I had almost escaped the weekend without much more than a bruised heart. But when I made my way back to the fire, Jamie held my phone in his hand, but he wasn’t looking at it anymore. His elbows were on his knees, eyes on the flames, and I could see the wheels spinning. I slowed as I reached him, not even bothering to take my seat. I just stared at him, the dirt stains on his t-shirt, the way the firelight battled the shadows of the night on his face. It felt like an eternity stretched between us before he stood, holding my phone screen-side out toward me. “You kept my voicemails?”
I glanced at the screen, seeing my voicemail log, all filled with his name. I swallowed, taking the phone from him and clicking the screen light off before tucking it in my back pocket, my hand staying there. “Yes.”
“You used to listen to them, those years when I was at Alder.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
He nodded, swallowing. “Do you still listen to them?”
An ache zinged through my chest and I crossed my arms over it. “Sometimes.”
Jamie lifted his eyes to me then, brows pinched together. “Why? You can call me, B. Anytime.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think your fiancé would have appreciated another woman calling you at two in the morning.”
His eyes fell to my legs, and for a moment I thought he was going to argue with me, but he thought better of it. Up until that point, Jamie had been fooling himself. He thought he could marry Angel and keep me, too — but he couldn’t. Not the way he wanted to. I didn’t envy him, because I knew he loved her — I knew he cared for her. But he was a slave to the way he felt about me. I knew, because I was in the same shackles.
“We should get some sleep,” he finally said.
“Yeah” I sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear before sliding past him toward my tent. “Night.”
My shoulder brushed his bicep as I passed, and his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist. I stilled, and he pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around my waist. At first I stood there, arms still by my side, but slowly, I trailed them up over his arms to latch my hands behind him. He buried his face into my neck, barely breathing, and the fire crackled next to us, giving the air the energy to keep us spellbound.
“Goodnight,” he said, but he was still holding me. His hands gripped my waist, and a low groan rumbled in his throat. That one sound was directly linked to the heat that had settled in a pool low in my stomach and it sprung to life, filling me, clouding my head. Jamie angled just an inch, his lips grazing the skin of my neck, and I shivered. His breath was hot, laced with alcohol and the same honey sweetness I remembered so well. Just that one touch from his lips sent flashes of our nights together behind my eyes — his fingers inside me on the beach, his mouth on me in his kitchen, his eyes on me while I touched myself for him miles away in Pittsburgh. It all rushed in, and it was too much. My self-control was already a futile thing, and now it was virtually deceased.
“Jamie…”
As soon as his name left my lips, I regretted it — because I meant it as a warning, but it came out as a plea — and Jamie answered, effectively snapping the energy band that had been white hot and electric between us since I landed. His tongue dragged the length of my neck, teeth biting my jaw softly before his lips claimed mine. We both inhaled together, hearts racing as my arms tightened around his neck and his fingers bruised my hips.
I whimpered against his mouth, everything inside me screaming to stop while my hands pulled him closer. I was clawing at his back, dragging my nails through his hair, begging him not to stop when I should have been throwing him off. He kissed me just like he always had, full lips and expert tongue, hands strong and possessive.
My eyes shot open, scanning the tents, heart racing at the thought of one of the guys hearing us or worse — seeing us. As if he read my mind, Jamie backed me into his tent, breaking contact long enough to yank his shirt over his head and drop it next to his sleeping bag as he lowered me down. His hands were frantic as he spread my legs with his own, the friction of his shorts on mine stoking the fire we’d been trying so hard to extinguish before now. I couldn’t catch a breath, my eyes hooded, brain clouded, heart heavy and aching with every drag of his teeth across my flesh.
