Page 64 of Feverburn

“How did you imagine it?”she asked.

My eyes cast downwards, staring at our hands together on my chest. I stroked the rune tattoo on her ring finger with my thumb.“Everything with you feels so right but always out of order. I don’t know how to change that. I thought I’d take you out first, maybe several times, and then maybe take you out on the lake before you came here. But I’mhappyI get to be here with you.”

“I’ve wanted to be alone with you for so long,”she whispered. That caused her eyes to flash to mine.

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded, giving me doe eyes once more. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her tattoo. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“Se agapo,” I murmured into her hair as we both stared off into the flames, refusing to let go of one another in more ways than one.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The morning light streaming through the window above his bed woke me up. I was asleep on Carson’s chest, his arm wrapped around me with his hand on my hip. His breaths were steady and deep, but his face was turned away from me.

It was absolute heaven, and I wanted to partake more, but I worried I had some severe morning breath. I kissed his chest while slinking out of bed as gently as possible to not wake him. After freshening up, I slid back in and saw him turn his head with a slow smile.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, dragging me closer for a kiss. It was minty. I pulled back in confusion, which made him continue, “Oh, I did the covert mission of brushing my teeth and gargling with mouthwash only to slide back in bed to pretend I woke up like this fifteen minutes ago.”

I chuckled and shoved at him, totally clocked. He kissed me again, rolling to cover me with his beautiful, brawny body. His morning wood pressed into my stomach. I reached down to rub it. “You might’ve brushed your teeth, but I see you didn’t take care of everything.”

He bucked into my hand with a naughty look as I reached for a condom with a horny giggle.

After a quick morning romp with lots of sweet little kisses and compliments, we went downstairs for breakfast. I was on coffee duty while he cooked the food. I couldn’t help but notice how he held my hips while walking past me by the kitchen island and how when I stood in front of him to talk, he’d rub his hand low on my back and over my ass. I liked this touchy version of Carson. The surefire privacy helped us relax, and being alone with him was like peeling back another layer.

I also liked that he was walking around without a shirt and seemingly in no rush to get on with his day.

As he cleaned up breakfast, I wandered into the rooms of the perimeter of the cabin that I didn’t get to explore last night. Several were damn near empty, but I found his home office with an entire wall of bookshelves. I could tell they weren’t just on display by their varied conditions. He had everything ranging from old cloth hardbacks to tattered and taped-together paperbacks.

His voice came behind me, “You can blame Viv for this room.”

“This is impressive. I had no clue you liked books this much.” I took in more details, trying not to stare at the dead animal busts from hunting trips and a suspiciously large fish mounted above his desk. Goodness me.

A baseball bat on another wall grabbed my attention. Walking closer to inspect it, several framed photos and awards accompanied it. But they weren’t little league photos and third-place ribbons. These were news clippings and professional pictures of him sliding to a base and hurling the ball as a grown-ass man. I gasped, turning to look him in the eyes. “You didn’t tell me you played baseball!”

He shrugged, bouncing his bare, puffy pecs as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his lounge pants. “Yeah, it was a big part of my life. My dad framed all this crap for me, so I feel obligated to hang it—”

“Carson! Now is not the time to be humble. This looks all,” I gestured to the wall with an exaggerated circle of my hand, “I dunno, official.”

He shifted his stance with a sober look. “Iplayedin the minor leagues in my early 20s. I traveled a lot, so I worked at the store when I could. My parents and I had this agreement that I could try to make it in baseball, and if I didn’t, the store was waiting for me as my dad and uncle edged toward retirement.”

I traced the long scar on his left shoulder, details clicking into place. “You got hurt, didn’t you?” I asked, a sad awe clouding my tone.

“Torn rotator cuff.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“That’s from a torn rotator cuff surgery. I sustained the injury the same year Harley moved away for college. It pretty muchsealedmy fate.” He dashed a somber look at the photo and back to me.

I could sense he didn’t want this to drag down the mood. “So my guy is a baseball player. Hmm, well, that explains the absolute dumptruck,”I teased, looking at his bubble butt.

He threw his head back with a laugh, held my face, and planted an appreciative kiss on my forehead. “God, you’re so funny, woman.”

I tried to piece together what little I knew.“You’re tall, and you run, so what position did you play?”

“Left field. I’m also a southpaw, left-handed.”He held up his splayed hand that he then proceeded to fill up with my ass cheek.

---