She continued to meet his gaze, even when her eyes filled with tears. Then she smiled.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said firmly. “You filled a very important place in our lives. The day you walked in our door, you made the lives of all three Hunter men better. We needed you far more than you ever needed us.”
They’d needed her, too.
Laurel liked that.
A lot.
She’d never known. She’d never realized she had a place to fill or the ability to fill it. All her life she’d viewed herself as the recipient of kindhearted charity. And even that had been a huge blessing to her.
“When Mom died, she took all the beauty in our lives with her. The ability to appreciate a painting, to care about flowers on the table, matching dishes and proper silverware. She took everything fragile and gentle from our lives. And you brought all that back to us.”
She tried to read the expression in his eyes. “Really?”
“Really.” He didn’t blink.
“You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better? Because you don’t need to, you know. I really am okay.”
“I’m not just saying that.” He held her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Most men don’t bother with the delicate things in life, Laurel. We don’t have the ability to see the need for them. But we crave them just the same.”
“Any woman could have done the same thing for you.”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “Any woman could have put flowers on our table, but only you could bring the lilacs.”
She didn’t understand.
“It was your heart, your sensitivity, your ability to love Paul, to love all of us, that hooked us. And whenever you left, the scent of lilacs lingered behind, reminding us that you were always there for us, a part of us.”
“But...”
He put a finger to her lips.
“It was you, Laurel, no one else. Your quiet reserve, your sense of humor, your occasional and completely unpredictable bursts of spontaneity, your gentleness with Dad when he got tired and cranky—everything that was you made us happy.”
It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her before.
She laid her head against his chest. He let her keep it there.
It was just as comforting as she’d imagined. She didn’t need to cry anymore.
“I know what you mean, though,” he said after a time. “When Mom died, so did all the funny stories of what we were like as little guys, the loving reminders of who we were, where we’d come from, the assurance that we’d always be together in one way or another.”
Tilting her head on his chest, Laurel gazed up at him. She should feel very strange being this intimate with Scott, but all she could think about was the way he was looking at her, as if the sight of her was all he ever wanted. And his lips. They were so close to her.
Excitingly close.
Her heart started to race, her stomach to curl with heady desire as she raised her head and brought her mouth to his. Emotionally drained, she didn’t think. She just acted.
His mouth was warm, not really responding, but not pulling away. He wasn’t rejecting her. Still without thought, she opened her mouth to him and exploded with desire, with hunger as he answered her invitation with the aggression of a very hungry man.
Pushing her back against the pillows, he took her mouth completely, joining them in a passion-drugged kiss that refuted any familial relationship they might have shared. There was no innocence in the exchange as their tongues danced and mated, retreated and returned to mate again.
His hand slid down her neck and over her shoulder, leaving a trail of tingling desire in its wake. Her breasts ached for him, her nipples hard and wanting. She was breathing so hard she almost choked, unable to take enough air into her lungs to sustain life.
Starved for his touch, she couldn’t think, couldn’t choose. She could only respond. And beg silently for more.