For a moment, I freeze as I realize that I just referred to her as mine. That’s not possible. It’s not what this is supposed to be about. Mine. Tansy belonging to me. Me belonging to her. It’s not anything that I can give her, anything that I should even want to give her. And yet, there it is. Right there in front of me, just begging for me to reach out and take. My girl.
Tansy is my girl.
The description sounds better than it has any right to.
Fuck it. I’ve already been ripped to shreds once. What’s one more time if it means I get to have this, now, with her?
Reaching up, I tangle my hands in her short, crimson hair and tug her face down to mine for a kiss.
She smiles against my mouth, lets me explore her lips at my leisure. But the second I start to deepen the kiss, she pulls away. Locks eyes with me. And says, “Tell me what’s wrong, Ash. Let me help.”
“You can’t help.” The words are out before I even know I’m going to say them. “No one can.”
“Maybe not. But keeping it inside isn’t going to do you any good.”
I roll over, pin her beneath me. Settle my cock right up against her and thrust in the gentle rhythm I’ve learned that she likes.
Tansy gasps, arches against me. I bring my hand down to her breast, flick her nipple in that way that makes her eyelashes flutter and her breath catch in her throat. But before I can take it further, before I can press open-mouthed kisses to her breasts, she tangles her hands in my hair and pulls. Hard.
“Hey! What was that for?” I demand, jerking away and rubbing the sore spots she’s just caused on my scalp.
“Stop trying to distract me with sex! I want to talk to you!”
“Fine. Talk.”
“Are you going to listen?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then I guess I’m listening.” But I get up then, and head to the bathroom, where my clothes are still lying discarded on the floor. If she’s going to push me into talking, I’m damn well going to be clothed while I do it. I’m already feeling vulnerable enough with the way I feel about her mixed up with the way she’s looking at me, like she can see all the crap I’ve worked so hard for so long to keep inside.
Tansy just follows me, though, marching after me completely naked and unself-conscious. And can I just say what an absolute, fucking turn-on that is? This girl, who was so shy a couple days ago, who only wanted to make love in the shadows, is now standing before me totally nude, with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.
And yes, I can see the scars on her body that must have been the reason she hid and yes, I want to know what caused them. What hurt her—or who hurt her. But I’m not going to bring it up. Not right now. Not even to keep her from prying into my fight with Logan. Because I don’t want her to know that I see them, don’t want this smart, sexy girl to question even for a second whether or not her scars matter to me. Don’t want her to believe, even for a second, that I don’t think she’s beautiful.
“So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave?” she demands, glaring at me from her spot next to the bathroom door. “You tell me to talk and you decide not to stick around for it?”
“No. I’m not leaving,” I tell her as I yank my boxer shorts over my ass. There’s a part of me that wants to, though. A part of me that might actually do it except I know Logan would probably kill me if I walked back in our room right now. Not to mention how shitty it would be to pull a fuck and run on Tansy. Even if this thing between us isn’t supposed to be serious, she deserves so much more than that. “Jesus, what do you take me for?”
She still looks suspicious. “Then why are you getting dressed?”
“Because if you’re going to poke at me, I’d prefer you not do it while I’m naked.” I pull my jeans up, then reach for my T-shirt.
“Oh, really? Well, excuse me, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who does most of the poking in this relationship,” she tells me in her haughtiest voice.
She sounds so put out, so proper, so absolutely queenly that I can’t help it. I burst out laughing despite the tension curling within me. Of course, that’s exactly what she intended and she looks so pleased—with herself and with my response—that it’s impossible not to be amused. And endeared.
Abandoning my shirt on the bathroom counter, I yank Tansy into my arms. Nuzzle my face into her neck and just breathe in her sweet, sweet scent for long, powerful seconds. As I do, I feel the stress knot deep inside me start to loosen a little—and with it, my tongue.
“Logan and I had a fight,” I finally mumble into her collarbone.
She nods like she’s been expecting to hear that all along, her hands stroking gently over my hair. I arch into her touch, no longer surprised at how good it feels. “So?”
“What do you mean, so?” I pull away from her and now it’s my turn to glare. “I just had a fight with my crippled brother. He yelled at me and I—” I shake my head, still not believing how badly I lost control. “I yelled back.”
I expect her to jump down my throat, to tell me how terrible it is that I yelled at Logan when he’s just a hurt, fourteen-year-old kid. It’s no more than what I’ve been telling myself for the last hour and a half. But Tansy just stands there, blinking at me, like she’s waiting for more.