One Last Time (Loveless Brothers 5)

“And the brewery came so damn close to failing,” he says, sounding more amused than anything. “Actually, the first time I called y—"

He looks down at me, narrows his eyes.

“I called an ex when I thought it had failed,” he says, circumspectly.

“She show you a good time?” I ask, feeling dangerous.

I remember that rendezvous. A year or so after our first. I’d just gotten to the end of my post-divorce bad girl phase, and the garter tattoos were pretty new. Seth liked them then, too.

We fucked. We fought. I cried all the way home, convinced I was an idiot for doing it again.

“Mostly,” he says, and I laugh.

“I’d ask what the good parts were, but we’ve never even kissed,” I say, leaning into his side a little more, trying to push the memory of that particular meeting from my mind.

“I don’t want to start painting before I’m finished drawing the grid,” he says, and grins.

“Are you trying to impress me with an art metaphor?” I ask.

“Are you impressed?”

I shift my stance so I’m now half-facing him, half-facing the mural, and I look over at it.

“There are plenty of muralists who just paint away with no guidance at all, and it looks fine,” I point out, tilting my head. “They just barrel on straight ahead as the spirit moves them.”

He turns toward me, lifts our joined hands, spins them so they’re upright and palm-to-palm.

“Anything I’ve ever done right was with careful planning and strict adherence to regulations,” he says, a teasing little half-smile on his face. “Sometimes the rules are there for a reason.”

I step closer to him so that we’re nearly touching. Carefully, without breaking eye contact, I kiss the closest knuckle of his index finger, his skin cool against my lips.

“Tell me the rules,” I say.

“Don’t you already know them?”

“I want to make sure I’m crystal clear.”

Seth swallows. His fingers tighten in mine. His eyes go to my lips, linger, come back up.

“No past,” he says.

I kiss another knuckle.

“No fucking,” he says, and now he’s smiling.

I put my lips to a third knuckle, hold my eyes on his.

“Is that it?” I ask, softly. “Only two rules?”

“Are you asking for more?” he teases, voice low and rough, trickling down my spine.

“Just surprised that’s it,” I say. “For all your talk of careful planning and adherence to regulations.”

“I can come up with more,” he says, and one eyebrow twitches, and his smile deepens into one that opens a maelstrom in my chest. “No fuck-me looks. No wearing purple leopard print robes when I’m around. No dresses that make you look like a sweet society princess when I know you’re covered in tattoos an inch below your neckline. No naming raccoons or laughing at my jokes. No telling me you’re busy tomorrow night and can’t see me until Sunday.”

“Go on,” I laugh.

“No enjoying yourself at square dancing,” he says, and pulls me in. His other hand goes to my neck, his thumb on my cheek, his fingers in my hair. “No asking me for the rules. And don’t you dare kiss me back.”

Then his lips are on mine, warm as anything, and I forget the cold. I forget art school and London and I forget all the rules and I kiss him back as hard as I can.

He opens his mouth against mine, teases my lip with his tongue. Pulls back, his mouth millimeters from mine. Pauses. Kisses me again and this time it’s urgent, needy, his other hand underneath my coat and pressing against my back and I find his tongue with mine and God, I want to drown in him.

This is why I keep coming back, again and again. This is what makes me cast everything else aside and throw judgment to the wolves, the reason I’ve never been able to stop myself.

Nothing else makes me feel like I’m a match, held to sandpaper. Like I’m a firework with a lit fuse, counting down the moments. With Seth, I always feel one second away from igniting.

It’s a long time before we finally pull apart. We’re both breathing hard, both wanted the other more than we needed air, and he rests his forehead against mine, thumb on my jaw.

“I missed you too, Bird,” he finally says.

I don’t answer. Just kiss him again, softly.

We kiss until the lights on the mural go out and we’re plunged into moonlit darkness. We kiss as someone closes the barn door, gets into a pickup truck, leaves. We kiss until we can see perfectly in the dark, until we’re both shivering, until we finally stop and I tuck myself against him, eyes closed, his chin atop my head.

Maybe this will work, I think, his arms around me.

Please.

Then, we walk to his car and leave.Chapter Thirty-TwoSethWe go out again Sunday night: dinner and milkshakes at a cheesy diner, one of those ones with a jukebox at the table. I play her I Want to Hold Your Hand and she rolls her eyes at me, but she’s smiling.