Hate You Not

He frowns. “Wait, so you didn’t live in this house?”

“Oh, no. We had a different house. I mean, it’s still there. Down the dirt road a little ways.” I nod in that direction.

“Does your dad live there?”

I make a face then take a long swing of my drink, and he says, “You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay. He never came back to the house after Mama died. Like, not once. The ambulance took her away to the funeral home, and he got in his car and left. It was her place. Mama was a decorator, and she had it all done up just right. And then with what happened…” I try to swallow, find I can’t. And then I do—I get a breath—and words are falling from my mouth like bricks into mud. “It was just the two of us that morning. She’d been doing good, and then she wasn’t. It was so fast.” I blow a breath out, and his fingers squeeze mine. “My daddy checked out, moved himself into town, so we cleaned out the important stuff and shut it up.”

I glance up at his face, and my stomach does a slow roll. His features are stretched into what looks like horror. As soon as my eyes catch his, he shuts the look right down, but then he takes a long pull from his bottle.

Getting way too heavy. Running your mouth, I chastise myself.

I rub his hand.

“What about you?” I’m going for a palate cleanser. “Did you grow up living in the same house the way I would think? If I was putting you in a rich box, that is. Which of course I’m totally not.”

He gives me a quick smile. Then he’s looking down, away from my face. I see him swallow, see his jaw tick. His head bows a little.

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know how I know to say it, but I feel it—something sad about him. And I know that it’s because of what I said about my mom dying. Guess it got too close to something.

He looks up, and there’s this lostness in his eyes.

I don’t know why—there’s no forethought involved. But I reach across the middle of the float and walk my free hand up his arm…and then lean forward so I can stroke his shoulder. He leans into my touch, leans his head down on my hand. I sift my fingers through his dark hair.

Poor baby.

I can feel his muscles tighten in the first few seconds. So it’s easy to tell when he relaxes. He pulls back a deep breath, lets it out…and for a little while, I just play with his damp hair. We’ve been floating all around the small pool, both still kicking gently underneath the float, so there’s a moment when his shoulder bumps the ladder.

He lifts his head, and our eyes lock, and I can’t read his face. He grips the ladder behind him. Then he lets my hand go, and he starts to turn the float around, bringing my body to him—so his chest is right behind my back, my rear brushing his swimsuit. His arm comes around my hips, hugging me against him, and I swear I think I feel him tremble.

I feel his breath near my throat as he brings his mouth close to my skin. For a long moment, I think he’s going to kiss me there. Then he grips my waist with both hands, turns me around to face him, and he seals his hot mouth over mine.Chapter 24JuneHe tastes like peach and nighttime, like pool water and pain and just a pinch of starlight. He kisses me long and deep and hard, and I return his kisses—not by accident this time but because I want him.

I want the hot stroke of his tongue against mine and the way he holds me not just close but also up, so I don’t sink into the water. I want his warm, sweet breath against my temple when we wrench apart to gulp the humid air. I want his gorgeous body, how he’s hard where I’m soft, he’s groaning when I’m sighing.

We lose hold of the ladder, end up paddling together for a second, laughing. Then he’s kicking both of us toward the ladder as his hand supports my head.

“High school lifeguard,” he whispers, as he leans me against the ladder. Then his mouth is crushing mine again.

Some men are smooth and careful. Burke is rough, demanding. I can feel the prickle of his shadow on my tender skin, and when he holds me to him, his strong arm is gripping just a fraction too hard. As if he wants me so much he forgot his manners.

But he didn’t. When his fingers tease my nipple through my swimsuit top, he stops and looks at me with lust-drunk eyes and rasps, “Okay?”