Sawyer (Carolina Reapers 2)

You should run, far far away.

Instead, he reached across the space between us and clutched my hand. “I understand pain. Maybe not in the exact way you’ve carried it, but I understand, Echo.” He glanced down at where his fingers trailed the inseam of my wrist. “I know my mom won’t likely live to see certain milestones in my life—getting married, having kids, hell, even winning a Cup. We never know. Time is precious. But even living with that weight over my head, the never knowing if this day will be her last, I’d never wish her out of existence. She’s made me into the man I am today, and losing her will crush me. But everything else? The love? That’s more powerful than any grief. Even if it’s just the memory of it.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek, and my hands—my entire body—trembled from the terror coursing through my veins. Or it could be from the emotions I’d kept locked up for years bursting through. I wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, Sawyer was at fault. His words, the man himself, had unlocked something buried inside me.

He slid off the stool, stepping between my knees as he gently brushed the tear off my cheek with his thumb.

“Echo,” he said, and it was the tenderness in his tone that snapped me back to reality.

My survival instincts fully kicking in, I clutched the back of his neck and jerked him toward me, crushing my lips on his. Somehow the moment had turned from casual hangout to intense emotional bonding, and I didn’t know how to handle it…so I got us back to common ground. The ground where we both wanted each other, craved each other on a physical level.

I parted his lips with my tongue, sighing at the taste of him as he kissed me back without hesitance, without restraint. He wove his fingers into my hair and tilted my head back, kissing me at a deep angle, taking my mouth like I knew he could take my body. Then he moved his hands over my shoulders and lower until he’d reached where my ass sat perched on that barstool. One motion had him hefting me up and up until I’d locked my ankles around his back. He turned, prepping to sit me on the bar, but I gripped his hair and pulled his face away enough to look at him.

“Not here,” I whispered.

“Where?” he asked, setting me on my own two feet. I knew if I told him I couldn’t do this tonight, he’d respect it. He’d step away and ask if I needed to talk instead. And maybe knowing that made this easier but…

“I want to take you somewhere I’ve never taken any man.”

Sawyer visibly swallowed, but when I reached for his hand, he took it.

I tugged him past the bar, past the kitchen door, and past the bathrooms, stopping at the farthest door at the end of the hallway. I fished out my keys, my fingers trembling with anticipation as I unlocked the door.

“Is this a supply closet fantasy?” Sawyer teased, but his laughter died as I shook my head and pulled him through the doors and up.

Up the wooden staircase leading to my loft above the bar.

I locked the door behind us, allowing Sawyer to walk deeper into the studio setup. His eyes took in my small kitchen, the door that led to my bathroom open and showing a sliver of that claw-foot tub I loved so much. Then he took in the lone couch next to a bookshelf and finally, my bed on the far left side of the loft.

“This screams you,” he said, turning to face me.

“The cupboard above the bar?” I joked.

He spanned the distance between us, taking my face in his hands. “The home above your heart.”

I pressed my lips in a line. He’d hit the nail on the head. Scythe was my heart—because it was what my dad and I had always wanted. And the place above it? It was the only home I’d felt safe in since Dad had passed.

“Thank you for showing me,” he said, gently kissing my lips. “For telling me.”

I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter, the words I wanted to say getting tangled in my throat. The meaning behind it, I felt it. I’d let Sawyer in, just a fraction, and it made my chest tight to the point of breaking.

Sawyer saw something in my eyes, and in a blink, his were pure mischief. He jerked his head toward my bathroom. “Is that the tub where you tortured me from a thousand miles away?”

A breath of air rushed past my lips, and the relief from his banter made my head spin.

“Yes,” I said, trailing my fingers underneath his shirt, feeling the taut skin over his hard abdomen. “Later,” I said at the fire in his eyes. “Right now?” I gazed up at him through hooded eyes. “I want you in my bed.”