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Chapter Seventeen
Kenna
We ended up back at Dec’s house, mostly because my house still contained paint fumes and the ghost of Maeve. Not that I thought my house was haunted. The house was just like me: halfway renovated. Neither Maeve’s nor mine yet, but on its way to something incredible. I could only hope I was on my way to something incredible too. I certainly didn’t feel the ghost of husbands past in the cab of Dec’s truck while he held my hand. I felt…young. Hopeful. Relaxed. Things I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Dec let go of my hand to put the truck in gear and turned to look at me, only the light of the moon illuminating his face. “This is where I give you another out. We don’t have to do this.”
Doubt crept in. What did I have to offer Dec except a batshit crazy woman who’d crashed into his life unwelcome and unshakeable?
“Do you not want to?” I was proud that I kept my voice even.
Dec reached over and took my hand, placing it directly in his lap where things were definitely not uninterested. “I want to, Kenna. Have wanted to.”
“What?” My tongue felt like it had been sucking on cotton balls.
Dec’s mouth hooked up on one side. “That torn blouse you wore the first day I met you. Remember? I wanted to rip the whole damn sleeve off and see how smooth your skin was.”
My mind went on the fritz. “You did not. You hated me.”
Dec’s grin grew. “No. You hated me. I was just steering clear due to the homicidal vibes you were throwing off.”
That made me laugh. “I guess I was a bit off my rocker those first days. To be fair, I’d been through the wringer that week.”
Dec squeezed my hand. “I know. Which is why we don’t have to do this. Your life is complicated enough, I can back off. If you need time, I can give it to you. If anyone understands needing time to get their head together, it’s me.”
Again with that vague reference to something in his past. I hoped maybe one day he’d tell me all about what happened to him. I inhaled deeply, scanning myself for doubts and finding none. Liz was right. I hadn’t been involved with a man in years. Not really. I’d been married, but Justin and I had been living separate lives for awhile. Without intentionally doing it, I’d somehow processed his cheating while living in Florida, and I realized that, while he would always be in the wrong for going to another woman, I could admit our marriage had been over long before that. I just hadn’t wanted to see the truth. My eyes were finally wide open.
“I think I’m ready,” I said, my own grin growing as I felt the confidence surging in me. Dec had already seen me at my worst and still wanted me.
Dec lifted my hand and kissed it before releasing me and coming around to the passenger side to help me down. We stood there in his driveway, grinning like fools at each other for a couple seconds. Then, holding hands and acting several decades younger than we were, we ran to the house.
“You don’t have to go to the trouble,” I said, leaning against the doorframe as Dec lit two candles in his bedroom.
He shook out the match and shook his head. “It’s no trouble. Besides, I think our first time deserves more than a few seconds in the back of a car, right. Older and wiser?”
He walked closer to tower over me, his gait more of a prowl in those jeans that fit his thighs like a glove. A man in worn cowboy boots hadn’t been on my list of things that turned me on, but it was now at the very top of that list after seeing Dec in his. He looked more confident in his casual jeans and cowboy boots than all the executives at work in their fancy name-brand suits. His arm came up to brace on the doorway over my head. The notes of leather, cologne, and soap hit my nose.
“Who you calling older?” I teased, shocked when my voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Definitely me, sunshine. You’re just a baby at thirty-four.”
I frowned. “Wait, how old are you?”
His body pressed into mine, his mouth teasing the shell of my ear. My breathing picked up at the touch. “How old do I feel?”
Between the granite-hard muscles, the tan smooth skin, and the steel pipe digging into my hip, I had a pretty good guess it was younger than me. “Oh no, I’m a cougar,” I blurted out, teasing.
Dec chuckled, then let out the sexiest meow I’d ever heard. I started giggling uncontrollably, nerves getting the better of me. Dec shushed me.
“Kidding. I’m forty,” he confessed. For some reason, that only made me laugh harder. He shushed me again, and when that didn’t work, he kissed me, effectively ending all laughter.
His mouth was hard, punishing, inescapable. His tongue demanded entrance and I gave it to him. His hands held my hips so tight it bordered on painful, but the rumble at the back of his throat had my knees trembling. This man had me weak in the knees. How was that possible? I was coming off a betrayal that should have me giving up men altogether and here I was sharing my body with another. If I was being totally honest, there was more sharing than that. I liked this man, and if I didn’t watch my heart, I’d certainly be on my way to having deep feelings for him.
My feet suddenly left the floor and Dec spun me around, walking us to the bed, my weight fully in his arms. My calves hit the bed frame and he set me down, his hands traveling up to my shoulders, my neck, my face, his brown eyes gone so dark they looked almost black.
“Dec,” I breathed, a plea for more, or maybe less, or perhaps everything.
He didn’t move back, but released me to strip his shirt over his head and toss it to the ground. He was beautiful. Smooth tan skin over ripples of muscle. The tattoo covering one arm, up onto his shoulder, and trailing onto his back was prettier every time I saw it. And that cord. The black cord that never left his neck.
