Taste (Take It Off #9)(11)
Author: Cambria Hebert

His hand caught my wrist and he pulled me around, his honey eyes searching my face. “You didn’t let me finish,”

I sighed. “Look, I’ve had enough of judgy people. I’ve had, like, the worst day, and—”

He squeezed my wrist. “I don’t understand how any man could leave his child,” he said, completely cutting off my tirade. “How any man could walk away from you.”

“What?” I said, totally sure I hadn’t heard him right.

Still holding my wrist, Spencer took a few steps back until his back hit the tree, he towed me along with him, but when he stopped, I didn’t. He gave me a gentle tug and I tumbled forward. His heavily muscled arms wrapped around my waist as his head dipped down.

I didn’t even have to tilt up my head. His lips found mine and lifted, bringing my face up to give him total access.

A single touch.

That’s all it took for me to totally melt against him. His body accepted mine and molded around me, almost like he couldn’t get close enough. His lips were warm and his tongue tasted like coffee. His kiss wasn’t soft and tender; he kissed me like he meant it, like kissing me was the most serious thing he’d ever done.

I’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I’d looked at his lips and his ornery grins for months and a sort of wistful feeling would take over the inside of my chest. But I never really thought this would happen.

I never really thought his kiss would blow the one I imagined out of the water.

How did he do it? How did he claim me with a single kiss?

He pulled my upper lip into his mouth and gently sucked at it, then released it and smoothed his skilled tongue over the swollen flesh. When he finally broke away, he didn’t pull back; he merely separated our lips but rested his forehead against mine. His breathing was heavy and his chest pushed against me as we both sucked in great gulps of air.

Then he did something that totally melted what was left of me.

He grazed my forehead with a kiss and brushed his lips up along my hairline where my head was cut and kissed there, too.

My hands fisted in the fabric at his waist. My heart felt like it was going to burst right out of my chest. I was sure he could hear it hammering because it was the only sound that reached my ears.

If that wasn’t enough wreckage for one kiss, he wasn’t done.

Carefully, his hands slid up, his palms were so wide they completely engulfed my face as he cupped it and stared into my eyes. He didn’t say a word, just looked at me. The melted honey of his eyes was thick and sweet, and then the corner of his mouth tilted up, giving me the smallest of smiles.

Slowly, still watching me, he lowered himself and planted another soft, quick kiss to my mouth.

Only then did Spencer pull completely away.

If I had any brains in my head that still worked, I might have asked him why he did that. But really, I could fucking care less.

I prayed he would do it again. I prayed he would do it longer, and when he did, we would be in private so the kiss could go a little further. I hadn’t had sex in almost three years, and to be truthful, I never once missed it.

Until now.

“I had to do that,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.”

“O—okay,” I answered, a slight tremble in my voice.

He smirked, one of his dimples making a heart-stopping appearance. “And just so you know,” he drawled, tucking a strand of wayward blond hair behind my ear. “I reserve the right to do it again anytime I want.”

I didn’t say anything. Good Lord, if I opened my mouth, I might giggle like a schoolgirl. That would be embarrassing.

“As much as I would love to keep saying things to make your face flush pink, darlin’, we got a serious conversation to finish.”

“Where are you from?” I asked, tilting my head and avoiding the horrible must-have conversation for just a few minutes longer.

“North Carolina.”

That explained the southern twang that sometimes gave me shivers.

“So the men threatened your son?”

I nodded. “Jack. They threatened my mother, too. And my job. Basically my entire life.”

He reached out and brushed the hair from my head and looked at the cut. “They hit you.”

“Yeah, but this was because he shoved me and I hit my head.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” I told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m more worried about my family, my son.” I told him about this morning, about how they came back and took Jack, how I hadn’t even heard.

I talked until my throat was sore. I told him everything. I told him about the poison I hid in the cabinet, how I lied to my mother and sent her to the zoo, and about how they trashed my bathroom. When he knew every last detail, I fell quiet, stressed and strung-out all over again.

He didn’t say anything at all while I talked. Mostly, he watched me, his amber eyes intent on my face. But sometimes he would look away, scope out the area beyond us. Spencer was a watchful man, careful. He seemed to see everything with the appearance of looking at nothing. I felt safe with him. His calm, cool demeanor was assuring and smoothed the worst of my frazzled nerves.

After I fell silent, he pressed my coffee back into my hands and told me to drink it. “You need the sugar, darlin’. The lack of color in your face isn’t good.”

I ducked my head, self-conscious about my less-than-desirable appearance.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, tipping my chin back up. “I like looking at your eyes.”

“They’re probably bloodshot,” I rasped. My throat and voice was like a scratched record, not at all playing the way it should. So I tipped back the coffee and let some of the warmth soothe the roughness.

“Even bloodshot, those baby blues are beautiful.”

“Pretty words,” I murmured.

“They’d just be words if I didn’t mean them,” he countered.

I didn’t have it in me to argue. I was beyond exhausted and scared. “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, clutching the coffee.

“Yeah, darlin’, I know.” The compassion in his tone was almost my undoing.

“Come on,” he said, scooping to pick up our stuff, then draped one of his arms across my shoulders. We walked back toward his car. If my cheek sometimes brushed against the side of his chest as we walked, I told myself it was because I was tired.

It wasn’t because the idea of resting against him for even just seconds and letting someone else be strong for a moment was damned appealing.