Grin and Beard It(38)

Shaking his head, Dave left us, strolling back in the direction we’d just walked. I turned in Jethro’s arms, felt myself immediately melt at his quizzical amusement as he gazed down at me.

“He seems nice,” Jethro said, guiding me with gentle pressure to the passenger side.

“He is. He is nice.” Dave was nice. He’d been my security lead going on four years. We’d become friends. Even so, the idea of having to clear my dates—or Jethro being subjected to a background check—chafed. This was one of the reasons I’d only ever dated people in the business up to this point, they didn’t require a background check or a waiting period.

Jethro opened the door, but I didn’t climb into the truck. Instead, I turned to face him, and hesitated, a mounting sense of urgency filling my chest.

In a few moments, I would tell Jethro who I was. I had no control over what happened next, how he would react, if he would see me differently, treat me differently.

Maybe I was selfish . . . okay, yes. I was selfish. But I wanted one more moment of his ignorance, of being just a woman he liked. I wanted the simplicity of being any woman.

I placed a hand on his chest and gazed up at him, feeling nervous and somehow new. “I know . . . I know this is usually done at the end of the evening, but can we . . .” I licked my lips fretfully. I was being weird with him. Again.

He watched me with his perma-friendly expression, but his eyes lowered to my lips and darkened, making my heart quicken. He was thinking about kissing me; I could see it in how his mouth parted and his gaze grew heated and distracted. Rather than say anything to risk derailing his train of thought, I stepped forward, lifted my chin, rose on my tiptoes, closed my eyes, and kissed him.

And God bless Ranger Jethro, because he didn’t need even a minute to recover.

His big hands gripped my arms and pulled me closer, firmly against his chest. Quickly taking control, he walked me two steps backward until my back met the truck. His mouth moved over mine. His warm, full lips softer than I’d imagined, his beard tickling my chin and nose in the best way. He swept his tongue out, tasting me. I moaned, opening my mouth as heat pooled in the center of my body. I pressed closer and his grip on my arms tightened while his skillful tongue teased and mated with mine.

BY MOTHRA’S NIPPLES, HE WAS A GREAT KISSER.

I never wanted it to end. But end it did, with him biting my lower lip, tasting it once more with a slide of his wonderful tongue, and stepping away.

As he opened his eyes, he gathered a deep, happy-sounding breath, his gaze hot and pleased and sending new shivers and longing racing through my body.

Dave was right. I liked this guy. And not just because he was thoughtful and achingly attractive—though that definitely didn’t hurt—and not just because he was an incredible kisser—though that also didn’t hurt. He was charming, yet artless. Straightforward, yet complex. Funny and witty, but sincere instead of sarcastic or caustic.

And he was looking at me like I was the most wonderful thing in the world.

The question was, would he still be looking at me like this when the night was over?





CHAPTER 9


“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.”

― G.K. Chesterton



~Jethro~

To say I enjoyed kissing Sarah would be a mighty big understatement.

She was a damn good kisser, maybe the best I’d ever had the immense pleasure of kissing. It helped that her lips were like pillows and she tasted sweet. Not like strawberries or peaches. Sunshine and sweet—her own brand of it. Plus there was desperation in the kiss, an understated but raw passion I couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.

Or maybe that had been me. Maybe I’d been the passionate, desperate one. No matter. Either way, she’d stolen my breath, robbed me of thought and sense. She was a master thief, and I loved her for it.

During the kiss I’d kept my hands on her arms so I wouldn’t slide them up her skirt, because I wanted to. Christ Almighty, I really wanted to.

But I didn’t. It was too early for all that. Way too early.

. . . but I wanted to.

The potency of my response wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but it did have me questioning our next steps.

Was now the time to tell her about my self-imposed celibacy? If so, should I also tell her about how, due to my past, I’d vowed to wait until marriage? Or was a first date too early?

I was good at bluffing and flirting, but I now realized I didn’t truly know how any of this worked, how dating and long-term partnerships were sustained. When was too soon to discuss this stuff? When would it be too late?

We drove to The Front Porch engaging in surprisingly easy discussion given my internal debate. Though if you’d asked me what we talked about later I sure as hell couldn’t tell you, only that when she laughed at something I said, I felt twenty feet tall. And when she reached over and ran her hand down my arm, I wanted to pull the truck over and spend the rest of the night on the side of the road kissing her.