Slow Burn Cowboy(51)

Even Callum Donnelly had been powerless to resist her charm. And it turned out she had the same effect on every Donnelly.

Or maybe it was on everyone.

That effortless allure was all the more impressive given what he knew about her past now. He had always thought she was amazing, but he’d had no idea she was carrying around something quite so heavy.

It made her lightness seem like a feat of magic.

“I brought dessert too,” she told the group now, smiling. “But I didn’t make it. Alison, who is Violet’s new boss, makes the best pie ever.” Lane took a pastry box out of the fridge and set it down on the kitchen island. She lifted the lid slowly, an expression that looked not unlike one she made when he kissed her neck crossing her face. “Lemon meringue. And it’s going to be so good.”

“My favorite.” Cain stood and made his way over to the counter, plate in hand. “Are you going to learn how to do this, Violet?”

“If I do,” she said, taking her plate over to the pie box too, “then I’m going to charge you the going rate. Whatever Alison pays me an hour, you’re going to have to pay too.”

“If you do that, I’m going to send you a bill for the expenses of raising you.” Lane deposited a large slice of pie onto Cain’s plate, and he went back to sit down.

Suddenly, Finn didn’t feel much like eating pie. Mostly, he just wanted to watch her, and he couldn’t quite pin down why. There was something about having her here. In his kitchen, where she had been a million times before. Just a few weeks ago her presence had made him mad. Because it felt like a window into something they didn’t actually have, something that he had wanted to a degree.

This was starting to feel like it was more than want. It was starting to move into need. And he didn’t want that. Didn’t want to need anyone.

He liked her needing him. And maybe that was hypocritical, but he didn’t see anything wrong with it. It meant that he was giving her something, after all.

She looked up, and her eyes met his. Then her cheeks turned pink, and she looked back down at the pie, serving up a piece for Liam, and another for Alex. She lifted her thumb to her lips, her tongue sliding over her skin, picking up a little bit of meringue.

Arousal hit him, low and swift in the gut. And that was a much more comfortable feeling than what he had been grappling with before.

He stole a quick glance at his brothers, annoyed at the thought that they had seen that too. That unconscious move that seemed completely sexual to him. They seemed oblivious to it.

Lane moved away from the pie to where he was. She lifted her hand and pressed her palm against his shoulder, sliding it to the middle of his back, then returning it to his shoulder. Very much a nonfriend kind of touch. Something that people in relationships did.

“Are you going to have pie?”

“Probably not,” he said, extremely conscious of her hand still pressed against his shoulder.

“There’s plenty.”

“I have a feeling that Cain is going to finish it off.”

She looked over at Cain, then back to Finn. “Well, he better not. Because I want some.”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

“Really?”

“Yes, Lane. Let me bring you pie.”

She smiled at him, then went to sit at the table, at a spot with an empty chair next to her. He cut her a piece of pie, then set it in front of her, before taking that spot right beside her.

He let her talk. Let everyone else talk while they ate. Then, underneath the table, he felt light fingertips against his thigh. Everything in his body hardened, his arousal hot and uncontrolled. Like wildfire.

She moved her hand down to his knee, then back up again. It was strange, this kind of interaction with her. He was used to friendship. And now, being naked. But with her dropping touches against his skin as casually as she spoke, it was blending into something else. Bridging this gap between friends and lovers.

She moved her hand once more, and her fingertips connected with his. She paused for a moment. Then laced her fingers through his. She squeezed him tight, drawing his hand over to her lap. She looked up at him, something bashful in her expression that made his stomach squeeze.

She looked almost more nervous to be holding hands than she had been to get naked in front of him. He felt like something jagged had hit him in the heart, slid right underneath his defenses and gone deep.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone as muted as her expression. “For the pie.”

“Sure,” he said, “you worked hard all day too. You deserve to have somebody take care of you.” He meant it. And that was what he wanted to do. It was one of the few things he didn’t doubt at all.

“Who takes care of you?”

“You do,” he said simply, squeezing her hand gently.

That seemed to satisfy her, at least to a degree.

Everyone insisted that Lane stay seated during cleanup. All the men helped with dishes and putting away the food, and then slowly, his brothers filtered into the living room, and Violet went back upstairs to her more comfortable solitude.

That left just Lane and himself in the kitchen. Finn rested his palms flat on the countertop, looking at Lane, who was still sitting at the table. She stood, making her way slowly across the room, placing her fingertips lightly over the tops of his hands and looking at him, a kind of dreamy smile on her face.

Suddenly, he was seized by the fierce desire to kiss her. To take them straight out of this gray area and into something a little bit hotter. A little bit more certain. So he did.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THERE WAS SOMETHING different about Finn’s kiss. A desperation to it that Lane couldn’t quantify. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. She just wanted to be kissed. And kissed, and kissed, by the only man she could imagine wanting for the rest of her life.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, folding her into his embrace. This felt less like a claiming, and more like a coming together.

She thought back to that very first kiss that had happened in the Mercantile. How angry she had been. How she had felt like he had demolished all of the very necessary walls she had placed between them.

The little fictions she had erected in order to maintain their friendship.

This was different.

This was a kiss to rebuild. Each press of his lips. Each pass of his tongue worked to remake what had been destroyed. Or maybe that wasn’t even it. Maybe this was building something new entirely.

She had felt it. From the moment she had walked into the house tonight. That this was the time. To make it different. To build a bridge between that time they spent talking and laughing, and the time they spent in bed.

It scared her. To realize that she didn’t want to be friends and lovers. To realize she wanted to blend the two. To realize that she actually did want to change the friendship.

It was scary enough that it made her want to run away, even now. Even though she was the one who wanted it. She had been silly in the beginning. Thinking that they could have those two things, keep them separate. Keep them distinct.

As if they would be two separate people. Friends by day, in each other’s pants by night. Life didn’t work that way. It just didn’t. Yes, they could have a friendship right along with everything else, but she wanted all of it, all the time.

Intimacy. Sharing space. Sharing bodies. Sharing trauma. Sharing good things and bad. Not being afraid to reach down deep and explore those dark, hidden scars. To scrape back the facade that they both showed the rest of the world. To trust each other with everything.

The difference between choosing people who helped reinforce your individual defenses against the world, she supposed, and finding that one person she wanted to hunker down with. That was what she wanted. To build a wall around them both, with nothing between them. For him to be the one that she clung to when life got hard. She wanted him to do the same to her.

“Finn,” she said, her voice soft.

He ignored her, pressing his lips to hers again, tightening his hold.

She put her hand between them, bracing her fingertips against his chest. “Finn. I want to talk.”

He drew back, the look of horror on his face almost comical. She supposed she was being the worst. And, if she were only his hookup, she might feel a little bit bad about it. But since she was also his friend, and she wanted to be more, she was going to go ahead and be the worst.

“Why?” she began, but her throat was dry, and she realized that she hadn’t really framed the question all that well. “Why are you against getting married? Why don’t you want kids? We had that discussion about me. We had this whole, symbolic letting go. And it was really good. It meant something. It changed something. And I feel... I feel closer to you. And a lot closer to where I need to be to be a sane, healthy person. I want that for you too.”

He shook his head slowly, taking a step back. “Lane,” he started, “I know that this is new and different for you. And I needed you to trust me in order for what we are doing here to work. Because it was a change for you. To start... To start sleeping with me. But like I’ve already said, it’s not a change for me.”

“So... You don’t have anything else to tell me about yourself? We don’t have anywhere to go?”

“What does that mean? Anywhere to go? We’re friends. We always have been. I always wanted you—now I’m having you.”