Light in Mourning

4

I ran into the pet store to grab Charlie some food and to collect myself. I told Georgia I’d meet her at her place just as soon as I was done. My mind reeled with the possibility. Did this mean something for us? Or was this just two friends catching up? I was so anxious to lay my eyes on her face again.

Her beautiful, soft brown eyes.

She’d seemed guarded when she first saw me, but there was an unmistakable sparkle. I felt in my bones that she’d thought of me too while we'd been apart. She seemed happy, and yet she wasn’t with Kyle.

I coaxed Charlie into the Jeep, then ran back into the grocery store she’d just been in, the place I’d run into Briana a few weeks before. I grabbed a bottle of the most expensive wine I could find from the vineyard we’d visited up the coast last summer. I got behind the wheel of the Jeep, and suddenly my stomach was twisting with nerves to see her again. I couldn’t stay away. I wouldn’t survive if she pushed me away again.

I knocked lightly before crossing the threshold of the beach house into the delicious, homey aroma of Italian cooking. My eyes scanned the living room, the dining room, and finally, the kitchen before they landed on her. I drank her in. Her entire form. She turned to me, a smile on her face. I stepped closer to her, my eyes trained on her chocolate-colored depths. I was unwilling to break the contact for which I’d been starved for months. I wanted her lips pressed to mine again—my hands holding her face, but I was fucking terrified. Terrified to push her too far. Maybe that had been why she’d run from me all summer: I’d laid my cards on the table with her at every chance and I’d scared her off.

I’d never had an issue with women before, but here I was second guessing every single thought I had about this girl. I wanted desperately to go with my gut, but my gut had been wrong about her much of the time.

I stepped into the kitchen and her smile widened. My lips quirked up in a flirty grin.

“Smells great,” I mumbled. It did smell great, but the food was the furthest thing from my mind.

“Thanks. Wine?” She nodded at the bottle in my hand.

“Yeah, from Tabor Hill.” I set the bottle on the counter. She turned and stretched up on her tiptoes to reach for the goblets on the top shelf. Her lightweight sweater inched up her waist, revealing a flash of skin, hugging the smooth curves of her form. I pressed my lips together, trying to hold in the tortured groan that landed in my throat. Just like that first day we’d met, except then she’d been in shorts and a tiny tank top, long, shapely legs stretching high. I think I had audibly groaned that day, and I was barely containing it today.

“Can you open it?” she murmured as she turned back to me, her eyes boring into mine. We were running through the motions, but the last thing on each of our minds, I thought, was the wine.

“Of course.” I stood in place, not bothering to grab the corkscrew from the drawer. She stepped closer and set the glasses on the counter next to the bottle. We stood a few inches apart and her scent invaded my space. My blood hummed with need for her. All of her. I wanted desperately to have my hands on her skin.

“Georgia.” I lifted a hand to cup her cheek. My thumb ran up her cheekbone and her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into my touch. My heartbeat roared in my chest as I committed her sweet face to my memory. It was so much fucking better than I’d remembered. How I’d survived without being in her presence, I didn't know. But in reality, I hadn’t survived, not at all. I’d been a drunken idiot who’d let every other important thing in my life fall away.

“It’s great to see you,” I said, barely above a whisper. They were the only words that I could form, but so many more swirled in my head. Words I didn’t even want to consider. All I knew was in this moment, I felt whole again. This girl filled something up in me I didn’t understand; something I never thought possible and something I didn’t realize was necessary for me to thrive, but there it was. Georgia was here and I couldn’t have been happier.

Her eyes flickered open and bore into mine. She looked like she was searching for answers before she cleared her throat and turned back to the stove. “Five minutes until it’s done.” She pulled plates and silverware out of drawers and set them on the island. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the prospect of sitting next to her, as opposed to across from her at the dining room table. My nerve endings tingled, my dick stirred to life at the prospect of feeling her skin on mine, rolling in bed with her, her thick dark hair laid out on the pillow beneath me.

I cleared my throat and tried to get my thoughts under control as I opened the wine and set the bottle near our plates to breathe. She busied herself around the kitchen. The room fell silent.

It was awkward.

And perfect.

Both in the same breath.

I didn’t know it was possible, but just being in her presence calmed me. She was fucking here and I was devising ways to have her never leave me again. Should I lock her up and keep her in my house like a caveman? Handcuff her to my bedpost and ravage her soft body whenever it pleased me? A smile tilted my lips at the thought. It sounded like a fucking dream. A fantasy come to life—ravaging Georgia whenever, wherever.

“It’s ready,” she said softly at my side as she laid the steaming dish of manicotti on the island. We each made our way around opposite ends and sat at the barstools. I poured wine into our glasses. She lifted the goblet to her sweet lips and took a swallow. I watched her throat move and contract and I instantly wanted to wrap my hand around her neck and bite and lick and claim her.

Without thinking, I snaked my hand over to her thigh and rested it there. Her eyes darted down to my hand holding her denim-covered leg. I gave it a soft squeeze and sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, watching her, begging with every fiber in me that she wouldn’t push me away. My heart couldn't fucking handle it if she pushed me away again. Her eyes lifted to meet mine as her lips parted, sucking in a slow breath.

“Tristan.” My name escaped her lips in a whisper.

I shut her down before she could say more. I wasn't prepared for what she might tell me. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner.” I grinned that easy grin that I reserved only for women and then pulled my hand away, dishing manicotti out for both of us.