“Why does being here make you feel guilty?” I ask.
She shifts even closer, and now the length of her thigh presses against mine. “I wasn’t here when dad got sick. We all broke apart after Aria died. I was eighteen. I left. I needed to escape. I became consumed with using my art as an outlet for my grief.”
“Lamentation.”
She nods. “Yes. Dad got sick shortly after Aria died. I knew he had cancer, I knew Jake and Finley had to take care of him, I knew he was withering away, and still, I stayed away. I came home for the funeral, but it was too late by then. He was gone.”
Words are useless in the face of regret. Past situations can’t be altered or fixed. There’s no use in wallowing in something you can’t change. I’ve rid myself of such useless emotions as regret, but Piper’s voice wrenches at places inside of me that have long been dead.
I lift my arm, drape it over Piper’s shoulders, and tug her more firmly into my side. She turns into me, one hand clutching at my shirt. We sit there, holding onto each other, until the fire dies and the night deepens.
“I should go.” Her hand releases me.
She stands, stretching her limbs. The hem of her tank top rides up a little, exposing a silky strip of skin right above her sleep pants. Cold seeps into me at the spot where she once was even as my body flushes with arousal.
I stand. I don’t want her to leave. My mind shuffles through ways I can make her stay. “That night we spent together—I haven’t slept that well since.”
The corners of her mouth tip up. “Why do you think that is?”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know.” But maybe I do. Something about Piper is safe.
She grins. “I told you the head rubbing would help.”
My brows lift at her choice of words, and I almost smile. “And so it did.” I drop my voice to a low, heated murmur.
A laugh bursts out of her. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
Her joy after all that we shared—the darkness she poured out—amazes me. I made her laugh. Me. Her delight fills my chest, expanding outward. My face stretches.
Her jaw drops. “Oliver.” She steps closer, reaching for my cheek. Her palm slides against my jaw.
Not being touched for a long time does something to a person. It’s as if a cold ache settles into your bones. Piper’s sweet gesture punches through that cold, sending warmth into the very fiber of my being.
She swallows, her fingers stopping on my cheek. “You haven’t shaved.”
I let go of restraint, just a little, giving into the urges I’ve shoved down into the abyss for so long. I tilt my head, leaning it farther into her palm, reveling in her touch. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” She takes another step, one palm still resting on my face. Her other arm reaches up. Careful fingers slide through my hair, pulling me down.
I allow it. I can’t fight it. My heart picks up a ferocious pace.
Her eyes are heavy lidded, her mouth parted slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths. Then her lips press against mine. Sensations shudder through me like a thousand-volt shock. Stunned, my body freezes, unable to process her soft mouth, her gentle hands.
And then her tongue flicks out, searching. Primal need surges, breaking through the astonishment. My arms go around her, pulling her closer. My mouth opens, taking control of the kiss. One of my hands moves up her back and cups the back of her neck.
I crave her, my hunger deep and unfathomable. Blood thrums through my veins, making a direct path south. I’ve wanted her with an all-consuming intensity I’ve been trying to avoid. And now she’s in my arms, all soft heat and fresh-linen scent. I break the kiss to trail my lips across her jaw and down her neck and to flirt with her collarbone.
She sucks in air. Her arms lift, and she pulls down the strap on her tank top, one side then the other. The fabric clings to her curves, not falling but hanging by the merest strand. With one slight breeze, it would fall, exposing her chest. I’ve never wished more for a gust of wind.
Reining in every shred of self-control in my possession, I draw away, but my hands still clutch at her waist. I want to feel her everywhere. I want to make her insane with need for me so she never leaves. I don’t want this to be a one-time deal. I don’t want to be a rebound.
One time would never be enough. Even ten times likely wouldn’t be enough. The thought is both thrilling and dangerous.
She moves her hands over mine then clutches at my fingers, lifting them up and placing them over her breasts. My pulse goes wild. I can barely breathe.
I flick the fabric down and stare. She’s perfectly proportioned, her skin pebbling in the cool night air. Everything about her is like a dream. She fits perfectly in my palm. Carefully, gently, wanting to savor every second, every taste, I dip my head and brush my mouth against her nipple.
She gasps, her fingers weaving into my hair, holding me in place. She doesn’t need to worry about me leaving. I’m not going anywhere. I lick her with exquisite care, forcing myself to move with restraint, acting with a tenderness that nearly cripples me. I rub my lips over her breasts, mapping them with brushes of my mouth. I slide one hand lower, my knuckle grazing the thin fabric between her legs.
“Oliver,” she moans.
The sound caresses my exposed nerve endings, charging down my spine, feeding my growing arousal. My erection pushes against the zipper of my pants.
Holy hell. This might be over before it begins.
“Let’s go inside,” she pants.