The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

a bit of extra cream off her palm and wiped my hands on the paper towel. "You know the saying. 'If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.' You probably have it inked somewhere." I lifted her wrist, gently twisted her arm to inspect the underside. "Not here. Maybe the other one." I ran my hand down the opposite arm. "Nope. Not there either." I dropped my hand to her knee, stroked my thumb in the tender hollow there. "Come on. Where is it?"

"No tattoos. Hate to disappoint." A lazy smile stretched across her lips.

I eyed her up and down. "You're sure about that? I could check for you."

Her cheeks heated and she giggled, a sound so strange and novel that I found myself laughing too. "You could look but you won't find anything."

"And now I'm back to disagreeing with you because I would find plenty, Jasper." I tickled the back of her knee. "Plenty."

I held her gaze for a heavy moment before turning my attention to the first aid kit. I had to find a bandage to protect the span of her palm while these cuts healed.

"Out of curiosity, did you find anything when you grabbed my breast? You know, last week at the front door?"

"Shit. I am sorry about that."

"Don't be. My elbow was…"

"Oh, I know where your elbow was that day. I know all about that elbow."

She rubbed her temple, saying, "Glad I made a good impression."

"Are you holding up all right?" I ripped open the bandage's wax paper packaging. "Not too woozy? Not going to pass out on me?"

"I was never going to pass out on you," she replied, tart as ever.

"Course not."

"I just get a little lightheaded when there's a lot of blood. I don't see much of it," she mused. "It's funny since my work tends to be something of a blood sport. Metaphorically speaking."

I smoothed the bandage into place, my thumb passing over the adhesive several times. "What is it you do when you're not replacing rotted staircases?"

"It's not interesting."

My thumb still stroking her hand, I glanced at her, my brows arched. "Who said it has to be?"

She looked down at the bandage and pushed her lips out in a pout. I wanted to bite that pout right off her.

"I'm going to have to bake you something new," she said.

Oh, fuck, no. Please no. "Why?"

She jerked her chin up, in the direction of her injured hand. "For that. For helping me. Again."

Now that her hand was treated, I stepped between her legs. "Just being neighborly."

She brought her hand to my chest, pressed it to the center of my breastbone. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at me, her lips barely parted. With the light bouncing off her honey hair, she looked like magic. Like the magic that existed in certain golden-limned corners of the forest, warm and electric and infinite. Like the vulnerability and defiance of pure, unburdened nature.

And I still wanted to bite that pout.

I pushed my fingers through her hair and sealed my mouth to hers. A squeak sounded in her throat but she twisted my t-shirt around her fingers and kissed me back with the same zeal she brought to arguing about anything. I leaned in, pressing hard against the cradle of her thighs, and drew my hands down her torso. She was a dream of ripe, rich curves and the sort of softness that didn't seem possible when considered alongside the hard edges she'd sharpened to a point. I shoved both hands under her backside, boosting her up and holding her tight against me. She responded by yanking my shirt up and baring my belly, and squeezing her knees to my hips like she planned on riding me right here.

Yeah, she could crack the earth open. She could snap me in half. She could do anything she wanted and I'd let her. I'd fucking let her.

And right now, she wanted this.

"Jasper," I breathed, edging back just enough to meet her dreamy gaze.

Her hands still in my shirt, her knees still trapping me inside her thighs, she lifted her gaze to me and said, "Linden, I-I'm married."

8

Jasper

Linden backed away from me, his hands raised and his eyes wide.

Every inch of my body screamed for his heat and closeness now that it was gone but I had to say it. His hands in my hair and the hard ridge of him against my belly turned my thoughts to applesauce—which never happened, not even the time I was loaded up on sedatives for a root canal and I'd given the oral surgeon a thorough explanation as to why he was supporting the wrong candidate in the D.C. mayoral race. I stopped going for spa days and getting massages because the technicians always commented on my steel-tight shoulders as if it was my fault I carried a lot of stress in my body.

There was never a time when I wasn't on. Even in my dreams, I had poised, on-message conversations. It was as ridiculous as it sounded but it was my reality. I never forgot myself, never blurted things out.

And yet… "You're married?"

There were several ways to spin this because not all marriages were formed alike, and mine—what remained of it—met only the barest definition. But my mind had stopped working the way it always did around the time Linden plopped me on the countertop and it went fully offline when he secured that Band-Aid in place. I didn't understand how someone running water over my hand could make me feel like I was floating. And also melting. And maybe conducting electricity through my skin.

It wasn't sexual. Even when Linden's touch lingered longer than necessary, that didn't hit me as hard as the attention he put into that touch. Into me. I couldn't remember a time I'd felt this way. I would've known if I'd experienced this before. Would've remembered it.

And that was how I ruined a perfectly scalding kiss with a poorly timed announcement of my