Tequila Rose by Willow Winters (any book recommendations .TXT) 📗

His gaze lingers on my waist before drifting back up to mine. All I can feel is the thump of my racing heart, begging him to do just that.

“You should do it,” I murmur and shock widens my eyes at my own admission.

His lips hit me first. Soft but strong, taking a kiss much bolder and sweeter than the peck the other night. His tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, begging for entry. All the while my blood heats and my pulse races. What was I thinking?

What am I thinking now, as I do what I want and not what I should, parting my lips and deepening the kiss. The act grants me a soft groan of approval from the man hovering above me, his fingers gripping my hips harder and pinning me down.

Stop. Stop! You haven’t told him.

The small voice in the back of my head is meager but desperate. I pull back with an image of Bridget in my mind. It holds me back from drifting above in a hot air balloon and instead the reality anchors me back down to reality.

Breathe.

I focus on breathing as I sit up and Brody pulls away. I don’t think he can tell how freaked out I am. No, no, I don’t know if he can tell or not.

I’m only in my midtwenties and this seems exactly like something I should do … but not with a daughter at home and secrets that are bound to ruin it all.

As I sit up, I can feel those blue eyes on me, once again observing and wondering, but holding back. If he can tell what I’m feeling, he must think I’m hot and cold. It’s not fair to him.

Tell him. Just tell him.

“Brody,” I start to say and he must hear the sudden panic in my tone, because he cuts me off.

“Today went perfectly, I think.” It’s all he says, but his gaze is soft as he leans closer, pecking my cheek and then he stares off into the water.

It’s so obvious to me in this moment how much I’m falling for him. He’s sweeter than I remember. He’s gentler than what I used to hold on to.

I have to tell him. He’s careful with me, and I’m nothing but reckless.

My lips part and I swear I’m going to tell him. Just blurt it out and rip the bandage off but his phone rings.

Saved by the ringtone.

“One sec,” he tells me and answers it. It seems like a business call with how often he says yeah and that’s fine.

Every second that passes gets me more nervous but I hold on to what I have to do. I need to tell him before this goes any further. He deserves to know.

Picking at some nonexistent fuzz on my cover-up, I wait for him to say goodbye.

The second he does, he speaks first. “I have to get going. You want me to drive you back?”

Tell him, tell him, I will myself but instead all I say is, “I drove.”

“Right,” he says then shakes his head in a boyish way but the smile that slips onto his lips is all charming man. “I knew that.”

The little voice is quiet and so are both of us. He leans in again, his hand cupping the back of my head to give me a sweet goodbye kiss, but when he pulls away, he nips my bottom lip. A shy laugh slips out from me.

I’m still looking down at the worn wood of the pier, disappointed with myself but unable to stop myself from falling.

His thumb on my chin is what forces me to meet his ever-questioning gaze. “I’ll text you tonight?” He says the statement like it’s a question and all I can do is nod.

With his hand outstretched, he attempts to help me up but I tell him I’m going to stay here another minute. All I’m left with is a salty breeze and an achy heart. And guilt. So much guilt.

When I tell him now, I already know he’s going to ask why I didn’t tell him sooner.

And it’s because I’m selfish, because I want to feel this warmth of falling for him again. I want to feel wanted. It’s not until after he’s already gone that I let the tears slip out. This is something I know I can never have. And Bridget deserves better.

The keys jingle in my hand and my flip-flops slap on the sidewalk as I make my way up to my front door. I’m so focused on the plan I laid out that I don’t notice anyone’s there waiting for me on the wicker chair out front.

“The sun’s kissing you more than I am.” Robert’s voice startles me and when I jump back with a gasp, he throws his hands up. With a charming smile on his lips, he huffs a laugh and apologizes. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mags,” he says and the laugh lingers in his voice.

With a hand placed over my racing heart, I smile back at him. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can tell,” he jokes and the air is easy between us.

“I have to run but I just wanted to drop this off for Bridget,” he tells me and holds out a stuffed bear. There’s obviously something hard in the ears and when he squeezes it the ears spin.

“Ooh, it’s … oh what’s it called?”

“Buzzy the Bear.” He shrugs and hands it to me. It’s not wrapped and still has the tag on it. He never wraps them, never tells Bridget the toys are from him. They’re for me to give to her because he knows how much I struggle. It’s hard