“Maybe you should run while you still have the chance.”
He shook his head. “No way, Sleepy Jean. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
She touched him, gently this time, a hand on his chest. And though his shirt was damp and cold, heat radiated from her palm and through his veins. How had he ever thought he could be okay with just her friendship? And what would he do now if he lost it? He’d lose her forever.
Right now, though, in this room and with the magic that was Amarillo and tequila and lucky bouquets, she was his.
“Maybe you should kiss it and make it better.” He touched his chin again, and his fingers came away clean.
Brynn mirrored his action, but her skin was like satin compared to his own rough touch. And the heat, again he felt it from the pit of his stomach to the nerve endings in his fingers and toes. He felt everything when she touched him, and when her lips took the place of her hand, all reason went out the window.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice breathy and sweet and like nothing he’d ever heard from any other woman.
His eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”
“And this?”
He opened his eyes to watch as, standing on her toes, she peppered his neck with kisses.
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
He raked his fingers into her hair, and she looked up at him.
“You know we’re going to see each other naked, right?”
Jamie chuckled.
“It’s kind of what I hoped.”
“What if you laugh?” she asked.
“I won’t laugh.”
“What if I laugh?” she asked, her cheeks growing pink, and shit she was adorable when she was nervous.
He took off his shirt, and Brynn sucked in a sharp breath. They’d seen each other at the beach. This wasn’t anything new. And yet it was miles away from the boundaries of friendship.
“You’re not laughing,” he said, and she shook her head. He liked seeing her speechless. He liked being the one to make her speechless. “Now you,” he told her, his voice gentle as he tried to ease them both into the unknown.
Her fingers fidgeted with the top button of her shirt, but she couldn’t quite get it open. Jamie’s hands covered hers, steadied them, and they undid the buttons together. She let the open garment fall from her shoulders, and there she stood, the cream lace of her bra against the flushed pink of her otherwise pale skin.
Jamie wasn’t laughing, either. In fact, he had to remind himself to breathe so he had enough oxygen to formulate any sound at all, because her hands moved to the front clasp of her bra, and yep. He still wasn’t breathing.
“What?” she asked, pausing to look at him.
He pulled her hands down to her sides before she completed her task.
“You don’t want me to…” she started, but he shook his head.
“Seventeen-year-old me is out of his mind with how long he’s wanted to touch you like this. He needs a second to collect himself.”
Brynn giggled, but he didn’t consider this laughing. It was sweet and sexy, and he inhaled slowly, preparing himself for everything that would follow this next moment. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts, her nipples peaking against the lace, and Jamie felt his erection strain against his jeans as his heart hammered beneath his ribs.
“Are you sure?” he asked, bringing his hands to her cheeks. He may have had as much as she did to drink, but he knew enough to ask this question. “I don’t want this to be something you regret later.”
Her eyes met his in a moment of clarity, and she nodded.
“Yes, Jamie. Yes. I want this. I want you.” She clasped a hand around his wrist, directing his palm to the spot between her breasts, where the last barrier separated him from seeing her as his best friend and oh-so-much more. “You do it,” she said, and he did—flicked open that clasp and pushed the lace cups away from her skin.
Forget logic or sobriety or collecting himself because instinct and need and ten years of loving this girl took over.
He rasped out a breath as he dipped his head into the crook of her neck where he kissed and nipped. Brynn responded with a soft hum as she arched into him, pressing her breasts against his chest as his arms encircled her, and he led her to the bed.
“There are a lot of flowers in this room,” he remarked as he eyed the bedspread, the wallpaper, and even the curtains.
“Garden Cottage,” she said, pulling him down to her as she fell flat on her back.
“Noted,” he said, looming over her on all fours. “You’re perfect.”
“Jamie…”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Jamie…”