Page 207 of June First
“Take it.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Are you sure you don’t want to discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss, Brant. Take the job.”
Piano music sounds around us as Brant’s hands slide down my hips and land atop my upper thighs. He sighs deeply, provocatively, his gaze skimming me as his thumbs brush over the faded denim, shooting goose bumps across my skin. The pianist behind us starts to play the Elvis song “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” and my insides pitch.
I close my eyes, homing in on my other senses, like the feel of Brant palming my thighs, his touch electric. His body heat emanates into me as his fingers trace down my legs, then back up again, as if he’s re-memorizing my shape. The music pulses through my blood, turning my heartbeats into melodies, into beautiful love songs. I smell a hint of cigar smoke mingling with expensive liquor and something woodsy.
And if I zone out hard enough, I can still taste his kiss.
When my eyelids flutter back open, Brant is staring at me, the golden heat in his eyes outshining the muted greens. There’s a fire brewing. A familiar flame crackling to life.
We’re both breathing heavily, perched in this intimate position with his hands on my thighs, while my feet rest on the rung of his stool, my knees between his legs.
The silence thickens, the tension swells.
Brant’s gaze settles on my parted lips. He clenches his jaw as he says, “I have a present for you.”
“Oh, I…” I lick my lips, watching as he tracks the gesture. “I thought you were my present.”
His eyes flick back up, a smile hinting. But it fades as the heady fog grows thicker, swallowing both of us. “Turn around.”
I feel hypnotized, practically drugged as I stare at him, letting his words register. Blinking through the haze, I nod, twisting around on my stool until my back is facing him.
My skin hums with anticipation as I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling him inch closer to me after a few beats pass. The warmth of his skin radiates through my cotton shirt, and then his hands are reaching around me, equipped with a golden chain. He clasps the jewelry behind my neck.
Brant gathers up my long hair in his hands, pulling it out from the necklace and pooling it over my right shoulder. His lips dip down to my ear again as he whispers, “It made me think of you, Junebug. Finally spreading your wings.” A kiss finds the curve of my neck, and I shiver. “Flying free.”
I glance down and finger the pendant attached to a delicate chain. My breath hitches, emotion battling it out with the desire I feel as Brant continues to kiss my neck, his hands sliding down my body and curling around my waist.
It’s a tiny bluebird.
“I–I love it,” I manage, involuntarily leaning back, my spine flush with his chest. Goose bumps scatter along my skin when he drags his nose up the side of my throat, then kisses the shell of my ear. “Th—thank you.”
His grip tightens on my waist, his fingers biting into me as he breathes out, “I’m staying at a hotel.”
My thighs automatically clench.
I feel myself grow wetter as my skin crawls with a hot flush.
I imagine him taking me back to his room and showing me exactly how much he’s missed me over the last two years.
My voice sounds small as I twist around on the stool and find his eyes over my shoulder. “I’m ready when you are.”
His hands give me a hard squeeze as my response registers, his eyes lighting up with blatant arousal. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze flickering across my face, landing on my parted lips while he considers the implication.
Then he pivots away from me, swallowing back the last sip of his scotch. Brant slaps a few bills on the bar counter and stands, turning to me, his gaze still alight with hints of what’s to come.
He takes my hand.
He takes my whole life, too.
38
US FIRST
JUNE, AGE 21