“It wasn’t a fact. You’re not old. You’re fit. You’re strong. You’ve done so much and yet you’re ready to do so much more. You’re… you’re impressive, Trent.”
Are those the words of a family friend to another, or is there something more going on here?
I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. Whatever this is, whatever I feel, I have to remember Angela and how this would affect her.
“Careful, you’ll give me a big head.”
There’s a goddamn pun if there ever was one.
She is giving me a big head… my manhood, throbbing, seeming to get bigger with every passing moment.
“And you didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
I move closer, no longer in control, until I’m standing so close I could lean down and claim those pouting lips at any second.
“What are you going to do with your life?”
“Probably stay in Youngstone and work at the diner and go on nature walks and take photos,” she says.
“No,” I growl passionately. “You’re too smart for that. You’re too talented.”
She spins on me, her lips trembling, her eyes wide and filled with something I can’t quite read.
Does she want this as badly as I do?
Am I imagining the heat radiating from her body?
It’s like I can scent her womb, a powerful odor calling to me, roaring at me to claim her. It reminds me of when I was at war. When nothing else existed but the battle and the blood and the focus.
Now, nothing exists except for my woman.
The trees drop away. The forest disappears. It’s just us.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
I know what I want to do, what I need to do. I need to kiss her, taste those lips, listen to the quality of her breathing change as we crash our bodies together in a wild unleashing of all the pent-up pressure inside of us.
“Take pictures and get paid for it.” She shrugs. “And maybe…”
“Go on,” I urge when she trails off.
“Find somebody. Start a family.”
“You want children?”
My throat feels tight. I feel like a damn little kid, experiencing everything for the first time.
“Yes,” she says, staring right at me now, and I swear she knows. She fucking knows what she’s doing to me. “If I could find somebody who’d want me.”
“What?” I growl. “That’s not what you need to worry about, Tessa.”
“No?”
“No. You need to worry about who wouldn’t want you. You’re—”
“Yoo-hoo,” somebody cries, shattering the moment.
Tessa flinches and takes a step away from me.
I turn, rage making my body tight, my fists clenched, ready to end whatever bastard would dare to interrupt me and my lady.
It’s Mrs. Pennyworth, an elderly woman who’s run the Youngstone library since I was a kid.
“Sorry to interrupt, but do either of you have any water?” She wipes sweat from her forehead. Her white hair sticking out from beneath a red baseball cap. “I’d forgotten how taxing this walk could be.”
What the fuck am I going to do, attack Mrs. Pennyworth?
I almost laugh at the thought.
“Of course,” I tell her, reaching into my bag.
Tessa smiles over at the old lady, but I’m sure I can see tension moving through her the same way it barrels through me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tessa
Was he going to call me beautiful before Mrs. Pennyworth interrupted us?
I want to ask him as we continue to walk through the wooded trail, but Mrs. Pennyworth is notorious in Youngstone for her ability to talk and talk without any concern for her listeners.
She rants about library regulations, late fees, her favorite pastries, all the while I turn inward and try to figure out what the heck happened between Trent and me before she appeared.
He was standing so close, the heat of him so much hotter than the blazing sun. The day is warm, sweat pricking my body, and as he leaned in I was sure he was going to make a comment about how much I stink, about how repulsive I am.
You’re…
And then he was cut off.
What the heck was he going to say?
I almost heard the b of beautiful, but maybe that’s my imagination torturing me with impossible things.
He was showing me so much interest, though, his leafy green eyes staring at me, into me like I was the only person who exists.
Mrs. Pennyworth walks between us.
I glance past her at Trent, trying to read the tension in his jaw, at the way his biceps tighten in his T-shirt. He’s wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants, every part of him throbbing and rock hard like he could tear out of his clothes at any second and walk naked through the forest.
A scar trails down one bicep, zigzagging, and I remember he was wounded in his twenties.
Shrapnel tore through his left side, luckily leaving him alive… And then he returned to battle.
I remember how Angela cried about that, but Trent had been unwilling to leave his men.
He’s brave. He’s strong. He’s exactly the sort of man I need to take care of my family.
Why the heck would he ask me if I wanted to start a family if he didn’t want to be the father?
A voice cackles within me, twisted and cruel.
Because he’s making small talk, you dummy. He doesn’t want you like that. He doesn’t want you like anything. Don’t embarrass yourself.
Maybe this is all in my head.
It’s not like I can ask him, anyway.
Firstly it would be too embarrassing, and secondly, Mrs. Pennyworth is too busy telling us all about the benefits of hardback dictionaries.
Finally, we return to the parking lot.
Mrs. Pennyworth takes off her red hat and runs a hand through her hair, grinning at both of us in turn before walking over to her Beetle.
“It’s been nice talking with you both,” she calls over as she climbs into her car.
I giggle once she’s pulled out, letting out a breath.
“I know,” Trent says, watching me in that close way of his. “She can be a lot.”
“Has she always been like that?”
“Ever since I can remember.” He nods. “She’s set in her ways.”
I stroll
