Better Hate than Never (The Wilmot Sisters, #2)(68)

“You’re impossible,” I groan, cupping her neck, slipping my fingers into her sweat-soaked hair, tangling with those wild locks knotted high on her head. “God, I can’t stop. I can’t stop and—”

And I’ve tried, I almost tell her. I’ve tried for so long.

She searches my eyes, perplexed, serious. Her thumb sweeps along my temple to my cheekbone, gentle and reflective. “What is it?” Leaning close, lowering her mouth to a breath away from mine, she whispers, “Tell me.”

My hands travel gently up her back, tucking her closer. I draw in a breath, my heart pounding, searching for the bravery to unburden myself. “I—”

“We WON!” Bea’s voice pierces the air.

More voices whoop and yell. Feet pound toward us.

Kate searches my gaze, her eyes dancing between mine. Sticks break under feet. Voices grow closer.

“Hold that thought,” she whispers. Then she plants one last, long kiss to my lips and leaps like a cat from my arms, scoops up a paintball, and launches it toward her sister as Bea steps into view.

“Paintball fight!”





? TWENTY-FIVE ?


    Kate


It’s the longest train ride of my life.

Christopher sits beside me, staring straight ahead, his thigh pressing into mine, hard, insistent. Those kisses on the paintball field play on a loop in my brain, and a flush creeps up my throat, flooding my cheeks.

Our eyes meet in the reflection of the train’s glass across from us.

His eyes pin mine, sharp, hungry. My eyes say the same thing—

Want, want, want.

Peripherally I’m aware of the group’s conversation, Toni and Sula dramatically replaying the highlights, Bea cackling with joy about defeating the bros in black.

All I can focus on is the sound of my breath sawing from my lungs. The heat pouring off Christopher. Every point of contact between my body and his.

My thighs squeeze together.

Christopher’s reflection smirks knowingly.

Never one to turn down the chance to retaliate, I lift my arms over my head, acting like I’m stretching out my shoulder, putting on full display the diamond bits that are my nipples poking into my sweater.

His smirk dies away. I watch his grip curl around the edge of his seat, until his knuckles are white. There’s still a splatter of green paint on his hand, flecks of yellow and blue clinging to his wrists, his neck, his hair, that make me flash back to just an hour ago at Peace, Love, and Paintball.

I see him as he looked then, turning right as I crept up on him and splattered a yellow paintball over his head, the grin on his face as he crushed one in his hand, then wiped it down the side of my face, making me scream with delight.

The train slows to a stop and we all ease out of our seats gingerly, walking slowly, sore as shit. Everything hurts.

The group leads the way, while Christopher and I fall behind them. I feel his hand settle low on my back, warm, comforting, torturously good.

He slants a glance my way, his eyes meeting mine, before they dance down to my mouth. The pressure on my back increases.

He wants me. And I want him.

I want his hands and mouth, I want more of those kisses that made my skin spark and dance like a live wire, arcing, lit up with relief as I grounded myself—my mouth to his mouth, my hands on him, his hands on me, welcoming the energy thrumming through us.

Up on the sidewalk, everyone pairs off and hugs goodbye, shivering against the cold. I participate in the ritual, barely paying attention, hardly knowing what I say.

And then it’s just the four of us on the sidewalk, Bea curled into Jamie for warmth, Christopher shoulder to shoulder beside me, giving me his heat.

A car whooshes by, pounding bass, a raw ache rattling the air like an echo of what’s inside me.

“Well, my lady.” Jamie wraps an arm tighter around Bea’s shoulders, smiling down at her. “May I escort you home?”

“My dear sir, how about I escort you home?” Bea says as she grins up at him.

“I won’t say no to that. There’s a cab,” Jamie says, waving it down. “You two coming?”

I shake my head. “I want to walk.”

Christopher says, “I’ll walk her home.”

Jamie and Christopher seem to exchange some kind of look I can’t read as Bea rushes my way, hugging me hard, whispering in my ear, “You okay?”

“Yes. I promise. Love you.”

She wraps her arms tighter around me and says, “Love you, too. I’m one call or text away. Because, uh . . . just in case it wasn’t obvious, I will not be coming back after I take Jamie home. Well, not until tomorrow morning.”

I snort a laugh, then pull away. “It was obvious, yes.”

She grins. “Okay. Night, KitKat.”

“Night, BeeBee.”

After Jamie tucks Bea into the taxi, he follows her, pulling the door shut. I look up at Christopher and find him staring down at me. He steps closer and zips my coat all the way.

“Do you mind walking?” I ask.

“Of course not,” he says, eyes on his task as he tugs up my coat’s collar to cover my chilly neck, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “I had a sneaking suspicion that despite going hard for two hours at paintball, after that train ride, you’d need to move.”