Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(98)

So safe?

“What’s going on?” Maverick asks, his shoulder leaned into the kitchen doorjamb. He flicks a frown between the two of us. “You okay, Gorgeous?”

I force a smile and keep blinking because if I actually cry, Maverick will try to comfort me and that’ll only make it worse.

“All good.” I stand and cross over to the counter and the foiled cake pan. “I made banana pudding. You want some?”

“Sure.” I feel his eyes boring into my back the whole time I scoop some for him into a bowl.

When I turn around, he’s sitting in my seat. I set the bowl in front of him and move to take one of the other chairs, but he grabs me around my waist and pulls me down to his lap.

“Mav,” I mumble into his neck, conscious of his father grinning at us. “Good grief.”

“Pop don’t care,” Maverick says, keeping one hand on my leg while he eats banana pudding with the other. “Damn, this is good. You been hiding your culinary skills in case I try to make you cook for me?”

I pull back and suck my teeth. “Boy, you already know better than to try to make me do anything.”

Mr. Bell howls and pats the table with his fist. “You got a real one, son.”

Maverick slides the spoon into his mouth, smiling and never looking away from me. “Oh, I know it.”

Having this much sexual tension with a man while you’re on his lap and his daddy’s watching proves to be too much, even for me, so I stand and carry my empty bowl to the sink.

“What you kids have planned for Hendrix’s last night?” Mr. Bell asks.

The smile that lingered on my lips melts. I’ve been dreading this all week: the last day. I fly to Charlotte tomorrow. And knowing what I’m leaving behind here sits just as heavily in my heart as not knowing what to expect at home. I turn to face them, leaning on the counter, and waiting for Maverick’s reply.

“I’m definitely not ready for Hen to leave,” Maverick says, recapturing my stare as soon as I turn around. “But she’s going where she’s supposed to be. I do have plans for our last night, though.”

“You do?” I glance down at my casual cotton shorts and tank top. “I don’t know if I feel like going out.”

“Just put on a pretty dress and trust me, okay?”

“Oh, shit.” Mr. Bell stands and walks his empty bowl over to the sink and sotto voces, “When he says trust him, that means don’t.”

Looking at the handsome man eating my banana pudding and winking at me, I can’t help but think he’s one of the few men in my life I actually do trust.

How the hell did that happen?





CHAPTER 38





MAVERICK


I’m glad you didn’t go all out for dinner,” Hendrix says wryly, leaning on the rail of the two-hundred-foot Galactica Star yacht.

I hand her a glass of wine and slip an arm around her waist. “Just a little something I’m thinking about buying. Consider it a test-drive.”

“Hmmm.” She watches me over the rim of her glass and sips. “You’ve fucked me on land and in the air. Now you just want this ass by sea.”

I slide my hand down to squeeze her butt. “Technically we’re on the ocean, not the sea.”

“Technically, you ’bout to screw up your chances of getting this ass at all.”

I dip to kiss the scented hollow of her throat. “We both know you lying.”

She turns her head to lightly bite my jaw. “You’re right because ain’t no way I’m missing that dick one last time before I go.”

We both start laughing so hard we almost spill our wine, and I don’t know why. It’s not even that funny, but everything is magnified with Hendrix. Passion burns hotter. The affection runs deeper. Emotions I’m hesitant to put words to take up more space inside me than anything ever has, and I’m still getting used to wanting a woman I haven’t known that long this much.

When my father asked if I would have reconsidered having kids if Hendrix wanted that, I realized I probably would. And that shook me because I’m not the kind of man who redraws my lines. My convictions, beliefs, the things I decide are right for me, are usually carved in wood, not drawn in sand. So discovering that the thing which ended my relationship with Zere is negotiable with Hendrix… I’m still processing what that means. What she means to me.

“Hey.” Hendrix cups my cheek and presses her nose to mine. “Where’d you go? Why so quiet?”

“I’ve been having a debate with myself,” I say, kissing her lightly. “Maybe you can help me.”

“What’s the debate?”

“I’m trying to decide my favorite thing about you.” I run a thumb over her lips. “Is it your mouth? I mean, for obvious reasons. But then I think it might be the curve of your neck. It looks so smooth. Or maybe your laugh, though that’s hard to pin down. Sometimes it booms, announces itself to everyone in the room. I think I prefer the low, sly one that keeps a secret.”

“You are such a sweet talker,” she says, rolling her eyes, but can’t stop that smile.

I press our lips together lightly at first, but the kiss deepens, intensifies until we’re exploring each other’s bodies one-handed, both gripping a wine glass in the other. Elixir kisses laced with stardust. My hand is up her skirt and in her underwear, seeking out her wet heat, and she is grinding on three of my fingers.