If It Makes You Happy(69)

I push the bottom of his mask up with my thumb, high enough to finally see his sky-blue eyes in the moonlight. His eyebrows are pulled closer. I can feel his heart pounding against mine.

“I wouldn’t regret this,” I whisper.

Cliff blinks at me, eyes darting between mine. “You wouldn’t?”

I shake my head side to side. “No.”

Cliff slowly traces his fingers along my jaw. The glove’s fabric is rough, catching in my hair as he cups the back of my neck.

I close my eyes when he purses his lips on my forehead, lingering for a moment before trailing a kiss to my temple. My cheek. My jaw. Cliff is slow with action, like he’s savoring every piece of me I’m allowing him to touch.

He leans back. I open my eyes to find Cliff’s lips are less than an inch away. The warmth of his breath sizzles over me.

“Michelle,” he breathes, tilting his head to the side, “we can’t.”

An anvil slams down to my stomach. “Oh,” is all I can get out.

He immediately chuckles. “Not right now, I mean.” Then he leans closer, flashing the most wicked smile. “I don’t want to start something I can’t finish.”

“Oh,” I repeat, but this time, my cheeks grow hot.

He exhales with a hum, tucking hair behind my ear. “I think doing … things … in Winston’s bushes probably isn’t the best call. We’d never live it down.”

“Right,” I agree, shaking my head. “That makes sense.”

Cliff stares at me with a solemn smile. I return it, but my heart won’t stop pounding. My body is buzzing with energy. And with each passing second, I can see his smile fading. The crinkles beside his eyes disappear. His lips straighten into a line. And finally, he exhales.

“Ah, screw it.”

Cliff sinks his hand into my hair, cups my head, and collides his lips with mine.

It takes the breath out of me. I stumble, but his other hand steadies my waist. The flame in my chest licks up to my throat. It’s fire. He is fire. My fingers slide up his robe, tangling in the fabric, tugging him closer. And when his hard chest hits mine, I melt into it.

He opens his mouth in tandem with mine. An embarrassing whine leaves me. But my sound has him groaning in response too. I’ve never heard such a desperate sound coming from Cliff. I’d never have imagined I’d be so desperate to hear it again.

I bite his bottom lip. His tongue sinks into my mouth. I tug on his hood, knocking his mask to the dirt. He pushes me backward. My spine is firm against the house behind me. His hips tilt against mine. My breath catches.

We’re eager, sliding hands over each other’s neck, jaw, and hair. I can feel his heartbeat through his wrist on my cheek. He can probably feel my heart through my palm at the base of his neck. I exhale into him.

But then our feverish lips transform into something slower. Sweeter. Gentler. His thumb strokes over my cheek. My hand releases his fabric. His palm on my waist ghosts up my ribs and back down. The kisses start to linger.

He finally places what feels like the last kiss on my lips and pulls back. But when I lean in, he steals what he can get again—pressing his lips against mine over and over until we extend the little moments in between. I can’t get enough. I could kiss him forever.

We finally part, and when we open our eyes, we both start laughing. We laugh to get the nerves out. We laugh when we notice that my hair is tangled and that his cheeks are flushed.

I reach up and trace my fingers over that little scar above his lip and the deep crease beside his mouth. He chuckles again, kissing the tip of each finger as it passes by.

I feel safe. I’m content for the first time in I don’t know how long.

That is until, in the distance, someone calls out, “Cliff! Where’s Cliff?”

Another person yells, “Go find Cliff!”

But the final thing that has Cliff jerking away is a screeching “Dad!”

We immediately bolt.





CHAPTER 19





Cliff




Hand in hand with Michelle, I shimmy through the scratchy bushes and run down the leaf-filled yard in search of my daughter, who’s calling my name. My heart is pounding, my pulse beating into Michelle’s palm.

One second, I was in bliss, holding this beautiful woman by the waist. And now … now …

I’m terrified.

It doesn’t take us long to find the source of the call.

A collection of people stands in a circle near a storm drain. George sees me and solemnly waves me over. The crowd parts when I run up, and Michelle drops my hand when there’s only enough space for me to break through. On the concrete, Brittany is holding her knee through sobs. My stomach plummets.

Maybe it’s like the pumpkin patch. She took a simple fall.

One knee looks scratched, but the other … it’s not as lucky. The wide cut looks like it penetrated deep. My heart leaps into my throat as I squat down beside her.

“Hey, Britt.” I hold her cheeks in my palms. “Tell me what happened.”

Snot slides down her upper lip. She’s sniffling too much to get out words. They’re jumbles of “uh” and “he” and “scary.” With a single finger, she points at Rocket.

The dog slinks next to Emily, his body crouching low to the ground, whining with his tail tucked between his legs. Emily’s fist is tangled in Rocket’s leash.