Page 52 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

ADAIR

B efore I even opened my eyes, I knew she was gone.

Or, at least, she was no longer in her room.

Everything was too quiet, too still.

I wasn’t sure when the music had stopped, but melodies still rang in my ears as I sat up in bed and stretched my stiff muscles.

The faint sound of the front door closing made my heart jump, then take off at a gallop. I swiped my glasses from the nightstand, put them on, and flew out of bed as fast as my crutch and cast would let me.

When I rounded into the kitchen, Ireland looked over her shoulder at me, a small smile blooming on her face when our eyes met.

Contrary to the relieved slump of my shoulders, I’d never felt so tall.

She turned back to the table, where she’d just set a bouquet of sunflowers.

I nearly swayed at the rightness of it, of her, and I took a step closer.

“These came for you,” she said, fussing with the arrangement. “A card, too, but it looks like it was already opened and taped back together. The vase is kind of weird, though. It’s covered in smiley faces.”

My next step brought me almost close enough to reach out and touch her.

“There’s a new basket for you on the counter as well that Miss Lenny left in front of the door.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “For dinner, I was thinking of picking up some?—”

I grasped her hips and pulled her to me, holding strong when her hands flew to my chest and she braced herself against me.

She drew in a deep measured breath, so slowly that it was nearly painful, before tilting her chin up. Then those indigo eyes were finally on me. “You’re….”

My gaze bounced between her eyes as I wondered if she saw even the smallest glimpse of the ocean of need that I felt toward her. “I’m?”

“Compromised,” she finished. “Your immune system. After surgery. I looked it up.”

I hummed low in my throat, amusement and affection crashing together seamlessly.

“For major surgeries, maybe,” I replied. “Not so much for something as small as this.”

A crease formed between her brows. “You could still get sick.”

I laid my hand over hers on my chest. “Would you like me to sign a liability waiver?”

She shook her head, the ghost of a smile on her face, in her eyes.

I lifted her hand to my mouth and planted a soft kiss on her pinky. Her lips parted, and a shiver ghosted up my spine. When I pressed my lips to her ring finger, the nails of her other hand dug into my chest, and her eyes fluttered shut.

She inhaled shakily before opening them again, and we only looked at each other for a heartbeat before we moved.

Her hand snaked behind my neck as mine went to her jaw. My glasses faintly bumped her brow before I angled her head slightly to the side, and my lips were on hers.

She gasped into my mouth, opening to me immediately, and I leaned into her, tasting her, inhaling her scent.

My God, how I needed this.

Our lips moved against each other in perfect rhythm, and when my head grew light from lack of oxygen, I pulled back for exactly one breath before diving back for more, angling her head in the opposite direction to taste her that way.

That need for her consumed me, overwhelmed me, the frustration of the past week boiling over and turning into something fierce and mindless.

I moved my hand to the back of her neck, bringing our mouths even closer together, moaning into her mouth when her tongue swiped across mine.

My crutch clattered to the floor.

It didn’t matter.

That vase could’ve spontaneously shattered, and I still wouldn’t have left this moment.

We kissed and kissed as we learned the contours of each other and relearned the ones we’d already discovered in the Cadillac.

“Adair,” Ireland rasped, pulling away from my lips.

I pressed my forehead against hers, my chest heaving. “Yeah?”

Her hand moved down my chest, and I held my breath as it traveled. But instead of brushing over my very obvious hardness, she landed it on my thigh .

“Your leg is shaking.”

“ Fuck ,” I cursed, realizing she was right. She stepped away from me suddenly, and I automatically braced my hand on the table, closing my eyes in frustration.

“Here,” she said, and I grimaced as she slid the crutch under my arm.

I gave it my weight and took several deep breaths, doing my best to wrestle the familiar disappointment in my body back into its box.

“Hey.” Ireland’s warm hand pressed onto my back before she lightly raked her nails down my spine in a soothing gesture.

My stubborn muscles remained tense for one more second before relaxing under her touch. The pain and embarrassment already took care of my arousal, so at least that was one less thing to worry about.

“Do you want to open your card?”

I looked over at her, losing my breath entirely.

Flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, and wet, swollen lips that turned up into another smile.

I nodded. Words weren’t possible yet.

She plucked the card from the table and then pushed on my lower back, directing me to the living room.

She ran her fingers across the unfinished crocheted blanket almost reverently before asking, “Is it okay if I move this? Will that mess it up?”

I shook my head. “I have a stitch marker, so it’ll be fine.”

She cradled the blanket in her arms and draped it over the armchair. “Delly mentioned she had a brief crochet hobby. She did not mention that you kept it up.”

I sat on the couch I was starting to loathe and shrugged. “Sometimes the station was slow enough that I could do a project in one sitting. ”

She stroked the blanket again before disappearing into her bedroom. I stared after her pathetically, only looking away when she reappeared with the laptop. She set it on the armchair, then went into my bedroom and grabbed pillows for my foot tower.

My jaw tightened as we worked together to set it up.

After so many days of Cole and Delly fussing over me, I should’ve been used to this, but no.

I still hated it.

Anger and frustration were roiling inside me, and I knew that even though my immune system was just fine, there were other side effects that could linger after surgery.

Like mood swings.

Ireland grabbed the laptop and propped her back on the arm of the couch on my right, facing me. Her knees were bent slightly, leaving just a sliver of space between her bare feet and my thigh. It was too much space.

Reaching out, I grasped her calves and pulled her feet onto the top of my thigh.

The typing on her keyboard paused when I started rubbing circles on her ankle, then resumed.

She melted into my touch easily, and it made me feel better than probably anything else could have.

As she worked on her laptop, I took advantage of the opportunity to explore her, tracing her muscles, the lines of her bones, the dip of her instep.

Her eyes flicked to mine over the top of the laptop just as I pressed my thumb into her calf and stroked a line up to the back of her knee. She squirmed, the slit in her dance skirt and the loose material making my path easy.

I wanted to take it further. Especially after she’d made me come so intensely, twice , almost a week ago. I wanted to prove that I could please her body like she’d pleased mine .

“Indigo…,” I said, my voice more gravelly than I expected. “What time is it?”

Her eyes flicked down to her screen, then back to me. “Quarter till five.”

I nodded. “Delly gets off work at six, and you were maybe mentioning having dinner here tonight?”

She tilted her head as she looked at me, trying to pick up the thread of what I was saying. “Yeah…?”

I nodded again and bit my lip, the courage almost abandoning me. But then she stretched and flexed her leg under my palm, pointing her foot in a graceful extension in a way only a dancer probably could.

My arousal, my need for her, came back in full force as I gripped her calf and took off my glasses, leaning forward to set them on the coffee table.

When I kissed a path along her shin, the keystrokes stopped again. I turned to her blurry form, almost wishing I had my pad of sticky notes so I could write her this instead.

“I want to make you come.”

I couldn’t make out her expression, but I saw, and heard, her laptop close. And then I felt her gaze on my cast.

That tiny bit of implied uncertainty gave me the rest of the audacity I needed. Shaking my head, I picked her feet off my lap and set them on the ground. Then I took my foot off the coffee table pillow tower and slid toward her, gripping her waist. “Up.”

She got to her feet, and my hand slid with her, landing on the back of her thigh, right below her ass. Blindly reaching for a pillow, I put it where she’d been sitting and lay on my back. Her gasp was faint, but I treasured it while I propped my foot up on the arm at the other end of the couch .

“It’s my turn,” I said, voice deep with need. “If you’ll allow me to have it.”

Her stomach muscles contracted under her tight top as she considered me for a long beat, and then she nodded.

Sitting up in a crunch, I slid my hand to her front and up the slit of her skirt, where I found the waistband of her panties, then slipped my fingers underneath it.

My gaze stayed on hers even though my view was blurry. “Off.”

With no hesitation, she snaked her own hand under her skirt, and we worked together to pull them down her legs. The second she stepped out of them, I grasped her by the waist and pulled her to straddle my stomach.

Her lips parted, and I pulled her down into a kiss, distracted by the need to taste them again.

She moaned against my lips as I deepened our kiss, getting as close to her as I could, glad my glasses weren’t in the way this time.

My hand grazed up her stomach to her chest, and I broke away from her mouth, leaning down to trail kisses on her jaw and down the side of her neck.

I blindly roamed her body with my hands, one on her lower back and one on her stomach, keeping her in place when she tried to move backward.

As much as I wanted to press my hardness into her, that was not my aim. Not this time.