Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“I was thinking about what it might be like to keep kissing you in that parking lot, instead of stopping when we did.”

I nip the inside of my lip, trying not to let it show that I’d also imagined the same.

“I thought maybe we could grab a couple more wine coolers to go. I could bring you here and walk you through the vines in the moonlight. And maybe we’d stop right here, on my stoop.” He pauses a second, his eyes locked on me. “Maybe I’d press you against the wall to my cabin and lean in, lick up your neck, maybe leaving a little mark.”

I close my eyes again, overwhelmed at the visual, wishing it were real instead of imagined. My mind briefly wonders what’s different now than before … why he’s sharing this little tidbit with me when he shut me down so swiftly before. But I shove that thought aside, choosing instead to just be here in this moment.

“Then I’d bring you inside. Play some soft music. Slip my fingers underneath your bra.”

My lips part, and that’s when I realize I’m panting just slightly, my chest rising and falling with deep, labored breaths at his words. At the picture he’s painting of the two of us.

If he had any idea how much I’m enjoying this little fantasy, he might be tempted to make it come true.

But what’s keeping him from doing that now? The way he’s talking to me, our bodies inches apart, not much is stopping him from making good on all of it.

“Until you were desperate,” he continues, his voice lowering as his mouth gets closer to my ear. “Until you were so needy, you would take control. Maybe shoving me back on the bed or the couch, straddling me and writhing against me.”

His lips brush against my neck, or maybe it’s his nose, I can’t tell. All I know is that the small touch sends a shiver ricocheting through my chest and along my spine.

I am needy and desperate, I want to tell him.

But instead, I stay silent, hoping he’ll continue this story, tell me what the night could have looked like if things had been different.

His shoulder brushes against mine, just lightly, just enough to know he’s moved closer …

“Murphy?”

My eyes fly wide, the sound of my name like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head, and I spot Micah watching the two of us with a furrowed brow.

“Hey!” I say, my voice betraying the fact I was caught doing … whatever this was.

With Wes.

“When you didn’t show up at the warehouse I figured I’d try to catch you on your way.” His words come out slow and even, but his gaze is pinned on Wes. A beat passes before he looks to me again. “I’m glad I found you.”

I glance at Wes, an odd expression on his face that surely matches mine. “I’ll see you later,” I mumble, before pushing off the stoop and walking toward where my brother stands with his hands on his hips. “Hey,” I say again. “Sorry for being late.”

It’s not every day you’re getting dirty-talked into a panting mess and your brother interrupts. I’d like for that to never happen again, please and thank you.

“That’s okay.” His voice is more like a growl, and I notice he’s still watching Wes behind me.

I slip my hand in his and give him a tug down the path heading toward the warehouse. “So tell me about the cellar,” I say. “And all the other changes on the property I might not know about.”

His eyes are focused on the ground as we walk. “What’s going on with you and Wes?”

I almost trip over my feet when he asks.

Unlike Memphis and me, who have grown up learning the art of avoidance from my father, my baby brother is much more direct. He might not be a big talker, but when he has something to say, he says exactly what he means.

“What are you talking about?” I respond, hoping that if I play dumb, he might, too.

But no such luck.

“Don’t be an idiot. What was that back there?”

I shake my head, but no words come out.

That was nothing is what I want to say. You must have misunderstood is another option. But instead of either of those things, I just stay silent.