Fireworks (True North, #6)

by Sarina Bowen

I make a decision, right here in Benito’s groovy living room. I will enjoy this night in his company. I will remember the good times. And when I go back to New York, I’ll do so knowing that I looked him in the eye and survived it.

Could Benito and Rayanne be involved? I’ll die of jealousy.

“Yeah. I was waiting on the porch for you to come and get me. You didn’t, but he did.” Swear to God, Benito’s face goes ashen right in front of my eyes.

I always hated facing Gage alone, and that night Benito forced me to do it.

What’s the statute of limitations on heartache? I don’t think mine is over.

Every time I think about that pathetic girl on the porch, I get angry. But I’m not just angry at Benito, I’m also angry at myself. I’d fallen for him. I’d given away so much of myself that he was able to level me in a single night.

“Is your job always dangerous?” “No, baby.” He smiles. “Careful, though. A guy might think you cared.” I hide behind my wine glass because I do care, darn it. Not that I want to.

Maybe I need to feel this ache one more time before I can let it go for good.

I’m wearing a Natori nightgown that seemed perfectly modest when I thought that only Rayanne would see it. But now I feel naked. And unless I’m crazy, Benito’s eyes keep finding their way over to my side of the bed.

Apparently I’m not a very sexual person. I never saw fireworks.

The only man I’ve ever really loved is sitting beside me on the bed. No wonder Vermont still has such a hold on my soul.

I’ve still got it bad for him.

Honestly I was never much of a player until I spent a lot of time sitting by that fire with you.” His fingers change position on the guitar’s neck, and he strums again. The chord vibrates in my belly. “I liked the way you listened.”

“Horny eighteen-year-old boy sitting close to the prettiest girl in Vermont? I spent every night trying not to reach for you. The ukulele gave me something else to focus on. And I needed that. Badly.”

“There are about a hundred reasons why we didn’t have sex,” he says with a sad smile. “That’s a lot of reasons,”

Benito was my rock.

Didn’t mean I didn’t think about you way too much.” “You did not,” I whisper. “No way.” “Way,” he says, smiling.

My only goal was to keep you safe. And if I thought for one minute that I might scare you off, then it wasn’t worth it. If you were afraid to be alone with me the way you were afraid to be alone with him, I couldn’t risk that. I was happy to wait. For you.”

“So that’s why I played so much ukulele.” He strums again. “To hide my boner. It was a year of untucked shirts and strategically placed objects.”

I never knew I had such an effect on him. And part of me really needed to hear this. It’s healing to know a nice boy wanted me, and then didn’t make a big deal about it.

I had it so bad. I ached.” Past tense, my brain points out.

I miss him so much.

“Goodnight, Skyescraper,” he says. Then he gives me a teasing grin. “Goodnight you jerk.”

before I can brace myself, warm, firm lips meet mine.

“There,” he says as he texts himself from my number. “Now I can’t lose you so easily again.”

My dreams are sweet. Really sweet. I dream that Benito and I are tangled up together in bed. I love you, he whispers to my dreaming self. I love you, Skye. Just you.

He’s here in the bed with me, holding me against his body.

“Skye,” he murmurs right into my ear. “Sweetheart. Tell me you’re awake.” A big hand sweeps down my back. “Nope,” I whisper, and he chuckles.

I’ve gone from asleep to heavy-duty making out in about two minutes. It’s amazing.

I always wanted him to look at me like that—like I was sexy and exciting, and not just a scared waif who often needed his help.

Her skin tastes like everything I’ve ever wanted.

I’m such a goner.

Skye had a really rough time of it as a teenager. And now I’m mentally slapping myself for assuming she was down for sex without really asking.

It’s fine. Everything is fine.” But she doesn’t look fine. She looks the opposite of fine. I know fear when I see it.

she emerges freshly dressed in another short skirt that will probably melt a few more of my brain cells.

God, I feel eighteen again. I’d forgotten how it feels to have a brain clouded with equal parts lust and affection. It’s a miracle I could function at all. I remember so keenly how it felt to have her clinging to me on the back of my bike, her arms hugging my chest. It was wonderful, horrible torture.

my gaze lingering on her sweet face. I’m so fucked.

“Right after you left, I spent weeks trying to figure out who your aunt Jenny was, so I could call you and make sure you were okay.”

“Fancy desserts and energetic sex are two of my favorite things.” “Oh. Well.” She picks some invisible lint off her sweater. “To each his own, I guess.”

I don’t think I’m a very sexual person. ” I flash back about twenty minutes to Skye gripping my hair while I pleasure her with my tongue. Not a sexual person my ass.

“Can I think about it?” “She has to think about it.” I tip my head back on the sofa and smile at the ceiling beams.

She’d rather be insulted for an hour than cramp Benito’s style.

He circles the bonfire, looking for his favorite girl.

“I’m cold,” she whispers, shivering. He can’t even look at Zara as he tucks Skye against his hip and guides her slowly toward the car, one arm wrapped around her. She doesn’t even have a real coat.

Skye brings out a fierce protective streak in Benito.

Skye makes him crazy. At least once a day he has to take a few calm, deep breaths to avoid going postal on her idiot mother or that scum of a cop Skye lives with.

Benito reaches across the seat and takes her cold hands. And when Skye’s fingers close around his, it’s enough. There’s so much more he wants, but somehow this is still wonderful.

He puts a hand on the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. He doesn’t usually allow himself to touch her like this, but Skye lying down in bed is doing crazy things to his body.

Benito can’t imagine just walking away and leaving Skye here. Saying goodbye? Unthinkable.

Oh, and Vermont gives good scenery. Forget the Green Mountains—I mean the hot guy in the leather jacket who puts a hand on the small of my back as we cross the gravel parking lot.