When Fences Fall: Small-town, grumpy sunshine romance, page 31
Jericho’s watching me with flared nostrils. He doesn’t move. Neither do I. For the first time in my life, I’m truly feeling the power of my own body. And it’s because of the pure hunger in his eyes. It makes me feel like I’ve bewitched him just by standing here and breathing. No one has ever made me feel more like a woman than he is now without even touching me.
We’re standing an inch apart, him half naked, me barely wrapped in a coat that’s starting to slip off one shoulder, revealing more of me every second.
He growls—growls—and grabs me by the wrist, yanking me into his body. The door slams behind me, and I’m pressed against it before I can blink. I didn’t even know the door was still open. The heat of his stare and my own desire kept me warm even with the freezing temperatures blowing through the open door.
His hands are on either side of my head, breath hot against my cheek.
“Are you sore?”
“A little.” I smile. “But it’s a good kind of sore.”
“You want this?” he asks, voice like gravel.
I nod.
“Not enough.” He nips on my ear. “Say it.”
“I want this,” I whisper, swallowing. “I want you.”
Something inside him snaps. His mouth crashes onto mine—rough, hungry, desperate.
He kisses like a starving man. Like this is the only thing in the world that makes sense. His hands grip my waist, hard, grounding me, holding me still like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind if he lets go.
He’s not gentle. I don’t think he knows how to be at the moment. And I don’t think I want gentle.
He kisses with his whole body, like he’s trying to climb inside my skin. Like he’s spent every second since yesterday thinking about repeating what we’ve done.
My coat slides off my shoulders, puddling at my feet.
He pauses the kisses, steps back, and stares.
And stares.
And stares.
To the point I’m beginning to lose my newfound confidence, and I wrap my arms around my torso.
“Don’t,” he hisses angrily. “Never hide from me.”
“I’m—”
He leans closer, pinching my chin between his thumb and his finger. “Never, Nora. You are so fuckin’ beautiful, it hurts. And I love when it hurts.”
My eyes dart between his. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
With a sigh, he loses the last piece of control he was clinging to.
His hands roam. Wide palms, callused fingers. Up my sides. Across my back. One hand fists into my hair and tilts my head back. His mouth finds my throat, then lower. Every inch he touches feels like it’s been lit from the inside.
“Tell me to stop if it gets too rough,” he rasps.
“I’ll never tell you to stop, Jericho,” I say into his ear, making him shudder.
He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, jaw clenched so tight it trembles. “I don’t know why you’ve been sent to me, but I’m sure fuckin’ grateful.”
“Right back at you. Now.” I hook my finger at the towel around his hips and pull on it. “Let’s be rough.”
He curses under his breath and lifts me like I weigh nothing. My back hits the wall again, his body pinning mine, his towel somewhere between us but barely hanging on.
Everything is heat and pressure and motion. Not chaotic—urgent. Because for Jericho—with Jericho—this isn’t just about sex. It’s about belonging.
It’s about someone finally reaching out and grabbing him without flinching. And holding him tight.
43
Nora
I wake slowly, the way you do when the world feels safe. It’s still dark out, but the feeling of the new day is in the air.
There’s no alarm, no panic. Just warmth. Blankets. The faint weight of a heavy arm stretched across my hip. And him.
Jericho.
I’m sandwiched between the soft back of the couch and his heated body and can barely breathe, but there’s no chance I’m moving. He has a perfectly nice bedroom, but somehow this worn-out couch feels cozier than any plush bed would. Jericho got the fireplace going, and we watched it for some time before we went to sleep. I want to start the fire again, so he will wake up to a warm, cozy room, but I’m scared this moment might vanish if I move. So I just watch him for a while.
The lights are off, and the small night fixture is still on in the kitchen but it’s dim.
The lights are off.
The lights are off. The overhead. The lamp. All those lights I see through the windows every night. Somehow he fell asleep without them.
I wonder if he’ll notice when he wakes up.
I reach out and gently trail my fingers across his shoulder. Not enough to wake him but enough to feel the shape of him. Real. Palpable. Here.
He stirs, slowly blinking his eyes open. They look confused for a moment before they land on me. For a beat, he doesn’t move and then exhales slowly. “You’re still here.”
I nod—funny how he must have been scared of the same thing because it feels too good to be true.
He watches me a second longer. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“I’m glad you did.” I add with a cheeky smile, “You wore yourself out.”
“Only myself?” He tickles my ribs, making me laugh. Then his eyes flick around the room, panicked. “Did you turn the lights off?”
I shake my head. “No. They were off when I woke up.”
He frowns like he doesn’t quite believe it—but lets it go, leaving me wondering if this is a good time to ask about his obsession with indoor lights.
While I’m contemplating the way to properly form a question, he sits up, rubbing his hand over his face. The blanket slips low across his hips, and I get distracted, forgetting all my good intentions. He’s not wearing anything. And I mean anything. He tried to put his boxers back on right after the fabulous act, but I threatened him with putting clothes on too since I wasn’t going to walk around naked alone, so he quickly dropped them to the floor. Where they still remain.
“I bought a leather couch.”
“That’s… random. Congratulations?” I try smiling but fail because a couch purchase is the very last thing on my mind.
“Now I have to return it.”
“Oh.” I’m still not following where we’re going with this question, but I guess he’s about to let me know in his Jericho way. I just hope it’s not because he’s decided to take off. “Why?”
“Because of you.”
“Me?” It’s getting odder and odder. This is not how I imagined a morning after sexy times to go.
“You.” His hand lands on my belly. “It’s too cold for you to sleep on leather.”
“Oh.” My exhale of relief is so loud, it’s embarrassing.
“Yeah.” His voice turns sleepy. “Since we’re planning on this,” he squeezes my flesh with his hand, “happening over and over again.”
A giggle is the only appropriate response I have.
“One moment.” He carefully untangles himself from me, stands up, and heads to the bathroom, leaving the door open.
Is that the next stage of this relationship? Am I ready to leave the door open while using the bathroom? No. I am not. But it feels good to know that he’s comfortable around me.
The water starts running, and he calls to me, voice rougher. “Nora. Get in.”
Oh, it was an open invitation I didn’t catch onto, which is no wonder considering my lack of good experiences.
My body starts buzzing. I jump to my feet and am about to head to him when a key turns in the front door, making me freeze.
“Jericho,” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me.
I turn around to grab the blanket from the couch when the door swings open.
“Well, hello there,” a laughing male voice says to my back. I cringe as I realize the pose I’m in: butt perked up high in the air while I’m bending over to grab the blanket.
With the speed of light, I throw my body inside the blanket, wrap it around myself the best I can in the current situation, and turn around. And in steps a man who looks exactly like Jericho, but younger, with a broader grin and absolutely zero awareness.
It must be Jethro, Jericho’s brother. Who just saw my coochie from the back. I stare at him, wide-eyed.
A loud curse. A strong arm. And I’m moved behind a big body.
“That’s one way to greet your brother.”
I peek from behind Jericho, who is still completely naked, to find his brother smirking while trying to get a glimpse of me.
“Hello there,” he says. “And hello, Jericho. Little chilly this fine morning, don’t you think?”
Jericho explodes. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Jethro shrugs. “Junie gave me the key. Said you wouldn’t mind. I figured you were ignoring my calls because you’re still mad about—” he gives a short whistle, “whatever you are mad about.”
“Oh, I am mad,” Jericho growls. “And I’m about to be homicidal if you don’t stop staring at her.”
Jethro holds up his hands totally not stopping the staring. “Hey, I didn’t expect a show. But congrats, I guess. Cute neighbor, right? With all the attributes.”
Jericho takes a step forward.
I grab his arm. “It’s fine. Really.”
“It’s not.”
He’s fuming. His body tight, jaw locked. I can feel the tension radiating off him and seeping into my skin. He’s so angry he doesn’t seem to care about being buck naked himself in order to shield me from his brother.
“Watch your mouth, Jethro.” The warning in his voice is loud and clear. And the goosebumps all over my body are very much present from the cadence of his growly tone.
“Sorry.” The brother finally drops his eyes to the ground, looking slightly remorseful.
Jericho nods silently, accepting the apology. “How much did you see?”
“I mean.” Jethro jerks his hand between me and himself. “I was kinda forced into that.”
“You fucking saw her naked?” Jericho snaps.
Jethro throws his hands in the air. “What, you want me to rip my eyes out?”
Jericho growls something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to ‘not a bad idea.’
I back up slightly, pressing my palm to his shoulder. “I’m gonna go find some pants.”
He nods without looking at me while still glaring at his brother like he’s weighing the pros and cons of murder.
“Good idea, gorgeous. We don’t want to traumatize Junie, do we?”
“Junie is here?” Jericho cries out, grabbing another blanket from the couch and finally covering himself up.
“Yes.” The brother throws his thumb behind his back. “She’s cooing with some bird at the next house.”
The bird must be our rooster, and for the first time I’m grateful for his appearance this early in the morning.
“I’m gonna go,” I mumble as I escape to the bedroom, still flushed head to toe under the enormous blanket I’m barely able to carry around. Through the wall, I hear Jericho grumble something about “boundaries” and “keys” and “never, ever opening my goddamn door again.”
He can be growly and scary all he wants, but I know him by now. Beneath all this anger is something else—protectiveness. Possessiveness. A man who just realized what it means to share the world with someone—and how terrifying it is to think someone else might see her the way he does.
And I can’t lie—I love it.
44
Jericho
The hinge won’t sit right.
I’ve adjusted it three times already, but the damn thing’s still crooked as if it’s refusing to be fixed out of spite. Sweat drips down my back, sticking my shirt to my skin. I could go inside, leave it for another day when it’s warmer, but I won’t. I need to cool off—if I go inside, I might end up killing my peeping brother.
The light’s different today, sky washed pale, like the clouds forgot how to hold color. Everything feels like it’s waiting. For what, I don’t know. My morning escalated from the calmest I’ve felt in years to a possible murder in minutes.
When I opened my eyes in the morning, the lights were off. All of them. Completely. I must have been too content, too happy in the evening to bother with turning them back on after our cozy fire. And truthfully, the thought about the lights didn’t even cross my mind until I woke up next to the warmth of Nora’s body. So, naturally, I ran to the bathroom to compose myself.
I’m never able to sleep with the lights off. Ever. It’s a habit I was forced into and something I still can’t do without, even years later. It’s a fucked-up thing of comfort. But around Nora, I seem to forget I need any of that.
I give the hinge another go, thinking about tearing this whole damn porch off. I don’t need it at the back of the house, do I? One at the front is enough. Even though this one is a screened three-season veranda with a very crooked door, this hinge is enough for my mood to just rip the whole thing off.
I’ve ordered a new glass for it, but the timing for replacing it is just not right. I should have waited until it’s warmer out, less snowy, but Junie is sleeping upstairs, and I don’t want to wake her up by doing something loud inside. And I desperately need to do something with my hands, or I’ll end up smashing my brother in his irritating face.
Right when I’m about to give in, I hear a whistling. Sharp, slow, intentional. And annoying as fuck.
“You still fix things when you’re angry?”
I don’t even bother to look up. Just clench my jaw and keep working the bolt. “You would know.”
He cackles. “I would. Why are you half naked in this weather?” His body shudders as he complains like a sissy about the cold.
“I’m wearing a shirt.”
“It’s below freezing,” he counters.
“I’m inside.”
“Inside a shed without heating and with holes in the walls.” The smartass just won’t stop.
After a quick glance around, I look at him pointedly. “There’re no holes in the walls.”
He’s silently watching me with a raised brow.
“Fine. Just two little holes.”
He’s still watching.
With a sigh, I flip him off and go back to the hinge. If he considers a missing window a hole, that’s on him.
The porch creaks behind me. I can feel him settling in, probably leaning against the frame like it’s a throne and he’s just passing through to judge the kingdom. I smell the witch’s brew Nora brought me last week that I didn’t think to hide because I live alone.
Great—he helped himself to my coffee that Nora made for me.
“Junie said you’ve been quiet lately,” he says. “That your texts are one-word answers and punctuation-free.”
I grunt. “They always are.”
“Exactly. How would I know what’s going on with my brother if you don’t talk to her.”
I finally rise, knees popping as I stretch to full height, giving away my age. The rag in my back pocket gets a quick pass over my hands, rough and stained. I look him over—clean boots, neat sleeves, smug expression. Like nothing in the world touches him. That was always the difference between us. I let the world break me. He sidesteps it.
“Is this why you dragged my niece here, to dig for information about me?”
“Whatever works,” he snorts. “You’ve been blowing off my calls. What else am I supposed to do?”
I send him a quick glare and return to the hinge since I’m not about to explain to him that I didn’t feel like talking to him because I don’t like how he talked about Nora. And because he reminds me of everything I haven’t told her yet.
“Jericho?” His tone is softer. Fuck that.
The wrench slams onto the bench with a clang, louder than necessary. “You here to be useful or just mouth off?”
“I can do both,” he says, sipping my coffee like he paid for it and still not making a move to help. Instead, he pokes his face outside the hole—I mean the missing window—and looks around.
He can pretend to be a clown all he wants, but I recognize his need for control.
“Have you talked to our sister recently?” he asks, trying to peel off a piece of the window molding.
“No,” I grunt, feeling the weight of guilt settling heavy on my shoulders. I should call her more. I should ask her more. “You?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
Concerned, I glance at him. It’s unusual for them to go without calls for so long. They’ve always been closer than me, and I’ve always been jealous. But he had more time to build a relationship with her, and when I got an opportunity to do the same, I didn’t take it, leaving it to them.
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounds a bit off. “Knee-deep in trauma cases.”
I pick up the hammer, turning it in my palm. “She still working nights?”
“Yeah. Barely sleeping. Still doesn’t complain.”
“She never has.”
“Mom trained that out of her.” His voice wavers at the end—a clear indication of his own guilt. I guess everyone in our family is fucked up in one way or another.
The sound of Mom’s name stops me. My grip tightens on the hammer. I don’t answer right away.
“Mom would like Nora,” Jethro probes carefully. “If you just introduced them, you know.”
I dig inside the toolbox, ignoring his words. Our relationship with Mom has been… strange, and it’s mostly my fault.
“She would say Nora’s got eyes that see too much,” he continues. “’Cause she can see her boy.”
I nod. Just once. She would. Both of us go into our own heads, and I enjoy the silence for a change. Until my brother, of course, opens his mouth.
“You still haven’t told her?”
A sharp shake of my head is my only answer—we both know he’s talking about Nora.
“How long do you think until she starts questioning where you spent the years you don’t talk about?”
