Twelve Scorching Days by Melanie Greene

Author:Melanie Greene [Greene, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781941967157
Publisher: GreeneLeaves

Chapter

Ten

Sarita

My siblings, once in a good while, could band together to be total sweethearts to one of us in need. Sometimes it was arguing Jeannie’s case when she bucked Dad’s dream that she would take over the business. Sometimes it was taking shifts to stay with Larissa and the baby when Alfie was offshore. And sometimes, it was creating a human wall to stop anyone taking pics of Scorch Madigan making out with me in the middle of the big room.

They gave me almost a minute to press tight against him and wrap my free arm around his back. To open my mouth to the captivating warmth of his. To feel the rumble of his humming chest against mine.

And then someone—turned out to be Cole—took my violin from me and jabbed my shoulder to get us moving. The human wall moved with us, a truly nonsense endeavor, what with Ignatius half-hopping while leaning on me. I kept giggling. I kept wondering what I was up to.

We made it to my room and by the time I’d helped Ignatius to the bed and handed over his guitar case, half the Dunways were in with us.

“Right. Out. Go.” None of them budged at my demand.

“Tell Brendan thanks,” Ignatius told Jeannie.

“Oh, I’m thanking you instead. I haven’t enjoyed any Christmas party half as much as this since I stopped believing in Santa.”

Before they could devolve into the story of the time Emmeline figured out the Santa myth before Margo and ruined her big sister’s entire December, I herded them to the door.

And locked it.

Awkward. “Too awkward?”

He laughed a little. “A little. But worth it. To me, anyway.”

I covered my cheeks with my palms, but they would not obey my order to cool down. So I packed up my violin, because that was something I could draw out for ages if I tried. Wiping down the strings. Double-checking the rosin was in the storage compartment. Aligning the velcro strap over the neck so it was lined up just so. But I didn’t want him wondering while I worked, so I said, “To me, too.”

“You know, I’m an injured man. I can’t get all performative about my feelings, stride across the room and wrap you in my arms, any of that. You’re going to have to come to me, Sarita.”

How did those words make me blush deeper but bounce with pleasure at the same time? I liked the feeling of power he handed over so readily, that was one thing. All his experience being the big, famous guy, and he didn’t have an outsized ego. Not in this.

And if he could be honest and eager and kind all at once, I could get over my blushes.

So I went to him.

He lounged back on my bed, which he’d cleared of all his stuff. Funny, seeing his notebook and pen side-by-side with my e-reader and hand lotion on the bedside table. For all the times I’d felt a bit like we were playing house at the cottage, it wasn’t a place either of us fully inhabited.

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