Book 4 :: Heroes of Henderson Series
“Red,” he called one more time before he was within an arm’s length. He said it again, softly this time, as he reached out and touched her shoulder, knowing without even seeing her face that it was Red.
She turned her head and gave him a blank stare.
Davis’s heart did a flip as he looked beyond the thick rows of eyelashes into smoky green eyes. Into the eyes of the incredible woman who’d given him so much. The edges of his lips tipped, then parted into a full-blown smile. “It’s Pinks,” he told her, lifting a hand to cover the left side of his face.
“Pinks,” she gasped, startled, the bag hanging from her shoulder dropping to the ground. She reached up tentatively to touch that portion of his face. Her gaze followed her manicured fingers, both caressing him gently as if he were still hurt.
“Red,” he breathed, blown away by her presence. His heart so full, wanting to ask her so much, but all he managed to get out was, “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m home for Christmas,” she said, looking a little dazed. Her eyes carefully studied the details of his face.
“In Raleigh?” he asked.
She just nodded, distracted by his face. “You’re all better,” she breathed. “Handsome,” she said, her eyes finally landing on his.
He grinned. God, she made him feel tall. Real tall. He took a step in, cutting the space between them to inches. “You didn’t call me.”
She bit her lip, tilted her face up, and grinned right at him, shaking her head.
“Why?” he asked.
She shrugged. Still grinning. Looking happy. Looking very happy to see him.
“How ’bout I call you this time?” he suggested.
“How ’bout you meet me at The Charlie Horse Friday night?” she countered.
Sorrow swamped him. “I’m heading north. Christmas with my grandparents.”
“Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Your number?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket. He held it up, wiggling it at her.
She leaned her pretty head toward her shoulder, her massive red braid swinging forward. Pinks wanted to grab ahold of it and pull her to him. When she stood there, hesitating, he thought, What the hell? and followed his instincts. He tucked his phone in the pocket of his overcoat, wrapped her braid around his fist twice, and pulled her to him, taking charge. His lips landed on hers, his other hand snaked around her waist, and he kissed her like he remembered every minute of their night together—which he did—and wanted to remind her of just who she was trying to play coy with. Not gonna fly his mouth conveyed as he felt her arms wrap around his neck, felt her lips open under his, and felt her sigh, her body leaning into his.
Then Pinks forgot where they were and that he had to catch a plane. He forgot his name, what day it was, and why there was a lot of chaotic noise surrounding them. The only thing he remembered was Red. How sweet she was, how playful, how hot—damn hot—and how naked they’d been together. All. Night. Long.
“Your number,” he insisted between kisses. “This is too right. Too right to let you walk out on me again.”
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