Firefly

36: Whiskey

Chapter 36: Whiskey.

Elena

Three knocks on the already opened door of Harlan Raine's clubhouse catch my scattered attention. His whiskey eyes creased in the corners because of the smile he directed my way. The hands-in-the-pocket stance was growing onto me. His white shirt spilled out of his grey blazer, casually untucked, with the top two buttons undone. Golden brown touseled hair somehow enhances the sharpness of his cheekbones. 

He revels at the sudden change in my breathing. "Hello, Summer." 

"I thought you were bad at singing. You didn't have to prove me wrong." I give him a sly smile as he folds his lips. "Now I have to hunt more flaws in you." 

He looks at his white oxfords before he meets me with five long strides. When he leans down holding my waist, I assume he's going to kiss me. But his face tucks into the curve of my neck before his hands wrap around my waist. With every gulp and every relief he lets out in his exhales, I know he longed for it. 

I sweep my fingers across his thick, hard arms before I wrap my hands around his neck. I clasp the back of his neck before stroking my fingers at the ends of his hair. He groans, tightening the hug and making my eyes close in the process. 

His hug spoke to me. It translated how much he missed me, how desirable I looked to him, and how badly he wished he could be carefree about it. Seconds later, when we're both breathing too heavily and threatening to break the rules we decreed, his hands fall off my waist. He clasps the wall behind me, eyes shut, almost training his mind to pull back. 

I drag my hand from around his neck to the front of his chest. Our foreheads touch. My palms brush down his neck before touching his chest. Warm. Solid. And currently pounding too hard. I tease the third button, controlling my own set of hormones to not unbutton it. I bite my lower lip as I stare at his. 

No, I shouldn't push it when he's putting so much effort to make it work. 

I push his chest away from me and back away, taking three steps behind. His eyes open and greet me with gratitude. "You should not look this hot. It stirs . . ."

"Wild imagination?" He raises an eyebrow and I lick my lips as I look away. Guilty and incapable of distraction, I'm miserable at restrain. "What I wouldn't give to get inside your head right now. Honestly answer, I won't pry further. Are you thinking gentle or rough?"

What makes him think anything about his personality is capable of sighting even a possibility of gentleness? I sigh. "Rough." 

His eyes shut and he groans taking another step back and burying his hands inside his pocket. He expected this answer and he's frustrated that he guessed right. But as he ensured, he let it go. "What are you doing here?" 

I clear my throat. "Your grandfather invited me. Something about an overdue talk." 

Justin frowns. "Isn't that what you did the whole of dinner? Talking?" 

I shake my head. "No, he merely gave me a background check of everyone in that hall." Justin bobs his head, deep in thought of what the overdue talk might be. "Nice portrait," I gesture to the old painting above me of what looks like his entire family. It's hung up on the wall I'm leaning against. 

Harlan Raine sitting on a throne-like chair and around him are his four daughters and their respective husbands (except one, Katie, I figured). The painting isn't precise, but because I've met three of them, it doesn't take much of an effort to place the names. On either lap of Harlan Raine, two boys (about 5-year-olds) smile. The detailing is far more delicate because one of the boys has green eyes and another brown with a swirl of gold. And right in front of the throne, a baby girl sits with her knees hugged to her chest with a wide grin on her face.