Don't You Wanna Stay

by Kait Nolan

  “Don’t bet on it. Simon will surprise you. And if you try to take more than your fair share of his birthday cake, we might have a throw-down.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be sure to behave myself so as not to sully the good name of your establishment with a wrestling match.”

  “Oh psh. If you think Athena’s boys haven’t had multiple already, you’re mistaken. We’re a little fancier than we used to be, but it’s still home.”

  It was something he’d been seeking for years since he left this place. Something he’d found himself building with Deanna at Blackborne Hall. But that was new and untested territory, not something he could count on. The Misfit Inn would always be home to Joan’s former misfits.

  As if she sensed the direction of his thoughts, Pru stroked a hand down his arm. “Mom would be glad to see you happy.”

  Was it that obvious?

  At his self-conscious smile, she stepped back. “I’ll just leave y’all to get settled. Come on down to the lounge when you’re ready. I feel certain Simon’s gotten into the game closet and been nagging Athena for snacks.”

  “He’s a bottomless pit.”

  “You know she loves them like that. See you in a bit!” She shut the door, leaving them alone.

  “Your sister is charming.”

  “She is. I’m guessing you’re thinking her husband is, too.” He smirked to let her know he was teasing. “What was that blush about? Is it the Irish accent?”

  Deanna bit her lip, not quite meeting his eyes. “So… when I was here before, it was for my Thank God I’m Divorced party. I came out with all my girlfriends to celebrate for the weekend. There was a lot of champagne, and I might have hit on your brother-in-law. Although, to be fair, he wasn’t your brother-in-law at the time.”

  “Uh huh. And was Bennet on this trip?”

  “She was.”

  “That explains the alcohol consumption.”

  “I mean, the whole Thank God I’m Divorced Party was her idea.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “One of my other friends actually moved here not too long after that. I was hoping to get a chance to see her before we head back home.”

  “I’m sure we can make time for that.” Still grinning, Wyatt opened the closet door, his fingers reaching for what he only barely remembered. But the initials were still carved into the door frame. He traced the letters. WY. Wyatt Young. The name he’d been born with.

  The teasing smile faded, dragged down by memory.

  “Wyatt?” The concern in her tone told him she’d caught the shift in his mood.

  He could put her off, but if he wanted this woman as part of his life, he had to share more of the past that had made him. “I was nine when I came here. My birth parents were… Well, I never knew who my father was. My mother had a drug problem and a habit of forgetting I existed. Social services took me away three different times before she ODed.”

  “Oh, my God. Wyatt, that had to be so hard on you.”

  He jerked a shoulder, keeping his back to her, so he didn’t have to see the inevitable pity for what he’d come from. “Coming here was a relief. Or it was once I figured out I wasn’t gonna get kicked out and there’d always be plenty of food to eat. I loved being one of Joan’s kids.”

  “You said you were adopted when you were twelve?”

  “Yeah. Another big change. New city. New name.” For better or worse, the Sullivans had been a huge part of his life.

  “But you stayed in touch?”

  “No. Not for a long time. Not more than birthday and Christmas cards from Joan.”

  Turning, he could see her trying to work out what he wasn’t saying and waited to see if she’d ask.

  “Is it strange for you to come back here when you were adopted so long ago?”

  Not the tack he’d expected. “Yes. And no. Joan was a special woman. She had this magic about her that made all of us feel like we were family. Even those of us who were adopted into another one. The last few years, I’ve been reconnecting with that, with everyone I grew up with and the others who went through here.”

  “Why? Curiosity?”

  He shut the door and sank down on the bed. Far plusher than the one he’d slept on all those years ago. “Partly. But it was more that my adopted family wasn’t perfect. When you’re a foster kid, you hope for that forever home. That forever family to make you theirs. My brother was amazing, but my parents… I always felt like they were disappointed in me.”

  She sat on the bed across from him, one hand curling around the post of the footboard. “You said school was really difficult.”

  Wyatt grunted, not missing her hesitation. “What?”

  “I was just wondering if you ever got evaluated for learning disabilities.”

  He closed his eyes and tried not to wince. He hadn’t told her for a reason, not wanting to see her regard for him tainted by pity or disappointment. “What makes you ask?”

  “Because I think you might be dyslexic.”

  His stomach sank. “You knew?”

  “I figured it out early on. You don’t text, hate most social media, and dictate notes to yourself. I put two and two together and adapted the plan. It hasn’t held you back at all. You’re so gifted on camera, we’ve skewed all your content to video, and I’ve tackled the blogging. Which has worked beautifully, if I do say so myself.”

  She’d seen and figured out in a couple of months what his parents hadn’t recognized in years. More, she’d adapted to it so that he wouldn’t be put into a situation where he’d struggle. Wyatt opened his eyes and stared. There was no sign of pity, no glimmer of disgust or disappointment. Her gaze was full of warm affection, exactly as it always was.

  Something in him loosened at that unquestioning acceptance.

  “I wasn’t assessed until after I dropped out of college.”

  “Didn’t it make a difference with your parents? To have a reason for why you struggled?”

  “I never told them.”

  She blinked. “Why?”

  “Right after I found out, my dad died. It devastated our family, and my shit just didn’t seem worth bringing up at that point. It didn’t really impact the business I’d chosen for myself.”

  “But why not tell your mom? I mean, I get why not then, but later.”

  That was the last thing he wanted to talk about. “We had a falling out several years ago.” It was a sterile word for one of the most painful experiences of his life. But he’d brought enough darkness from his past into this sunny room. “We’ve been estranged ever since. Scott’s the only part of the Sullivan family that I still claim. That’s why I’ve been reconnecting with my foster family.”

  Deanna crossed to sit beside him on the bed, skimming a gentle hand over his cheek, into his hair. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  Lulled by the touch, Wyatt leaned into it, into her, until he could cover her mouth with his. The kiss was another layer of comfort he needed, balm to a wound she didn’t even fully know existed.

  Easing back, she rested her brow against his. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in desperate need of some of this caramel cake I keep hearing about.”

  Yeah, he could use some more sweetness in his life. “Then let’s go fight the birthday boy for it.”

  Wyatt supposed it was inevitable that there’d be drinking in honor of Simon turning twenty-one. The birthday boy was being smart about it and staying in, so no harm no foul there. But Wyatt hadn’t anticipated that Ari would keep covertly refilling Deanna’s wine glass. When he’d caught her leaning over the back of the couch, tipping more Cabernet into the glass, she just winked at him and offered a thumbs up, like she was doing him a solid getting his girlfriend tipsy. If Deanna had planned to have more than a glass or two, that would’ve been one thing. But Wyatt knew how sensitive she was about drinking to excess, and he didn’t want her put in any awkward or compromising positions. Especially as she got more affectionate the more wine she drank, and they were sharing
a room with only a few feet of space between their beds.

  He loved having her cuddled up against him on the sofa, loved listening to her laugh, seeing her at ease with his family. And if she hadn’t been drinking, he’d have loved nothing more than to follow up on the promise she made with the hand that kept inching higher on his thigh. But damn it, she had. And they needed to get to bed, anyway. To sleep. God, he hoped he could sleep. They’d still have work to do once they got back home tomorrow.

  “Little brother, I wish you a very happy birthday, and a very short hangover. We need to turn in.”

  Simon beamed the bleary grin of the happy drunk. “More cake!”

  “If you have more cake, you’re going to hurl,” Athena announced. “I’m not cleaning that up. Here. Have a glass of water, pal.”

  As his sister, the chef, worked on slightly sobering up the birthday boy, Wyatt pulled Deanna to her feet. She swayed into him. Yep. Tipsy at the very least. Damn it.

  Wrapping an arm firmly around her, Wyatt wished everyone goodnight and led Deanna upstairs to their room. The feel of her pressed all up against him the entire way had him rethinking the whole pushing the beds together thing. She was the one who shut the door behind them, leaning back against it in a provocative pose that made him want to pin her there and devour her mouth. His hands itched to streak over her, stripping off that gauzy shirt and those form-fitting jeans to touch and take. He wondered what it would take to make her scream.

  Not here. Not now.

  Scrabbling for some control, he cleared his throat. “You want the bathroom first?”

  Was that disappointment in those hazel eyes? Probably just wishful thinking on his part.

  “Sure.” She shoved away from the door and took her bag into the bathroom.

  Wyatt scrubbed both hands over his face. Get a fucking grip, Sullivan.

  But as he heard zippers and the whisper of fabric, he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining her undressing behind that door, baring those long, slim thighs he so desperately wanted wrapped around him. By the time the water came on, he was fighting to keep the blood in his brain.

  Should he change while she was in there? Or wait until she came back out? Why was this a hard decision?

  He’d change. It’s not like it was a big deal.

  Decided, he tugged off his shirt, just as the bathroom door opened.

  Deanna stepped out in a cami top and sleep shorts. The full outline of her breasts was visible beneath the soft fabric, and the pert tips of her nipples drew his gaze like a magnet. He lost the fight with his arousal and felt himself go hard. He’d been trying so damned hard not to think of her exactly like this since he’d seen her the night they found Casper. Knowing she’d been wearing just these little scraps of fabric in her bed, on the other side of that jack-and-jill bathroom, had been torture. Knowing she’d be wearing them tonight, barely more than an arm span away, just might kill him.

  “See something you like?”

  Appalled he’d been staring, he jerked his gaze up. “Sorry.”

  Her lips curved into a feline smile. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m enjoying the view, too.” Closing the distance between them, she took the shirt he’d bunched in his hands and tossed it aside.

  He shivered as she laid her palms on him, running them up his chest and over his pecs and shoulders.

  Jesus God.

  “I do appreciate what the job does for your body,” she purred.

  “Um… saves on gym fees.” Why did he sound like a prepubescent boy?

  Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape as she rose to her toes. “Wyatt?”

  “Yeah?” he croaked.

  “Kiss me.”

  Just a taste…

  Surrendering to the heat bubbling in his blood, he hauled her against him, taking her mouth as he wanted. She opened in an instant, melting against him in a surrender that made him want to bear her down to the nearest mattress. His hands slid beneath the hem of her top, soaking in the soft, silky feel of her skin. Christ, she felt so damned good circling her hips against the hardness behind his fly.

  Just a taste…

  Drunk on the flavor of her and half blind with lust, he hitched her up and backed her toward the door. Those legs he’d dreamed about locked around him. This wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But he could give them both this little taste.

  Her head fell back with a delicious gasp as he rocked into her. Every breath, every whimper seemed to shoot straight to his cock as he drove her up, delighting in watching her let go of all the rules, all the poise, all the control in pursuit of her pleasure. As her body tensed, he took her mouth again, drinking in her cry as she shattered.

  He wanted to make this woman come apart over and over again. But this was all they could have tonight.

  Less than steady, he let her slide down his body until her feet hit the floor.

  Her lips lifted to his throat, trailing kisses up to his jaw. “That was a hell of a warm-up act.” Her hands went to his belt.

  On a groan of pure regret, he stopped her. “Deanna.”

  “What?”

  “Baby, you’ve been drinking.”

  “I’m not drunk, Wyatt.” Her eyes did, in fact, look perfectly clear as she stared up at him, cheeks still flushed from her orgasm.

  But he couldn’t risk it. “You’re impaired. And much as I want to—like really really want to—we can’t.”

  Her brows drew together. “Why? Is it being in your family’s house?”

  “No. I’d have hardly done what we just did if that was a concern.” Cursing himself and wondering if this would put him in line for sainthood, he put a little space between them. His dick ached in protest. “You hate making mistakes. You still have issues with the fact that you drunk-bought the house. This is too important for you not to be stone cold sober. So, much as I want you, want this. Much as I may hate myself in this moment—which I assure you is a whole hell of a lot—it’s better than you having regrets and hating me in the morning.”

  She dropped her hands with a sigh. “It’s hard to argue with that.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.” Being canonized as Saint Blue Balls would be worth it, right?

  “Me too.” Her disappointed smile had a mischievous edge. “So no pushing the beds together?”

  And finding having the temptation of that body wind up under or over his sometime in the night when what remained of his control was gone? “Woman, are you trying to kill me?”

  Huffing a laugh, she skirted around him and slid into one of the beds. “Good night, Wyatt.”

  As he blew out a breath and headed into the bathroom himself for a cold shower, he reflected that at least it had been for one of them.

  “Sooo, tell me about the hot contractor.” Ivy’s green eyes glimmered as she sank back into one of the comfortable chairs scattered on all sides of the wrap-around porch and folded both hands over her very pregnant belly.

  “Not even a hi, how are you?” Deanna asked with mock offense.

  “You said you’re leaving in a couple of hours. I’m just being efficient. The ‘how are you’ is inevitably bound up with him if that kiss was anything to go by.”

  Deanna settled back in her own chair with a steaming cup of coffee, delighted for the chance to visit with one of her oldest friends, even if it meant something of an inquisition. “Saw that, did you?”

  Ivy grinned. “Boy, did I. Spill it, woman. You swore off men for life after Blake.”

  “Well, to be fair, at the time, I believed ‘men’ was synonymous with ‘assholes.’ Wyatt’s not like that.” He was, she was coming to understand, a breed of his own.

  “You two have chemistry with a capital C.”

  “Is it that obvious? Bennet said it was, but you know her. She’s always looking for the couple to ship.” Ivy didn’t tend to operate with romance-tinted glasses, so she was a more objective opinion.

  “Oh, girl, it totally was.” The new voice sliding into their conversation belong
ed to Pru’s teenaged daughter, Ari. Pourer of the wine last night that had made Wyatt put on the brakes. “Fiona and I have been wishing and hoping for weeks. Ivy, I brought you some of that peppermint tea.”

  Yeah she’d screwed the pooch with that one.

  As the girl handed over the mug, Deanna tried to trace the family tree for how Ari was connected to Fiona Gaffney. A sort of cousin since her mother Emerson was married to Caleb, who was one of Joan’s boys? She remembered he’d been at demo day.

  “The payoff was really damned satisfying,” Ivy agreed. “Bless Bennet for posting the footage.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” Deanna reminded them.

  Unrepentant, Ivy just grinned. “Sorry, not sorry. Anyway, it was probably more obvious to me because I know you , but… yeah. I called it weeks ago. I kept wanting to text you to ask what was going on behind the scenes, but I didn’t want to make you balk.”

  There was no sense denying that she might have. As a trained profiler, Ivy Blake Wilkes always saw more than people wanted her to. Thank God she mostly only used her powers for the best-selling thrillers she wrote.

  “Wyatt’s great!” Ari defended. “Why would you have balked?”

  At Deanna’s bland stare, she blew out a very teenaged huff. “Fine. Not my conversation.” Reluctance dragged her feet as she walked away.

  Deanna waited until she heard the door slap shut. “Well, the whole thing was a surprise to me.”

  Ivy looked askance in her direction. “Was it? Or was the fact that it wasn’t all in your head the surprise?” She could always be trusted to dig into the heart of the matter, picking out those subtle shades of difference that changed everything.

  “Maybe both.” Deanna tapped restless fingers against the mug in her hands. “I didn’t expect to be here again.”

  “You look happy.”

  “I am happy.” The words sank into her with the resonance of truth. “I am happy.”

  “And that scares you down to the bone, doesn’t it?”

  Of course Ivy would know that. She’d been there for so much of the misery with Blake. “Wyatt is a good man. No one would do what he’s done for me without being a good man. I just… I’m terrified to trust anything again. Things are really new and complicated. We live together. We’re business partners. The stakes are really high. If things go somehow bad or wrong between us, then it screws everything up for both of us. He needs the house and everything we’re doing to it as fodder for his show. He needs my PR skills to elevate that to something he can truly leverage for a network contract. I need his skills to actually finish the house. And… well, he wants me to pursue design for real. To use the platform of the show to really give it a go. Which is terrifying in its own right because I want it so damned bad, and there’s all this extra pressure because what if I tank it for him?”