Anchored

by Piper Malone

  I can sense his regret, or maybe his worry. Either way, I know I have damaged him . . . us. “Not a mistake,” I mumble before the tears begin to fall.

  I welcome the crushing weight of his tightening grip and his quiet admission.

  “No.”

  Chapter 8

  Nick

  Flames jump and crack, dancing in the hearth, warming the living room with a comfortable heat. I designed it all. The mantel, the hearth. I constructed the firebox. I pulled each piece from the ground and milled away the rough edges. Each stone set before mortar sealed its final place.

  I created a vision from shapeless hunks of wood that became functional pieces. Pieces that people wanted, would pay for. Those early works became the foundation for a successful business that allows me to maintain a life in Boston.

  It was all me. My ideas. My work. My choice to take control away from the demons that filled my early years. I have worked to make a functional life. An easy life.

  With the exception of my inability to use a condom because I’m a stupid fuck about Skyler Douglass. I take a heavy swig of coffee, watching the fire lick the air. She begged me to think differently about the moment, but I can’t. I should be in the kitchen, making breakfast with her right now, but I know what will happen. It will feel too good, too right, and I’ll press my need on her. It’s the reason I couldn’t share a bed with her last night. I lost control because of her once and vowed never to do it again. We had a close call before, and it made me insane. Then she was gone.

  Can we have a night like we did before?

  My body clenches at the memory of Reign’s Midsummer Night party. The night should have been routine: Caleb asked us to demonstrate throughout the club. It’s what we do, so naturally we agreed. It was like a normal night at the club, only amplified. Each scene was carefully planned, one bleeding into the next and heightening the intensity.

  The night was heady, loose. Everything flowed. When we weren’t together, she turned heads in the sheer purple lingerie set I bought her. When she wasn’t next to me, I watched her move with bold confidence around the club. She was always in my sight line. Always reachable. Always mine.

  The Midsummer Night party infused the air with a level of hedonistic freedom. Fantasies came to life in all forms of pleasure and play. The look of pure adoration on Skyler’s face fulfilled every hope I could have asked for. My woman, confident and bold in her power, moved through the evening taking everything I gave her.

  Our final scene of the night had her back bowed in pleasure, my name falling from lips. I made sure she felt every ounce of her orgasm, even when she writhed against my mouth, her clit too sensitive to touch. Every dream I had came to reality. A world I never allowed myself to consider became a drugging need.

  Skyler fits every part of me, the jagged edges soothed by her calm. My sick need to touch every part of her body is fed by her willingness to splay herself wide. She keeps me in line when I’m an asshole but never makes me feel like asshole when she does. Skyler is everything I’ve ever desired wrapped in purple lace.

  The reasons for never pushing our relationship seemed simple prior to the Midsummer Night party. Eventually I would need to leave Boston and live in Rockland full-time. In fact, my time is already past due. The park renovation is underway. I need to be present and run my business, which has expanded through word of mouth. I have to leave Boston for all of that to happen. I can’t balance my responsibilities in Rockland with my life in Boston. With the exception of Skyler, I don’t have much of a life in Boston. For Skyler, Boston is her only strong connection. She has friends, responsibilities, and a community she loves in Boston.

  At the close of our final scene for the night, she needed a break. I needed space between us because wicked thoughts about Skyler in my home started to play in my mind. She would love the summer kitchen, and you could sit by the fire pit with her . . . Settling her into her tiny bed, her sheets rough and cool, was a chore. I toyed with tucking her into my bed, but that would get us nowhere. I won’t tease a situation that cannot happen. In minutes, she fell asleep.

  An hour later, I went to check on her, and all my efforts to keep Skyler Douglass at a calculated distance took a nosedive.

  “Hey, angel. How was your nap?”

  “Helpful.” Sky’s hand curls around my thigh. “Nick.” Her sea-glass eyes look up at me. “Let me touch you.”

  The only reason I have been able to maintain some distance is because she rarely touches me. She can’t. I’d lose my mind.

  “We can’t.” The smell of her tart arousal clings to the air and infiltrates my brain.

  “Why?” Her demand is sweet, intoxicated with sleep and sex. Skyler tries to be tough, but she hovers in the bliss of our evening.

  “It’s not good for us.” I move the covers over her, battling with the urge to peel back the thin cotton obscuring my view of her beautiful form.

  She disposed of the bra. If her panties are gone, I’ll lose it.

  “Let me be good for you, Nick. Please.” Her fingers graze the ridge of my cock before brushing against my abdomen as she grips the waistband of my leathers. “Kiss me,” she pleads.

  “I can’t.”

  Her eyes narrow as she scrambles to her knees. The sheet covering her luscious breasts falls in folds around her. “You put your mouth all over me when we were out there, Nicholas. You can’t kiss me in here?”

  She only uses my full name when she’s irritated with me. “We were sceneing, Skyler.” The scent of her exposed flesh blooms around me. Her creamy skin glows in the warm light of her room. Taking a step back is the only way to get some clarity. “It’s an act.” It’s cruel, but I can’t feel what I do. It’s too much.

  I have to keep what we have at a distance, or it will all fall apart.

  Her eyes blaze with anger the moment my words connect in her mind. “We’re an act? A sex show for people? Are we circus monkeys, Nick?”

  “Don’t, Sky.” I reach out to touch her hair. The bright-red hair dye contrasts with her fair skin and illuminates her eyes.

  “Okay.” She shifts away from my reach. “I won’t.” She pulls the sheet off her body, exposing her legs and the silky apex of her thighs. “I’ll do this instead.”

  Skyler rolls back; her fingers skate along her soft belly before dipping between her legs and dancing along her smooth pussy. My knees buckle, the sight of her fingers deep in her body too much to handle.

  “Oh yes, Nick,” she moans. “Again.”

  Her plea sends a fresh flow of blood to my cock, arousal pulsing from the tip, damping my leathers. “Skyler.” Her name is ground down to nothing as I fight for air to enter my lungs.

  “Nick,” she says as her fingers push into her body, her gaze pinned to mine until she moans, her eyes sliding shut. “I think about you when I come on my fingers.”

  Watching her fuck herself is enough to fry the synapses of my brain. Skyler’s confession, thinking of me while she touches herself, riles the predatory beast.

  I make her come.

  My dick pulses, strained to the point of pain. “Enough, Sky,” I grind out.

  She leans back and spreads her thighs wide to offer a clear view of her fingers plunging into her core. “Nick, please.” Her hips buck as her finger circles her clit. My name falls from her lush lips in a strangled moan.

  “Fuck. Don’t touch your clit, angel. Just keep fucking yourself until I’m ready for you.”

  She groans my name and unfurls her body like a decadent banquet. Skyler makes the world bright simply by existing. Writhing against her own hand and whimpering is a rich fantasy I’ve never allowed myself to have. I’d destroy her. Us . . . whatever our fucked-up relationship is. Her perfume mixed with her essence is intoxicating. I’d love to savor every inch of her at this moment, but it’s too little too late.

  My leathers are down. I’m licking her slick thighs and her arousal from her fingers. Her heavy breasts tighten under my tongue. Her nails scrape my back. Sk
yler begs and pleads. My body presses into her, and heaven explodes around me.

  The replay of that night unfolds with brilliant clarity. We woke up the next day, and life moved forward as if nothing had happened.

  We didn’t talk. Our moment was so discreet, I don’t think anyone suspected a thing.

  Three weeks later, she went cold.

  I couldn’t get her to talk to me or even look at me. I cornered her and demanded to know if she was pregnant. She didn’t give me the benefit of eye contact when she told me I didn’t have to worry. I didn’t feel an ounce of relief when she denied it. I pressed her for the truth. She glared at me with glassy eyes, her chin lifted in defiance. There is nothing for you to worry about, Nick. The look on her face was devastating. My strong woman seemed broken and ruined.

  Two weeks later, Skyler Douglass vanished from my world.

  Caleb knew more than he told me. I asked and prodded and tried to get any information I could. All of it was more questions. Scenarios that grew and evolved into monstrous thoughts that ate away at my mind.

  I think Caleb would have told me something if there was a major issue. Now, with her tight-lipped response to every question, her hesitations, I wonder who is lying.

  Is this a lie? This place has always been my truth. My space. Now my beautiful angel is humming as she makes coffee, eggs, and fried potatoes in the kitchen. This is what I have dreamed of, entering the kitchen to see her beautiful face brighten as she hands me a cup of coffee. The fantasy deepens as I pin her between the countertop I constructed and my body, smothering her with kisses while bacon snaps and cracks in the pan.

  We move in companionable silence, like two people who have lived together for years. It’s too much, too simple. Skyler in my home feels too good. Her movement to the refrigerator is smooth and comfortable. Like she belongs.

  I can’t stop the memories of Adam’s irritation that I wasn’t in Rockland because she wasn’t in Boston. I committed to create the park’s structures. I squandered my time here with my family, in my workshop, with my community, hoping she’d return.

  Her home is in Boston or wherever she’s been living. My world in Maine is different. I can manage it from Boston, but I can’t allow myself to be destroyed again.

  “Skyler,” I say as she glances over her shoulder, “what happened last night, in the barn . . .”

  Her back stiffens. A moment later she inhales, putting down the spatula and turning to look at me. Her arms tightly crossed, eyebrows raised.

  “That can’t happen again.” The words rush out, sounding less pointed than I wanted them to be.

  “If you’re worried about getting me pregnant, don’t,” she bites out.

  “Okay.” I try to figure out how to navigate the next steps. “I mean, us being intimate. I think we should—”

  Skyler’s head tips back, and a dark laugh falls between us. “Nick, unless your next words are ‘We should take this slow and talk about our feelings,’ you can save it. I don’t know what your block is, but it’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m not cut out for relationships, Skyler.” It’s the truth. I feel like I can’t trust anything right now.

  “Good to know, Nicolas.” Her words are dark, thick with sarcasm.

  I realized long ago that Skyler is one of the few people I can’t intimidate. Her frustration might cause her to walk away, but she will never back down out of fear.

  She grabs a mug, muttering to herself as she pours a cup of coffee. The ceramic clatters against the butcher-block countertop as she turns to face me. “I don’t understand how you can do that. How do you just flip that switch?” She strangles a scream as she jams the carafe back into the coffee maker. “I felt you out there, and I know you felt me! What is your issue?” She pauses but not long enough for me volley back. “You know what”—she holds up one hand—“I don’t care.”

  Skyler grabs her coffee and stalks to the bedroom. The door to my bedroom slams shut with the power of a pissed-off angel moments before a muffled scream bleeds through the wood.

  Chapter 9

  Skyler

  More truths about Nicholas William Harris are clear.

  He’s a gifted artisan. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that his abilities are completely alluring.

  I’m also keenly aware that he is an emotional casket. Any feelings remotely close to love are smothered, then buried deep within the dark cavern of his psyche, from which they will never be exhumed.

  I grab my phone and text Caleb.

  Nick is a pussy!

  I knew he would avoid any discussion about us when he decided to sleep in the living room. I wrestled with my feelings for almost an hour. Anger coursed through my veins, but I was relieved that my secret was still mine.

  My phone buzzes with Caleb’s return message.

  We just conferenced and agree. Are you okay? We saw B’s face.

  Caleb started texting for him and Reagan when I was with Amanda. It just made it easier to talk to both of them at the same time. An image of them huddled over his phone flashes in my mind and makes me giggle.

  Good news travels fast. Did Blake spill the deets?

  I watch the bubbles dance around and wait.

  Nope. Ax.

  I snicker. Of course.

  Old ladies do love their gossip . . .

  My phone rings a few minutes later, and I’m chatting up the biggest brother I’ve ever had.

  Without greeting me, he starts in. “Remember, we keep our Ax-is-a-closet-Golden-Girls-fan commentary between us, okay?”

  I hear Reagan laugh in the background. “You’re the only one who is going to sink that ship, Caleb. Not us.”

  “True.” He pauses. “Okay, Sky, what’s the story? Is he there with you? Is he is speaking in complete sentences?”

  “He’s in the house, but I’m not sure where.” I flop on the dense bed and watch thin flurries fall from the sky. “We’ve talked a little. Soon we’ll have no choice. Everyone keeps talking about snow, but for now we just keep getting bursts of flurries. Eventually we’ll be snowed in.”

  “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  “We’ve been okay so far.”

  “Okay? He hasn’t seen you in a year, and you’re just okay?” He sounds exasperated. “Have you told him anything?”

  “Sort of?”

  “That’s not an answer, Sky.” Caleb huffs.

  “What he means to ask is,” Reagan interjects with a tone that clearly signals she gave the look to her husband, “do you know what’s holding you back from telling him? I’m sure by this point he’s asked.”

  “He’s asked, and I’ve pushed off telling him.” I close my eyes, breathing through the truth. “I just want to enjoy this time with him before he freaks out on me.”

  “Enjoy him how?” Caleb draws the last word out, hanging on the syllable for a beat.

  “I think you know how. If I have to have the talk with you about how one and one makes two, I feel very bad for Reagan.”

  My brother from another mother is silent. Too silent.

  “Did I kill you, Caleb?”

  “No,” he says before clearing his throat. “I’m just thinking about the possibilities.”

  I’m so tired of what-ifs and who knows.

  “I’ve missed him for so long. I don’t want to think about all the ways this could turn on me.” I feel the tightness in my throat. “Even if he’s already shoved me off.”

  “What does that mean?” Caleb’s calm, soothing voice sounds suddenly protective, irritated.

  “Last night . . . we, uh, reconnected. This morning he started to give me the distance-is-best talk.” I roll my eyes, pissed at my own tears. “I cut him off and called you.”

  “The more time you spend dodging this issue, the worse it’s going to be. He will find out eventually, Skyler. Do it on your terms.”

  I have heard this statement from the Dunn camp for months. It’s my own fault that I feel like I’m so far away from everything and worry i
t won’t matter anymore. I practiced the words over and over.

  Nick, I was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer. They found that I was BRACA positive. They recommended a prophylactic double mastectomy and oophorectomy. I had surgery, reconstruction, and chemo. Please love me even though my body was ripped apart and sewn back together.

  “Sky?” Caleb calls me away from the heartbreaking flashes of Nick’s reaction overwhelming my brain. “Are you okay?”

  “Yup.” I breathe in, blinking away the sensation of tears building in my eyes. “I met one of his brothers, and he gave me a tour of the property they own.”

  “I was wondering about them. He’s only mentioned his brothers in passing. He’s never given me much about what he does in Maine. He just needs time off, and he leaves.”

  “Yeah, there are five other brothers. I met one. Did you know about Nick’s woodworking? He showed me his barn.”

  “I knew he had family that ran a wilderness outfitter, but I didn’t know he had five brothers. Or that he had a barn . . .” Caleb’s voice fades, and I have the distinct feeling that I’ve just dropped a bomb.

  “I didn’t know about the craftsman stuff,” I offer. “He makes all sorts of stuff out of wood. He’s working on a project with his family to update the town’s park.”

  Caleb and Reagan are silent on the other end of the line. “Sky, I know you don’t want to hear this, but he trusts you on a deeper level. I’ve been friends with him for years and never heard a peep about his family. I think if you want to try with him, you need to tell him about the surgery.”

  “He told me those things because he brought me here. I was only introduced to his brother because Nick was outside and Adam had to share how eager he is for me to go home. With the exception of the barn, none of his life here was openly given to me. I’m here, so he has no choice but to tell me.” Blinking past the tears no longer works. I can’t swallow past the lump in my throat anymore. “I’m scared he won’t be able to accept the scars.”