by Maisey Yates
He tasted hot and rich and decadent, and she kissed him back, chasing his taste, putting her hands on his hard chest and spreading her fingers out, testing the feel of him. His hands moved to her hips, pulling her close the way he had earlier in the yarn store. It felt like leaning against a hot iron stove.
She arched into him, her mouth opening beneath his, letting him in. He accepted her invitation and deepened the kiss. He tasted so good she couldn’t stand it.
He smoothed his hands over her butt, fitting her hips to his. She could feel how aroused he was through the denim of his jeans and she felt a little burst of pride at how she could make a man who’d been the baddest of boys want her so very much.
She pressed herself against him, flexing her hips against his, and he made a low, rough sound in his throat that excited her. Then he broke away abruptly and before she could protest, he’d swept her up into his arms and turned for the stairs.
“I should probably walk.” Her voice was breathless, her mouth burning from his kiss, her heart thundering.
“No, you shouldn’t.” He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing at all. “I told you I’d do all the work.”
She rested her head against the hard muscle of his shoulder, glancing up at his beautifully carved profile. “Should I just lie back and think of England then?”
He glanced down at her, and a smile turned his mouth, so wicked it stole her breath completely. “Don’t think of England. Think of me.”
Charity quivered. Oh, he was so gorgeous. And for tonight he was hers, all hers.
Garrett reached the top of the stairs and her heart began to thump harder as he moved down a short hallway to the doorway at the end. It opened onto a big room with a window overlooking the back of the house and a massive wooden bed. The bed was covered in a beautiful handmade quilt of blues and greens, and as he carried her over to it and set her down on the mattress, she ran her hand over it.
“This is beautiful,” she murmured. “Where did it come from?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m about to give you the night of your life and you’re asking me where I got my quilt from?”
She blushed. “Sorry.”
“You’ve got to stop apologizing.” He knelt down on the floor in front of her, the most flat-out sexy smile turning his mouth. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Something inside her relaxed at the sight of that smile and at the heat glittering in his eyes. She gave him a tentative smile back. “Force of habit, I think.”
“Break the habit, doc. You’re fine.” He pushed a curl back behind her ear, letting his fingers trail down the side of her neck and making her shiver. “My gran made me the quilt.”
Something strangely tender caught at her heart. Bad-boy Garrett Roy had the quilt his grandmother made him on his bed. But then...that was what had made her fall for him years ago, wasn’t it? Watching him that day in the yarn store, helping out behind the counter and smiling at the old ladies, chatting with them. And then the times she’d spotted him in town with his gran, catching at her elbow to steady her as they’d walked down the street together.
The bad boy who lived with his gran and who obviously cared for her. The bad guy with the heart of gold...
She smiled. “You used to have such a terrible reputation. But you were never really all that bad, were you?”
He shook his head. “Don’t go thinking I’m some kind of good guy because of this quilt, Charity. You know I dropped out of school and left Jasper Creek to go bull riding. Just like my dad. Caused my grandmother no end of grief.”
Curiosity caught at her. “But, you’re back now.”
“Yeah, I am. And I have a lot of stuff to make up for.”
“Oh, but—”
His hand firmed on the back of her neck, bringing her in for another heated, desperate kiss. “No more talking, doc,” he murmured against her mouth. “There are a few other things I want to do.”
And then he was kissing her again, his hands deftly stripping the dress from her, and then her underwear, until she was sitting there naked.
There was no self-consciousness, as if he’d stripped her inhibitions away along with her clothes, leaving only an overwhelming need for him to be naked too, so she could touch him, feel him against her the way she used to imagine all those years ago when she’d barely been able to imagine what making love to a man meant.
She reached for him but he’d already gotten to his feet, stepping away and getting rid of his clothes before joining her on the bed.
He was beautiful—hard and chiseled and powerful. A work of male art. And then she was under him, his hands moving over her, stroking her, teasing her, taking his time with her. His mouth burned at her throat and then lower, kissing down her body, lingering on her breasts, teasing each nipple with his tongue, before sucking gently.
Charity sighed and arched into him, the heat of his mouth inciting and inflaming her, pleasure moving like wildfire throughout her entire body. She touched him all over the way she’d dreamt of, stroking carved muscle and the oiled silk of his skin, his body all hard, flat planes while she was soft curves. She’d never been so aware of the differences between them. Never realized quite how arousing it would be, either.
Then his hand stroked between her thighs and the wildfire moved lower, became more urgent, more demanding, and she gasped, lifting herself against him, pushing into his hand.
He murmured into her ear, soft things and dirty things that made her moan against his mouth as he kissed her, that made her writhe beneath him as the pleasure wound into a tight, hard knot inside her. Then he did something with his hand even as he drew one hard nipple into his mouth, and she felt the knot inside her break apart, pleasure exploding like a bright light being switched on in a dark room, chasing away the darkness and turning everything brilliant.
She lay there, trembling and barely conscious of what was happening, as she heard him reach into the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. There came the rustle of foil as he protected them both, then he was back over her, spreading her thighs with his hands and pushing his hips between them.
“Garrett,” she whispered as he positioned himself, running her hands up his broad chest and feeling the slight prickle of hair and the smooth velvet of his skin.
He looked down at her, his eyes gone molten silver. His expression was taut and hungry, the wicked smile gone. He slipped one hand beneath her at the small of her back, tilting her hips, and then, still looking down at her, he pushed inside in a long, deep glide.
She groaned. He was big, but he felt so good, fitting her in the most perfect way. In fact, everything about this was perfect. It was a dream in many ways, a fantasy come to life. Yet so much better than any fantasy.
He settled deep inside her, his body like a furnace over hers, and she loved it. She loved everything about it. She didn’t have to do anything; it was all on him, just as he’d said. All she had to do was lie there and hold on to him, look up into his eyes and feel what he was doing to her.
He began to move, slow and deep, in a rhythm that made her breath catch and everything inside her pull tight in hunger. His hand was at her back, encouraging her to move and then she was, matching him, and it felt right. It felt perfect.
She stared up at him, mesmerized by the look in his eyes, by the pleasure she could see there, his gaze electric with it, burning like magnesium. He didn’t look away, just stared down at her as he moved inside her, sharing the pleasure with her, pushing them both higher and higher, until she didn’t think she could stand it.
Then his hand was down between them, touching her gently right where she was most sensitive. It was the lightest brush of his fingers, and she felt the pleasure rise like an ocean wave, unstoppable, inevitable, overwhelming.
She cried out his name as it crashed over her, drowning her, but his arms were around her, anchoring her
, keeping her safe in the flood.
Dimly, she felt him move harder, faster, and then she heard his growl of pleasure as the climax came for him too, drowning him right along with her.
CHAPTER SIX
GARRETT HELD CHARITY’S trembling body against his and struggled to catch his breath. She was so warm and soft and silky, fitting against him so perfectly that he didn’t want to let her go. It was a strange thing to think. He’d never wanted to hold a woman before, not like this. Mostly once the sex was over, he was done and out of there.
It was one of the reasons he hadn’t ever brought a woman back to his place, so why he’d brought Charity back here, he couldn’t fathom. It just felt like she deserved more from him than a seedy motel or the back of his truck.
He’d waited a long time to have her, after all, and now here she was, in his bed, beneath him, looking up at him, her deep blue eyes gone dark with pleasure, her cheeks rosy and her mouth full and red from his kisses. He felt no urge to leave as quickly as possible the way he normally did.
In fact, moving to the bathroom to get rid of the condom was almost beyond him.
However, he forced himself to move, shifting off her, kissing her briefly before slipping out of bed and into the bathroom down the hall.
A couple of minutes later he was back, gathering her into his arms as he slid beneath the covers again, her sweet, musky scent and the feel of her nakedness against him already making him hard again.
“You okay?” he asked, rolling over onto his back and bringing her with him so she was sprawled over his chest. Her weight on him was delightful, the silky brush of her hair against his skin even more so. Hell, he wanted her again already while the aftershocks of the first orgasm were still echoing through him.
“Yes.” Her expression was a bit dazed. “That was kind of amazing.”
“Kind of?”
She smiled. “Okay, fully amazing. Wholly incredible.”
He lifted one hand, toying idly with one of her curls, winding it around his finger. “I aim to please.”
Her smile deepened. “You’re still a little arrogant. Though after that, I guess you have a reason to be.”
He laughed. “I’m not the only one with a reason to be arrogant. And I agree with it being amazing.”
Her smile turned shy, a ghost of the smile he remembered from years ago. “I was so annoyed with you when you first turned up, you know.”
“Really?” He tugged playfully on her curl. “I’d never have guessed.”
Charity folded her hands on top of his chest and rested her chin on them. She had no self-consciousness to her now or even a trace of the anxiety he’d seen in her face earlier in his truck, which made him very glad. “I suppose it was obvious. I’m sorry, I should—”
“Hey.” He tugged on her curl harder. “What did I say about apologizing?”
She rolled her eyes, which made him want to pull her in close for another kiss. “You were pretty annoyed with me too.”
“Of course I was. I wasn’t expecting my secret high-school crush to have suddenly bought my grandma’s yarn store.” Talking after sex wasn’t something he normally did. But he was relaxed and it felt natural to talk to her like this.
Charity’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “I was your secret crush?”
“Oh yeah.” He let her curl unwind around his finger, then slowly wound it up again, enjoying the silky feel of it against his skin. “I was hot for my brainy tutor all right. You were so cute in your little skirts and knee socks. So sweet and earnest.” He grinned at the shocked look on her face. “I felt bad because you were so desperate to help me and yet I was having the dirtiest thoughts about you. You shot my concentration all to hell.”
She was blushing now, staring at him as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. “No way. You never said anything to me.”
“Of course I never said anything to you.” He rubbed his thumb over the silky curl, looking into her eyes. “You were far too good for me, Charity Golding. And I thought at the time that if there was one decent thing I could do, it was to stay away from you.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then her lashes descended, veiling her gaze as she concentrated on his chest. Then she said, “I thought you didn’t like me.”
He hadn’t thought it would matter, not after so many years, but there was an edge in her voice that caught at him. Letting go of her curl, he reached for her chin and tipped it up slightly with one finger, so he could see her expression.
“That’s what I wanted you to think.” He studied her. “Because I didn’t trust myself around you. And when I was seventeen and an idiot, that seemed like the best way to make sure you stayed away from me.”
She let out a soft breath. “Well, it worked. It worked really well.”
That almost sounded as if she’d been hurt, which he was surprised about. It had been a long time ago and surely whatever she’d felt for him, she’d gotten over it easily enough.
Yet, perhaps not?
“Did it really matter that much to you?” he asked, frowning.
Her lashes lifted, her gaze meeting his. “Yes, of course it mattered to me. I had one hell of a crush on you too. Didn’t you know that?”
Garrett wasn’t sure what the feeling was that swept through him, a curious mix of intense satisfaction and a very real regret. “I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “I mean, I suspected that you might, but I wasn’t sure how serious it was. I thought if I pretended I didn’t feel a thing around you, you’d forget about me.”
“Why would you want me to forget about you?” she asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious to her. And clearly it wasn’t.
He stroked the curl wrapped around his finger. “Think about it. You were Dr. Golding’s daughter. Top of the class, with a bright future ahead of you. I was no-good John Roy’s deadbeat son. Cutting class. Stealing cars. Drinking behind the bleachers. Shoplifting from the stores in town. There was no future ahead of me except a downward spiral. I had nothing to give you and so I thought it would be better if you stayed way the hell away from me.”
Her gaze was on his, dark and curious. “I suppose. But why did you do all that stuff, Garrett? You weren’t stupid. You could have gone to college if you’d wanted and I think you knew that.”
The conversation had taken a turn that he wasn’t keen on. He wasn’t here to talk about the past. They were here for sex and that was all. Yet he didn’t want to give her nothing. She’d always deserved better from him.
Instead, he looked at the curl wound around his finger. Even in the darkness of the room he could see the red in it, smoldering like embers of a banked fire. That was Charity, wasn’t it? She was all banked embers. All it would take was one breath and she’d go up in flames.
“My mom left when I was six,” he said after a moment. “I don’t even remember her. And Dad was out on the circuit all the time. He was hardly ever at home—at least, I sure as hell barely saw him. Then he was killed in a bull-riding accident when I was ten, and for a lot of years after that I was just...angry. Angry that I never got any time with him, because he was never at home. Angry that bull riding was always more important than I was. When he was home, I tried to be the good son to give him a reason to stay. But nothing I did made any difference. He just kept on riding. Then, after he died, my grandma tried her best with me, but I was too angry to listen to her. And when I hit puberty I thought that since he was gone, there was no reason to try to be good enough anymore. So I wasn’t.”
She didn’t say anything, her gaze full of sympathy and without judgment.
“Gran put up with me for a few years, but then she got sick of my behavior,” he went on. Now he was talking, he couldn’t shut himself up. “She told me that she’d raised me better than this and if I didn’t start taking responsibility for myself, I’d be no better than my dad. It really stuck with me, what
she said. And I decided I was going to be better than he was. That I wanted to be the best damn bull rider in the state. So I left school without graduating—I needed to be out of that environment—and I went on the circuit, and eventually, I did become the best damn bull rider in the state.”
“So what made you come back here then?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” He unwound and rewound her curl, trying to ignore the strange heaviness that sat inside him. The regret that always came with remembering the past. “But Gran had a fall. My uncle, who didn’t show his damn face once after Dad died, called me to tell me, but when I offered to come home, he told me not to bother. He said it would be better if Gran was looked after by someone responsible and reliable, that I was too much like Dad to be a good caregiver.” Tension crawled through him, his jaw getting tight. “I couldn’t let that stand. So I gave up the circuit and came home.”
Charity’s brow creased. “Wow. So you gave up everything to come home and look after her? What about your uncle?”
“He wanted Dad’s ranch and I think he thought that if he took over caring for Gran, she’d sign it over to him since she’d inherited it after Dad was killed. He didn’t care about her. But I did. She’d raised me and I didn’t want to leave her alone with a son who didn’t give a shit about her.”
Charity’s gaze became soft. “That’s a pretty amazing thing to do, Garrett Roy. To give everything up to come home and look after her.”
He didn’t like how she was looking at him, as if he were a goddamn saint, which he knew very well he was not. “It would have been more amazing never to leave in the first place. More amazing not to go chasing my father’s ghost all over the damn state. Perhaps if I hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have had that fall.”
Concern rippled across her face. “No, you can’t go thinking like that. The important thing is that you were there when she needed you.”