by J. Kenner
When she was done and he was spent, she’d eased up his body to lay on top of him, warm and naked and oh-so tempting. He’d kissed her and stroked her back, his hands cupping her ass as she wiggled teased.
“That was just for you,” she'd protested when he tried to flip her over. “Just because I wanted to.”
His heart had flipped at the mix of sultry and sweet in her voice, and he’d closed his eyes, wanting to ask her what this meant for them, hoping that it was more than just the pleasure of the moment.
But before he could broach the question, she’d slid down his body again, then looked up at him with that impish grin. Then she'd taken him into her mouth once again, and all coherent thought had left him, except for a lingering hope that they were back where they were supposed to be. And the fear that to her this was a deep dive into their past, and not a bridge to their future.
Now, he was tempted to wake her up and tell her that it was her turn to lay back. Her turn to let him enjoy the taste and feel of her. To make her shatter. But he couldn't bring himself to wake her, not just yet.
Instead, he brushed his lips over her shoulder, then sat up, noticing for the first time the scent of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. The smell filled the room, and he smiled with the memory of waking up to coffee every morning in the house they shared in Hades. Linda used to set up the coffee maker each night with a timer, so that it was brewed and ready before the alarm went off. Most days, she’d wake before him, then welcome him to the day with a kiss and a steaming mug.
Today, he could do the same.
He pulled on pajama bottoms and the flannel robe that still hung on a hook in what was his childhood closet. Then he padded quietly to the door, the wooden floor cool beneath his bare feet.
He opened the door slowly, trying to keep it from creaking, then he closed it behind him before heading to the kitchen. Sure enough, his mother had already brewed a fresh pot, and there were cinnamon rolls on the kitchen table. He glanced around the house for his parents, but saw neither of them. They tended to go walking in the mornings and were probably at the square right now.
He poured himself a mug, then started to pour another for Linda when he glanced out the window and saw his father standing with a woman by the fence. Not his mother. Emma.
Fear gripped the back of his neck. If she was here, something must be wrong.
With his mug still in his hand, he hurried into the backyard, passing his father. “Oh, good. I was just about to wake you. Emily’s here.”
“I see that,” Winston said, tightly. “Did she say why?”
“On vacation. Doing some hiking. Said you’d texted her that you were in visiting us and that you’d love it if your paths crossed. So she figured she’d stop by. I invited her to spend the day. Figured Linda would want to see her, too. You all knew each other in Hades, right?”
“Yes, sir, we did.” His parents hadn’t been tuned in to the real details of his life in Hades, but they’d seen the fake veneer he’d spread over his life and work. Emma—or rather, Emily—had been a friend who worked in the mayor’s office, who’d also come to the wedding.
His father continued on to the house, and Winston hurried to the fence where Emma was waiting. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello? You head off to Texas for a mysterious assignment, then the next thing I know you’re calling me to track rental cars with your dead wife. Who, by the way, thinks the way to greet an old friend is to assure me that she isn’t holding you at gunpoint.”
She paused just long enough to take a breath, then barreled on. “And then I try to call you back and your phone is shut down. I know because I tried to track you. And that name—Tommy Bartlett with his rental car? Intel says he’s hooked up with Billy Hawthorne, and that can’t be good. Plus, you told me not to call Seagrave, and—”
“Please, tell me you didn’t.”
“No, you said not to. But, that’s a pretty big ask. So, seriously, you have the balls to ask me what I’m doing here? I wanted some fucking proof of life, dude.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I said hotdog. Why didn’t you believe me?”
She cocked her head. “Under the circumstances, would you have believed me?”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
“There you go.”
“Why here?”
“You’re in Texas. Your parents are in Texas. It was the best starting point I could think of. Plus, I called your mom and asked last night. I told her not to say anything. That I was in the area and wanted to surprise you.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Well, okay, then. I guess I should say thanks for caring.”
She laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re welcome.”
“Careful, there. What will Antonio think?”
“He’ll think that I was afraid I’d find you dead, and that I’m delirious with relief. Besides, you forget that we got together on a sex island. There was a threesome,” she added, lowering her voice and adding a sultry tone.
“You realize I can’t un-hear that.”
She laughed. “I think Antonio’s fine with a kiss on the cheek. We’re very open-minded.” She waggled her eyebrows, and he had to bite back a laugh.
“All right. You win. I am glad you came.”
“Good. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“According to Seagrave, this is a highly confidential assignment. Honestly, that’s part of the reason I’m telling you.”
She took a step back, then leaned against the fence. “That’s cryptic.”
“And confidential. You know. I know. Linda knows.”
“Understood.”
“Not even Antonio.”
“I get it. Now talk.”
So he did. And when he was finished, she just stood for a moment, gaping at him. “Whoa.”
“I know.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing at the moment. We’re just waiting for Noah. This seemed like the best place to hide out.”
“And the rest of it?”
He bent down and plucked a weed, then twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “The rest?”
“You’re with your resurrected wife. Are you two back together? Or are your parents going to be sorely disappointed?”
He drew in a breath, then let it out. “That’s complicated.”
“Always is. Tell me.”
“We should go back in.”
“Chickenshit. Tell me.”
He glared at her, and she glared right back. Honestly, sometimes it was hell having friends who knew you.
“Fine,” she said, as he stayed silent. “I’ll start. Is there still chemistry?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation.
“On both sides?”
“Definitely.”
“But—”
“But she’s hesitant because we were both living a lie.”
“And you?”
He shrugged. He’d told Linda he wanted a fresh start, and that was true. But at the same time…
Emma tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. “So how come you didn’t tell me to turn around and go. That I’d butted in on a confidential mission and I should know better. You think Seagrave may be dirty, right? I might, too.”
“I made a judgment call. I trust you.”
“But you don’t trust Linda.”
He winced, realizing that was the first time that lingering fear had been fully formed. She feared their connection wasn’t real, because everything had been based on a lie. But that wasn’t what worried Winston. He knew damn well that what he felt for her was bone-deep, and he believed with all his heart it had been for her, too.
And yet…
“She faked her death,” he said. “She walked away. And she never came back.”
“I’ve got news for you, sport. If I thought it would save Tony, I’d do the same damn thing. It would kill me—it would suck every bit of joy rig
ht out of my life—but I’d do it in a heartbeat. And you know what else? You’d do it for her if you had to.”
He stood there, battered by the brutal truth in her words.
Her smile was just a little sad. “You didn’t make a mistake trusting me today. And I don’t think you’re making a mistake with her, either.”
“Thank you,” he said, pulling her into a hug, then kissing her forehead.
“Now you’re just getting fresh,” she teased.
“Tell Tony he’s a lucky man. And Emma? Thank you for coming.”
Linda was pulling on a pair of Winston's old sweatpants when he entered the room. That fashion statement was matched by a University of Texas tee. “Nice outfit,” he said, grinning as he handed her a cup of coffee. “I’d planned to enjoy watching the caffeine bring you back to life, but this is good, too. You in my clothes, I mean.”
He’d expected her to laugh. Instead, she only glanced at him sideways for a second, then looked down as if tying the sweatpants cord was the most difficult task she’d ever undertaken.
“Your mother is washing my things.” Her words came out crisp and clipped.
“All right,” he said, taking a tentative step closer. “I’ll bite. What’s wrong?”
Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with heat. “We’re hiding out, and you decide to have a chat with an old girlfriend?” She underscored chat with air quotes.
He took an involuntary step back, at first surprised by the vitriol in her voice, then amused. And then, damn him, he actually felt smug. He fought to hide the smile of victory and the swelling in his chest. “You’re jealous.”
Her brow furrowed and even though she was a full three inches shorter than him, she managed to look down her nose. “Fuck you.”
“All right.” He reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could back away and pulling her to him.
“Don’t you even think about it.”
“But I am thinking about it,” he said, his voice low and raw. “About how much I want to undo that tie and watch those sweats pool around your ankle. How much I want to yank off that shirt and then toss you on the bed. I’m thinking about how I want to lick your nipples and then kiss my way all the way down until you’re so wet that you beg me to be inside you.”
He watched her face. The heat building in her eyes. The way the pulse in her neck had quickened and her parted lips that were just ripe for kissing.
“I’m thinking about all that and more.”
“You’re thinking about her.” The words were soft and accusatory. And more of an admission than he would ever have expected from her.
“No,” he said gently. “I’m not.”
“Who is she?”
“Oh, sugar, you saw me talking to Emma. Emily.”
Her chin lifted, and her eyes darted to the side. “You kissed her.”
“I suppose I did.”
Her lips pressed together, and she pulled free, then wiped her palms on the fleece of the pants. “Why is she here?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Worried when we went off the grid, so decided to do her own investigation. I told her to cool it before she fucked something up.”
She nodded slowly. “You two knew each other before Hades.”
“A bit,” he said. “We got closer in Texas.”
She didn’t quite meet his eyes when she asked, “Did you sleep together?”
“What?” He took a step back, realizing in the moment that he should have seen that coming. “Oh, darlin’, no. Never even came close.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Really? So there was nothing between you two then or now?”
“Nothing,” he said. “She’s a friend. A former partner. And we work together. I love her, but like a sister.” He tilted her chin up. “Okay?”
For a moment, he thought he saw relief in her eyes. Then she dipped her head and moved away from his touch. “Okay,” she said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I have a right to get jealous.”
“The hell you don’t.” He moved closer, his hands to her shoulders. “You’re my wife, remember?”
“Winston, come on—”
“No. You say our marriage was built on a lie, but you’re only half right. The foundation was fake, but the emotion was real.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she protested. “The truth is kind of a big deal.”
“Dammit, Linda.” Christ, the woman was infuriating. They’d had something wonderful, and the remnants of that still popped and fizzled between them. “Why are you fighting this so hard? I know what I feel. And, honestly, I know what you feel, too.”
“Do you? Because what I mostly feel is guilt.” He could hear the anger in her voice, and the pain. “I hurt you, and I’m standing here just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you think I could stand to be back with you and then lose you all over again? I’ve had the pain once, and that was plenty.”
“Why would you lose me?”
“Come on, Winston. You look at me like you’re in love. You went off the rails in the hotel not because I was an operative assigned to take out a man. Your fury was at me, not the job. Because someone you love betrayed you.”
She was right. And that betrayal was at the core of that lingering fear he’d just confessed to Emma. But Emma had been right—he would have left to protect her, too. Her leaving hadn’t been a betrayal. It had been the ultimate sacrifice for love.
Which begged the question—if she’d loved him that deeply then, why was she so scared now?
He drew in a breath. “Linda, please,” but she only shook her head.
“You never loved me, Winston. It’s not calculus. It’s a simple, basic truth.”
“The hell I didn’t,” he snapped. “And don’t try to say that you didn’t love me.”
“How could you have? You didn’t even know the Linda back then.”
She held up a hand to cut off his protest, and he closed his mouth, his jaw aching with the need to argue.
“You didn’t,” she stressed. “Not really. And someday, you’ll realize that. Maybe it won’t be right away, but you will, and then everything will be pulled out from under us again.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she slapped at it, as if angry at her own traitorous emotions.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I loved you. Not a shadow.” He reached out to cup her cheek. “I still do.”
She shook her head, her expression sad. “That’s not love. It’s sentimentality and regret. You don’t know me, Winston. You never did. You knew a woman pretending to be a bad guy pretending to be a good guy. Hell, I didn’t even know myself.”
“Linda—”
“You know it’s true. And I didn’t know you, either. Sleepy small town sheriff? That was bullshit.”
He wanted to protest that she was wrong, but she wasn’t. Every fact was exactly true. It was just the conclusions she drew that didn’t match his reality.
“We’re not—”
She cut him off with a raised hand. “No. Wait. Let me finish. We’ve been given this amazing gift to reconcile. To heal the wounds I inflicted on you. That’s an incredible thing. And—and I think that maybe it’s enough.”
“It’s not,” he said.
She let her shoulders rise and fall. “Well, it’s going to have to be.” She drew a breath, then stood up straighter, looking suddenly businesslike. “But we’re together until this Collins-Seagrave thing plays out. And we both know the attraction is real. Whatever you want, Winston. Whatever. However.”
A chill cut through him and for a moment he simply stood there, studying her, his mind whirling. Then he took a step closer, letting his gaze roam over her. “Anything I want. Any desire. Any demand. Whatever I ask, you’ll agree to?”
She nodded, and he noticed the way her nipples had tightened visibly beneath the threadbare tee. “Yes,” she said, then licked her lips
. “The chemistry is real—I don’t doubt that at all. And—well, I think I owe you this. No strings, Winston. But also no plans about a future we both know can’t happen.”
He drew in a breath, then moved closer. He put his hands on her waist, then slid them up beneath the shirt, feeling the weight of her breasts before he pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
She gasped, the sound a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Her eyes closed, and her head tilted back. And when he slid one hand down her belly then beneath the waistband, and then lower still until he was cupping her sex, she was biting her lip.
“Anything?” he whispered. “Anything at all?”
“Yes. Oh, please, yes.”
He withdrew his hand, releasing her nipple at the same time.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“I appreciate the offer, darlin’,” he said. “But you don’t owe me a thing.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m in a pissy mood when I leave the bedroom, and it only gets worse when I see Emily—I mean, Emma—laughing with Miriam and Dale in the kitchen.
She turns to me, her face alight with pleasure, and I watch the smile die as she sees my face. She covers well, though, I’ll give her that. “Hey!” she says. “I was just about to tell Dale and Miriam that you and I should walk to the bakery. Bring back kolaches for breakfast.”
“Great idea.” I flash them a bright smile before Emma and I head for the door.
“So, this isn’t turning out to be the warm and fuzzy reunion of old friends I’d hoped for,” she says after we’re most of the way down the block. “Is it because I seduced your husband in the backyard?”
I stop cold, look at her face, and then burst out laughing, all the tension easing out of me as my shoulders sag with apology. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I—we—I just had a thing with Winston.”
Her brows rise. “A thing,” she repeats, her tone lascivious. “That’s probably TMI.”
“Actually, no.” I draw in a breath and try to get my head on straight. “I did miss you. Truly. Has Winston told you what happened? Why I’m not dead, I mean?”