by Leanne Davis
Silence.
“Has there?” I insist.
“No.” His jaw tics.
I reach up and rub my fingertips over it. “You need me to be easy and callous and someone who this doesn’t mean anything to, right? So you can want me yet love her?”
“There’s no words for you and I. You and I we’re f—”
I lift my hand to cover his hand that cups my face still, gripping and entwining our fingers. “Friends?” I finish for him, gentling his words. I know exactly what he planned to say, but his touch is the opposite of his words and tone. It’s gentle. And his expression shows he isn’t looking for a quick bang, but instead, sad and confused and like he wants to run away from me. He fears me. He wants me. He needs me.
He and I stand eye to eye, and he seems surprised by that. His hold is steady and gentle, which surprises me, as my hands feel as shaky as my stomach.
“Run, Seattle. Go back there. Avoid me. I can’t give you anything but this.”
“Because you gave it all to her?”
“She’s nothing to do with this.”
“She’s everything to do with this. She’s what started this. She’s what you’re escaping… with me.” He won’t admit to himself it’s more than just my body he wants, but I don’t say that.
“Yeah, I am. Are you going to let me? Because if you do, it’s on you. Your decision. I’ve been honest with you, right?”
“Honest as hell. So yeah, it’s on me.”
His mouth descends. His lips touch mine, and I close my eyes, sinking into all the sensations that instantly start. His mouth is soft and searching at first but gains momentum and he shifts my body closer to his. His other arm wraps around my waist and I loop my arms around his shoulders. His hands meet on my back, sliding up and down, moving the material of my shirt.
The kiss is long and potent. His mouth captures mine, his tongue filling my mouth. He strokes my tongue with his, and my body responds. So does his, but there is both need and reverence in the way his hands grasp me, so tight and yet gentle, as he rubs almost platonically at my back. There is strength in him, but it’s so controlled, as though he’d never use it to hurt anyone. I know this instinctively, but also that he needs me… and this. He stops kissing me then, his face buried in the hollow of my neck as he simply hugs me to him. Startled, my hands loosen on his shoulders. I open my eyes to find him completely embracing me as a child might their parent. In need of comfort, warmth, companionship. I lower my arms to encircle his back and grasp him. I rub between his shoulder blades and kiss the side of his face with soft kisses.
He shudders at my touch, at my response. This man is lonely. Alone. Sad.
Whatever happened with Harper, it broke him, and he’s unable to find out how to put the pieces back together. My heart dips because this isn’t casual. He’ll say it is. I even say it is. But the connection feels quick and sharp and deep. And though he’s not ready for it, he needs it. I’m it. He’s unsure he wants to connect with me, but his loss has left him a blank, black hole in need of light. I’m some warped version of that. The first thing he’s grasped toward that isn’t anger, grief, sadness.
Even though it’s not casual, I need that to be the case, because I’ve never had a casual fling or one night stand before. I wish I could, but it never interested me. Despite all the traveling, there hasn’t been a hookup anywhere. My relationships are exactly that, relationships. I thought this attraction I have to this mysterious, odd, grumpy cowboy was just that, a white-hot and rare attraction that I could act on. I know in my gut, the crass words he said were only there to turn me off and push me away, but instead they brought me here.
Taking a deep breath, I know I’m going to enter this man’s pain and need. I’m going to get hurt by it. Singed, even burned by it, and then sent home alone with no hope of anything. I’ll be the rebound. He might hate me for it and detest needing me over Harper. He might embrace sex that isn’t Harper. He might adore me for it, but he’ll never get past Harper and be with me because of sex. Not the rebound. The too-soon. The person that might get him through this, and for that reason I’ll never be who he settles with for real. I’m the glue that starts to hold his broken pieces back together.
At least I fully realize this going in and yeah—I’m that drawn to him—I choose this.
There’s probably something in me that likes the inherent drama of the situation. Maybe I like to be needed, or just maybe for some reason I feel a connection with someone who isn’t at all like me, and in all those differences it feels like more than it is. I hope so. I really hope this is just initial interest and not real.
Because it’s me who stands to have a broken heart next.
Finally, I push on his chest. He loosens his hold on me. I step forward and he moves back in tandem until I gently shove him to sit on the bed. I grab the waistband of my shirt, sliding it up as I expose my stomach, my rib cage, and finally the silk and lace of my white bra. I loop the shirt over my head and toss it away, shaking my hair out to look flowing and sexy. His gaze is riveted on my breasts. His breathing is fast and hard and interested. I do the same slow process with my pants and panties, dropping them to my ankles and stepping out of them. Next, I bend down and unzip my sexy, heeled ankle boots, tossing one to the floor with a thunk and then the next, meanwhile my hair slides down my back and trails to the floor. Everything I do is slow and deliberate.
He’s riveted as if he’s a virgin who’s never seen a real, live naked woman before.
I flip my hair and rise to my full height. His gaze follows and studies all the inches of skin I’ve exposed. He inhales sharply and reaches for my waist, pulling me toward him. I climb on his bed and straddle his lap. He kisses me as his hands rub into my hair and grasps the long, thick strands.
His hands finally follow the line of my hair to my neck, shoulders, and down the side of my torso to cup my breasts. He slides his palm over the orb and rubs his palm flat over my nipple. The silk moves over it as his hand warms it up. Finally, he dips his fingers into the material and slides my breast free, my nipple hard and pointy and straining toward him. His gaze lingers, staring at it as if it’s the best treasure of his life. Then his head ducks down and his lips suck the end. I moan and hold his head to me as I throw my head back pushing my chest toward him. He tortures me in pleasure before his hands circle me and undo the clasp of my bra. He slides the straps down my shoulders, his hands gliding, soft and reverent over my skin.
“You’re so soft. So beautiful,” he mutters as his mouth returns to kiss my breast, then up to my shoulder and my collar bone, as he licks and kisses his way to my other nipple that peaks through my hair, proud as a volcano. I feel ready to erupt as his teeth and tongue and lips all work and move to create friction and warmth and sensations that have my lower half moving against him.
I finally push him back only to grab the end of his shirt and work it upward. He lets go of me to help, and finally he’s shirtless. My hands start gliding and touching the texture and feel of him. I memorize his wide chest and sculpted stomach, making my way down to the waistband of his jeans. I’m wet and ready, and he must feel that even through all the material that separates us.
He suddenly stands up, me in his arms. I’m startled as he kisses me, long and deep, and holds me as he lets my body slowly slide along his until I’m standing on my feet. He releases me and grabs his belt, undoing it and unthreading it from his waistband before he tosses it. Then his jeans are peeled off, the remainder of his clothes at his ankles as he tries to use his right foot to tug off his left boot. He wavers and wobbles and hops, and then starts to fall as I grab at him to steady him.
His immense size and weight overwhelm me, and we topple over to the floor together as his pants and underwear are tangled around his boots at his ankles. We stare at each other, blinking with surprise. Then… I start to crack up laughing. His lips twitch… then his mouth opens and suddenly he laughs, too. Out loud. Experiencing Holden laughing is a rare thing, especially like this, where his
teeth show and his smile actually reaches up into twinkling eyes.
He holds me on the floor, half naked as his clothes hold him hostage, and we laugh until we’re gasping. I finally set a hand on his chest, pushing up from him as he’s flopped flat against the hard floor. “I guess I ruined the mood.”
“No way.” I shake my head. I grin as I lean down and kiss his chest. Then again. And again. I lick him and then… head south. He jolts and gasps, and his hands leave the floor to land on my shoulders, light and easy but with soft squeezes of affection. He likes it. Of course. Then I lift up off him and skip his straining penis, which I’m sure he’s hoping will be the next thing to receive my attention.
Instead, I grin, my eyes twinkling with mischief as I tackle his jeans and socks and boots. The man still has his boots on! I tug and pull, and he lays there laughing at me. At us. At my struggles. And yeah, the mood is changed again, but it’s silly, and seeing Holden relaxed and laughing, even if it’s on the floor, stretched out and half-trapped in the bindings of his clothes, is so worth it.
“I got it!” I fall back as I tug hard enough to dislodge one boot. I hold it up, and he lifts his head to see what I got. He’s all but gasping for air he’s shaking so hard at my antics to simply remove his boots. Then I tackle the other one, it comes easier, and from there his socks, jeans and underwear slide away. I toss them and move up along his now-flat-on-the-floor body. He’s laughing but slows down as I come on top of him, just off to the side and kiss his chin, then the side of mouth and finally his lips. “You laugh at the city-girl trying to tug off cowboy boots, but who’s the idiot that tried to undress over them?”
His hands wrap around me, resting on the indent of my waist. He lifts a hand and captures the back of my head to press my face back to his, where he kisses me long and deep… no laughing this time. He leans back enough to say, “Me. I’m the idiot. But seeing you strip me, far worth the hard floor.”
I gaze down at him. “Are you sure about this?”
“More than you could ever know.”
I’m startled by the sudden soft tone and serious gaze. I lean down and brush my lips over his. “Then, I’m sure, too.”
He surprises me when he flips me over, and then rises to his feet while pulling me up by my hand. He guides me to the bed, where he gently lays me down first. He tugs the nightstand drawer open and brings out a condom. Then he turns, putting it on. I’m surprised by the reverent way he touches and lays me on his bed. I kind of thought we might do it right there on the floor, but no. And the shy turning around? His demeanor doesn’t suggest he’d be shy about anything with sex, yet here he is.
He comes to the side of me and wraps me in his arms as he starts kissing me. We lay on our sides, facing each other. He stops long enough to brush a long strand of hair out of my mouth, and his gaze studies me, seeming to memorize me from my forehead to my chin. I hope it’s so he doesn’t picture Harper, but he seems completely here with me. Totally tuned in. I’ve made love to enough men to know a quick act of sex. Fun sex. Casual sex. Easy and friendly sex. This? This feels like so much more. It feels like a thought out, deep connection that is using sex to enhance an emotional and soulful connection.
Which can’t be. No way.
But it feels like that.
He kisses me deeply before he gently rolls me over and settles on top of me. He stares into my eyes as his body rocks forward and fully into me. I open further, rising my knees up around to cup him. Cradling him as my body does. He’s staring down at me and shudders as he pauses there, as if overcome by how good I feel to him. Then he leans down and gives me a long, hot, open-mouthed kiss as he moves within me. I receive him, wet and wild, and it isn’t long before I’m gasping and groaning to the movements of our joined bodies and mouths, finally screaming as an orgasm fills my body with what feels like all the colors in the rainbow. I grasp his shoulders to me as my body all but convulses in pleasure around him.
It doesn’t take long until he finally comes fully and completely inside me. Shuddering and groaning and pushing into me with all his strength. His body trembles and quakes, and finally he falls down on top of me as if he’s finished the greatest exertion of his life. I blink in awe and surprise for a moment at the sudden quiet that fills the space. It was momentous, amazing, soul-stirring, and orgasmic. For me.
For him? I think for Holden it allowed him—just for a few moments—to forget his Harper. The way he suddenly withdraws from me, and yet grips me to him, he seems confused and scared and shook up… and also needy of me to get through it. He didn’t like forgetting her, but he liked sex with me. He likes me still there to hold him, and rub at his back and shoulders and kiss the dampness of his hairline.
I’m here, and she’s not. He doesn’t like it, but he needs someone and he has no idea what to do with it. I restrain an inner sigh… because neither do I.
It’s quiet now. He grasps me to his side as he falls into an exhausted sleep, induced by both sex and alcohol. Did he drink to go through with this? Perhaps. Most likely. I hadn’t. What was my excuse, then? Why had I done this? But no post-coital regrets fill me. I’m probably a one-night stand, but the desperate way he clasps me and holds me and even looks at me, is a turn on. It’s so intense I want to rub at the lines of concern on his face and tell him to relax. Just be here. With me.
For now, however, he sleeps hard. He snuggles into me, and it makes me smile because for as grumpy and crusty as I found him so far, I don’t expect the cuddling. Snuggling, really. He buries his face in my hair and holds me in both his arms.
He shuffles in his sleep. He mutters, frowns. I glance at him. The scruff on his face is thick and scratchy, careless, and kind of hot. What mysteries drive this man? Why does he seem more than a farm worker living in a room in a barn? I feel like there is more to him. Not that there’s anything wrong if that is his life. But I get the impression there is more he wants—or wanted—out of life. More ambitions and goals. Before something stopped him, stopped his life… Harper
Sighing, I know I need to find out the full story about Harper.
I stay for hours, as I drift off. I let his hands rub me when he seems distressed. Finally, I kiss his mouth softly, then slide from his bed. I find all my clothes, slip them on, and quietly click the door shut behind me, glad to escape in my car and go to my room. I drop all my clothes in the hamper and take a long, hot shower. I lean against the stall as tears fall from my eyes, though I’m not sure why. I don’t feel dirty or ashamed. Used or abused. I feel needed and wanted, yet there’s some surprising sadness I feel about Holden even if I have no words to articulate why that is.
Chapter 5
HOLDEN
I wake up groggy and stretching. Light just barely trickles in as my usual alarm goes off. I sigh. Always the same. The wakening and taking a moment to realize I’m back in the barn-room. I’m alone. Harper’s dead.
Every. Damn. Morning. It hits me like a fresh wrecking ball has been swung into my middle. My wife is dead. I forgot her, so she died.
I groan and roll over, wanting to throw my phone with its shrill, annoying alarm out the window. I keep it away from me so I can’t do that in my desire to snooze.
Shit! Alicia! I sit up. The bed covers are rumpled. It smells like her on the pillow, but she isn’t here, and I’m still naked. I listen for her, but I’m sure she’s gone. I swing my legs to the floor, flat footed and slouched over, and I sit to get my bearings with my elbows on my knees, a hand running restlessly into my hair. What have I done? I had sex with someone else. The hurt slams into my heart. I had vowed and believed I’d never have sex with anyone but Harper again. Harper’s face, in her modest veil smiling up at me as I said my vows to her on our wedding day, flashes through my brain. The memory feels like it smacks against my temple, beating me up. How could I do this? Touch another woman? Until last night, the thought of another woman’s touch, her body near mine, mine near hers, made my skin crawl. How could that have changed? How could I have done this w
ith someone I don’t know or care about. It was exactly what Harper would never want for me, or of me.
She’d never approve of Alicia, because Alicia had done this. Harper wouldn’t like that in a woman. Shame fills me. At the sex. At feeling like I cheated. At who I cheated with.
Oh damn, my head hurts. I press my fingers to my eyes, trying to relieve the pain. I have to stop drinking. It’s going to become a problem, and it certainly isn’t solving any of mine. There’s no way I’d have gone through with last night if I hadn’t been drinking. I dated women like Alicia before I met Harper, well not exactly like Alicia, but easy about sex like her. But then Harper happened, and we waited two whole years. So now, to do it after mere weeks… it feels strange. I feel rusty and out of practice and like I have no idea what to do with it.
I rub at my face. Perhaps I should shave and shower. And tonight, no bar. No beer, no whiskey. Maybe a bottle of water and dinner. But first… Lover’s Landing. I feel more compelled today than any other day in the past several months to get there. To…what? Somehow make amends with Harper? Say I was sorry. Get her approval? What? I don’t talk to her there. I don’t think she haunts it. I don’t know why I go to the coffee house and order our drinks. It just makes me feel close to her. When I wake up and it’s all so fresh, like a stab wound into my heart, going to Lover’s Landing makes me feel like I’m still… connected to her. I’m still living for her and about her. Somehow it fulfills some grim part of my day and makes grief feel just a bit more bearable.
Today, I need that connection more than any day since she died.
And Alicia won’t be there. There is no way Alicia will show up. Why would she? We had our thing. She left before morning, and there is no reason to ever see each other again. Relieved to realize this and be free of her, I clean myself up and drive the short distance to town, parking and striding toward the storefront of Lover’s Landing. And then I almost run into it.