by Bethany-Kris
Same as always, now.
Gracen smiled wide. “Hey, yourself. This place is really out here, huh?”
“Still got power,” he returned.
She laughed. “Barely. I’m pretty sure the power lines stop a kilometer or so up the road.”
“Yeah, it’s not far from here. Pretty much chip sealed roads all the way to the one-eighty, too.”
The mention of the rural highway connecting Mount Carlton to the Miramichi made Gracen shake her head.
“I won’t lie and say I miss driving on that road,” she said. If at all possible, she did her best to avoid traveling it.
Malachi shrugged. “Try it on a bike. That’s an ... experience.”
No thanks.
She could only imagine.
The steps of stone and mortar carried Gracen to where Malachi stood just beyond the doors. He was a hell of sight in red and black plaid, denim, and combat boots. Like he fit right there in the woods with an ax over his shoulder and woodland critters running around his feet. His short—and new—hairstyle, a wet-looking quiff only added to his appeal while he lingered in the only stream of light offered by the front of the lodge. Overhead, tall windows framed the lodge all the way up to the eave in the shape of triangles. The glow of the light inside haloed the two of them down below. Gracen peered upward to get the full effect of the lodge’s entrance looming above its guests, and Malachi did the same.
“Hell of a place, huh?”
“Private,” she agreed. “I almost missed the drive passing by, actually. If it weren’t for the telephone poles, I wouldn’t have thought there was anything down in here.”
“Can’t blame you there.”
He chuckled, and before Gracen could meet his lowered gaze from the sight up above, Malachi snagged her wrist in his grip. He tugged her forward, pulling her into his warm, hard chest for a hug that squeezed the last drops of breath from her lungs.
She didn’t mind.
She buried her face against his throat, so his chin rested on the top of her head while Gracen hugged him back as hard as he’d done to her. She only loosened up when he kissed the top of her head, and she thought of a couple of other places that were far better for his lips.
Like her own damn mouth.
“What about me?” Gracen asked, tipping her head back to stare into Malachi’s face.
He squinted one eye, unable to keep from grinning. “What about you, huh?”
Was he going to make her say it?
Is that what he wanted?
So be it.
“I’d like a proper kiss, too,” she whispered.
Malachi dropped a light kiss on the tip of Gracen’s nose, making her laugh. “There?”
“No.”
But it was good, too.
Sweet.
Malachi kissed her cheek, then, lingering at the very edge of her grinning lips. “Here?”
“You’re just teasing me, now.”
“Tell me you don’t like it,” he returned just as fast.
She couldn’t say anything, actually. Malachi made sure of that because his next kiss landed exactly where she wanted it. Perhaps the month of time that had gone by since she last seen this man did something beneficial for the both of them because the second his mouth was on hers, fireworks lit up inside Gracen’s body.
From head to toe.
The demanding sweep of his lips over hers, taking all she was willing to give, brought her to life. She’d not forgotten what his kiss felt like, of course. It was just the taste of him and the way he held her tight until the kiss was done that make her remember how much she’d missed him.
And maybe part of the reason why, too.
He let her step back from him, just far enough to gaze upward again at the high roof’s peak, but one of his hands stayed flat against her waist overtop her old high school hoodie. So old, in fact, that the graduation year and school logo in gold on the front had long since faded against the green cotton.
“Your boss really doesn’t mind me—”
“Chip’s already drunk and getting rowed down the river in a canoe.”
Gracen’s brow lifted high. “At this time of night?”
They were a lot closer to midnight than dinnertime, that was for sure. It couldn’t be too safe to boat on a river at night while drunk, not that she had a lot of personal experience in the topic. Gracen was a passable swimmer but not much more, so she didn’t actively seek out watersports of any kind.
“The river is the only reason he even had this place built,” Malachi replied. “Well, if you ask him. We won’t see him until noon tomorrow, probably. He can’t drink like he used to. It’ll take a bit for him to get up and going, I’m sure.”
Malachi didn’t offer the information with any malice; but it was clear that his friend’s antics were something he had grown accustomed to for however long he’d known his boss.
“Does that stop him from trying, though?”
Malachi smirked. “Not one bit. Gotta give Chip that, I guess.”
Figures, she thought.
“Chip’s good,” Malachi added about his boss and friend. “No worries there. Plus, he brought a friend that knows how to keep him ... busy.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
Malachi scratched at his jaw where he’d shaved it clean and smooth since the last time she saw him. “He likes his distractions.”
“And?”
“He’s fully invested in his current one at the moment,” he finished.
Ah.
Malachi sighed, adding lower, “Until she gets boring to him, anyway. That’s neither here nor there.”
Well, Gracen wouldn’t ask more questions in that regard. The personal life and private activities of a man with enough money to build himself a log home in the middle of nowhere so he could go boat down a river when he was drunk was not her business at the end of the day. What did it matter now when the invitation to the lodge had already been extended, and here she was?
“So, we’re here until Sunday afternoon?” she asked, surveying the quiet front of the lodge’s property with a well-landscaped walk that extended around the veranda.
“You didn’t mention anything else to do,” Malachi replied.
That was also true.
“You caught me at a good time,” she replied with a shrug.
“Don’t you usually take clients on the weekends?”
“Usually, but not this one.”
Or rather, every appointment was cancelled now.
Perhaps he had heard the hint of unhappiness in Gracen’s tone when she spoke about the salon and her clients, because he asked, “A bad week?”
She glanced his way again. “What makes you think that?”
Malachi’s relaxed posture eased what remained of Gracen’s nerves about her weekend plans. If he was comfortable here, then she could be, too.
“I can’t imagine me being the only reason you would choose not to work on a weekend,” Malachi admitted. “No offence, but you don’t seem like the type.”
He knew enough about Gracen to be right on the money, too.
“It’s been a long week,” she settled on saying. “My friends might have helped to get me out of town, too.”
Delaney and Margot were owed their credit for giving her the gentle shove she needed, after all.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asked. “I can give you the tour while we do it.”
Talk about her ex?
Here? With Malachi?
It would mean bringing his sister into the conversation, too, as well as the connection between Malachi’s sibling and Gracen’s ex-fiancé. If he hadn’t already figured out that piece of her past and present, and opted not to bring it to her attention, that was. If that was the case then Malachi had the patience and grace of a fucking saint.
“Tour first,” Gracen told him, an awkward laugh escaping her at the idea of going to that terrible place tonight with him. There were a million better things she could dream up for the two of them t
o do. “Maybe we can get to the rest later.”
Or not.
We’ll see how I feel.
Not that she added that bit out loud.
That was just for her.
Malachi chuckled. “I can work with that.”
Gracen decided right then and there that she liked men who made things work, as he put it. Mostly, she just liked him.
Something about Malachi was different.
“All right,” she told him, hooking their arms at the elbow as they turned toward the doors, “give me the grand tour.”
*
The lodge opened to fifteen hundred square feet on the bottom floor with an extra five hundred square feet of loft space in the cathedral tall ceiling in the main foyer. A sitting room welcomed guests with plush leather couches sitting across from one another between a black bear skin rug that’s roaring head faced an unlit fireplace. Most of the downstairs was an open-concept floor plan where one could walk between the sitting room, state-of-the-art kitchen, and the dining room that connected to the wrap-around veranda with ease.
She might have lingered a little longer in the kitchen—and the massive bathroom with an antique clawfoot tub—just to give the rooms the appreciation they truly deserved. Gleaming hardwood floors and log walls complemented the dangling bare-bulb light fixtures wrapped around wooden beams that hung overhead.
Longer than it was wide, the lodge’s high, sweeping eave matched the one in the back facing the river. Although, the windows reached from the floor to the log beams overhead in the rear of the lodge. Two bedrooms, both featuring en-suite bathrooms, sitting rooms with fireplaces, and private access to the rear veranda made up the back of the lodge.
Gracen didn’t get to see the inside of the bedroom and connected suites across from the one Malachi prompted her toward, but he explained it was the same layout. Just different decoration as it wasn’t meant to be used for guests when Chip called it his own.
The coolest feature of the lodge by far, however, was the control panel Malachi showed her in the bedroom. With a press of a button, every tall window that made up the rear wall of the bedroom frosted to block out prying eyes from the river.
“I am scared to ask how much this place must have cost him,” Gracen said as she tossed her overnight bag onto the maroon leather loveseat facing a smaller fireplace framed by a stone and mortar mantle.
Malachi chuckled, pressing a second button that frosted the lower half but left the upper portion of glass clear to view the night sky. “To be honest, I don’t think he’d say. Not Chip’s style, you know what I mean?”
“I bet I could still ballpark it.”
And her guess was closer to seven figures than six.
“Give it a shot with him tomorrow, but wait until he’s downed a beer or two.”
Gracen would keep it in mind.
Malachi allowed Gracen her silence and space to admire the decent sized bedroom decorated with log furniture from the bed frame to the coffee and bedside tables with oval glass tops. The same hardwood floors and light fixtures accented the space including the en-suite bathroom and connected walk-in closet.
“I will be using that tub,” Gracen called out to Malachi from the bathroom.
It, too, had a vintage clawfoot tub made of iron. No doubt, it would take the better part of an hour to fill the damn thing, but the wait would be worth it.
“It’s big enough for two,” he told her when she exited the bathroom.
Even winked, too.
Two could play that game.
“Well, we’re already sharing a bed this weekend,” Gracen said, tossing him a sly smile, “so why not toss in a bath with it, too, right?”
Malachi shifted in his combat boots where he leaned against the fireplace mantle with his arms crossed over his plaid-covered chest. His expression didn’t flicker to say her suggestion hit its mark, but it didn’t need to. She saw it in his eyes.
How he looked at her ...
It made her chest tight in the best way.
“Are you tired?” Malachi asked. “It’s late, and you had a long drive.”
Gracen nibbled on her bottom lip, chasing away the butterflies in her belly with the sting of pain when she bit down harder than necessary. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“If you’re also getting into bed.”
Chapter 19
Malachi had never been one for morning sex. Mostly because he tried not to stay long enough in a woman’s bed to see the sun rise the next day—or rather, he hadn’t in a long time. His mornings typically included dragging his ass into a barely warm shower to wake up, and early work hours that didn’t allow for a lot of down time.
His mornings weren’t great.
He didn’t look forward to them.
Gracen made him want a hundred more mornings with her just as the sight of her sweet smile from the pillow next to his while the sun crawled high over the river in the sky. He couldn’t help it. The girl looked like an angel in slate gray sheets, still naked from the night before, with hair mussed into a halo around her head.
Malachi didn’t believe in perfection. That shit truly was a myth especially when a person dedicated so much of their life and time to reaching an unattainable goal. Instead, the next bar got placed, and again when the new goal was just beyond reach. Perfection looked different for everybody, and anybody could change the spec.
If there was perfection—if he’d ever come close to finding it—Malachi would say it was Gracen Briggs waking up in the morning. Sunshine on her face, blue eyes sleepy but clear, and her soft good morning drifting across the bed in a raspy whisper.
She smelled like his crisp body wash, a love bite darkened the spot above the hollow of her throat, and the first thing she looked for when she opened her eyes in that bed was him. Like she hadn’t forgotten that he was there, and she would want to see him the second she woke up. The same way she reached for him under the sheets, deep in her sleep, and only settled once she was tucked in against him.
That seemed perfect.
Or damn close to it.
He blamed how he felt on the fact that time and distance had allowed him unlimited hours to think about the woman he’d met in his hometown. A whole soul who had existed right alongside his own for years, but somehow, their paths had never crossed. He didn’t particularly believe in things like fate or karma—the universe didn’t work that way for him.
It also didn’t make the phenomenon any less real. Just because he’d never experienced it, yet, didn’t mean he wouldn’t someday.
God and the bible?
That was all bullshit. Religious babble that had been shoved down his throat time and time again, but in the end, meant nothing because it hadn’t done anything for him. At least, nothing good.
Destiny, though?
That hadn’t hurt Malachi yet.
Which was why he woke up to Gracen thinking: Was I supposed to meet you?
Now instead of then?
Had the world been holding out?
Why?
For what—for them?
Maybe perfection was a myth, but he could trust in things that felt right. Deep in his bones, racing through his blood, and in every pull of breath into his lungs—everything shifted into a better view when Malachi was next to Gracen.
He chose to pay attention to that.
His gut never lied.
“Morning,” Malachi told a grinning Gracen who sunk into him when he pulled her closer under the sheets. Until they breathed together, her bare breasts flat against his dusting of chest hair, and their limbs tangled into a warm weave. Pressing a kiss between her eyes, squinting from her wide smile, he added against her silken skin, “Beautiful.”
Because she was; inside and out. He’d tell her even when she was tired of him doing it, although she’d not asked him to do so, yet.
“What time is it?” Gracen asked.
He hated to admit that he’d already checked the time when it meant he’d needed to ro
ll away from her to do so, but his answer came automatically. She needed something, and he was more than willing to provide even if it was just the time.
“Almost ten,” he said.
Gracen’s blue eyes blew wide, and if it weren't for their arms and legs wrapped together, she might have jumped up in the bed. “In the morning?”
“Wow, you really are a workaholic, huh?” She slapped his chest playfully at the comment, but it was still hard enough to make a crack. Malachi barked out a laugh at her muttered jerk before their joy melted into sin when he sucked in her bottom lip. He swallowed her first moan with a sweep of his tongue wet against hers. She shifted, already aware of his growing erection between them and how close her bare pussy was when she rocked her hips. Close enough that he could feel the tease of her heat before her wet skin rubbed slick along him. “Shit, I was only gonna say that we needed to work on that, Gracen.”
Her teeth traced his jaw. He adored that she was so physical during sex. The more he touched, so would she. Every kiss from him fed hers. It turned her on the more he explored her—anywhere ... everywhere—every taste and touch got her high, and he willingly fed into that; whatever made her wild when she wanted him.
Shivers raced down Malachi’s spine, and the pulse in the underside of his cock thumped harder. Could she feel the way she made his dick ache when she said, “We are working on it.”
Well ...
Technically.
He’d count this weekend as a good first step.
“We should put that bath to use,” she mumbled against his cheek while he nuzzled her neck. “Get up.”
She said sensible things. Under the fading scent of the lingering body wash he liked to use, the smell of their sex from the night before still clung to the bedsheets.
Soon, it’d be the whole damn room.
“We should,” Gracen insisted when he nibbled at her throat before sucking on the same spot. Why didn’t she sound like she meant it? “God—I love it when you do that.”
He knew. If he did it when she came, her sex pulsed so hard it could milk the cum straight from his balls. Better yet, a single finger up her ass when she was on her knees did the same thing but made her shamelessly wet.
Malachi learned something new about Gracen every time he took her to bed. He’d be a liar to say he wasn’t getting addicted. What would she let him do to her next?