Crazy Madly Deeply

by Lily White

  His jaw dropped, pride flashing behind his blue eyes before heat swept in to replace it. “I never meant I only wanted you for sex, Michaela, but you and I both know there’s a body out there just waiting to be discovered and when that happens, my time with you will be over. That’s not what I want, but it’s what will happen, so when I say that this is all I can give you, I’m not saying it’s by choice. Not my choice, anyway.”

  My words were practically spoken on a growl. “Then I’ll take whatever time I can, Holden, and if you try to deny me even a minute more of it, I’ll be sure to personally kick your ass for wasting whatever time we might have left.”

  Game.

  Set.

  Match.

  Not another word was uttered in argument. He was on top of me again in a second flat and this time my clothes were being ripped away.

  Finally!

  Of all the talents I already knew were born into this man, this beautiful soul, this person that had taken all of Tranquil Fall’s crap and still managed to keep an arrogant smile on his lips, he possessed one other talent I hadn’t considered...Holden could move.

  I’d barely had time to catch my breath before his mouth was on me, his legs shoving mine apart, his fingers dipping down to places that had me moaning while he swallowed those sounds and worked me into a frenzy, never stopping, never slowing down, never giving me time to process how I was being pushed toward an orgasm that would make my head explode. And when that moment came, I wasn’t ashamed to scream it into his mouth because for the first time ever I was the person deserving of pleasure, even before he’d made a move to take his.

  It could have been like this for years if I’d just been stronger, if I cared about myself, my needs and my desires enough to kick Jack and my family to the curb and live my life like I wanted.

  I knew what I wanted now. He was on top of me, all around me, crushing me beneath a strong chest and broad shoulders. He was devouring me slowly and I knew when the moment came that he pushed inside me, I would never be able to let him go.

  Holden treated me like I was a planet and he was the moon, endlessly circling my orbit. His entire focus was on me, every movement intended for my pleasure, and when tears were leaking from my eyes because I’d never felt so good before, he kissed them away before grabbing the condom to make two bodies become one.

  He thrust inside me, filling me completely, and then he began to move.

  I didn’t have words to describe what he was doing. I couldn’t comprehend where I ended and he began. But like two dancers caught in the hypnotic pull of a shared, pulsing rhythm, we matched each other in the frantic sway of our bodies, each pushing and pulling, giving and taking, until a climax bowled us over that left us panting where we lay.

  Holden’s forehead fell against my chest, sweat causing our bodies to slide against each other, and I ran my fingers through his hair not caring that this moment had ended, because to me, everything else had just begun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Holden

  Lives aren’t shaped by achievements alone.

  My mother used to say that to Deli and me growing up. She used to pull us aside and sit us down when we’d failed at some test or project, when we fell off our bikes while learning to ride, or had broken a rule and were caught.

  While we sat there crying, our mom would give us the typical mom speech telling us to try again, or study hard next time, or that she was disappointed we chose to break rules, but she would always follow it up with a reminder that to fail is to learn, even when we purposely chose that failure.

  Her speech was one of the memories that was always clear in my head following her death, probably because I broke a lot of rules, but also because, despite my mother’s anger or disappointment with me, she’d still taken the time to attempt to make me a better man. It was never just about how she was feeling, it was about raising me to understand that where most men measure themselves by achievements and successes, they make a vital mistake by doing so. Because lives aren’t just shaped by the achievements we accomplish, our lives are also shaped by our mistakes.

  It’s when we’re shaped by mistakes that we grow the most, because the true test of a person is not how they achieve a certain goal, it’s how they pick up the pieces following failure and keep moving forward.

  Sleeping with Michaela had been a mistake. Not the kind of mistake that I wouldn’t do over again if given the chance, but the kind that left her alone to pick up the pieces. I knew where I was going. The course of my life had already been decided. But Michaela’s? She still had a chance to do something right in her world, and I’d been the selfish bastard to load her heart down with a love that could never be explored or fully kindled into the kind of soft rolling fire that consumes you while warming your body.

  But even knowing what was coming, even being aware of the pitfalls we both faced once the holidays passed and I had to answer for my crimes, it didn’t stop me from loving her.

  My mistake had been her mistake, but only she would have the chance to prove what type of person she was by how she chose to move forward.

  A full week had marched forward since the night I took Michaela to my bed, and in those two days, I’d learned what it meant to relax, to be happy, to stop dreading the next hour because, in my life at least, I’d learned that the next hour is never actually guaranteed. Everything changes from one moment to the next, and trauma had shaped me to remain on guard for the next disaster waiting around the corner. Sure I could smile, and I could joke around, and I could lose myself in a woman’s body, or in my art and music, but my shoulders never lost their tension, my heart never stopped beating with worry - not unless she was around.

  It was selfish, I know, but having Michaela at the house made it feel like a home again. Even though I was still working doubles every day, I looked forward to the few hours I managed to spend with her when returning to a house that had felt empty since the night my parents died. Even with Deli there, I’d felt alone, only because with her injuries, she’d been a ghost of herself, never quite growing or maturing beyond the night everything around us fell apart.

  Speaking of Deli, despite my happiness that she’d gone to see family for the holidays, I couldn’t get over the worry I felt that no matter how many times I called Uncle Scott’s phone, nobody answered. The voicemail message was the standard robotic tone that comes with every phone service, and I left message after message with that fake voice, hoping for a return call. It never came and worry began to nag at me, my thoughts drifting back to the last time Deli had been out of my reach.

  She had seemed so small in that hospital bed after her accident. Every day I’d sat at her bedside waiting her to open her eyes, to twitch a finger, to do anything that meant she was coming back to me. But no matter what I’d said, or what I’d done, she hadn’t responded. I understood then what it felt like to be a parent, to have the duty to protect someone with the realization lingering at the back of your thoughts that there would be times when their life, their wellbeing, their fate was out of your control and out of your hands. With my parents gone, I’d taken over their role, begging to see the light shine behind Deli’s eyes again. But I’d returned home each night feeling like a failure because I hadn’t been strong enough to wake her up and bring her home.

  That same feeling weighed on me now as I walked home from a long day at work. The snow was falling heavier with every hour that passed, and as I made my way through the woods, I paused just beyond the site where I knew a body lay just waiting to be discovered. The body didn’t bother me, but knowing Delilah would be out of my reach once the crime was uncovered set my teeth against each other in a painful clench, my hands tucking deeper inside my pockets as my head tilted down to block the cold wind from slapping against my face.

  I had to remind myself that where Delilah was, she was happy. She was with people that loved her and would take care of her when I was gone. I kept telling myself that as I made my way out the woods, emerging on the
road and making the left toward my house. Shaking myself of the frustration of unanswered calls, I smiled to know who was waiting for me to arrive, a beautiful brunette who had managed to turn that empty house into a home.

  Home...

  I’d forgotten what the word meant until the last few days when I looked forward to walking through the door to the scent of dinner waiting for me and the sight of a wide smile on a beautiful face, passion shining behind a set of gorgeous green eyes.

  Walking in the door, warmth enveloped me, loneliness stepping aside as soon as Michaela came into view, her body bouncing to the beat of some pop song Delilah would have danced to as well. I rolled my eyes at the sound of it, but smiled regardless. It had been so long since I was assaulted with music that made me grind my teeth, but I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

  Spinning to look at me even though I hadn’t yet made a sound, Michaela’s grin beamed and warmed me more than the dry heat pumping through the house could manage.

  “Hey,” she called out, waving at me with a spatula in her hand. “Dinner’s almost done. Why don’t you jump in the shower and thaw out before we sit down?”

  Click... Another image frozen in my mind, a picture many people had seen in their days arriving home, but hadn’t stopped to consider. This was home. Not just a house. Not just an object, but a feeling. Home... Michaela had returned it to me without even knowing.

  I smiled for the first time in what felt like forever, but really it had only been hours since she’d made me smile like this before. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be out in a second.”

  The hot water against my skin felt wonderful, but not as heavenly as what I knew waited for me once I climbed out from beneath the spray. I’d well and truly fallen for a woman that had been here against her will initially, but had the strength to take a bad situation and turn it around. Over the past week, I’d marveled at the changes in Michaela, and although I wanted to take credit for the transformation in her demeanor, I knew the majority of it had to do with these past days being the first that she’d allowed who she really was inside to shine through. This town had held her down as much as it had me, but in different ways.

  Where I’d been labeled as the King of Freaks and shunned by a town that couldn’t tolerate my differences, she had been sat upon the throne of an exalted queen, her wrists tied down to the armrests by ropes made of demands and expectations. While drying my hair as best I could with a damp towel, I realized that being labeled ‘crazy’ had been much easier than the labels they’d forced her to carry.

  The scent of food slammed into me again as soon as I stepped out of my bedroom, the table already set as I padded barefoot and famished out into the kitchen. Michaela spun around to look at me, another smile tilting her lips before she wiggled her eyebrows and motioned for me to sit down.

  It seemed like she always knew I was there, no matter how quietly I’d snuck up on her.

  Taking a seat at the table, I endured her choice of music while she danced, pouring two glasses of water. Carrying them over, she sat down and smiled. “We need more food. I’m getting creative with what you have left in your freezer and pantry, so I’m not sure how this experiment turned out.”

  Letting my gaze fall to our plates, I wasn’t sure I could identify what she’d cooked, but it smelled good. “I can run up to the store tomorrow. Angela cut me back to only an afternoon shift. She thinks I’m working too hard.”

  “I can go with you.“

  My eyes shot up to hers. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. If we’re seen together-“

  Michaela nodded, her lips pulling into a thin line. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

  The mood was dampened by the reminder of our present circumstances. Reaching across the table, I hooked her pinky with mine. “I wish it could be different.”

  A hesitant smile tilted her lips before she shrugged off the difficulties we faced. “It is what it is. Let’s eat before dinner gets cold.”

  It was a little impressive what Michaela was able to pull off with limited groceries and a lot of imagination. I devoured what was on my plate, shoving it away as I laid my hands over my belly, letting out a dramatic groan as if I would burst by eating one more bite. Michaela was still picking at her food, a shallow line creased between her brow that had been there since the minute we sat down. Every so often she would peek over at me, a question lingering on her mind that she still hadn’t voiced. Now that my stomach was full, my curiosity got the better of me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Swallowing down the small bite she’d taken, she pointed her fork at me. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

  My brow arched over my eye. “Okay, I’m game. Why do you think something is wrong with me?”

  “Angela gave you time off. She wouldn’t have done that if something wasn’t eating at you. Plus, you’ve been stomping around.”

  Laughter burst from my mouth. “I haven’t been stomping.”

  “Yes, you have. It’s how I know when you’re behind me.”

  Well, damn. And here I thought I was being sneaky.

  “So, fess up, Bishop. What’s wrong?”

  More laughter shook my shoulders. This new Michaela was turning out to be a lady you didn’t want to mess with. “I’m worried about Deli. I’ve been calling Uncle Scott’s place for the past week and they haven’t picked up or returned my messages.”

  Michaela’s eyes met mine, concern filtering behind her gaze that she attempted to hide with a smile. “When is she supposed to come home?”

  “After the holidays, but I’m not sure how all of that will go down. We have three days left until your family notices you’re missing. And given how many people saw what happened the night Jack and you showed up at the diner, I’m sure my door is one of the first places the cops will be knocking.”

  “So, don’t answer.”

  Sorrow sliced through me. “They’ll find me eventually, Michaela. You need to accept that.”

  “I’m not accepting anything, yet. Not until I figure out how to get us both out of this.”

  Standing up before I had the chance to argue, she grabbed both our plates and walked them to the sink, cutting off the topic of conversation. After dropping the plates down, she moved back over to me and grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

  Both my brows shot up my forehead. “Are we going somewhere?”

  Flashing me a wry grin, she answered, “You’re going into your studio since being in there calms you down. I’ve been taking up way too much of your time over the past week with my bedroom antics and you need to blow off some steam.”

  Raw heat filtered through me. “I wouldn’t say my time with you isn’t a way of blowing off steam.”

  One yank had her falling into my lap, a surprised shriek bursting over her lips. My mouth trailed down her neck, my teeth nipping at the skin. Whispering close to her ear, I argued, “in fact, what we’ve been doing these past few days has been quite helpful in blowing a lot of things.”

  “Damn it, Holden,” she yelled, laughter coating her words. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Now, come on.”

  She shot to her feet and pulled me with her to drag me down the hallway toward the studio. Confused by the sudden direction we were going, I asked, “Are you coming in with me?”

  “Yep. I like it in there. And I love seeing you work. It’s relaxing.”

  “You’re using me to relax? How dare you?”

  Opening the door, she glared up at me. “Whatever. Just take off your shirt and get to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, stripping off the t-shirt from my chest and tossing it aside. I’d never been forced into my studio before, so I wasn’t quite sure I was mentally in a place to begin painting, but the minute the smell of the room wafted beneath my nose, my fingers itched to create, to draw, to bring to life the myriad of images endlessly circling in my head.

  While Michaela took a seat on the floor against the wall, I
went about my usual routine of choosing music to fit my mood and arranging my materials to work on the painting of Delilah that was close to finished. She had been on my mind the most that day and taking a brush to her image helped alleviate the loneliness I felt with her being away.

  Seconds bled into minutes that bled into an hour while Michaela silently watched me work. Every so often I’d glance back to find her entranced by the art coming to life in front of her. Finding myself overtaken by the serenity of what I was doing, I didn’t notice the soft rustle behind me, didn’t bother to check what Michaela was doing until I heard her clear her throat to grab my attention.

  Glancing over my shoulder, my entire body tensed with confusion mixed with pure want.

  She didn’t have a stitch of clothing on, her back arched just slightly off the floor, her shoulders and hips firm to the ground and her head turned toward me with a teasing smile gracing her lips.

  “What are you doing? Trying to distract me?”

  It was working. Dropping my paintbrush and palette to the floor, I memorized the sleek lines of her body, the shadows that traced the muscles down her calves, the perfect curve of her breasts.

  “Paint me,” she suggested. “Draw me like one of your-“

  Holding up a hand, I silenced her. “No. Don’t even say it. That is one of the most overused movie quotes of all time.”

  Laughter shook her shoulders. “Fine. Then use what you have in front of you, Holden. I’ll be your model.”

  Oh. I definitely wanted to use what was in front of me, but not in the way she’d suggested.

  “You want me to draw you?”

  Head nodding slowly, she said, “I see all these wonderful paintings of people that caught your eye, and I’m not in any of them.” Shrugging, she added, “I figured a woman needs to take her clothes off to get your attention around here.”