I’m Yours_Sweetbriar Cove_Book Four

by Melody Grace

  But clearly, he’d made a big mistake.

  Mackenzie’s red curls disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone on the dark street.

  So much for the romantic night he’d planned.

  Jake drove back to the barn and parked out front. He’d spent the afternoon moving the rest of his stuff over and stocking the fridge—in case of Mackenzie’s late-night cravings. Now, he pulled out a beer and sat on the back porch, spinning his cellphone in his hand. He had a list of voicemails and unanswered messages from his agent racking up, but with an empty evening stretching ahead of him, he finally had no excuses for not returning the call.

  Reluctantly, he dialed.

  “Jake, my man.” Trey sounded over the moon to hear from him, but his voice was muffled under loud music and a thudding bassline.

  “Have I got you at a bad time?” Jake asked.

  “There are no bad times when it comes to you, my friend.” There was the sound of movement, and then the music receded, replaced by muffled street noise. Jake could just picture him, in LA maybe, ducked outside of the hottest new restaurant or bar. “OK, I’m all good now. What’s new?”

  “Not much, just checking in,” Jake replied, and took a swig of beer. “How are things with you?”

  “Can’t complain. This new season is shaping up to be killer. A lot of hot picks out there with something to prove.”

  “What’s the word on Sanchez?” he asked, naming the player who’d moved off the bench to fill his spot.

  “Aww, you know these rookies. No finesse,” Trey said.

  “Liar. I’ve seen the buzz online.” Sanchez was more than holding his own. And even though Jake was glad for his team, he had to admit it hurt too, knowing he could be so easily replaced.

  “Don’t believe everything you read,” Trey insisted. “I guarantee the moment you step back on the field, they’ll forget his name. How’s rehab?”

  “It’s . . . coming along.”

  Jake felt guilty. With everything happening with Mackenzie, and the festival planning, he’d let his usual grueling routine slide.

  Trey must have heard it in his voice, because he chuckled. “Hey, we’ve all been there. Thanksgiving, the holidays . . . it’s hard to turn down another helping of turkey, am I right?”

  “Something like that.”

  It wasn’t the turkey putting a hiccup in his workout routine, it was the French fries dipped in ice cream.

  And the red-head doing the dipping.

  “Listen, you’ll get back on track,” Trey said confidently. “You’ve got more discipline than any other player I’ve worked with. If you want it, you’ll make it happen.”

  “Thanks,” Jake said, warmed by his faith.

  “Hey, don’t tell my other clients!” Trey laughed. “I tell them all that they’re my favorites.”

  “Of course you do.” Jake smiled. “Anyway, I’ve got another physio appointment in a week or so, we should get an update on how the knee is healing.”

  “Keep me in the loop,” Trey said. “Remember, I don’t get paid if you won’t play!”

  Jake laughed, hanging up. Trey liked to make out like he was a cut-throat hustler, but the guy had a softer side, too. His clients were like family to him—which is why he’d camped out in the hospital after the accident with Jake’s parents, fetching coffee to help pitch in like he didn’t have multi-million dollar deals waiting on the other line. His faith in Jake never seemed to waver, even when Jake’s own confidence came up short.

  Like now.

  He stretched his knee in front of him, shifting the weight from one side to the other. He was pleased to note it had been feeling better the past few days, the constant hum of pain lessening to where he barely even noticed it. Still, that was no excuse for slacking off. If anything, it meant he should be pushing his body harder now, trying to get his fitness back on track.

  He headed indoors and traded the beer for water, then changed into some loose-fitting sweatpants and a T-shirt so he could go through Dr. Lashai’s movement routine. Carefully, he stretched and manipulated the joints, testing his muscles and ticking off the boxes for how long he could hold each pose. He was pleased to see improvement since his last set of numbers, and vowed to practice twice a day now, to really push his progress. He should be running now, too, he decided, jotting down his plans for a daily schedule, and working on his diet, hitting the weights. His body may not look any different from six months ago, but he knew his stamina and strength had probably been cut in half with all this time out.

  Luckily, his muscles would remember. And after hitting them with this new training regimen, they’d definitely get the message. He’d be game-ready by the spring, and then it would be like this terrible year had never happened at all.

  Terrible, except for one thing.

  Jake paused for breath, sweating at the exertion. He knew he was focusing on his workout plans so he wouldn’t have to think about that fight earlier—or just how guilty he felt. He didn’t understand what happened to make Mackenzie so upset, but he didn’t like it either. The thought of her feeling hurt or angry with him made his chest clench hard in a way that had nothing to do with the exercise.

  Had he just screwed the whole thing up without even realizing?

  Jake gulped. Last night had been something else: something hotter, and wilder, and more vivid than he could imagine. Even now, the memory of her spread beneath him made his blood run hot. The tempting look in her eyes, the way her hair felt, brushing over his body as she moved lower . . .

  He was going to need a damn cold shower.

  He finally quit on the workout, but he was just heading upstairs when there was a knock at the door.

  He went to open it, expecting Cooper, maybe, or a friendly neighbor with another welcome bushel of apples (he had received two already), but instead, he found Mackenzie on his front porch with her arms folded and a reluctant expression on her face.

  And just like that, his night got a whole lot better.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” Mackenzie blurted, without any small talk. “I might have maybe freaked out on you, just a little.”

  Jake smiled back at her, annoyingly calm. “You think?”

  Mackenzie glared. She’d been pacing up a storm back home, torn between her own humiliation and Jake’s confusion over her meltdown. She’d thought the least she could do was come over here and explain herself, but it turned out he hadn’t given her anguish a second thought. He’d been lounging around, looking gorgeous and sweaty . . .

  She dragged her eyes back up to his face and took another breath. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

  He chuckled. “It could use a little work.”

  That was too much. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him hard: hot, and sweet, and tasting like Christmas. “How about now?” she asked, her head spinning.

  “Better,” Jake said gruffly, and then his hands were around her waist, and he was practically dragging her inside.

  Mackenzie went willingly, stealing another kiss right there against the slamming door. He peeled her coat off in record time, and then she was gasping as his mouth moved to the arch of her neck, nuzzling the sensitive spot right there beneath her ear. “So you don’t think I’m a freak?” she managed to say, before her brain shut off completely.

  Jake pulled away. “No. Why would you say that?” he asked, his gaze searching hers.

  She cringed. She was overreacting all over again. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

  But Jake paused for breath, smoothing down her sweater. “Talk to me,” he said gently, tugging her over to the couch. “What happened earlier?”

  Mackenzie braced herself. “I just . . . don’t show my work to people. Not the pottery, that’s fine,” she explained quickly. “But the sculptures. Nobody even knows I’m working on them. They’re too . . . personal. So when you just walked in . . .” She trailed off. “It felt like you forced it. That you saw something I wasn’t ready to share.”

&
nbsp; Jake looked at her with a new understanding. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t realize. You always seem so casual about your work, I didn’t think you would mind.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t. But those pieces . . .” Mackenzie shrugged and looked away, feeling self-conscious all over again. “I wasn’t planning on letting anyone see them. Ever.”

  “So you would just keep them covered up in your studio forever?” Jake frowned. “But that would be a waste.”

  “You said it yourself,” Mackenzie reminded him. “They’re weird.”

  “Weird-good!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I couldn’t really tell what they were, but they were beautiful. You shouldn’t let some dumbass who knows nothing about art make a difference,” he added, his face open and sincere. “Seriously, Mac. You should be sharing your art. Don’t just hide it all away.”

  She flushed. “Maybe . . .” she said evasively. “Anyway, I know you didn’t mean any harm, and I’m sorry I blew up on you.”

  “That’s OK.” Jake gave a smile. “I can take it.”

  He pulled her against him, nestling her head against his chest. Mackenzie slowly exhaled, relaxing. It was a relief to know she hadn’t just sent him running, but she still felt off balance knowing he’d seen her most personal pieces.

  She looked around, wanting to change the subject. She knew Cooper’s place well from their friendship, and had always liked the warm, rustic barn. “So, you’re settled in now?” she asked.

  “All one suitcase,” Jake chuckled, his chest vibrating against her face. “But it definitely beats my old childhood room. I don’t feel like my mom is going to come downstairs and tell me to keep my feet off the couch.”

  Mackenzie smiled. “And turn that music down,” she mimicked.

  Jake groaned. “Please, never imitate my mom again. That’s just wrong.” He looked around. “I don’t suppose you brought those cake leftovers as part of your apology?”

  Mackenzie made a face. “I may have eaten my feelings.”

  He laughed. “Then it’s a good thing I stocked the pantry. I figured you might get hungry,” he added with a wink.

  “I don’t think I’m going to eat for another week,” she admitted.

  “You might change your mind later.” Jake shot her such a smoldering look that she flushed.

  “Oh really?” She arched an eyebrow, trying to hide how her body was already hot with anticipation. “And why’s that?”

  “I can think of a few reasons,” he said, stroking softly over the curve of her body. He dipped his head and kissed her cheek, her jaw, teasing her earlobe before he finally claimed her mouth. Mackenzie sank into the kiss, everything slipping away under his expert hands. He drew her into his lap, molding her body to his, as his mouth caressed hers with a sensual purpose.

  God, she could kiss him forever, but already, the spark between them was burning hotter, and she craved the touch of him, skin to skin. From zero to sixty in a few seconds flat: Mackenzie would be embarrassed about how quickly she wanted him, if she couldn’t feel the proof of his desire hard against her, just as insistent.

  She drew back. “So, are you going to show me the bedroom?” she asked, nibbling lightly on his lower lip.

  Jake scooped her up in an instant, carrying her up the stairs like it was effortless—and to him, it probably was. His bed was on a loft sleeping platform above the living area: simple, but everything they needed. Mackenzie braced herself to tumble back on the mattress, but instead, he placed her gently on the sheets, like she was made of glass. Her breath caught as he stripped his T-shirt over his head, and she devoured the sight of him, there in the dim light. The smooth planes of his muscles, all that coiled power bound up in a body that was a testament to his years of training.

  Mackenzie bit her lip to keep from sighing, and Jake’s mouth curled into a devastating smile, like he could read her mind. He leaned in and kissed her slowly, sweet and smoldering, setting her blood on fire as tension coiled tighter, deep between her thighs.

  Slowly, he tugged her sweater over her head, and then her camisole too. Piece by piece, kiss by kiss, he stripped her bare until she was naked and gasping for him.

  This time, he took her slowly.

  Easing her open, he rocked her with a steady pace that was somehow hotter than any wild, frantic lust. She came apart. Not her body—that was still climbing, tighter, craving release—but something else, a part of her she’d never known existed. He knew her, all of her, and when he claimed her mouth, kissing hard and aching, she couldn’t hold anything back.

  This man, God, this gorgeous, reckless, sweet, infuriating man . . . He’d had her heart since she was sixteen years old, and now he had her body too, a pleasure like no other, so deep and swift it took her breath away. She felt cut open, every last nerve and hope and dream exposed. It was too much, too much to look at him and risk baring her heart like this, so she clenched her eyes closed and held on for dear life, telling him with her body the words she could never risk saying out loud. Over and over, he surged into her, and Mackenzie arched right back, giving and demanding until she was drawn taut, right there on the edge.

  “Don’t stop.”

  The words were crying out in her mind so loud she almost didn’t realize they came from Jake this time: a fevered murmur, over and over. “Don’t stop,” he whispered in her ear, holding her tightly, his body braced and panting. “Please, don’t ever stop.”

  So she didn’t. Mackenzie loved him the only way she could: with her mouth, and her hands, and the slick arch of her body, until there was nothing more to give. She took them over the edge together, and in that sweet, exquisite rush, she knew there was no going back.

  She was his.

  She’d always belonged to him.

  18

  The next morning, Mackenzie was woken by the sound of footsteps moving around the room, even though the light was still dim before sunrise. She squinted through the shadows and made out Jake’s figure, already dressed in workout gear, lacing up his sneakers.

  “What time is it?” she murmured, yawning.

  “Shh, go back to sleep.” Jake smoothed her hair from her forehead and leaned in for a kiss.

  “You’re . . . exercising?” She took in his outfit. “But it’s dark out.”

  “Just a little,” Jake replied, zipping up an all-weather vest. “But the roads are still good.”

  “You’re crazy.” Mackenzie could barely move for tiredness. They’d barely slept all night. There were too many other things to do.

  “Just getting back into the routine. Don’t move, I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  “Masochist.” Mackenzie sat up. “I guess I better get up too.”

  Jake looked guilty. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “No, it’s fine. I promised my mom I’d go hang out today, and we have the toy drive this afternoon at the library.”

  Jake blinked. “Since when?”

  Mackenzie laughed. “Didn’t you sign up for the Starbright email alerts?”

  “The what now?”

  * * *

  “Add it to your list,” she said, yawning again. “Once you’re done chiseling yourself into peak physical form.”

  “Why stop there?” Jake teased. “I’m aiming for perfection.”

  “Don’t expect to brainwash me with all these fitness shenanigans,” Mackenzie warned.

  “I’d never dream of it.”

  Jake headed downstairs, and Mackenzie lay there a moment longer, cocooned in the warmth of the covers and the flush that still lingered from his touch. She almost wished it was a blizzard outside, instead of the light dusting; then, perhaps, they could hole up here for days. But she had a busy schedule ahead—one that she couldn’t exactly deal with while wearing last night’s clothes.

  Their lazy weekend would just have to wait.

  * * *

  After stopping back home to shower and change, Mackenzie made the drive down the Cape, across the bridge to
the overgrown farm where her parents lived now—alongside twenty chickens, six goats, and a dozen alpacas. Thankfully, they’d waited until she left for art school before going full hippie and buying up their ramshackle plot. Her childhood had been zany enough without livestock wandering through the front room.

  Now, she turned down the winding dirt road that led off the highway and bumped along towards the house. The snow was melting, and she could see her mom’s figure in the distance, wearing a bright red parka as she scattered feed for the livestock. Mackenzie rolled down the window and slowed as she approached.

  “Hi, love,” her mom greeted her breathlessly. Linda’s gray hair was peeking out from under her no-doubt-hand-knitted cap, the same spiral curls that Mackenzie had inherited.

  “Hi, Mom. Want a ride back to the house?”

  “I’ve got the chickens still to feed. You go ahead and put the kettle on. And tell your father to stop fussing with that circuit board of his,” she added. “He’s been tinkering with the thing for days. I swear, he thinks he’s going to program the vacuum to take orders or something!”

  “OK.” Mackenzie smiled. “See you there.”

  She drove on another half mile and pulled in by the main farmhouse. Sure enough, she found her father inside, with the kitchen table covered in screws, wires, and tools.

  “Hey, Dad.” She kissed the top of his head as she passed. “Mom says to put that stuff away.”

  “Hey, pumpkin.” Phillip Lane looked up, every inch the mad professor in his cable-knit sweater and spectacles. He paused. “Did you do something with your hair?”

  “Six months ago,” Mackenzie replied, filling the kettle at the sink. “You ask that every time I see you.”

  “Oh. Well, it looks lovely.” He gave a sigh, then began to clear his things with obvious reluctance.

  “How was the retreat?” she asked, remembering their Thanksgiving plans.