You Own My Heart

by Juliana Stone

  He believed her. Of course he did. Nash knew not every family on the planet was like his. And Lord knows, the Bookers weren’t perfect either. But this right here wasn’t right. This young girl feeling this way, wasn’t right. What could he do to ease her pain? In the end, he figured there wasn’t much, unless cooking a meal counted.

  “I hope one day, your mom gets better.” Nash tossed his napkin and took a moment. This wasn’t anywhere near his wheelhouse. “For her and for you.”

  “That will never happen.” Brooke sounded sure of herself, and Nash let her have that. She was young. Only sixteen, if he remembered correctly. What did a kid that age know? Sometimes too much…but even then, young kids rarely saw the big picture. They dwelled in the here and now and all the pain that went with it.

  Nash looked at Honey and found her gaze on him. He thought of the things she’d shared a few days earlier and knew the reason she’d bonded with the young girl. Brooke obviously reminded Honey of herself.

  Brooke pushed her plate away. “That was really good. Thanks.” She looked at Honey, and in that moment, her exhaustion was palpable. The skin beneath her eyes was paper thin and bruised. “I’m going to crash, if that’s okay.”

  Honey got to her feet. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you where everything is. You can take a shower and get some sleep.”

  Nash cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, which wasn’t much considering he’d done all the fixing in the bar kitchen. He’d just finished wiping down the island when Honey appeared.

  “She’s already asleep. Didn’t make it to the shower.”

  “Good. She needed it.”

  Her hair was down, and she’d changed into a simple white T-shirt and loose pants. The woman had not a stitch of makeup. Nothing to plump her lips or emphasize her eyes. She didn’t need any of that stuff. She looked so damn good. So damn off-limits. With his heart thudding against his chest, Nash turned and looked for his jacket. It was time for him to go.

  “She’s a great girl. She just needs some time and some direction.” Honey sounded small and subdued. Slowly, Nash turned back to her. Her big eyes shone in the light.

  “She reminds you of yourself.”

  Honey nodded. “My mom…” She shrugged, and it looked like she was struggling for the right words. “My mom wasn’t a bad person, although for the longest time, I thought she was. Just like Brooke, I thought she was a loser.” She walked toward the large window in the living area, the one that looked out over the parking lot. It was frosted and rattled as another sheet of ice hit it.

  “God, some of the things I said to her. Vile, hurtful things. And to her face. She just took it because she was used to taking shit from people.” A pause. “She did some bad things. Some inexcusable things.” Honey spoke slowly, as if she were remembering. “But her heart wasn’t black, you know? At least that’s what I believe. She wasn’t strong, and life beat her down. She made bad choices and did bad things but…” Honey rested her forehead on the windowpane. “I still remember how she used to brush my hair. I remember her smile and touch…the way she smelled like flowers. I remember the pink wallpaper. The baby squirrel she handfed.” A few moments passed. “It died. The squirrel. And we buried it in the backyard. A bad person doesn’t bury a small baby squirrel.” Her voice was now a whisper. “A bad person doesn’t dance in the rain or smell like flowers.”

  “No,” Nash replied. “I think you’re right about that.”

  The air was charged, it seemed. An invisible energy that electrified and slid across his skin with a heat that was unmistakable. It took everything in him not to go to her. Not to put his arms around her and hold her so close, he’d absorb her pain.

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” she said turning around to face him.

  He nodded. His mouth was dry at the look on her face, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he wanted to.

  “Do you think your family will mind if…” Her voice trailed off, but she didn’t look away.

  He managed to get his shit together. “If what?”

  Her eyes shone up at him, and damn if Nash Booker didn’t feel his heart skip. It was like he was fifteen all over again, standing in front of Beth Sanders with his heart in his hand and a hope as big as the Grand Canyon.

  “If you stayed here, with me…” She licked her lips, and her eyes dropped. There was no mistaking where her thoughts were going.

  The thing was, he wanted this more than anything, but they’d been pussyfooting around the same dance for weeks now. “I’m done playing games, Honey.” He took a step forward. “I want to stay. I want you naked, and I want to be inside you. I want to fuck you slow and hard and watch you come because I made it happen. But the back-and-forth and the second-guessing has to stop. If we’re going to do this, let’s just do this. Throw the dice and see what happens. No trying to reel in whatever this is. No putting it in some damn box we have no name for and pretending it never happened.”

  Honey seemed to consider that for a few moments. Then she walked toward him and, without saying another word, slid her hands up along his body until they hooked around his neck. She rested her cheek against his chest, and slowly, his arms encircled her. He held her close. He absorbed her pain. He ignited her passion.

  The night had barely begun, and already, Nash thought that maybe this was the best Christmas Eve he’d ever had. There had been giving and receiving. And there would be lots more to come.

  Wasn’t that what Christmas was all about?

  15

  Honey could have spent all night standing in her living room, held tight in Nash’s embrace. He was large and warm, and he smelled so damn good, it was heaven to be there. Heaven to feel his hardness against her. To hear his heartbeat strong and steady in her ear.

  And yet there were other things at work spreading heat throughout her body until every single nerve ending was on fire. Until that slow throb between her legs became too persistent to ignore. Until her nipples hardened, and she squirmed against him. Was she really going to do this? Again?

  When had she ever been the kind of girl to see where the chips would fall?

  Honey Harrison didn’t trust a soul. She planned everything. Looked ahead, saw three different outcomes, and made the one she wanted to happen, happen. She looked at life as if it were a game, because up until now, it had been. A game of running before she got caught. Outsmarting before she was found out. Breaking hearts before her own got broken.

  Crystal Lake had been an outcome, one she’d wholeheartedly embraced. And yet, nothing had turned out as she wanted. No one was who or what she’d expected, and that had thrown her off her game. That had led her here, to a moment with Nash she hadn’t seen coming.

  Her surrender.

  For once in her life, she was going to act simply on feeling—on feeding the void inside her, an empty space only Nash seemed able to fill.

  With a groan, she raised her head and found those dark, fathomless eyes on her. They looked black in the low light. Sexy. Mysterious. His lips were parted, and the sight of his tongue made the throb between her legs ache even more. Before the night was through, those lips, that tongue, would kiss the ache and drive her over the edge.

  As for right now? She led Nash toward the sofa and pushed him gently until he fell backward. He was dressed casually. Jeans. Dark blue Henley. She knelt in front of him and tugged on the edge of his shirt. He leaned forward a bit and raised his arms. She pulled it off in one deft move and tossed it on the floor behind them. Next, she reached for her T-shirt, and it joined his in less than two seconds. Her breasts were free, the nipples hard pebbles, invitations to touch.

  But not for Nash. Not yet.

  She grinned as he squirmed in his seat and swore as she circled the dusky rose flesh with her fingers before letting her right hand slide down into the front of her pajama bottoms.

  His eyes were riveted to her crotch as she touched herself. “Do you want to see?” she asked, her voice husky and thick with passio
n.

  He swore, something she didn’t quite get, and smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Honey got to her feet and stepped out of her pants, moving so that she stood between his legs—she wanted him to see exactly what she was doing.

  “You’re fucking killing me,” he said roughly, chest heaving as she spread her legs slightly and slid her fingers deep inside. His hands reached for her, but she shook her head.

  “No. You watch.”

  She loved the way his eyes darkened to shiny black orbs, their depths reflecting a primal hunger that touched them both. He looked at her as if she were a tall glass of water and he was dying of thirst. She circled her clit and gasped as a delicious shudder racked her frame, and watched in satisfaction as he undid his jeans. The large bulge that sat there attested to his state of arousal, and the smell of her own excitement was thick in the air.

  Her fingers circled faster, and she watched hungrily as he let his cock free. It was fully engorged, heavy with desire, and she licked her lips as she bent forward to kiss it. Nash had other plans, though. He growled like an animal, and before she could react, his hands were on her hips. He pulled her close so that his head was directly between her legs.

  “Wider,” he commanded gruffly, his fingers digging into her flesh as she did his bidding. She’d have bruises there for sure, but at the moment, she didn’t give it another thought. There was no more foreplay. No kissing or stroking or licking or fingering. Nash put his mouth on her and plunged two long fingers deep inside. He curved them upward and almost immediately found her G-spot.

  She went rigid for a moment and then sighed, rocking into him. “God, Booker. You’ve done this before.”

  “Little bit,” he replied with a wicked grin before tackling her clit and nearly sending her over. It felt so damn good, and Honey cried out as he worked her over. The man knew his way around a woman, and she had to put her hands on his shoulders because her knees had gone liquid. An intense pressure began to build, spreading a fire that squeezed and contracted and grew into an inferno.

  Nash licked and sucked—his fingers drove her mad—and he uttered dirty, dirty things. Things that would give a nun a heart attack. But Honey was no nun, and his words heightened the pleasure. Her body was slick with sweat, and she gyrated aggressively, urging him to go faster, to touch deeper, to push harder. He obliged wholeheartedly, and she shattered against him, her body shaking so badly, she collapsed against him.

  “That was….” She had to catch her breath. “It was…”

  “Yeah.” His voice was ragged, and she knew he was just as affected as she. And it was only the beginning. “I know.”

  “No.” Honey finally caught her breath. “That’s not what I meant.” She slid down his body and yanked at the waistband of his jeans.

  “What was that exactly?” A slow wicked grin crossed his features.

  “That was just the appetizer. If you want the main course, you better get these off.”

  Nash was a good listener. He lifted his hips, and it didn’t take long for him to be completely naked and ready for her. He glanced over his shoulder toward her bedroom, but she dropped a kiss to his lower abdomen. “Trust me, Brooke is out for the night. Sit back and relax.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” His voice was rough. “I’m gonna explode.”

  “Not yet, you’re not.”

  Honey kissed his stomach. She loved the way his muscles moved as they clenched in desire. The way his body was hard and defined and so incredibly male. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.

  In her eyes, he was the perfect male. Tall. Well built, with strong shoulders, lean hips, and muscular legs. Nash Booker was all man, complete with rough edges, and the kind of strength people gravitated to. It was physical, but it was also inside him.

  Her nostrils flared as she focused on his erection. Carefully, she wrapped her right hand around his dick and began to massage him from base to tip. He was highly aroused, and she knew it wouldn’t take long. Already, the end of his penis gleamed with moisture. When she lowered her head and took him into her mouth, he groaned and raised his hips. All those sinewy, tough muscles contracted so tight, she felt their definition through his skin.

  Honey tilted her head so she could watch him. She ran her tongue around the head of his cock and then licked her way down the shaft. She did that several times, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead—the look of pleasure and pain in his eyes. With a smile, she took him in her mouth once more. She suckled him, worked her tongue and hands, and when he made a guttural sound, she knew he was right there with her.

  “I can’t hold back,” he growled, hands in her hair as he tried to pull her back.

  “No,” she murmured, opening wide and loving every inch of him. “I want all of you.”

  “You sure?” he ground out.

  “Damn sure,” she murmured, holding him steady.

  He came hard and jerked his hips, but Honey held on until the end. This was one ride she was taking all the way. She might have lost control earlier, but right now, she was in the driver’s seat, and it felt exhilarating to have this kind of power over someone like Nash.

  After he was spent, he finally relaxed, and Honey slid up his body, curling into him and grabbing up the heavy cotton throw at the edge of the sofa. There were no words. Just touch and feel and sound. He lay back, and she settled against him, her body fitting perfectly in his arms as if she’d done this many times.

  Truthfully, this was the first time she’d ever had a man in her place and let him stay. She’d never been in a relationship before. Never felt the need to go that extra mile. She could count on her left hand the times she’d had a man back to her place. Even then, after sex, she’d kicked their asses to the curb. But Nash was different. With Nash, she didn’t mind the intimacy. In fact, it felt kinda good.

  And that was something she didn’t want to think about, at least, not yet. She closed her eyes and thought, this is what it feels like to be safe and warm and content. Of course, that part of her that had gotten her through many rough patches gave warning. It was a little voice at the back of her head that told her not to get too comfortable because this would all go away.

  Eventually, everything good in her life did.

  Which was why several hours later, when Nash asked her to come to his parents’ place for Christmas dinner, she said no.

  She’d woken up with Nash already inside her, and they’d barely managed to get dressed before Brooke walked out of Honey’s bedroom. The young girl had made a lot of noise, and Honey was pretty sure she knew what was up in the living room. Nash couldn’t seem to wipe off a satisfied grin what would make a Cheshire cat proud, and Honey’s cheeks were perma red from all the sex and blushing when she thought about all the sex.

  “You sure? What are you going to do all day? It’s Christmas.” Dragged from her thoughts, Honey cleared her throat and nodded as she looked across the room at Nash. He’d pulled on his winter coat and stood near her door, his dark eyes intense. Brooke stood beside him—he’d offered her a lift home—and Honey’s heart twisted a little at the sight.

  He was a protector. A man who would do anything for those he loved. That much was evident. He hadn’t met Brooke until the night before, and in the space of twelve hours, he’d managed to win the girl over. Wasn’t fair, really. It had taken Honey two months.

  “I’m good, Nash.”

  He pulled on his gloves and reached for the door. “How about I bring over some leftovers?” He kept the tone light, but that didn’t take away from the heaviness of the meaning and what he was asking. They were moving into new territory, and the ball was in her court.

  “I would like that,” she replied softly.

  A heartbeat passed.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  He opened the door and waited for Brooke to walk past him before shooting Honey a look that would have singed her panties—if she were wearing them. As it was, her lady parts roared to life, and sh
e was pretty sure Nash was getting one hell of a nipple salute.

  “Get lots of rest,” he murmured. And then he was gone.

  Honey looked around her empty apartment, not used to the weird feeling that bloomed in her chest. She liked to be alone. She loved the silence and simple tranquility one could get from an open afternoon with nothing to do but read a book, or nap, or…

  Get naked again.

  “Jesus,” she muttered heading for the kitchen. Earl needed some water, and she needed to get her shit together.

  Hopefully, she could get both accomplished before Nash returned.

  16

  Six months ago, if someone had told Nash he’d be hanging out with Honey Harrison after hours, between hours, and before hours, he’d have told them they were damn crazy. Crazy with a capital freaking C. Yet here he was, New Year’s Day, getting ready to head out and pick her up to take her out to Hudson’s place, where all the Blackwells were gathered for good eats and, more importantly, good football.

  Now, he wasn’t the guy who’d invited Honey—that had been Wyatt Blackwell’s wife, Regan—though the thought had crossed his mind on account of all the after-hours and hanging out. Thing was, thinking and doing were two entirely different things. Nash was man enough to admit he’d been hesitant to invite Honey because, so far, she’d turned him down for anything that didn’t involve the after-hours business. He’d been as surprised as anyone when she’d handed Regan her cocktail and said she’d love to.

  She’d love to.

  Wyatt elbowed Nash in the ribs. “Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Then the middle Blackwell went on to tell Honey how Nash had never brought a woman to the Blackwells for New Year’s Day. Ever.

  “I’ve never brought one because you guys act like jerks,” Nash said with disgust.

  “Not me,” Hudson replied. At Nash’s dark look, he cracked a smile. “Well, not since I was twenty-five or so.”

  And that comment right there had opened up an entirely new can of worms. The Blackwell wives had no qualms about digging into him. About pointing out his age (since when was thirty-five over the hill?) and the lack of bachelor pals in his life. According to them, every single male in Crystal Lake was married or engaged except for Nash Booker. He took the ribbing and didn’t think about it again until later. After he’d made Honey come more times than he could count, he lay on his side and watched her sleep.