A Second Chance at Love: A Hometown Hero Series Novel

by Connelly, Clare

  Madeline pushed aside the scrap of underwear and lowered herself onto his length, her eyes on his, daring him to challenge her. Daring him to object. He didn’t. His firm, calloused hands gripped her hips and held her tight and low, screwing her down, until he felt himself be absorbed completely by her body.

  Madeline cried out softly and swivelled her hips, remembering the sense of him fulfilling her completely. “Yes,” she whispered. “God, yes.” She threw her head back, and finally, she looked like the woman he had once known and loved. Filled with passion and lust and desire and pleasure.

  Harrison lifted his body, thrusting further into her, and as pleasure filled him, so did anger. Anger at what she’d taken away, and the shallow reasons she’d had for leaving him. He lifted his legs and bucked her sideways, rolling them both to the ground in a none too gentle manner. Madeline glared at him as they fell, a tangle of limbs, to the timber floorboards.

  But Harrison was on top of her, where he loved to be, thrusting into her, driving her crazy, before she could even formulate a complaint. He watched as she came beneath him, her body thrashing, her head whipped from side to side, as her nails dug into his back. He laughed, for the sheer thrill of feeling her again, then, he stretched as far as he could, to reach his bottom desk drawer. He felt in the darkness for the cold metal he sought, and smiled when his fingers grasped it.

  Madeline had barely recovered from her intense orgasm when he clipped his spare set of handcuffs around her slender wrists, and tethered them to the leg of the sofa.

  Her blue eyes flew wide in surprise. “What are you doing?” She demanded through gritted teeth.

  “Making you wish you’d never left me,” he said evenly, his eyes rich with desire, his erection heavy inside her. Her arms were stretched above her head, and he removed himself, just so that he could pull her across the floor, stretching her body away from the sofa. She watched, her pulse raging through her body, as he donned protection and slipped inside her once more. With her arms constrained, she couldn’t grab his shoulders as she wanted to, she could only kick her legs as pleasure tore through her. And it did. It ripped through her body in a way that threatened to pull her apart.

  Harrison smiled as she came again, holding her close, kissing her neck, her cheek, and then, her lips.

  He lowered his mouth to her breasts, and tormented her over-sensitive flesh, all the while, her arms remained above her head, held in place by the cuffs he’d never used in such a way before. She shuddered beneath him, her whole body quivering from an overload of sensations.

  “You looked so prim the other day. So untouchable. All I wanted to do was make you feel like this. To remind you that you have a humanity beneath that ice lady act.”

  She closed her eyes. “It’s not an act,” she said desperately. “That’s who I am now.”

  “Like hell it is,” he contradicted fiercely. To prove his point, he pulled out of her once more, with utter regret, as his own release was so close he was shaking. But he lowered his mouth to her core and lashed her heat with his tongue, pressing his hands into her legs to keep them hard against the floor, when she would have lifted them in response to his ministrations.

  She cried out as feelings began to tremble through her. “Harrison, stop!” She moaned, pulling hard at her arms, trying to move her legs. He smiled against her flesh, and kissed her again, driving her wild with his tongue alone. She bucked her hips as her body was wracked with the unfamiliar sensation.

  “I don’t ever want to stop,” he responded darkly, lifting his mouth back to her breasts and driving himself into her hard, fast, with punishing intensity. She was so wet, and so ready for him. Her whole body seemed to cling to him, to beg him never to leave.

  “I want to touch you,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding him deep inside her.

  “No. You don’t get to touch me. You left me. Now you’re back. And I get to take what I want.”

  His words had a menacing coldness to them. But she ignored it. In that moment, she would have agreed to follow him to the ends of the earth.

  He paused, his body tense, as he reached for her handcuffed hands. He pulled at her finger, dislodging the enormous ring she wore. “And don’t wear the damned thing around me. I don’t want to see it.”

  Madeline was completely lost in the moment, but his anger was enough to make her stare at him, in complete confusion. There was so much more to him than she understood. So much more to them. He tossed the ring across the floorboards, sending hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewellery into the corner of his study. Madeline looked away from it. She didn’t care. Dean and she knew what their marriage was.

  “Do you love him?” He demanded, pulling himself away from her so that his arousal teased her entrance.

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “Dean. Do you love him?”

  She lifted her hips, her internal emptiness an actual pain.

  “What are you doing?” She demanded, lifting her knees, trying to pull him closer.

  His smile was cruel. “I’m not going to do this any more, Madeline. Not until I hear the words that you don’t love him. That you don’t want him like you want me.”

  She groaned, her whole body shaking with desire and anger. The secret she and Dean protected was too important to compromise. Even Harrison couldn’t know the truth of her marriage. “He’s my husband,” she said weakly. For their façade needed to continue at least until Kenneth had passed away. And beyond that, for as long as Dean felt the image suited his office. “I haven’t seen you in eight years.”

  He nodded, a strange expression in his eyes. He stood, completely naked, over her.

  “Where are you going?” She squeaked, as he moved towards the door. He didn’t respond, but a few minutes later, he returned with a white ceramic jar in his hands.

  “What’s that?” She asked, curious, but strangely completely trusting.

  His smile was loaded with emotion.

  “A new interrogation technique,” he said throatily, unscrewing the lid with his eyes on hers. He slowly tipped the jar upside down, so that a stream of amber liquid trickled onto her naked chest. She gasped as it landed, and the unmistakable scent of honey assailed her nostrils.

  He lowered himself back on top of her, and traced the honey with his tongue, drizzling it over her breasts, and tasting them until she thought she was going to pass out from the extreme rush of pleasure. He ran the honey lower, over her flat stomach, and then lower still, to her womanhood. But he didn’t taste her. He slipped a finger inside her and drove her almost to the edge, his eyes sparking as she began to tumble down the cliff without him.

  He laughed quietly as he removed his finger, and reached for the cuffs.

  “You’re tormenting me,” she accused raggedly.

  “I’m giving you a hint of the pain I felt when you left me,” he retorted, his eyes shining with intent. “But don’t worry, honey. Pleasure is inevitable for you, in a way it wasn’t for me.”

  He undid the lock and watched as she rubbed her wrists. They were chafed from where she’d pulled at them. Compunction assailed him, but he ignored it. “Are you still with me?” He demanded. “Or do you want to go back to the ranch and the husband your daddy picked for you?”

  She pushed him back onto the ground angrily. “Fuck you,” she responded, but tears were collecting in her eyes. She reached for the honey, and before he could guess her intentions, she pulled the condom loose and tossed it aside, then upended the honey on his hard, tight arousal. He gasped as she followed it with her mouth, as he had done to her. He swore, and ran his fingers through her hair, gripping her blonde head as his body began to shake with the complete desire she had unlocked.

  Her tongue was both heaven and hell, a weapon that was making his body ache and throb. She was sobbing as she brought him right to the edge of climax. When he was just about to lose all control, she shifted position, and slipped on top of him, groaning as he filled her feminine
core completely. She thrust downwards, taking him inside of her, wanting and needing him.

  He exploded with a guttural cry of longing, his whole body slamming against hers as they met the field of desire together. His fingers sought hers, lacing with them, tangling them to their sides, as her breasts were soft against his hard chest, her legs wrapped around his waste.

  Their breathing was tortured in just the same way, loud snatches of air humming through the room. But as desire subsided, sanity threatened to return.

  Harrison wouldn’t let it. He had her where he wanted her, he just need to convince her that it made sense.

  But she was married. His eyes flew to the ring, discarded in the corner of the room. God, she had a husband. A husband she probably felt this pleasure with. A husband who had been good enough for her. Had there been other men during her marriage? Did she cheat often?

  He closed his eyes and squeezed those thoughts out. This wasn’t cheating. Madeline had been his first. She would always be his. Despite the eight years that had passed between them, theirs was a connection that no one could compete with.

  He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, and licked a patch of honey from her skin. “You need a shower.”

  Her expression was strained. The shock of what had just happened was obviously getting through to her. He couldn’t let it.

  “Come with me,” he said, huskily, standing, and pulling her with him. He pushed through to the ensuite, and started the water running. “Get in, Madeline.”

  She looked at him archly. “Were you always this dictatorial?”

  His smile lacked amusement, and also warmth. “No. But I used to think you knew what was good for you.”

  She shivered a little. But the feelings he was evoking were too good. Too perfect.

  “Obviously, I was mistaken. I should never have let you go. I should have bundled you into my car and kidnapped you. Made you marry me.”

  She shook her head. “You couldn’t do that, Harrison. You’re too good. Too kind.”

  “Perhaps. I was an idiot though. And so were you, Madeline. What were you thinking, letting your father make these choices for you?”

  He opened the door to the shower and nudged her inside. He followed immediately behind her and trapped her against the wet, cold tiles. She shivered. “I mean it. You are smart and you are confident. Your father’s a jackass. Why the hell did you let him put an end to us?”

  She could never tell Harrison. It was the impossible, unending conundrum. For even once Kenneth was dead, Harrison would still be chief of police in the county. His obligation would be to report Diana’s crime, if he knew of it. And so Madeline shook her head. “Old habits die hard.”

  “Aint that the truth,” Harrison nodded, an ironic smile on his face. “Turn around. Let me wash the honey off your shoulders.”

  She did as he said, reaching up subconsciously to feel the slick of gold that had trickled down her back.

  With her facing the wall, and water cascading over them, he traced a line of soap from one shoulder to the other, and then discarded it. He ran his hands over her skin, admiring and pleasuring. She was standing straight, her head pressed to the tiles. But he wanted her. She was as light as a feather, it was easy for him to pull her legs backwards, positioning her so that her torso was bent forwards. He gripped her hips and entered her swiftly from behind, taking pleasure from the way her whole body jumped at the invasion.

  “Harrison,” she moaned, spreading her legs a little wider to give him better access. “Oh, Harrison.” With the water running over them, he brought one hand around to cup her breasts, and the other to feel the front of her core, teasing in time with his thrusts, as her pitch of desire reached a crescendo.

  They climaxed as one, his body answering every challenge hers delivered, until they were both besieged by pleasure. She wondered how she’d ever lived without him for so long. “Eight years,” she said breathlessly, shaking her head from side to side.

  He turned her around in his arms, and his expression was, for the briefest of moments, tortured. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek, instinctively wanting to erase that from him. But he flinched away, his anger with her returning.

  “You didn’t ever call. You didn’t ever think of me again, did you?”

  Her blue eyes searched his face. “I thought it would make it worse. A clean break was best.”

  “Why?” He squeezed some more soap into his hands and began to rub it over her body, cleansing her breasts with great care.

  She opened her mouth to say something but hit a wall. There was so much between them. So many lies. And they’d all come from Madeline. She couldn’t tell him what she knew about Diana. It was Diana’s secret, but Madeline had a duty to protect it. She couldn’t tell him the truth of her marriage to Dean; that was Dean’s secret but it was her duty to protect it. She’d promised him that, and she owed him that much still.

  “Why?” She went on the attack, spurred to it out of defence of her own actions. “So that you could go get someone else pregnant, Harrison. You hardly sat around waiting for me, did you?”

  He flinched at her accusation.

  “Ivy’s almost six. So at most you sulked around for, what, a year? Probably less. I’m sure Ivy’s mother wasn’t the first woman you consoled yourself with. So why are you acting as though I ruined your life? You seem to have moved on just fine.”

  He paled visibly, and stepped away from her. “Don’t talk to me about Sal.”

  Madeline swallowed past the painful lump clogging her throat.

  “Why not? You want to know about Dean? Why can’t I ask about the woman you loved after me? The woman you loved enough to have a baby with?”

  “Because she’s nothing to do with you.”

  “And Dean is with you?”

  “Your father chose him for you. Hand picked your perfect political groom. You left me, and married him. You’re still married to him, Madeline, and you’ve just spent the better part of an hour making love to me. So yeah. I have a bit of a right to ask about your marriage.”

  “And what? Sally would be fine knowing that we’d just done that in your home? You don’t think she’d feel just the tiniest bit betrayed, Harrison? At the end of the day, life worked out pretty great for you. So don’t act as though I ruined everything for you.”

  “You think so, huh?” He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He rubbed his face roughly, then wrapped it around his waist. “Then let me get you up to speed, Madeline. After you left me, I was completely adrift. Yeah, Sally helped me find my feet again, and the happiness of pregnancy was exhilarating. But there was always a hole in my life because you weren’t there. Do you know how guilty that made me feel? Sal was pregnant and I was actually missing you.” He shook his head. “That guilt… God, it made me hate you. You were married, and I was basically cheating on Sally with my dreams of you.” He slammed a palm into the wall. “And she died, Madeline. I never got a chance to make it up to her, because she died.”

  “What?” Madeline switched the water off and braced herself against the tiles. “What do you mean?”

  “She died. The day after having Ivy.” He closed his eyes against the intense pain of the memory. “She got to hold her baby. Got to name her. And then she died.”

  Madeline felt cold all over. From the tip of her head, to her toes. “How?”

  “Postpartum haemorrhage. She bled to death. It’s extremely rare and happens very quickly.”

  “Oh, Harrison.” She stepped out of the shower and put a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Her mind was spinning. “You were married?”

  “No. Sally didn’t want that.” He shook his head.

  “But you proposed?”

  His eyes flashed to hers. “Of course I did, Madeline. You were as good as married. Sally was pregnant. Of course I damn well proposed.”

  Madeline blinked, and reached for a towel. She wrapped it around her body, just above her breasts, a
nd sucked in a deep breath. “I’m just trying to make sense of stuff, Harrison. Don’t shout my head off.”

  “There is no making sense of this. What would have made sense is if you’d married me. Everything else is just a mess.”

  “Except Ivy,” she pointed out with a small smile.

  “Yeah. Except Ivy.”

  He stalked through the doorway, into his study, and grabbed his jeans off the ground. He pulled them onto his naked body and tossed the towel aside.

  “You came here to talk, Madeline. Are we done?”

  Her stomach ached. Her body was sore and tired. Her mind was spinning. But outwardly, she appeared to have returned to her serene self. Only the frantic racing of her pulse betrayed the heightened emotions she was feeling. And he wasn’t looking at her closely enough to see it. His eyes were glazed over, his hands on his hips.

  “Do you think we’re done?” She asked quietly, turning the question back on him. “Pass me my clothes, please.”

  He bent down to gather her underwear and passed them to her. “I think you shouldn’t have come here tonight. I think you shouldn’t have come into town. I think you should have done me the courtesy of staying out of my life, since you chose not to be a part of it.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  He walked across to the corner of the room and scooped up the enormous wedding ring she wore. He looked at it for a long, pained moment.

  “It puts that piece of tin I gave you to shame, huh?” He asked quietly, without answering her question, lifting it and putting it in her palm. She slid it onto her wedding finger, her eyes loaded with pain.

  “Harrison? Do you want me to go?” She asked again, when he hadn’t spoken for a long time. She pulled her sweater on, glad for the vital seconds it took to compose her facial features.

  He punched his hand into the wall of his study, making the drywall crack. He would have yelled except that Ivy was upstairs, fast asleep. “You’re married. What I want doesn’t matter.” Predictably, guilt was becoming his principle emotion. He didn’t trust Maddie to make good choices. She’d shown herself to lack that ability. But he expected more of himself.