How to Knit a Heart Back Home

by Rachael Herron

  “That’s different. That’s just helping.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “I’ve always known you were brave. Since the moment I saw you in high school. Quiet, smart, and daring. Since I kissed you that first time. Since you knocked me over with the way you kissed me back.”

  “Oh.” The word was a breath.

  He didn’t plan it, didn’t think about it, didn’t wonder if it was going to be the right thing or the wrong thing to do. But in the space of a sigh, she was in his arms.

  She wrapped her arms around him so tightly he could barely get air, but he didn’t care. Her mouth met his, and he didn’t know who was kissing harder, deeper, but it didn’t matter.

  He wanted her like he’d wanted no other woman, ever.

  But she needed to make the decision. He wouldn’t make it for her.

  He pulled back, breaking the kiss. Looked into her eyes. Waited. Hoped.

  And she said one word.

  “Now.”

  Then she gasped and pushed her mouth to his, her breath sweet against his tongue. She pulled up on his shirt, ripping it up and over his head. His holster, the gun still in it, hit the floor with a metallic crash. Owen opened the fly of her pants and tugged the zipper. She broke the kiss to lift her shirt up and over, and then flung off her bra, dropping it to the tile.

  His pants next, and the condom came out of his wallet, and they were naked against each other in the dim room. Putting his hands to either side of her face, Owen kissed her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, back to her mouth.

  The backlight from the living room lit her brown hair to flames of russet and gold and her eyes sparked bright.

  “You are so beautiful,” he gasped. She pressed harder against him, her hands pulling him against her.

  “Just . . . I just need . . .” Lucy bit his bottom lip and lifted her naked leg to wrap around his hips. He could feel her heat, her wetness.

  Owen groaned. He couldn’t take much more of this. He had to be inside her.

  “Hang on,” he growled in her ear. Putting his hands under her buttocks, he lifted her, turning them so that her back was against the wall. He held her up so that her other leg could wrap around him, and she shifted in just the right way, tilted his hips, and he was suddenly inside her, all the way, as far as he could go.

  Lucy made a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat. As they kissed, he felt the keening sound inside his mouth. Her tongue was hot silk, demanding and brazen.

  Her fingers curled into the small of his back, holding on as he lifted and thrust into her again and again. She ground her hips against him hard, harder, every time he pushed. He’d never been this far, this deep before. He’d never felt like this.

  The coil of heat inside him spiraled higher as he watched her face. Her eyes were screwed shut, and she seemed to be climbing. He could watch her forever. But he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

  Lucy’s eyes flew open, and she stared into his with an intensity that went beyond passion, beyond lust.

  “I’m right here,” Owen said. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.” Her legs wrapped tighter, her fingers pulled him against her. “I’m right here.”

  Now, she mouthed, and he felt her contract around him as she came. “Now,” she whispered against his mouth. “Now, now, now.”

  He thrust into her again, hard, harder, and joined her, his face pressed into the soft place at her neck, in front of her ear.

  “God, oh, God.”

  For a moment, he stood there, trying to slow his heart rate. He still held her up against the wall, her arms around his neck.

  He took a deep breath.

  “You want to put me down now?” Her voice gave her away, and as he carefully slid her off him and down, she gave in to the laughter that he’d felt building up against his chest. Bringing him with her, she collapsed onto the large green rug that lay in front of the washer and dryer. His hip felt like it was on fire, but it was worth it.

  “Oh, Lord.” She laughed.

  Owen managed to say, “Wow.” Her hands were perfect, soft and strong, fit perfectly into his.

  “You’re really here,” Lucy said. “Back home.”

  “I am,” he said.

  Her laughter was the happiest sound he’d ever heard.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  When in doubt, you’ll never go wrong with a knit-two-together. Simple and attractive. Easy. Fun.

  —E. C.

  Lucy woke purring. Warm, lying on Owen’s shoulder, splayed out, smack-dab in the middle of her huge bed, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  And Owen was with her.

  Good Christ on a pogo stick, how had she managed this one? She’d dealt out all the cards at once. In the kitchen. And then again, an hour later, in the bed. Maybe a few more cards had been played at dawn, as well, slower that time.

  Lucy was exhausted. And better than that, she was happy. She’d made a decision not to be scared. And he’d met her there.

  She rolled off Owen with a sleepy, contented groan. Lying on her back, she looked out the window. Lazy wisps of fog curled past the window. A perfect, cool spring morning. Her favorite kind. And soon, coffee would make everything even better.

  She wasn’t going to think about Jonas and Molly—that was for later. She must have gotten some of that wrong, right? They could have been flirting, but Molly had always flirted a little with her brothers, just like she did with everyone. Harmless. That’s all it was. Lucy shook the thought from her mind.

  From behind her, Owen’s arm went around her waist. He pulled her in against him, and moved so that she was flush against his long lines. Was he even awake? For one long moment, Lucy lay still, waiting to see what he would do next.

  God, she wanted him so badly she felt dizzy with it.

  What if he touched her? What if he wasn’t sleeping, and he was just waiting to see what she would do, and if she encouraged him, he’d take her, just like that. First, his arm would move from her waist up to her breast, then he’d press against her from behind, and she’d feel just how much he wanted her. . . .

  No, he was asleep. Lucy felt his long exhalation against her neck. She’d go make coffee, instead. She sighed and lifted his arm so she could slide out of bed without waking him.

  Without a word, Owen pushed himself up. With one hand on her hip, he turned her to face him. In the early morning light, she stared.

  His eyes were as dark blue as the water at the end of the pier, and even as Lucy felt herself sinking into them, he moved, fast, just like he had in her brief fantasy. His lips came down on hers, hard, hot, and ready. His tongue slipped against hers, gentle only for a moment, and then insistent.

  Owen made it perfectly clear what he wanted. Pushing Lucy down onto her back, the kiss intensified, and his hands moved to her breasts.

  Arching her back, Lucy pressed up against him. She couldn’t think. Wouldn’t think. He had to . . . oh, God, yes. He caressed her nipple while she moaned and bit his lip. His hips ground against hers, and she could feel how much he wanted her.

  Damn all of it, she wanted him the same way.

  Fast.

  Hard.

  Now.

  Her hands pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss, even though moving away from him was the last thing she wanted.

  “What?” Owen said. “Is this okay?”

  Her daring was back—that rush she’d felt, right before she’d run out into the lightning storm, right before she’d told him last night she wanted him, damn the consequences. Lucy didn’t know if it was smart or not, but she didn’t care. “Shut up and hurry.”

  Owen’s answer was a laugh that turned into a growl as she bit his ear. He held her wrists against the bed and kissed her again.

  “Owen?” she murmured against his mouth.

  “Yeah?”

  “What did the note say?” Lucy dragged her tongue along his jaw.

  �
�What note?”

  “The one you left in my mailbox when you left.”

  “Secret. Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” Owen said, and his smile was wicked.

  He was even more perfect by the light of day than Lucy could have imagined, with definition where normal people were soft, tautness where most were slack. As he turned to throw his pillow onto the floor, muscles rippled between his shoulder blades.

  The scars, though. They caught her eye, even though she willed herself not to look at his left knee. A long rippled mark. And the one above it, on his hip . . .

  But it was what was next to the scars, just between them, that caught Lucy’s attention. Owen was huge, and ready. Again.

  Thank God she had that box of rainbow-colored condoms in her nightstand. Lucy’d been so embarrassed when her mother had put them in her Christmas stocking that she’d almost thrown them out, but then she’d stuck them in the drawer on an impulse fueled by irrational hope.

  It had been a really long time.

  “Red? Blue? Green?” Lucy held out a selection.

  He laughed. “I’d like yellow, please.”

  Lucy frowned. “I don’t think . . .”

  “I’m kidding. Pick whatever you want, Lucy.” Owen knelt on the bed next to her, his mouth against her neck. He nibbled the skin below her ear, across her clavicle, and started trailing down. “You’re amazing.” He pulled back his head and looked at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Lucy felt even more naked than she’d been even a few seconds ago, but it was a wonderful feeling. It felt like what she imagined jumping out of an airplane would feel like, with none of the fear of dying and all the excitement. She smiled up at him. “So are you.”

  Owen grinned and picked the red one.

  He couldn’t breathe right when his lips were touching her, and it didn’t matter where—if his mouth was against her breast, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, and if his lips were against her neck, there wasn’t enough oxygen in the whole wide world, and there probably never would be.

  Owen didn’t get it. She was put together like a normal woman. She had two arms, two legs, and all the requisite parts. He’d checked. As soon as he caught what breath he could, he was planning on checking all over again. But as he slipped two fingers inside her, catching her lower lip with his teeth as he did it, he knew that no one had ever felt like this before, that no woman had ever been this silky and wet and as hot as a furnace inside, and at the same time, no woman had ever been this much fucking fun.

  Because she was laughing up at him. Laughing as if she were having as great a time as he was, which was maybe the most fun he’d had in memory. She was like a ride on a roller coaster, only it didn’t come to a stop. Just when he thought he’d reached the highest part of the ride, he got higher.

  Keeping his fingers inside her, he trailed his tongue down her body, taking his time, licking and teasing each sensitive point he found, her waist, her hip, the inside of her thigh, and then, when she was tensing around his hand, at the moment when she was gasping, he lowered his mouth to her, pressed his tongue against her most delicate spot, kissed her while his fingers kept up their motion, until she writhed under his mouth and hand, her hands wrapped in his hair, pressing him into her, her voice above him, begging him never, ever, to stop.

  And when she’d stopped pulsing around him, when she purred and pulled him up her body, laughing, when she finally wrapped her legs around him and he pushed into her, it was as if she’d been made to fit him—she breathed into his mouth and gasped against him, pressing back against him in perfect rhythm, as if they’d been doing this for months, for years, forever. His cock found purchase and friction, heat and speed, and oh Christ, she was so fucking wet, and she screamed into his mouth, and then he came, and she did, too, and it wasn’t like anything else—she was with him.

  Those incredible eyes, the way she stared into him as he spiraled down into her, as his breathing eased, as they panted against each other . . . Her grin was huge and open, and his heart lurched.

  An hour later, in the most massive bed he’d ever been in, Lucy dozed on his shoulder. Owen was limp-limbed, the sheets damp and twisted around them. God, where had she found this bed? It looked like it had been built with the house, at the turn of the century. It matched the bookcases downstairs, tall spirals of decorative wood. The huge mattress didn’t even really fill the whole frame. Owen stretched as far as he could and his feet still didn’t hang off the edge. It was great.

  And that was indubitably the best sex of his life. The way she had sounded when she came, the way she looked when he did, the way she kissed him at the last minute, the way she laughed as he fell against her, the way she tucked herself around him and closed her eyes, her cheek against his. The way her heart slowed to a steady thump.

  Sure, the last time he’d had sex wasn’t even that long ago. That gal had been fun and sweet and came with no strings attached.

  Whereas Lucy had strings. Lots of them. Strings all over town.

  And she felt more perfect lying next to him than anyone ever had.

  Goddammit. Inside his head, he groaned. He’d really done it now. Why didn’t he see this coming? He should have guessed this would happen if he spent the night in her bed.

  He groaned softly. He’d screwed up. As usual.

  How was this possibly going to keep him drama-free?

  It wasn’t. Nothing about Lucy made him feel sane or calm.

  Lucy stirred, her hand running across his chest, down his torso. . . . He had to get up before she got to . . .

  There. Yeah, before she got to there.

  “Mmmmm. Hi,” Lucy purred in his ear. Damn, she was blazing hot. How could he be ready again, when he’d thought he’d given her all he had, just minutes ago?

  “Um,” Owen said. He scooted sideways and started to sit up. His hip protested. It made sense; he’d been using the hell out of it all night. “I have to . . .”

  “What?”

  “I should . . .”

  The curtains were closed, but a ray of early-morning light had found its way in and was draped over her shoulder, grazing her cheek, the side of her face.

  He’d never seen anything prettier in his whole damn life.

  Something must have shown on his face, because she put her hands to her forehead and whispered, “What? My hair must be a wreck, I know.”

  Owen just shook his head and leaned down to kiss her, one more time. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Lucy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He lost his breath. She drew him down to her so that he was lying down again. Then she pulled the blanket back over him.

  How was it possible that her mouth fit his like it did? Like they were born to kiss each other? He tried to breathe, to will himself to break the contact, but it was proving impossible.

  There wasn’t really a reason he had to stop, right? Maybe there was, but he couldn’t remember it. God, she was so soft, so warm. . . .

  The door of the bedroom flew open.

  “Lucy? Do you know where Owen is?” Lucy’s mother, Toots, walked past the bed without looking at it, and went right to the window. She pulled the curtains back and turned to face the bed, hands on her hips. “He’s not at the parsonage and his car’s in front of your house.”

  Lucy had turned to stone in Owen’s arms. She had her eyes squinched shut, as if she was going by the old if-I-can’t-see-you-you-can’t-see-me principle. Owen thanked every power there was that Lucy had pulled the blanket over them both.

  “Oh, how cute! Look at you both! You’re cuddling! Owen, good morning. Good to see you. I thought I might find you here.”

  How was it possible that his head hadn’t exploded?

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harrison.” Shit. It had been twenty years since his voice broke like that.

  Lucy’s mother flapped her hands. “Call me Toots. Mrs. Harrison is Bart’s dead mother and I never liked her very much. Now scoot.” With both hands, she pushed on the b
lankets where Owen’s and Lucy’s legs were still intertwined. “Let me sit here.”

  Toots perched on the side of the bed.

  Lucy still hadn’t opened her eyes.

  “Oh! Look!” Toots grinned and picked up the box of condoms from the nightstand. “The rainbow pack from Santa! I’m so glad they’re getting some use, you sweet little bunnies.”

  Lucy moaned as if she were in pain. Hysterical laughter rose in Owen’s throat that he prayed he’d be able to bite back.

  Toots leaned forward and whispered to Owen, “Bart likes the green ones best, but I like the purple.”

  Groaning louder, Lucy pulled the covers over her head.

  “Of course, we don’t need to use them. Obviously. I’m a few years past baby age, thank God. But a little color always adds spice, doesn’t it?”

  Owen nodded dumbly.

  “Now,” Toots went on, “Are you ready for yoga?”

  Hell. That was it. He’d agreed to this, hadn’t he? At the bar with his mother, Toots had asked him about his hip and leg injury. She’d said yoga would help it, and she’d offered him a private lesson Wednesday morning. He’d said yes, even though if his cop buddies ever found out, he’d have to leave the country.

  Today was Wednesday. She had tracked him to here? Could there possibly be worse timing?

  “So you two get dressed and come down to the living room. I brought you a mat, Owen, and Lucy, I’ll pull yours out of the hall closet, okay?”

  Lucy squeaked and went farther under the sheets.

  “Good. I brought sage—I’ll go smudge.” Toots left the room with a jingle.

  Owen lifted the sheet. Lucy’s huge brown eyes looked up at him in horror.

  “This is a nightmare, right?” she asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m never leaving this room. You can just tell her I died. She won’t mind.”

  “Are you kidding me? You think I’m facing her without you?” Owen pulled the sheet back. “Impossible. You’re coming with me.”

  Lucy’s hands moved to cover herself, her breasts swaying softly as she pulled the sheet.