Regret at Roosevelt Ranch

by Elise Faber

  But then he read her text.

  I already like her because you like her, just remember that before you try to push me away. I love you.

  Well, didn’t he feel like an asshole?

  It’s not that, Kel.

  Lies.

  I’ve known you since kindergarten. Don’t try that B.S. with me.

  Of course, she’d called him on it. He’d always had a fondness for strong women—Kelly, Bella, Melissa, his mother—and had been lucky enough to have plenty of them in his life. But in this moment, after battling with Bella, with Kel holding his feet to the fire, he thought he might see the appeal of a doormat.

  He snorted, walking down the hall to the kitchen.

  Okay, that was another lie.

  There was something about a woman with fire inside her that was utterly entrancing. No, it didn’t always make things easy nor did it make for smooth sailing, but he wouldn’t trade Bella for a limp dish towel.

  After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he crossed over to his couch and flicked on the TV, pondering what to say to Kel.

  Eventually, he decided on the truth.

  She’s the one from NYC, Kel. I need time to figure it out.

  A heartbeat later and she’d confirmed why she was his best friend.

  I figured. Just know I’m here when you come out the other side. Or if you need a midnight vent session. God knows the twins get me up often enough ;)

  He popped the top on his beer.

  I love you.

  His phone vibrated.

  That’s because I’m extremely loveable.

  Henry shook his head, but he was smiling. He’d gotten lucky in kindergarten when he’d punched that little asshole who’d been tormenting Kelly. It was an auspicious start to a friendship, but one he couldn’t regret.

  Of course, he was also really lucky she’d turned him down when he’d proposed.

  He picked up the remote and scrolled through the channels. There was a Gold Hockey game on—not the closest team, but one of the local kids had been drafted by them a few years back, and Henry always got a kick out of watching Blue on the ice.

  The kid had moves.

  During second intermission, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Bella hobbling down the hall.

  May the hockey gods give him patience because Henry was damn sure that the doctor who’d discharged her had made Bella promise to take it easy on that leg.

  He pushed to his feet, ready to remind her of exactly that, when she stumbled.

  Two quick steps and he was there, catching her arm and helping her over to the couch.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  He grunted, grabbed her bottle of pain pills off the table and handed her one, along with a bottle of water he’d snagged from the kitchen.

  Bella didn’t argue with him, and that told Henry enough about her condition. She was hurting, and he needed to give her space, no matter the tempting picture she made sprawled out on his couch.

  Her lips curved into a tremulous smile after she’d handed him back the bottle. “I didn’t realize you had such a long hall.”

  He snorted, his own lips turning up. “Either that or you’re stubborn to a fault?”

  She shrugged—or attempted to anyway, aborting the motion mid-move with a wince. “We’ve established that fact already.” Her nose wrinkled before he could confirm or deny that particular statement . . . which was probably a good thing. “I need to get out of these clothes.”

  Henry’s gaze drifted down. She was wearing a pair of donated pale blue scrubs, since he hadn’t thought to bring her a change of clothes. Not that he was complaining—the set was slightly too small, emphasizing the curve of her breasts and hips, dipping low on the front.

  Yes, he knew she was convalescing.

  No, he wasn’t dead.

  Isabella was beautiful, and sex had never been their problem. Since he’d begun acknowledging his own role in the events from five years before, his brain was having a hell of a time reminding his body that she’d given him absolutely no reason to think that she might still be attracted to him.

  Also, this just in, he was an asshole to be popping a boner when she was injured.

  What was he? Sixteen and hormone ridden?

  Henry was a grown man, and he shouldn’t be studying that exposed V of skin between her breasts like it was an oasis and he was a parched man in the desert.

  But good intentions or not, he had noticed that sliver of skin.

  And he couldn’t un-notice it.

  Not as she shifted to lie sideways on the couch so the cushions supported her hip. Not as he helped her. Not as the too-tight top slid up and his hand accidentally brushed the soft skin on her side.

  He jerked it back, but it was too late. The shock of awareness had hit him like a ton of bricks.

  Bella’s breath hitched, eyes flashing wide.

  “That—”

  Henry straightened. “I’ll go grab you some food. I’m sure you’re still hungry.”

  White teeth nibbled on a pink bottom lip. He wanted it to be his teeth, his mouth.

  Not the right time. Too soon. Too—

  “Henry?”

  He blinked, focused back on the woman in front of him, instead of the swirling mass of thoughts in his mind. “Yeah?”

  “Will you touch me again?”

  Ten

  Bella

  Damn.

  She’d broken him.

  Bella had asked him to touch her and in response, he was rooted in place, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff.

  “Henry?” she prodded.

  That got him moving . . . or at least blinking. And after a moment, he glanced over at her, eyes tracing down over her body and jaw tightening further.

  Because he wanted to touch her? Or—worse—because he didn’t?

  “You’re probably hungry,” he said, angling his body away from hers.

  Because he didn’t want her.

  Damn.

  She couldn’t lie. That hurt. Here she was drooling over the man, admiring the way he’d filled out over the last few years. He’d gotten harder, muscles more defined, thicker in all the right places, not to mention the scruff on his jaw he was sporting. She wanted that rubbing in all sorts of places.

  Her throat, her breasts, between her thighs—

  But he didn’t want that. He’d forgiven her, and that alone was enough.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Food would be great.”

  So would an orgasm, but Bella was trying to be grateful for what she had. She was safe, Henry was there, and even though she’d woken to images of Sergio’s hands were wrapped around her throat again—

  “What is it?” A finger brushed the back of her hand, and she opened her eyes to see Henry had come close.

  He was touching her, though not in the way she really wanted.

  Greedy mofo, wasn’t she?

  She forced a smile. “I’m—”

  One fingertip pressed to her lips, stalling the rest of her statement. “You finish that sentence, and I’ll forget my intentions to leave you alone to heal.”

  “Why would I need to be left alone?” He didn’t move his hand when she replied, and the sensation of that roughened finger skimming over her lips as they moved sent shivers down her spine.

  “Because you’re hurting.”

  “Not so much anymore.”

  He slid his hand lower, the back skimming along her throat, fluttering over one collarbone then the other. “Then why do your eyes look like that?”

  Bella frowned. “Like what?”

  “Shadowed.”

  Her lungs froze. “I’m just tired is all.”

  “Nope. That’s not it.”

  Ugh. There were two reasons, dammit, that her eyes were quote-unquote shadowed, and she didn’t want to share either of them with Henry. “Do you have anything you can heat up for me?” she asked, instead of divulging the truth. “I really am quite hungry.”


  One brown brow lifted.

  Waiting for an answer.

  In the end, she told him the lesser of two evils because she’d rather be viewed as horny than a pathetic coward who’d fled the bedroom at the first sign of a nightmare.

  “Fine.” She huffed. “I want you, okay? You’re sexy and gorgeous and my pussy has been very lonely as of late—” She clamped one hand to her mouth, closed her eyes.

  The damned pain pill was loosening her tongue because she had not just said that.

  “You and Sergio didn’t—”

  The name made her flinch and quickly shake her head.

  Bella reveled in the feeling for a moment, the swish-swish of her brain floating in her skull. She almost would have thought she was drunk, except no booze.

  Just very strong pain pills apparently.

  Well, note to future self, no more of those.

  “No,” she said. “Sergio and I did. At first. Just lately, I couldn’t—”

  This was wrong. Telling Henry about her bedroom life with Sergio.

  “Couldn’t what?”

  She dropped her head back to the arm of the couch. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He sank onto the cushion near her feet, plunking them into his lap and rubbing the arches. “It matters to me.”

  “He couldn’t make me come, okay?” She sighed. “No one can, except for you and my vibrator”—her lips pursed—"and only one of those is always at the ready.”

  “First, know that I’ll be circling back to the orgasm thing in a moment because I’m always ready when you’re around.” Henry shifted his hips, and her foot bumped against—oh, she liked that a whole hell of a lot. “But more importantly, why don’t you think I want you?”

  “Because I hurt you. Because you don’t want to touch me and maybe things will never be the same between us again. Because you got all pretty and handsome, and my boobs are saggy, and I’ve got cellulite and—” She squealed when Henry reached for the hem of her top. “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing what’s sagged.”

  She slapped his hands away. “Not a chance, Henry Miller.”

  He chuckled. “There’s my girl.” A squeeze to her feet. “I’m going to say this once, so pay attention.”

  Bella raised one finger. “Just so you’re aware, I think that pill has gone to my head.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I’m high.”

  “Focus,” Henry said, though he was smiling. “I guess I’ll be open to saying it twice, in case my lightweight of a woman doesn’t hear it the first time—”

  “Hey.”

  “I gave you a quarter of a pill.”

  “So?”

  “So nothing,” he said before his eyes went serious enough that any more words stalled in her throat. “You’re beautiful. End of story. I want you even though you’re hurting and slightly high. I’ve wanted you from the moment that I first saw you in Brian’s kitchen.” He reached up to cup her cheek. “Wanting isn’t the issue.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Then what is?”

  “It’s been five years.”

  Her brows pulled down. “Yeah, so?”

  “You were just engaged to a bastard that hurt you.”

  “S-Sergio doesn’t matter.”

  Henry sighed. “Except he does. Because he’s the reason for the shadows. Maybe you are worried that things between us won’t be the same if we try to see where things go.” A shrug. “But that’s not all of it. And you know what? I hope it’s not the same between us. I hope we’ve grown up a little because I want things between us to end differently.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “In fact”—his eyes warmed—“I don’t know that I want them to end at all.”

  “Henry—”

  “I know.” He sat up. “I know it’s crazy and too soon, and while I definitely want to take things slow between us, I also know that I’ve never felt one iota for another woman what I feel for you. You’ve always meant so much, sweetheart, and I want to see where things go—”

  “I’m high.”

  He smirked. “Yes, I know.”

  “No,” she said. “I must be really, crazy high because you did not just say those things, Henry. You did not just give me hope. You didn’t—”

  “I’m right there with you, baby. Big feelings, big risk, big hope.”

  “But I hurt you,” she whispered.

  “You weren’t ready, and I pushed.” He shrugged. “I wish you hadn’t left, that you’d stuck around and explained your feelings, but we can’t go back now.”

  Oh, God. She had to tell him why she’d left. She understood now. It wasn’t shameful. She’d sacrificed everything for the man she loved, and Henry had to know that.

  He had to know he meant that much.

  “I—”

  “I want to forget about the past. I want you to stay, and we can see if we’re as compatible now as we were back then.”

  “I want that, too, but—”

  He kissed her.

  She was dizzy from the pain pill, from her emotions, from the heavy weight of the past, but the feel of Henry’s lips against hers made all of that disappear.

  Heat was the first thing to take over. It began at her mouth, spreading down and outward, making the tips of her fingers tingle, her breasts swell and ache, her stomach flutter, and her thighs press tightly together, an ache of an altogether different kind filling the space in between.

  She wanted him on top of her. Inside her—

  Bella gasped when his tongue slid into her mouth, tangling with hers. He’d moved so he was alongside her, his back to the cushions and his deliciously hard chest against her side. Fingers wove into her hair, coaxing her head back, as he brought their mouths more firmly together.

  Oh, God.

  He kept his hands in her hair and though she wanted them to move lower, to tease and soothe all her various aches, she knew he was taking it slow.

  Well, if a heart-shatteringly, hot as fuck kiss that had almost reduced her to ashes could be considered slow.

  Regardless, aside from their bodies touching lengthwise, Henry’s hands were decidedly less busy than his mouth. But that didn’t mean hers had to be. She rested them on his chest, squeezing the yummy pair of pecs she found there for a moment before sliding lower.

  Henry broke away, hot puffs of air teasing her lips.

  Bella tilted her head, wanting his mouth again, but he carefully extracted himself and sat up.

  “I think I promised you food.”

  She propped herself up on her elbows, trying desperately to clear her spinning mind as he slid from behind her and found his feet. “Henry—”

  “Dangerous.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Beautiful woman.” One more kiss before he turned and headed into the kitchen, the sound of pots and pans and cheerful whistling drifting into the living room.

  When he returned a few minutes later, two plates in hand, and Bella saw what he’d made her, her heart swelled with hope all over again.

  Maybe this time they would be different.

  Because he’d made her a Cobb salad.

  Eleven

  Henry

  He was cooking for the breakfast rush.

  He definitely didn’t want to be, but Frank had caught a cold, Michelle, his other full-timer, was working the evening shift, and Steven, the part-time chef he was training, was away on a trip with his girlfriend that they’d both been saving up for. Henry wasn’t about to ruin that.

  Bella had fallen asleep over salads, and so he’d carried her into the bedroom, tucking her safely under the blankets, knowing that her body needed all the rest it could get.

  He’d slept in the spare bedroom and had woken to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

  Yeah, he could get used to that. Not the sleeping alone on the cramped twin bed part, but the waking up to find a beautiful woman in his house.

  He especially could get used to the sight of Bella in his kitchen. She’d thrown together a crepe ba
tter, sliced berries, and freshly whipped cream.

  All before five in the morning.

  The sun hadn’t been up, the call to his cell had woken him for a shift that wasn’t normally his, and so he could have still been sleeping—and he was old enough to really appreciate his sleep—but Henry hadn’t been able to summon up one fuck to give.

  Not when he was able to watch Bella cook crepes for a few minutes, her hips swaying slightly from side to side as she hummed a soft song.

  Obviously, she felt better, and the delicious breakfast she’d made had been a nice by-product, but Henry hadn’t been able to shake the rightness of the moment.

  Bella was right.

  And he could still taste her on his tongue, even though it had been hours since he’d dropped her off at the police station, even though he’d tasted a plethora of other dishes since eating her crepes—

  He smirked as he imagined Kel chiming in with a comment along the lines of “So that’s what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

  So wrong.

  And yet so right because he’d like to eat Bella’s—

  “Fuck.” Henry hissed out a pained breath and whipped his hand back. He’d burnt himself because he was spending too much time focusing on Bella’s crepes and not enough time on the growing pile of tickets in front of him. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing the pan off the heat and sticking his hand under a stream of cold water for a few precious seconds.

  It was enough to take the edge off the pain and to reduce the burn to a dull throb.

  Henry had burned himself often enough to know that the injury would kindly remind him of its presence throughout the day, but he didn’t have any more time to waste.

  The thing about breakfast was that it had to be made fast and served even faster. No one wanted to eat cold eggs or bacon or pancakes. Of course, that meant he had to have way too many pans working at the same time and that he definitely didn’t have time to be slowed down by a burn.