by Maisey Yates
“Don’t stop,” he growled.
“Does it matter, Isaiah?” she repeated. “Do you want to be the only man I’ve ever touched like this? Do you want to know you that you’re the only man I’ve ever seen naked?”
His stomach tightened, impossibly. And he was sure he was going to go right over the edge as her husky, erotic words rolled over him.
“Yes,” he bit out.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to be mine,” he said, his tone hard. “Only mine.”
“I said I was yours,” she responded, stoking the length of him with her hand as she spoke. “You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted like this.”
His breath hissed out through his teeth. “Me?”
“The only one. From the time you hired me when I was eighteen. I could never... I wanted to date other men. But I just couldn’t. I didn’t want them. Isaiah, I only wanted you.”
Her dark eyes were so earnest as she made the confession, so sincere. That look touched him, all the way down. Even to those places he normally felt were closed off.
She kissed his stomach, up higher to his chest, and then captured his lips again.
“I want you,” she said. “Please.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He lowered her onto her back and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of those electric yellow panties, sliding his fingers through her slick folds slowly, slowly, drawing out all that slick wetness, drawing out her pleasure. Until she was whimpering and bucking beneath him. Until she was begging him.
Then he slipped one finger deep inside her, watched as her release found her. As it washed over her like a wave. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
But it wasn’t enough.
He pulled her panties off and threw them onto the floor, positioning himself between her thighs, pressing himself to the entrance of her body and thrusting in, rough and decisive. Claiming her. Showing her exactly who she belonged to.
Just as he belonged to her.
He lost himself completely, wrapped in her, consumed by her. That familiar scent, vanilla and spice, some perfume Poppy had always worn, mingling with something new. Sweat. Desire. Skin.
What they had been collided with what they were now.
He gripped her hips, thrust into her, deep and hard, relishing her cry of pleasure as he claimed her. Over and over again.
She arched underneath him, crying out his name, her fingernails digging into his skin as her internal muscles pulsed around him.
And he let go. He came on a growl, feral and unrestrained, pleasure like fire over his skin, in his gut.
And when it was over, he could only hold her. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.
He looked down at her, and she smiled. Then she pressed her fingers to his lips.
He grabbed her wrist, kissed her palm. “Come to bed with me,” he said.
“Okay.”
Twelve
At three in the morning, Isaiah decided that they needed something to eat. Poppy sat on the counter wearing nothing but his T-shirt, watching as he fried eggs and bacon.
She wondered if this was...her life now. She could hardly believe it. And yet, she didn’t want to believe anything different.
She ached just looking at this man.
He was so...him. Undeniably. So intense and serious, and yet now, there was something almost boyish about him with his dark hair falling into his eyes, his expression one of concentration as he flipped the eggs in the pan flawlessly without breaking a yolk.
But then, he was shirtless, wearing a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants that seemed perilously close to falling off. His back was broad and muscular, and she enjoyed the play of those muscles while he cooked.
Just that one moment, that one expression on his face, could come close to being called boyish. The rest of him was all man.
He served up the eggs and bacon onto a plate, and he handed Poppy hers, then set his on the counter beside her. He braced himself on the counter, watching her expectantly.
“Do you often have midnight snacks?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “But then, tonight isn’t exactly routine. Eat.”
“Are you trying to fortify me so we can have sex again?”
His lips curved upward. “Undoubtedly.”
“This bacon is tainted with ulterior motives,” she said, happily taking a bite.
“You seem very sad about that.”
“I am.” She looked down, then back up, a bubble of happiness blooming in her chest.
“I wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Do you feel okay?”
“Yes,” she said, confused for a moment.
“No...nausea, or anything like that?”
Right. Because of the baby. So he wasn’t only concerned about her. She fought off a small bit of disappointment.
“I feel fine,” she said.
“Good,” he said.
“Because if I had morning sickness I’d have to miss work?” she asked, not quite certain why she was goading him.
“No. Because if you were sick it would upset me to see you like that.”
Suddenly, she felt achingly vulnerable sitting here like this with him.
Isaiah.
She was having his baby. She’d just spent the past couple of hours having wild sex with him. And now she just felt...so acutely aware of who she was. With her hair loose and curly, falling into her face that was free of makeup. Without her structured dresses and killer high heels.
She was just Poppy Sinclair, the same Poppy Sinclair who’d bounced from home to home all through her childhood. Who had never found a family who wanted her forever.
Her throat ached, raw and dry.
His large hand cupped her chin, tilted her face upward. “What’s wrong?”
Her heart twisted. That show of caring from him made the vulnerability seem like it might not be so bad. Except...even when he was being nice, it hurt.
She definitely liked a little bit of opposition in her life, and Isaiah was always around to provide that. Either because of her unrequited feelings, or because he was such an obstinate, hardheaded man.
Somehow, all of that was easier than...feeling. It was all part of remaining closed off.
This...opening up was hard, but she had expected that. She hadn’t expected it to be painful even when nothing bad was happening.
“I was just thinking,” she said.
“About?”
“Nothing specifically,” she said.
Just about who she was, and why it was almost ludicrous that she was here now. With him. With so many beautiful things right within her reach.
A family. A husband. A baby.
Passion.
Love.
“You can tell me,” he said, his gray eyes searching.
“Why do you want me to tell you?” she pressed.
“Because you’re mine. Anything that is bothering you... Give it to me. I want to...help. Listen.”
“Isaiah...” Her eyes burned.
“Did I make you cry?” He looked genuinely concerned by that. He lifted his hand, brushed his thumb beneath the corner of her eye, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized was there.
“You didn’t,” she said. She swallowed hard. “I was just... It’s stupid.”
“Nothing is stupid if it makes you cry.”
“I was thinking, while I was sitting here watching you take care of me, that I don’t remember what it’s like to have someone care for me like this. Because... I’m not sure anyone ever really has. People definitely showed me kindness throughout my life—I’m not saying they didn’t. There were so many families and houses. They blur together. I used to remember everyone’s names, but now the earlier hom
es are fading into a blur. Even the people who were kind.
“I remember there was a family... They were going to take me to the fair. And I’d never been before. I was so excited, Isaiah. So excited I could hardly contain myself. We were going to ride a Ferris wheel, and I was going to have cotton candy. I’d never had it before.” She took another bite of her bacon and found swallowing difficult.
“The next day, that family found out that the birth mother of a sibling group they were fostering had given birth to another baby. Child services wanted to arrange to have the baby brought in right away. And...that required they move me. The baby had to be with her half siblings. It was right. It made sense.”
“You didn’t get to go to the fair.”
She blinked and shook her head. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she laughed. “It’s stupid to still be upset about it. I’ve been to the fair. I’ve had cotton candy. But I just... I can remember. How it hurt. How it felt like the world was ending. Worse, I think, is that feeling that nothing in the world is ever stable. That at any moment the rug is going to be pulled out from underneath me. That everything good is just going to vanish. Well, like cotton candy once it hits your tongue.”
“I want to take care of you,” he said, looking at her, his gray eyes fierce. “Always.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said, her stomach churning.
“Don’t you trust me?”
She wanted to. But he didn’t love her. And if they didn’t share love, she wasn’t sure what the bond was supposed to be. They had one. She didn’t doubt that. And she loved him more than ever.
They would have the baby.
Once they were married it would feel better. It would feel more secure.
“I don’t know if you can...understand. But... You’ve been one of the most constant people I’ve ever had in my life. Rosalind and I don’t see each other very often, but she made sure I was taken care of. She didn’t forget me. She’s my family. And you... You’re my family too.”
“If you want to invite Rosalind to the wedding you can,” he said.
She blinked. Stunned, because usually any mention of Rosalind’s name earned her nothing but stony silence or barely suppressed rage. “She can come to our...wedding?”
“She matters to you,” Isaiah said. “And what happened between the two of us isn’t important anymore.”
“It isn’t?” Hope bloomed in her heart, fragile and new, like a tiny bud trying to find its way in early spring. “But she...broke your heart,” Poppy finished.
“But now I have you. The rest doesn’t matter.”
It wasn’t the declaration she wanted, but it was something. Better than the promise of a fair or cotton candy or anything like it.
And she wanted to hope.
So she did.
And she leaned forward and kissed him. With each pass of his lips over hers, she let go of a little more of the weight she carried and held on to him a little bit tighter.
Thirteen
Isaiah had actually taken a lunch break, which wasn’t like him, and then it had turned into a rather long lunch. In fact, he had been out of the office for almost two hours, and Poppy couldn’t remember the last time he had done that in the middle of the day. She was almost sure he never had, unless he’d taken her with him because it was a working lunch and he had needed somebody to handle the details.
It made her edgy to have him acting out of character.
At least, that’s what she told herself. In reality, she just felt a little edgy having him out of her sight. Like he might disappear completely if she couldn’t keep tabs on him. Like everything that had happened between them might be imaginary after all.
She tried to relax her face, to keep her concern from showing. Even though there was no one there to see it. It was just... The situation made her feel tense all over. And she shouldn’t. Last night had been...
She had never experienced anything like it. Never before, and the only way she would again was if...
If they actually got married.
If everything actually worked out.
She placed her hand lightly on her stomach and sent up a small prayer. She just didn’t want to lose any of this.
She’d never had so much.
She sighed and stood up from her desk. She needed some coffee. Something to clear her head. Something to make her feel less like a crazy lady who needed to keep a visual on her fiancé at all times.
Of course, she was a crazy lady who wanted a visual on her fiancé at all times, but, it would be nice if she could pretend otherwise.
Then the door to her office opened and she turned and saw Isaiah standing there in the same black T-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing when he left. But his arm was behind his back, and his expression was...
She didn’t think she had ever seen an expression like that on his face before.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I went out looking for something for you,” he said, his expression serious. “It was harder to find than I thought it would be.”
“Because you didn’t know what to get me?”
“No. Because it turns out I had no idea where to find what I was looking for.”
She frowned. “What’s behind your back?”
“Roses would have been easy,” he said, and then he moved his hand and she saw a flash of pink. He held out something that was shaped like a bouquet but was absolutely not.
She stood there and just...stared for a moment. Another diamond ring wouldn’t have affected her as deeply as this gesture.
Seemingly simple and inexpensive.
To her...it was priceless.
“Cotton candy,” she breathed.
“I just wanted to find you some to have with lunch.” He frowned. “But now of course it isn’t lunchtime anymore.”
Isaiah in his most intense state, with his dark brows and heavy beard, holding the pinkest, fluffiest candy in the world, was her new favorite, absurd sight.
She held back a giggle. “Where did you go to get this?”
“There’s a family fun center in Tolowa that has it, funnily enough.”
“You drove all the way to... Isaiah.” She took hold of the cotton candy, then wrenched it from his hand and set it on her desk before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
“It’s going to melt,” he said against her lips.
“Cotton candy doesn’t melt.”
“It shrinks,” he pointed out.
“I love cotton candy, don’t get me wrong. But I’d rather eat you,” she returned.
“I worked hard for that.”
She laughed and reached behind her, grabbing hold of the cotton candy and taking a bite, the sugar coating her lips and her tongue. Then she kissed Isaiah again, a sugary, sweet kiss that she hoped expressed some of what she felt.
But not all of it.
Because she hadn’t told him.
She was afraid to.
Last night had been a big step of faith, approaching him and giving herself to him like that. It had been her showing him what was in her heart. But she knew that wasn’t enough. Not really. She needed to say it too.
It had to be said.
She cupped his face and kissed him one more time, examining the lines by his gray eyes, the weathered, rugged look his beard gave him, that sharp, perfect nose and his lips... Lips she was convinced had been made just for her.
Other women had kissed them. She’d seen them do it. But it didn’t matter. Because those lips weren’t for those women. They were for her. They softened for her. Smiled for her. Only she reached those parts of Isaiah, and she had been the only one for a long time.
And yes, Rosalind had reached something in him Poppy hadn’t managed to reach, but if she could do all these other things to him, if sh
e could make him lose control, make him hunt all over creation for cotton candy, then maybe in the future...
It didn’t matter. What might happen and what might not. There was only one thing that was certain. And that was how she felt.
She’d loved him for so long. Through so many things. Growing his business, enduring a heartbreak. Long hours, late nights. Fighting. Laughing. Making love.
She’d loved him through all of that.
And she’d love him forever.
Not telling him...worrying about what might happen was just more self-protection, and she was done with that.
“I love you,” she said.
He went stiff beneath her touch, but she truly hadn’t expected a different reaction. It was going to take him time. She didn’t expect a response from him right away; she didn’t even want one.
“I’ve always loved you,” she said. “In the beginning, even when you were with Rosalind. And it felt like a horrible betrayal. But I wanted you. And I burned with jealousy. I wanted to have your intensity directed at me. And then when she... The fact that she got to be the only one to ever have it... It’s not fair.
“I want it. I love you, Isaiah. I’ve loved you for ten years, I’ll love you for ten more. For all my years. You’re everything I could ever want. A fantasy I didn’t even know I could create. And I just... I love you. I loved you before we kissed. Before we made love. Before you proposed to me and before I was pregnant. I just...love you.”
His expression hadn’t changed. It was a wall. Impenetrable and flat. His mouth was set into a grim line, his entire body stiff.
“Poppy...”
“Don’t. Don’t look at me like you pity me. Like I’m a puppy that you have to kick. I’ve spent too much of my life being pitied, Isaiah, and I don’t want to be pitied by you.”
“You have me,” he said. “I promise that.”
“You don’t love me,” she said.
“I can’t,” he said.
She shook her head, pain lancing her heart. “You won’t.”
“In the end, does it make a difference?”
“In the end, I suppose it doesn’t make a difference, but on the journey there, it makes all the difference. Can’t means there’s nothing... Nothing on heaven or earth that could make you change. Won’t means you’re choosing this. You’re choosing to hold on to past hurts, to pain. You’re choosing to hold on to another woman instead of holding on to me. You accused me of clinging to a fantasy—of wanting a man who might love me, instead of taking the man who was right in front of me. But what you’re doing is worse. You’re hanging on to the ghosts of the past rather than hanging on to something real. I think you could love me. I think you might. But you have it buried so far down, underneath all this protection...”