Christmastime Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  The way she’d looked at him when he’d been chopping down the tree, like he was the fulfillment of something...there was only one way for that to end. Because he wasn’t her lumberjack fantasy. He was just himself, and he wasn’t a prize all on his own.

  But he could give her pleasure now. And he was the only man who ever had. So there was that at least.

  He continued to tease her, running his hands along her body, over her curves, teasing them both by denying either of them more intimate contact. She was restless, arching beneath his touch, begging for more without words. The fact that she said nothing spoke of her trust in him. That he would make it feel good. That eventually he would give her everything she needed.

  He pulled his sweater off, throwing it to the side, then he made quick work of his jeans, grabbing his wallet and setting it off to the side so that they could more easily access the condom later. He grabbed hold of her, pulling her up into his arms, so that they were both in a sitting position, her knees on either side of him.

  She slid her hands up his chest, up to his face, grabbed hold of him and kissed him as she rocked against him. He pressed his palms against her back, placed at the center of her shoulder blades, her bare breasts pressed up against him as they continued to kiss.

  “Can I take your hair down?” he asked, his voice rough, the words strained.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his lips.

  He reached back, sliding the hair tie off her hair, slowly, ever so slowly undoing the braid, relishing the feel of the soft strands between his fingers.

  She kissed him deeper, and he rocked back slightly, her hair coming forward, blotting out the light, leaving everything black. Shrouded in darkness there was nothing but her. Nothing but the feel of her touch. Nothing but the feel of her soft fingertips skating over his bare back, nothing but the slick slide of her tongue against his. He felt like the lights were behind his eyelids now, little bursts of brightness that hit every time she shifted against him.

  He curved his arm around her waist and laid them both down slowly on the blanket, bringing her over the top of him.

  He gripped her hips, moved his hands slowly upward, to the small indent of her waist, to her rounded breasts, and back down. And then, finally, he pressed his hand between her thighs, slid his fingers through those sweet, slick folds, felt her desire all over him. Her need for him so clear, so beautiful he could scarcely breathe.

  He stroked her, and she rocked against him, letting her head fall back. He looked up at her, at the beauty of her pleasure, at the intensity of the desire written over that beautiful face.

  She was wild. Wild in the way he remembered her. The way he had tattooed her on his skin. As though he had seen this moment. But he hadn’t. This had never happened back then. But it was like it was written somewhere on his soul. And he had felt compelled to capture something he had never even experienced before.

  This creature. This Sabrina. Uninhibited. Beautiful.

  He let his fingertips slide up to the line of her jaw, drift along to her chin. He slid his thumb over her lower lip and she shifted, drawing it into her mouth and sucking it in deep. His cock jumped, need pouring through him like a flood. He didn’t know if he would survive this. He didn’t know if he could survive her.

  When he had come back to Copper Ridge he had been greeted—or rather shunned—by starchy, uptight Sabrina, and now he was here with this Sabrina. Truly, they were one and the same, and that was the really amazing thing. That he had earned this moment, earned this trust from her in spite of everything.

  He was filled with a sense of being unworthy. Utterly. Completely.

  With a shaking hand he reached out and grabbed his wallet, pulling it toward him and getting the condom out. “I can’t last,” he said, the words coming out strange. He knew that he should last. That he should give her more than this. But he was past finesse. All of those bedroom skills he had taken such pride in and for so many years were gone, apparently. He couldn’t turn this into a well-practiced game that he knew all the steps to. Couldn’t reduce this to anything. He was just living it. Experiencing it. Unable to do anything but throw himself at the mercy of the tide.

  Of what she made him feel. Of what she did to him.

  He wished like hell he knew what it was. He wished like hell that he knew whether or not he would survive it.

  He shifted her back slightly, tearing open the condom and rolling the latex over his length before positioning her over him again. She gripped his shoulders, tilting her hips, teasing them both with the slick slide of his arousal through her damp folds. She lowered herself onto him slowly, her fingernails digging into him as she took him inside of her. She leaned forward, that long, beautiful hair brushing against his chest as she did. Sending lightning bolts of pleasure straight through him. He had to grit his teeth, gripping her hips tight to keep himself from coming then and there.

  He was close. So close. But he needed it to last. For her.

  Needed it to last because he didn’t want this to end.

  She lowered her head, kissing him deep, and he felt a deep, soul-shattering echo of need rock him, reach right down to his core, to everything that he was, and grab him tight. It was something more than arousal. Something more than sexual desire. It held every part of him, not just his dick.

  And then she started to move, establishing an unsteady rhythm that spoke of her inexperience, that spoke of the fact that he was her one and only lover. And it made it all the better. This thing, this raw, intense joining that had nothing to do with anyone or anything but Liam and Sabrina. As if there had been no other lover for him either. As if it was only her.

  As if a piece of him had waited for this.

  Which didn’t make any damned sense, but then, none of it did.

  None of it made sense at all. If it was sex, if it was about skill, then he would be able to put that in its place. If it had simply been about having her, solving the mysteries of what it was like to be with Sabrina Leighton, all of it would have been answered a few weeks ago. And yet every time they were together it was more. It was something else. It shifted, it changed. It wasn’t anything he could grab hold of. It was an endless well. And every time he expected to find the bottom of it, it just kept on going. On and on, forever, into the darkness, and he feared that he would never find the end.

  And suddenly, he was at the end of his control. She was tormenting him, teasing him, running those fingertips over his chest, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed hold of one hand, then the other, forcing them behind her back, gripping her wrists with one hand, pinning them to her lower back.

  He growled, thrusting up inside of her, taking the control. Or maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe he wasn’t taking control at all. Maybe control didn’t exist here. Just need. Just desire. It was something that he had to do. Something he had to have. Her. He would never get enough of her. It would never be enough. Never be deep enough. Never be hard enough. Because no matter how many times he had her, no matter how good the sex was, there was a hole in his soul. That’s where it was. And she made it burn.

  He closed his eyes, blocking everything out. Blotting out everything but her. She rolled her hips forward, a low moan on her lips, and then he felt her internal muscles contracting around him. And he couldn’t wait any longer.

  It was like dying. Like a damned heart attack. As much pain as it was pleasure.

  She leaned forward, kissing his lips lightly and he growled, bucking up inside of her one last time as he spilled himself completely, as he gave himself up to her. Surrendered to her.

  She collapsed over his body, one delicate finger tracing a line just above his nipple, to the center of his chest. He opened his eyes, looked up and saw the Christmas tree. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t have the strength.

  Instead, he threaded his fingers through her hair, using them a
s a comb. “So that it doesn’t get snarled,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead.

  She didn’t laugh. Didn’t say anything. Instead, she just took a deep breath that seemed so all encompassing he could feel it in his own chest.

  “I think we’re ready for the opening now,” she said softly.

  His chest seized tight, because he knew what that meant. It was what they had agreed. That after the opening it would all be over.

  “Soon enough,” he said. “The tree lighting is in two days.”

  “Yes,” she said, “it is.” She shifted restlessly against him, as though the same thoughts had occurred to her. Silence stretched on, tension filling the air. “Liam,” she said, almost rushed. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

  * * *

  SABRINA FELT STRANGELY DESPERATE. But then, maybe there was nothing desperate about it. Because they had been talking about the tree lighting, and both of them had a tacit understanding about what that meant. They had agreed that they would see each other like this until after they were done setting up the winery. Technically, they were finished. And the grand opening would be on the night of the tree lighting. After that... After that they wouldn’t be together anymore. And if she had any questions about him they wouldn’t be answered. She needed to know this. She needed to know him. As much as she possibly could. Somehow, it felt important. Somehow it felt like a key. A key to knowing herself.

  “Tell me the truth. Tell yourself the truth.”

  She expected him to tell her to go to hell. To tell her that it wasn’t any of her business. And yet, he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, shifting slightly beneath her, trapping one of her legs between his thighs. Then he rolled them over, so that he was on top. So that he was in the dominant position.

  He was doing it to feel like he had some control, to put her on the defensive, and she knew it. She liked it anyway.

  “The tree...” he said slowly. “Well, that was for the winery, but it was also for Copper Ridge. It was the first place that I felt roots. I thought the tree was a good symbol of that.”

  “And me?” She touched the center of his back, where she knew the now-familiar tattoo was.

  “At the time, I just told myself it seemed right. But I got it so I wouldn’t forget. So I wouldn’t forget why I had gone to school. Why I had to succeed. You made me happy. And I left you for that. So it had to be damn well worth it. I didn’t do it so I wouldn’t forget you, Sabrina. I knew I wouldn’t. Every time I smelled of vanilla.”

  “Vanilla makes you think of me?”

  “Always.”

  “What about this one?” She brushed her fingertips over the streak of light that on was his arm, running along the winding river and rock scene.

  “That is a will-o’-the-wisp. My grandpa used to tell stories about them. It’s a fairy fire, often directed by a malicious spirit. It leads travelers off their path. Usually to their deaths. It’s supposed to remind me to stay where I’m headed, no matter what.”

  Her heart tightened, her stomach twisting. “What about the bear?”

  “Protection.” She moved her fingertips up to the top of his shoulder, down the bear’s back. “Mostly, he just reminds me that I have to protect myself.”

  “The ocean is Copper Ridge too, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “The mountains, that too. And the Celtic knots are for the family. Our name. The piece of my father, even though he’s not here. Mostly, my grandfather. My brothers. We’re all linked together, whether we want to be or not. Family. Even though it’s complicated.”

  “You’re such a funny man. You seem so detached. So distant from everyone else, but you feel it the deepest, don’t you?”

  “I’ve never quizzed anybody else on how they feel. We don’t exactly talk about our feelings. Not a Donnelly forte.”

  “Of course not,” she said.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel like they were lying there skin to skin. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like they were in the same room at all. She felt like he was about a hundred miles away from her, and like he had done it deliberately.

  She needed practice being okay with that. Because after the tree lighting it would all be over. And she needed to learn to make her peace with that. To make her peace with the woman she had become because of this relationship. And to make her peace with the pain that would come from it ending.

  “Do you have a brush in your purse?” he asked.

  “A little foldable one,” she said, frowning. “Why?”

  He shifted her to the side and stood, grabbing hold of her purse and opening it up, producing the little travel brush that she left inside. “I doubt that finger combing is going to be good enough.”

  She looked at him, still feeling confused.

  “Sit up,” he said.

  She complied, and he came to sit down behind her, wrapping her hair around his hand and brushing it in a long, smooth strokes. Her heart clenched, and her eyes filled with tears. And she tried not to make a sound as he brushed every single tangle out of her hair, as he destroyed each and every one of her defenses. Tried to keep silent as tears slid down her cheeks.

  She had been right. It had been better to keep her hair up. To keep her guard up. But she hadn’t. And now it was too late.

  Because she had gone and fallen in love with Liam Donnelly. Again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WHEN SHE WOKE up the next morning she was tangled in Liam and thoughts about the end.

  Not the end end. But the end of them. And then back to the beginning of them. And everything that had happened at the end that time.

  They had gone back to her place after they’d decorated the tasting room, and then made love again before going to sleep. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Twofold. A little bit tender and overly emotional. She loved him. There was no denying it. And he had changed her. Changed her in some profound ways that she didn’t want to fight.

  She was determined that this time she wouldn’t be unraveled by their ending. She was going to make something of it.

  She had resolved this with him, in a way. Had put him in the place he would always be in her heart, one she couldn’t deny, one she didn’t even want to deny.

  But she felt she had to reconcile the other things from her past as well. It was time. Time to not be so afraid. Time to make the changes that she wanted.

  She brushed a kiss over Liam’s temple and got up, dressing quickly and then staring at her car keys for a moment before taking a deep breath.

  Without even getting a cup of coffee she went out and got into her car, starting the engine and letting it idle for a moment as she mentally went over what she was about to do.

  It was early, but her dad would be up. He was always up early in the morning.

  She knew that much, even though she barely knew him anymore. He was dependable that way. Steady in his routine.

  It wasn’t lost on her that she was somewhat that way herself.

  A smile touched her lips and she pulled out of the driveway, heading toward the gated lakeside community that her parents lived in.

  As she drove the familiar road, she thought of all the ways she was like her dad. She had been afraid, for a long time, of being ruled by passion. She had taken steps to protect and defend herself. And in the end, had hidden behind the walls she had built rather than confronting him. Rather than dealing with the hurt, with the wrongs done. It was what he did. What he had done for years.

  She had been angry about it. Angry at him. And yet, she was more like him that she had given herself credit for.

  All that fear. That fear, and the deep-seated terror that she might not be doing the right thing.

  That was her father. Frozen forever trying to do the right thing while trying to protect himself. Staying in a marriage tha
t made him unhappy because he didn’t know what else to do.

  It was what she had done. Stayed in positions too many times that had made her unhappy. Because they were safe in their way. At least it was a particular kind of unhappiness that she could cling to. That was familiar. At least, it was something she recognized.

  But she didn’t want that kind of easily recognizable misery. Not anymore.

  It was going to start here. It had to.

  She pulled her car up to her parents’ glorious home, their retirement, the first time they had ever lived in a house that didn’t have sprawling grounds and acres of land to keep up on, and she breathed in deeply.

  Then she killed the engine and got out of the car, walking slowly to the door, questioning her sanity every step of the way, but knowing there was no other way.

  She rang the bell, then stood there, waiting.

  Unsurprisingly, it was her mother who appeared at the door, looking as vibrant as she always did, her makeup on in spite of the early hour, already dressed to impress.

  “Sabrina,” she said. “I haven’t forgotten a breakfast date, have I?”

  “No, Mom,” she said. “I’m actually here to see Dad.”

  Suzanne Leighton looked uncomfortable with that, but that didn’t really surprise Sabrina. She and her mother had a decent relationship, but they conducted most of it out of the house. “You’re here to see your father? Did you call him ahead?”

  “No,” Sabrina said, “because if I had done that he probably would have told me not to come. And I needed to. I truly needed to come and talk to him.”

  “All right,” she said, ushering Sabrina into the house. “He’s in his office having his coffee.”

  “Well, at least he’ll be caffeinated,” Sabrina said. “That’s more than I can say for myself.”

  “Should I bring you some?”

  “No. It would be better if we didn’t get interrupted.”

  Sabrina took a deep breath and wandered the labyrinthine hall that led to her father’s office. She raised her hand and knocked, and she heard his voice—as strong and intimidating as ever—bidding her entry.