by Maisey Yates
“Yes. That particular dumbass.”
“Last I saw him he was headed out to the barn house. The place he’s working on for him and Violet. It’s just up that dirt trail there. You can walk or drive if you want.”
“I’ll walk,” she said, “thanks.” She curled her fingers tightly around her keys, squeezing her hand until the metal dug into her palm. She took long strides up the dirt path, not caring that the dust was starting to cover her black shoes as she walked. Then she saw the old building, simple and unpainted on the outside. Cain’s truck was parked in front of it, a bunch of lumber sticking out of its bed.
She walked right up to the truck, cocked her foot back and kicked the tire. “Oh, mother...” She swore profusely, grabbing hold of her toe. Well, now her anger had hurt her, which, had she been in a more reasonable frame of mind, she might have taken as an omen to go ahead and settle down.
She was not going to take it as an omen. No. She wanted her rage, dammit. Sore toe or not.
She stormed into the barn then, only to see Cain there working, shirtless, his drill poised halfway up the wall, every muscle in his body tense and on glorious display. He was angled just slightly to the side, giving her an incredible view of both his well-defined back and his washboard abs.
He was a work of art. An infuriating work of art, but a work of art nonetheless. And, even through the haze of her anger, she could appreciate that.
“I’m not finished with you,” she said, kicking an empty bucket off to the side to punctuate the sentence.
He turned, not even having the decency to look startled. “Hello to you too.”
“You don’t know my life, Cain Donnelly. You have no idea what I’ve been through, and trying to make commentary on it in order to throw the focus off yourself was a cheap move. It was a coward’s move. I thought you were better than that. I thought you were a jackass, but I didn’t think you were afraid.”
“Oh, is this what we’re doing now?” He crossed his arms, still holding on to the drill; for some reason all of that was just really hot. Sweat beaded on his face, on his chest, his stance aggressive and masculine. He was holding a freaking power tool.
“Fighting? Yes.”
“Well, have at it. Scream at me. It’s everyone’s favorite pastime.”
“Don’t play the martyr. It doesn’t suit you. Your shoulders are far too broad for me to believe you’re being crushed beneath the weight of all the dissatisfied women in your life.” She took a step toward him. “I don’t believe you’re being crushed. I do believe that you have your head up your ass.”
“Oh, that’s right, you were going to tell me all about how I had my head up my ass out there on the street.”
“That’s right. I was. Before you ran away.”
“There’s a big difference between running away and deciding you don’t want to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t know shit, honey. Trust me.”
“Right. That’s pretty rich coming from you after you made an active attempt to tell me everything you knew about what kind of wife I was. And all the blame that I put on my poor husband. Because of course, I can’t actually be making a valid point about the fact that you don’t like to talk about anything. No, it has to be the fact that I’m a bitter divorcée. But that’s just lazy. It’s lazy, and it’s crap, Cain.”
He held his arms wide, the drill still in his hand and she was momentarily distracted by all that gorgeous, exposed masculinity. By the way his pants rode low on his lean hips, exposing those beautiful lines that served as an arrow down to the most masculine part of him. Those lines she just wanted to lick, even when he was being a jerk.
Actually, she kind of wanted to lick them more now that he was being a jerk. She didn’t know what that was. Probably had something to do with the survival of the male species though. That they became slightly more lickable when they were being asses.
“You’re doing the kind of work that you’re comfortable with,” she said. “You’re out here pounding nails and whatever else, ignoring the fact that all you really need to do is sit down and have a conversation with your daughter about what’s bothering her.”
“Contrary to what you might believe I did try that. She told me that she blamed me for her mother leaving. That she was mad at me. So, I think that sums up her behavior.”
“She’s scared. She’s scared because the rug that held her life in order has been ripped out from under her. And even though your intentions were good in leaving Texas, I think it was just more change for her. And she feels lonely. She feels like you don’t understand her.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do about that? She’s a teenager. Being misunderstood is her natural state.”
“You were mad at me that she confided in me, but you refuse to sit down and have a conversation with her. That isn’t my fault. You need to figure out what you want. And then you need to figure out if you’re willing to do the legwork to have it. But I can’t do it for you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“You are reaching,” he said, taking another step toward her, dropping the drill onto the floor. It made a loud noise, and she jumped, looking down at the offending item. “It’s fine,” he said. “I haven’t put in the new flooring so it didn’t damage anything.”
She looked back up at him. “I didn’t care about your stupid floors.”
She didn’t. Actually, she hadn’t thought about his floors at all. She was too busy being surprised she hadn’t been startled by that showing of temper. She really wasn’t. It was fine. He was angry. She was angry. And it was this kind of wonderful, glorious controlled burn. They could feel everything, all the things, and it wasn’t dangerous. To be around this man who didn’t frighten her, and yet could be angry, could get right up in her face.
She knew that most men weren’t abusers. She did. And she wasn’t holding Cain to a low standard just because Jared had been an asshole. No, that wasn’t it at all. It was her lack of fear that she marveled at. That she gloried in. And the way that they were able to strike sparks off each other in this way that wasn’t dangerous. That didn’t end with her being a victim, her being shut down. He could yell, and she could yell right back. And they could disagree, and he could be angry, and he might be upset, but he wasn’t so threatened that he had to shut her up with a fist to her face.
“You aren’t any less upsetting than I am, you know,” she said, taking a step toward him. “You ask for help, but you won’t take it.” She moved closer to him still, inhaling, taking in the scent of him. He smelled like sweat, skin and sex. Even though they weren’t having sex, he smelled like sex to her. She had a feeling that as far as she was concerned, she would always associate sex with Cain. That he was now an integral part of her sexuality, woven deep into the fabric of her desire. And she was too exhilarated, too turned on to care. Even now, even angry, she was so damn turned on. “You won’t budge. You refuse to see middle ground. That you can be both doing things wrong and not be completely at fault. But you pendulum swing wildly between being a martyr and being a stubborn dickhead who can’t accept the fact that he might have done something imperfectly.”
“That’s what being a parent is,” he said. “I have to have some level of confidence that I’m doing things right. I’m raising a human being. I have to be invulnerable to her, or how is she going to feel safe?”
“She’s not five. She’s sixteen. Be honest. Her seeing you vulnerable is better than her seeing you as an inflexible ass. What’s the worst that could happen if you sit down and have a seriously honest conversation?”
“She keeps the conclusion that she already had. That it’s my fault. And then in the end she’s going to leave too.”
Alison took a step back, her breath momentarily stolen by that. Because she couldn’t pretend tha
t that wasn’t a serious concern, or a hard admission. Couldn’t pretend that those fears wouldn’t stop her in her tracks.
“I guess you just have to trust that she loves you enough that even if she is mad she’s going to stay.”
He shook his head. “She’s not going to stay with me forever, that’s the thing. But I would like her to come home and visit me. I would like her to be part of my life. She’s everything I have in the world, Alison. Everything I’ve given my life for the past sixteen years. And when she’s gone, what will I have left?”
She felt defused, and she didn’t like it. “You’ll make a new life,” she said. “But she isn’t going to be gone from your life completely. You’ll always have her.”
“Right. Who knew that being a parent was so much existential bullshit?”
“I didn’t. But, as you pointed out before, I’m not a parent. I can only tell you that you have a great daughter. A great daughter who loves you. And who wants to connect with you. So do it, dammit. Cain, just do it. Don’t hold yourself back like you did with your wife.”
He frowned. “How do you know I did?”
“Because I’ve met you. Either your divorce changed you completely or you’ve always been a wall.”
“You think I’m a wall?”
“I know you are. A brick one.”
He reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her up against his body. “Because I’m hard?”
“We agreed that we weren’t going to do this.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He reached up, pressing his thumb against her upper lip, tracing the outline of her mouth slowly, deliberately, while his green eyes burned into hers. “We’re not doing anything.”
“Right. Absolutely nothing.” Her voice sounded unsteady, weak and whispery to her own ears. And she despised it. She preferred that angry woman that had charged in here, ready to take control of everything.
But she hadn’t anticipated getting drawn back into this. Hadn’t realized that all it would take was for him to touch her again and she would be lost. She probably should have, but she had considered herself immune to such things. That was before. BC, in fact. Before Cain.
She resisted that. The implication that he had changed her in some way after she had done so much work to take control of her life and herself. But she couldn’t dispute it. Couldn’t dispute the fact that he had gotten in her head, in her body, changed something fundamental inside of her that she wasn’t sure she could ever change back.
You can. A physical affair is hardly going to change you irrevocably when eight years of abuse didn’t. You managed to overcome that, you’ll overcome this too.
“Then again, I’ve spent the past four years doing nothing. And this feels a lot different.” He leaned in, his breath fanning over her cheekbone. She trembled. All the way down.
How many times had a man made her shake? So many. More times than she cared to count. More times than she cared to remember. But not with need. Cain took this feeling and twisted it. Turned it away from fear so that it was facing the bright, white light of desire. As far away from that sense of cold isolation and terror as she could possibly get.
He made her crave this. Made her enjoy it. This sense of being out of control. Of surrendering. Only a few weeks ago that would have been unfathomable. That she might turn and embrace this sensation that had once been her worst nightmare.
That had been about a man’s hands on her body. This was about a man’s hands on her body. One had been about strength causing pain. This was about strength giving pleasure. One was about control used to intimidate, this was about control wielded with expertise. The way that he could use that control to limit himself, to extend her pleasure.
One had been about taking. The other about giving.
So when she trembled for Cain it was an entirely different sort of shiver. One of anticipation instead of reluctance. One that made her want to fight to let all of that burning inside her shine outward so that he could see it too. Instead of one that enticed her to retreat deeper inside of herself. To hide. To disappear.
Both of these things were about a man’s hands on her body. But the way those hands were used made all the difference in the world.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a hushed whisper. Not because she was afraid to speak loudly, but because she didn’t want to shatter the spell of intimacy that had woven its way around them. Didn’t want to go back to shouting. She didn’t want to minimize herself, to whisper to make him retreat. She wanted to make him come closer. “It is different.”
He brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, those rough workman’s hands gentle, even as his calloused skin abraded hers.
She had a feeling that if she leaned in, if she kissed him, she would be allowing him to hide behind that wall of his. That she would be hiding behind one of her own. But she didn’t know what to say. And she didn’t even know if they should say more. If they should strip more barriers away for each other’s sake. No, that wasn’t what it was supposed to be. He didn’t need to strip himself bare for her, not in an emotional sense. He needed to do that for the other people in his life.
She only needed him to strip off his clothes for her.
And returning the favor for him actually did strip down some of the walls inside her. Because doing so was a reclaiming. A reshaping. Remaking the way that she saw her own body and what it could be used for. What she could want. What she could have.
Limp. Pale. Hurt. She had been those things for so long. And on her own she had become strong. She had become bright and colorful. But this was her rediscovery of what it meant to feel good. Of what it meant to feel need. Of what it meant to have that need satisfied.
This wasn’t the easy way out. Not for her. And as for him? Well, he wasn’t supposed to be her problem. Yes, it had become complicated between them. Yes, there were feelings—feelings that had gotten pretty deep pretty quickly—when it came to seeing his relationship with his daughter work out. But in fairness to her that was wrapped up in the fact that she cared about Violet.
That’s all it was. It had to be.
So she stretched up on her toes and she kissed him. And when the kiss ignited, when the conflagration between them exploded she welcomed it. She didn’t care that his chest was slick with sweat, or that he smelled a little like the work he had been doing all day. No, she liked that. Gloried in his masculinity. It added to the rawness of it all. Highlighted their lack of control. Because this hadn’t been planned. Neither of them had gone and gotten dressed up for a date.
There were no breath mints, he hadn’t put on his Sunday best. She hadn’t straightened her hair or put on fresh makeup or tried to make herself more acceptable for him. Because neither of them had to work to make this attraction flare up between them. No, they would have to work to make it go away. Would have to fight to tamp it down.
The knowledge of that... That he wanted her after a long day in the bakery left flour on her nose and her red hair frizzed out like spun sugar made it all the more potent.
She grabbed hold of either side of his face, poured everything she had into the kiss as he walked them back toward the wall and pressed her against it, the boards rough behind her, his hard body uncompromising and hot in front of her.
He claimed her mouth, kissed her neck, licked a slick trail across her collarbone and down between the valley of her breasts. Then he reached behind her, wrenching her shirt up over her head, leaving her in jeans and a bra. Then he slid his hands down her waist, to her hips, to her thighs, gripping her legs and lifting her up, encouraging her to lock her ankles around his body.
It opened her up to him, allowed him to press the hardened length of his arousal against that place where she was already wet with her desire for him. He rolled his hips forward and she gasped, holding on to his shoulders as tightly as she could, fing
ernails digging in.
He pressed his face against the side of her neck, growling explicit words against her skin, the vibrations reverberating inside of her. “I need you,” he said, punctuating that statement with the scrape of his teeth against tender flesh.
“Yes,” she said, because all she had inside her was simple agreement. One word. The rest was all feelings. Feelings, and sounds of pleasure, desire, need. But words? No. She could hardly remember her own name.
He reached down, undoing the button on her jeans, shoving them roughly down her legs. She wiggled, trying to help him out, only managing to get them just below her knees. Then, his arm wrapped low around her waist, he worked at the front of his own pants, managing to free himself from the confines of the denim.
Still holding on to her, he reached back and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, retrieving a condom. Then, in a feat of coordination that Alison herself knew she could have never managed, he managed to tear open the package and protect them both in one deft movement before nudging the fabric of her panties aside, the blunt head of his arousal pressing against her entrance.
She flexed her hips forward, encouraging him to go deep, to take her now. He gripped her chin with one hand, his arm still wrapped tightly around her, her body held up both by his strength and the wall behind her.
Then he kissed her, deep and dirty and exactly like she wanted him inside of her. But he didn’t give her what she wanted. Instead, he teased her. Sliding in just a bit before pulling back out, and repeating it again.
She released her hold on his shoulders, sliding them down his back, to his ass. She gripped him hard, pulling him firmly against her as she pushed her hips forward, allowing herself more of him than he had been willing to give. She gritted her teeth, her head falling back as pleasure erupted inside her, little sparks of light flashing behind her eyelids.