Crossing Promises

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Huh. That’s much better. It’s so…light,” Owen said, prompting a laugh to slip past her lips.

  “Okay, Casanova. Why don’t I help you with the stairs, here?” The full flight in front of them looked sturdy enough, but was also pure hardwood—pine, if she had to guess—and definitely not something she’d want to climb unattended if she were a little sloshed. Owen seemed to feel the same way, because he let her make the trip beside him, although he managed most of it on his own with deliberate movements and a whole lot of assistance from the railing. That water he’d chugged must be starting to work its magic.

  “Which way is your bedroom?” Cate asked, her cheeks prickling hotly when Owen stopped in the center of the hallway to stare at her through the shadows.

  “Cate McAllister. Are you flirting with me?”

  She opened her mouth. Considered all the words she could send out of the traitorous thing.

  Oh, she didn’t want to use it to talk.

  Owen tensed visibly, his expression sobering and slipping into panic. “Shit, I’m sorry. That just flew out. I shouldn’t have been so—”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She stepped toward him until only half an arm’s length remained, her pulse knocking faster against her throat. “We’re not doing that, remember? You and I have an honesty policy. So, yes.”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Now I’m confused.”

  Cate laughed. “Yes, I’m flirting with you. But it’s not my fault you’re an adorable drunk.”

  “I’m not that drunk,” Owen argued.

  “You’re a little drunk,” she argued back, but the step he took toward her was startlingly sure.

  “And you are very pretty.”

  The sound that left her mouth was more of a sigh than she intended. “Okay. I’m pretty sure that’s the Jack Daniels talking.”

  “I mean it, Cate.” Reaching down, Owen grabbed her wrist. Although the move had been far from rough or intimidating, her breath hitched in her chest all the same. How long had it been since a man had touched her? Told her she was pretty and made her feel breathtakingly good, way down deep where it mattered?

  How long had it been since any man had looked at her with the sort of hunger that was in Owen Cross’s eyes right now?

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered. “And the crazy thing is, you don’t even know it.”

  The words slid right through her, under her skin and into her veins, and she knew, she knew she needed to say goodnight and get herself back to her car as fast as humanly possible. A man like Owen Cross was serious. Solid. Steady. He wasn’t for her.

  She kissed him anyway.

  For a fraction of a second, Owen went completely still, his breath coming out in a quick, sharp burst. But Cate reached up to knot her arms around his shoulders—holy God, they were as hard and lean and sexy as they looked—and his shock gave way. Grabbing her hips, he hauled her close, joining their bodies in an abrupt thump and parting her mouth with a single firm press of his own that she didn’t even consider resisting. His tongue darted out to swipe over her bottom lip, the relentless back-and-forth motion making her sensitive skin tingle even as she craved more, and Cate arched into him in an effort to find it. She kissed Owen back with urgency, her tongue tangling with his.

  More. She needed more.

  The words must’ve slipped from her lust-clouded brain to her mouth, because he responded by tightening his grip on the denim at her hips.

  A sound grated up from his chest, proprietary and hot. “You’re not making it easy for me to pace myself, here,” Owen said against her mouth.

  She felt the proof in the firm press of his cock on her belly. Wetness gathered between her legs, desperate and greedy and daring her to let him fill the tight space there. “Who said anything about pacing yourself?”

  “Cate—”

  She interrupted him with a hard slide of her lips. “Owen, please,” she whispered, letting him kiss her deeply, then kissing him back with equal need before he broke from her mouth to look at her.

  “Please, what?”

  Please, ease this ache inside me. Please, make me feel good, just for tonight.

  “Please, take me to bed,” Cate said.

  Without another word, Owen turned toward his bedroom.

  11

  There was a marching band in Owen’s skull. Check that. There were two marching bands in his skull, and they were duking it out for the top honors of Loudest Band Standing. Rolling over, he covered his head with his pillow, while pieces of his memory came back in fits and starts.

  Doing that last, ill-advised shot of whiskey with his brother (never again. Damn, his head felt like it was going to cave in). Lane finally balling up the courage to ask Daisy out. Cate’s sassy, sexy smile as she leaned over the bar and told him her middle name, the feel of her body, soft yet strong, as she guided him into the house and up the stairs…

  Owen, please. Take me to bed.

  His heart thwacked against his rib cage, going from zero to holy-fucking-shit in about four nanoseconds. Bolting upright in his bed, he flung a panicked gaze around his room, forcing himself to take in the rumpled sheets, the side of the mattress opposite him that was—shit!—totally empty, and the sun relentlessly streaming in through the slats in the blinds. His head spun, and, after a second, his stomach went along for the ride. But he couldn’t afford to be foggy, here. He had to figure out where Cate was.

  And, more importantly, exactly what had happened between them last night.

  “Okay. Okay, okay. Think.” Owen commanded himself to take a slow, deep inhale even though it took herculean effort. The jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing last night were strewn messily on the floorboards beside his bed, along with his socks and boots. His boxer shorts were in place on his hips, which would have been a good sign if he could remember with total certainty whether they’d been there the whole time or he’d done the now-you-see-them, now-you-don’t routine with them at some point after he and Cate had crossed the threshold of his bedroom.

  But he couldn’t have. He might not remember the finer details of his night—fucking Jack Daniels!—but come on. The kisses he and Cate had shared had been damn near incendiary. She was freaking gorgeous, and as impulsive as it had been, he’d wanted her like water and air combined. If he’d slept with her, it would be tattooed in his memory. Damn it, why couldn’t he remember anything after they’d gone into his bedroom?

  And what was that smell wafting up from his kitchen?

  Shoving the blankets off his legs, Owen stumbled out of bed and tiptoed to the door. The warm, enticing scent grew stronger as he peered out into the hallway, earthy coffee mingled in with some baked good he couldn’t quite identify. Although he was tempted to take a straight path down the stairs to investigate, his current state wouldn’t win him any favors, so he skinned into a pair of sweats and a fresh T-shirt, stopping to scrub his teeth and throw back some much-needed ibuprofen before heading quietly to the kitchen.

  “Oh, hey. You’re awake,” Cate said, looking up at him from behind the rectangular island. She wore the same clothes she’d had on last night, although her low, neat ponytail and fresh face suggested she’d washed up since waking. A plate of golden, slightly misshapen baked goods sat by her elbow, next to a nearly empty cup of coffee and a copy of The Camden Valley Chronicle that was open to the business section, and, okay, he’d officially gone around the bend.

  “Are those homemade biscuits?” Of all the questions flying through Owen’s mind, that one seemed the most innocuous. Albeit definitely weird.

  Funny, Cate didn’t so much as blink. “Yep. For a single guy, your pantry is freakishly well-stocked. Although I had to cut them out by hand, so they’re not very pretty. I hope you don’t mind.” She hesitated, biting her lip even though her stare never wavered. “I know I’m making a habit of invading your kitchen space, but I thought you might want something hearty to feed your hangover. And I like to bake. Obviously. So
…”

  “No, I don’t mind,” Owen said. All the less-innocuous questions that had been filling his brain fought for his attention, and he cleared his throat. “So, ah, you…stayed.”

  “I did.” Now, her stare did drop, just a fraction, but it was enough to make his breath go tight. “Which was really presumptuous of me, too, I know. But I figured we should probably talk about last night privately. And sooner rather than later.”

  Translation: before I see you at work tomorrow, and Owen’s mouth worked independently of both his brain and his better judgement.

  “Oh, hell. I didn’t…we didn’t…did we…”

  Cate’s brows traveled up, but she followed his fumbled question easily enough. “Don’t look so mortified, Casanova.”

  “I’m not mortified,” he said automatically. “I mean, I am, but I’m also not. I think.” Jesus, could he ruin this any more thoroughly? “What I mean is—”

  “Owen. Stop.” The quiet words were at odds with the firm tone she’d used to deliver them, and both made him do what she’d asked. “Nothing happened.”

  Relief moved through Owen’s gut, followed by a swift shot of disappointment that was gone before he could even kick himself for it. “Nothing,” he said.

  She must have heard the question in his voice, because she amended her claim with a quick hint of a smile. “Well, not nothing-nothing. I mean, I am here. But as far as the rest, you walked me down the hall to your bedroom last night. We kissed a little. And…you fell asleep.”

  Owen took it back. Mortified wasn’t even in the same hemisphere as this. “Cate,” he started, but she shook her head.

  “And this is why I slept on your couch instead of going home. We have an honesty policy, and it doesn’t just apply when you’ve had a few and you’re flirting with me.”

  Cate took a biscuit from the larger plate in front of her and placed it on a dish, sliding it toward him on the island before continuing. “You got a little drunk. You said some things you might not otherwise say, which led to some things you might not have otherwise done. It’s not a big deal, unless—”

  Owen pulled back to look at her carefully. “Unless, what?”

  She brushed a few crumbs off the granite with a paper towel, saying nothing, and he watched his hand leap out to touch her forearm over the small expanse of the island.

  “If we’re going to go with this honestly policy, it can’t be a one-way street. Help me out and talk to me, here,” he said. Cate exhaled slowly, but to Owen’s relief, she didn’t dodge the question.

  “It’s not a big deal unless you regret what happened.”

  “I don’t.” His answer flew out as quickly as his hand had, and he realized that not only was he still touching her, but he didn’t want to break the connection. “I think we’ve already established that I kind of suck at this, so I’m just going to say it straight. Being a little drunk might have motivated me to say and do what I did, but that doesn’t make me sorry that we kissed, and it damn sure doesn’t make my words untrue.” Although his pulse kicked at his next thought, he knew he still had to give it voice. “But I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about what happened last night, either.”

  Cate’s chin lifted. “Why would I feel uncomfortable?”

  “Because I kissed you,” Owen said. He might not be sorry they’d kissed; hell, for over a week, he’d wanted to do way more unspeakable things than put his mouth on hers. That still didn’t change the fact that he’d acted less than respectably by turning his impulse into action, then topped the whole thing off by being an idiot and falling asleep on her.

  None of which seemed to be bothering Cate in the least.

  “Actually, if you want to split hairs, I kissed you first.” Picking up her coffee cup with a matter-of-fact shrug, she took one last sip before turning toward the pot on the counter. “Coffee?”

  Surprise sent his brows on a one-way trip toward his bedhead, and his manners made a showing about nine hours too late. Tardy little bastards. “Yes, please. And you might have technically kissed me first, but I still kissed you back”—impulsively. Deeply. So fucking hungrily—“a lot. That wasn’t very honorable of me.”

  “We’re two consenting adults. What’s not honorable about that?” Cate asked. She took a mug down from the open shelf above the coffeepot, filling both it and her empty one before returning to the island, and were they seriously having this conversation as easily as they’d chat about the weather?

  “The fact that you’re Brian’s widow, for one,” Owen said quietly.

  Everything about Cate stilled except for her eyes, which lifted to meet his. “Do you think I haven’t had sex since Brian died?” she asked, and, oookay, it looked like they sure as shit were.

  “I don’t…I’m sure that’s none of my business,” Owen managed to cough out. But Cate gave up that glittering no-holds-barred stare that read well? for a breath, then two, before he had no choice but to actually answer her question. “I don’t know. Have you?”

  A wistful laugh puffed past her lips. “It’s been more than three years, Owen. Of course, I’ve had sex. I mean, not a lot, and not…very meaningfully.” She broke off a piece of a biscuit, although she didn’t take a bite. “But don’t feel guilty about what you said to me last night because I’m Brian’s widow. For three years, all I’ve heard from people is ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘how sad for you’ and ‘poor Cate’. It actually felt kind of nice—normal, I guess—that you got a little drunk and flirted with me.”

  His pulse picked up the pace, and he opened his mouth to argue. Not tiptoeing around her when it came to health insurance benefits was a hell of a lot different than kissing her senseless in his hallway. But she’d said she wanted to be treated like a regular person, and her actions had backed up her claim, one hundred percent.

  Which meant he had no reason to hold back.

  “The beer had nothing to do with what I said to you,” Owen told her, and now her laugh came out louder and less restrained.

  “Yeah, right.”

  But oh, no. If she could go for broke in the honesty department, then so could he. “Maybe I had a few more drinks last night than was smart. But the only thing the alcohol did was give me the courage to say what I think every time I see you when I’m sober. You really are very pretty.”

  Cate’s cheeks flushed as if to punctuate the statement. “And you really should get courageous more often.”

  “I’m just being honest,” he said. Speaking of which, if he was going to go all in… “I wasn’t trying to frustrate you by bringing up Brian. I’m sure being a young widow isn’t easy, especially in a town as small as Millhaven.”

  “I know you weren’t trying to frustrate me. It’s just that I feel like I’ve got a giant spotlight on me sometimes,” she said, her voice softening along with her expression. “I mean, for three years, I’ve been Poor, Widowed Cate. Lily’s mom. Brian’s wife. No one looks at me without seeing them. Some days, it’s enough to make me want to scream.” She gave up that no-nonsense stare that said she was measuring her words with care. “To be honest, Brian and I weren’t exactly the perfect couple everyone thinks we were.”

  Owen froze, his coffee cup halfway to his lips and his chest chock-full of shock. “You weren’t?” She and Brian had gotten married right out of high school, for God’s sake. They were always the couple voted most likely to…well, couple.

  “We weren’t unhappy,” she amended. “But our daughter was born less than a year after graduation.” She paused to clear her throat. “Specifically, nine months after.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Holy shit. She’d gotten pregnant by accident? “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  Cate nodded. “Obviously, it’s not something we advertised. Brian and I fibbed a bit about our due date and said Lily surprised us by arriving six weeks early, so nobody realized the pregnancy wasn’t planned. Or if they did, they never had the balls to say so. And then we had Lily, and she was a sweet baby. Slept like an angel, right from the
start. I even took her to Doc Sanders because I thought something was wrong with her. She was always so happy.”

  Her expression grew suddenly tender, the brief, unexpected emotion in her eyes arrowing directly to Owen’s gut. But it lasted for less than a breath, quickly covered by her careful, practical smile, and he ditched caution without thinking twice.

  “But?”

  “But the past is in the past,” she said after a pause. “What I’d really like now is to move forward. Not as Brian’s widow or Lily’s mom. Not as Poor Cate. Just as me.”

  Owen thought, but only for a second before nodding. “Okay.”

  “Really?”

  The shock dominating her features was so genuine, he laughed, which made her laugh in turn, and, God, she really was beautiful.

  “Yes, really,” he said. “What, you thought I was going to argue with you?”

  The arch of her brows told him that’s exactly what she’d thought. “I don’t know. Maybe a little. I mean, no offense, but you’re not exactly a go with the flow kind of guy.”

  He’d take exception, save the fact that she wasn’t wrong. In truth, it was kind of nice not to have to wade through any bullshit with her. “No, but I am an honesty guy, remember? I’m not big on pretenses. From here on in, you’re just you, and I’m just me. We’re starting fresh.” He stuck out his hand to prove it. “Hi. Owen Cross.”

  Smiling, she wrapped her fingers around his firmly. “Cate McAllister.”

  Even though he knew he probably should, Owen didn’t let go. “It’s nice to meet you, Cate McAllister. Since you were so kind as to make breakfast this morning, I was wondering if you might like to stick around and enjoy it with me.”

  “Well, I’m not normally a breakfast person, but since we’re starting fresh, I suppose I could make an exception.”