Best Worst Mistake

by Lia Riley

  “What about me?”

  “It’s been a long time since you’ve been back home, huh?”

  “Over a decade.”

  “Your brothers missed you, you know. And while she might not say it, your grandma did too.”

  “If that’s a joke, I’m having a hard time laughing.” He took a long bitter swig of coffee, letting it burn his inner cheeks.

  She gave him a searching look. “I’m serious.”

  He set down the mug and sought out his gruffest tone. “Look. Here’s a free piece of advice. You don’t know anything about me. I’m not the sort of guy ­people miss. I’m more the ‘good riddance’ type.”

  “Well, I do know one thing.” She sat back in her chair. The smile playing around her mouth showed his brusqueness had no effect. “You and Quinn Higsby.”

  He tried to keep his face implacable and knew he failed. “What about her?”

  Her eyes softened. “I saw how she looked at you during Thanksgiving dinner and how you looked back. You two had more chemistry going on than the inside of a mad scientist’s laboratory. Pretty darn explosive.”

  What was with this damn blush creeping up his neck, spreading to his ears?

  Edie didn’t point it out; instead she doubled down like a bird dog during duck season. “You’ll need to take her on a first date, something where you wow her a bit but can still be yourself. What does she like?”

  He knew what Quinn liked when he was pumping inside her, how she responded to a grinding rhythm, but outside of the bedroom? He cleared his throat. “She, uh, likes books.”

  Edie gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s good. You’ll always know what to buy her for a gift. Plus, she probably likes to stay up late.” She winked. Winked? In that moment he saw how she and Archer made sense. She might be a little refined but was like chocolate laced with chili, all that sweetness came packed with a helluva bite.

  “Just be yourself,” Edie advised.

  That’s the problem. He was a grump, putting it mildly. Some would say asshole and he wouldn’t dispute it. The two women at the corner table, former teachers from Brightwater High, kept bobbling their necks in his direction. They must remember him from when he had been a student, at least in name. In truth he’d spent more time hanging behind the bleachers smoking unfiltered cigarettes and kicking ass than he ever did attending class. How could he focus on algebra or economics when that old restless anger took hold? Throwing or taking a punch was the only thing that kept him from climbing out of his own skin before he started smoke jumping.

  But he didn’t want to return to those old fighting days, at least not with his fists. He’d rather fight a way back to himself, see if there was anything left of the man his mother would have been proud to call her son. Reaching out to his brother and getting a better-­suited truck was a start. But he needed to go further. Be the guy who could try again, risk his pride and hermit life on an unpredictable and captivating woman named Quinn.

  The faint light inside him burned a little brighter, heating his chest.

  “Hey, I have to go see about a few things,” he said to Edie. “But thanks for the coffee, pastry, and kick in the ass.”

  “I have some solid experience kicking Kane butt.” She smiled. “I’m at least a green belt by now.”

  He pulled out two twenties. “You see those ladies over there?”

  Edie glanced in their direction. “Beryl and Donna? Sure, they come in here all the time. They’re in that Chicklits book club with your grandma.”

  “Cover their bill for me, will you?”

  Edie eyed the money. “But this is way too much. All they had was a shared banana nut muffin and two—­”

  “Then load them up with a few extra treats. I used to be one of their students and owe them one.”

  She smiled up at him. “Wilder Kane, you are a nice man.”

  “Don’t let the secret out, okay?” Wilder rose, keeping a safe distance. Edie seemed like the sort who might do something crazy like go in for a hug. He might be turning over a new leaf, but there wasn’t a way to paint stripes over all his spots. Hugging wasn’t in his vocabulary.

  Although cuddling was, with the right girl.

  He stepped outside, shoved his black knit beanie on, and paused. The sun had come out while he had been stuffing his face. The mountains stood out in stark relief, rugged and wild. He’d lived in Montana for years but this was home. He took a deep breath, the clean, cold air filled his lungs, filling him with renewed purpose. Nature was its own kind of therapy.

  A ray of light cut through the cloud, illuminating the new-­fallen snow swathing the side of Mount Oh-­Be-­Joyful. He might be a physical mess, and together they were oddballs, but there was no doubt Quinn was a special snowflake.

  He began to walk, slowly and with a limp up Main Street toward his 4Runner. A few cars might have slowed, but he didn’t look over.

  Wilder Kane was back in town.

  But maybe, just maybe, the black sheep would surprise them all.

  Chapter Eleven

  QUINN BLEW SOAP suds off her forearm with an irritated huff. She’d filled the claw-­foot bath to the brim with hot water and jasmine scented bubble bath. The trip to the lab had been short, methodical, easy even, except for the fact the needle made her a little lightheaded. After they drew her blood, she’d had to sit in a chair and drink a disposable cup of orange juice. But since she got home, her plans to relax had revealed themselves to be rather ambitious.

  She’d brewed three separate cups of tea and forgotten each one until they’d grown cold on the kitchen counter. Then downloaded an app onto her phone, some sort of meditation guide, but had been unable to focus. When the calm woman’s voice announced it was time to scan her thoughts, all she could do was visualize them sliding through a sieve, disappearing.

  Her blood work was being sent off to a diagnostic lab in the city and the results should arrive back just in time for Christmas. She’d either be getting the best present ever or a lump of coal in the form of a positive Alzheimer’s prognosis.

  This bubble bath ­coupled with the glass of pinot grigio on the window ledge was supposed to be her Hail Mary “feel better” pass. It might not quite be five here but it was somewhere in the world.

  She sank under the water, holding her breath, hearing her pulse in her ears, seeing if she could make it to sixty. Once she’d held her breath that long down in the Brightwater River and Dad called her a mermaid.

  There came a muffled bang. Someone pounded at the front door. She sat up, gasping, wiping the suds from her eyes.

  Who’d be stopping by? Probably one of the Higsbys. Dad’s family was large, and God love them, they didn’t see the value in calling before coming over. It was rare for one of the family to leave Brightwater, so since her arrival she’d been viewed with a certain level of fascination, especially with regards to her old job. They wanted to hear about which celebrities she had rubbed elbows with, having no idea that her boss’s wife had essentially chased her out of town with a pitchfork.

  She stepped out of the tub, wiped the fog from her glasses, and did a quick towel dry before slipping into her red silk bathrobe, the one that was fine in L.A. but, seeing as Brightwater wanted to give Narnia a run for its winter money, fell short of providing any meaningful warmth. She was freezing cold halfway down the hall.

  “Coming!” she called through chattering teeth.

  It was only then that it occurred to her that she didn’t have to answer at all. But she was programmed to respond. To ­people please. Even now. The thought grated her. Today had sucked. She’d just politely tell whoever it was out there that she was busy, had a headache, or—­even more potent—­cramps. Yes, cramps, good. That would send anyone scurrying away. She’d even clutch her lower belly for added effect.

  Wait, hmm, clutching was too dramatic. She’d worked with actors. Better to give a
slight rub and rueful smile.

  Perfect.

  She threw open the door and all thoughts of fictional periods disappeared at the sight of Wilder filling the doorway in a black jacket and a black knit cap low slung over his broad forehead, offsetting those bright eyes.

  Oh.

  Oh my.

  “You’re all wet,” Wilder said.

  “Yeah, I am.” God. Wait. No. “Because of the bath.”

  “That’s what I meant. What were you talking about?” His smile was slow, wolfish, and everything sexy.

  Was this real life or had she drowned in the tub and heaven was all about ravishing brutish-­looking men? The cold winter brushed her bare thighs and said, “Real life.”

  “Come in, come in,” she stammered, closing the door behind him. Could he hear her heart going like a battering ram against her sternum? Despite every wish to the contrary, all she could do was remember him above her, hot, sweaty, and so hungry, the ravenous way he’d inhaled her.

  Don’t swoon. Keep it together. This wasn’t a good idea.

  “How did you know where I lived?” she squeaked.

  He shrugged. “Small town hotline.”

  “You dial in and make a request to a busybody?”

  “Basically. Or walk into The Dirty Shame and ask my cousin Kit because he picked you up for Thanksgiving yesterday. How was your appointment?”

  “Oh, you know.” She waved her hand, hoping the effect looked suitably casual. The last thing she wanted was to saddle him with her medical woes. That’s why she’d run away this morning. But now he was here, and despite everything she couldn’t deny the thrill. “Boring doctor stuff. Wait. How did you get here?”

  “Drove.”

  “Huh?” She glanced out the bay window at the blue 4Runner parked in her driveway. “Wait. Is that yours?”

  “Yeah. Got an automatic this afternoon. Easier for me to drive. See ­people. See you.”

  His gruff tone didn’t offset the hint of underlying sweetness. She didn’t bother resisting a grin. “That is so amazing.” He looked so uncomfortable with the praise that she took pity and changed the subject. “And what’s in the bag?”

  He glanced down at the Save-­U-­More paper bag. “I wanted to take you on a date.”

  A date? That sounded like a big mistake. Huge. But she was intrigued. “A date in a bag?” She sat on the couch, checking that her robe didn’t gape. She didn’t want to flash him.

  “I’m sort of improvising here. First off we’ve got . . .” He pulled out a box of cake mix. “Red velvet.” Followed by a jar of chocolate frosting.

  “This is already in my top ten percent of dates.”

  “I’d like to improve on that. There’s more in here.” He rolled the bag shut. “But I think we’ll start with what we’ve got. You ran out today so maybe you don’t want me here, but I thought I’d—­”

  “No. I am happy to see you.” And that was the truth. She was tempted to run into the kitchen and execute a private happy dance. Instead, she flipped her hair out of her face. “You’re going to bake for me?”

  “Sure, you have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

  “Try a whole mouthful.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, gave a few directions as to her pots-­and-­pans cupboard, and fumbled with the mixer. She ducked into her bedroom with reluctance to change into a pair of grey lounge pants and a long-­sleeved cranberry colored top.

  And maybe did a few steps of the cha-­cha.

  “Want a lick?” He was pouring the batter when she returned, and handed her the whisk. “My mom always let me do that.”

  “Yum. She had the right idea.” She gripped the metal handle, her misgivings retreating the moment her tongue made contact with the sugary goodness. “You lost her a long time ago, didn’t you?”

  His eyes went flat. “When I was six.”

  She forced the swallow. “That must have been so hard.”

  He gave a single nod. “My brothers don’t remember her or my dad. She used to take me to Castle Falls. No one ever went down there, said the place was haunted. But she would laugh at the idea. We’d sit at the top of the cascades, watching the water tumble over, and she’d say if the place was haunted, the ghosts were kind. And there were the fairy rings.”

  She set the whisk on the counter. “Fairy rings?”

  “Flower circles. No one knows why they came up. It was part of the reason ­people were uneasy about the place.”

  “Sounds beautiful.”

  “It was.” He moved his arms aimlessly as if not sure what to do with them. At last he folded them tight to his broad chest. “But Brightwater is a practical place. No one here has much use for magic.”

  “That’s why you moved to Castle Lane,” she said slowly, sinking into a chair. A few puzzle pieces clicked together. “Not because you wanted to get away from everyone. It’s because you wanted to be close to a good memory from your past.”

  He glanced out the window, averting his face. “Maybe both.”

  The sweet smell of cake infused the air as they sat in uncertain silence.

  “It was sweet of you to come over.” She paused for a beat. “I need to tell you something. The way I bolted from your bed, I wasn’t sure if I spoiled everything.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He put the bowl in the sink with a little too much force.

  “I’m serious. I had a hard morning and to have you come by, surprise me—­”

  “I’m serious. Don’t mention it.” He looked uncomfortable. What was it about this guy that seemed genuinely afraid of compliments, of kindness?

  “There is a lot more to you than meets the eye.” She approached him. “Underneath all these big muscles and grumbles is a soft center, isn’t there?” She set her hands on his shoulders and rose on tiptoes, planting a kiss on the scruffy patch between his wide mouth and jaw, right on the hint of a frown line, a tattoo of sadness. How could she resist this man?

  Oh yeah, she couldn’t.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  She slid her tongue across his, slow, tentative, a stroke, but gentle, an introduction. “You taste pretty darn good.”

  “You do too.”

  She pulled him closer. He’d been lost for so long, was it too naïve to hope she could kiss him found?

  He broke off, glanced at the kitchen table, and took her hand. “Come over here.” He sat on a chair and pulled her down, positioning her legs so she straddled him, her pelvis nestled against his, grazing his hardness. She rocked closer, teasing, unable to get enough, wanting to fist his glossy hair with two hands. God, if she could, she’d inhale him. Her head spun. It could be low blood pressure after the bath, but more likely she’d gone woozy with wanting.

  “What do you want?” He sucked on her neck, pulling from her a gasp. “From me?”

  She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “To remember that there is still some good stuff out there in the world. What about you?”

  His lips twitched against her skin. “I want to forget the bad.”

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  His hands slid under her shirt, up her bare back, hungrily stroking the braless expanse of sensitive skin between her shoulders.

  “We’re something.”

  This time his kiss took control, the pleasure almost excruciating. He had the power to render her helpless, hungry, until she shamelessly humped against him, burrowing close, her body rebelling at any place that didn’t make contact. Their teeth collided and they each tasted the other’s moan. Then he dropped one hand, slid it into the elastic waistband of her pants, running his fingers over her soft curls. One slow finger stroked through her center, gathering wetness and bringing it right to the tip of her clit. For a big guy with thick, rough fingers he moved gently.

  “Let me know if it’s too hard,�
�� he muttered. “I—­I don’t have great sensation here.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his wrist. “You can’t feel me?”

  “I can a little.” His glance fixated on her lap, not daring to rise to her eyes. “Not much with the burns.”

  “That’s unfair.” She refused to be sympathetic, it was a luxury he didn’t want and she couldn’t afford. Better to offer honesty. “I feel. You feel. That’s the deal between us.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I do.” She peeled off her shirt, her bare breasts tightening in the cold air, nipples two tight peaks.

  “Fuck, Trouble. You’re gorgeous.”

  She stood and reset her glasses, checking the oven timer before offering her hand. “We have thirty-­two more minutes before that alarm goes off. Think we can put it to good use?”

  He laced his fingers with hers and rose. “Wager we can have a damn good half hour.”

  They got to her room and somehow her pants disappeared on the journey. She was naked while he was completely dressed. For some reason she liked it, though, loved the roughness of his wool and denim against her exposed skin.

  They fell onto the bed. He grabbed her hips as she reached for the headboard.

  “You want me to feel you?”

  “So much.”

  He buried his face between her legs, inhaled deep, his lips fastening on her slick flesh as he gave a long, slow, suck. “Oh, yeah. I feel that.”

  She let out a whimper that would have to pass for “I do too.”

  He dragged his tongue around her clit, twirling over the hypersensitive nerve endings until she sank into a gyre that was nothing but his sucking, probing, and nibbling mouth.

  “Let me see you watch what I’m doing,” he rasped. “Want to see your face as you get there.”

  She glanced down, mouth drying as her heart accelerated. Her hips were inches off the bed as she greedily bucked against him for more. “I’m right there.”