by Meghan March
Yesterday we spent the entire day in bed, just like Crey said we were going to do. I lost track of the number of orgasms I had. My lady parts are actually sore today. Crey gave me a dark look when I winced as we got out of bed this morning.
“I need to take more care with you. No sex today. You need to recover.”
“That’s not fair!”
His dark look turned smoldering. “Doesn’t mean I can’t fuck that sassy little mouth of yours.”
And that’s all it took for my previously mentioned lady parts to perk up and claim they were in perfect working order. I tried to tempt him later, but he didn’t take the bait.
I needed to get some songwriting done this morning, considering I have a deadline bearing down on me, so we retreated to our separate corners. Crey set up his laptop out in Gran’s back room—the one that was added on to the house about sixty years prior, but never properly insulated. It was drafty, but he didn’t seem to mind. I offered to share the repaired kitchen table with him, but he declined, saying he didn’t want to interfere with my concentration because he had calls to make.
So instead, I spent most of the morning watching him through the window in the wall that separated the kitchen from the back room addition. Even in this little house in Kentucky, he looked all business. He stood and paced and shoved his fingers through his hair as he talked with his hands. It was fascinating to see him in full empire-running mode.
I was unable to concentrate on my own task, so I dropped my pencil and slipped into the back room and dropped to my knees in front of him, just as he lowered himself into an aging La-Z-Boy recliner.
His eyes dropped to mine questioningly, but he didn’t stop me as I ran my palms up his thighs and reached for the button of his jeans.
He mouthed what are you doing, but I ignored him and unbuttoned and unzipped them. He didn’t object overly much to my actions because he lifted his ass and let me tug his jeans down—and God love the man—because he nearly always went commando. I can’t be the only woman in the world to think that is sexy.
He continued his call, but his answers shortened to single words—yes, no, fine—as I wrapped my hands around the base and lowered my head to run my tongue from root to tip before going in whole hog and deep throating him for the win.
I was in a go-big-or-go-home mood.
His choked-out, “Fuck. No, excuse me. Sorry. Wasn’t talking to you,” had me humming a little giggle around his cock.
After he muttered, “Please continue,” Crey’s hand found my hair and guided my movements. He slid into my mouth with long, sure strokes, and I took his cock all the way to the back of my throat with each thrust.
Ending the call with an abrupt and clipped, “We’ll finish this later,” he dropped the phone to the floor. It reminded me of the time I touched myself in front of him while he was on the phone in our hotel room back in San Antonio.
As soon as he dropped the phone, Crey cupped both my cheeks and tilted my face up at him. The look on his face was adoring.
“Best decision I ever made, Holly. Best decision I ever fucking made was making sure that missed connection went viral.”
Tears stung my eyes, and not because of the cock hitting the back of my throat.
“I’m gonna come, sweetheart. You ready to swallow me down?”
I nodded, ready to take anything this man wanted to give me. Everything he wanted to give me.
Whoever says giving head can’t be a romantic experience clearly isn’t doing it right. I shiver at the memory. I don’t know when things changed between us, exactly, but I know everything has. Hell, I don’t even know when I started thinking of him as Crey instead of Creighton, but I do.
What’s more, I trust him. And even bigger than that? I’m falling in love with him. I should be terrified, but instead, I’m excited.
Being back in Gran’s house, it’s easy to acknowledge that my future before Country Dreams was just a big yawning emptiness. And then after Country Dreams, it became some crazy, scary ride, one I could only do my best to hold on to and not get bucked off and land on my rear in the dirt like a bull rider who didn’t make it the full eight.
Now, though, the future lies before me like an amazing adventure I can’t wait to experience with this man at my side.
When I finish getting ready and step out of the bathroom, I expect to find Crey waiting in the bedroom, but instead I find a gift-wrapped package on the bed.
What the hell?
I study the box. It’s about ten inches long, approximately the length of Crey’s own package—not that I’m comparing—and eight inches wide and three inches tall. It’s wrapped in simple brown craft paper and a turquoise ribbon.
I reach for it and pull my hand back. Seriously, what the hell?
“Open it.”
I jump at Crey’s voice coming from the doorway behind me, and spin to look at him.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s for you.”
“But why?”
“Because.”
He crosses his arms, and I can’t help but drool a little over how his shoulders and chest look in the fitted cable-knit sweater he’s wearing. The man shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public looking so damn sexy. I need to cover him in Carhartt so the local ladies don’t know what kind of exotic species of man they’re missing out on. They’d mob him, and I’d have to cut a bitch.
“Open it,” he says.
There’s something ridiculously endearing about the simple wrapping. I carefully open the paper, because, not surprisingly, I don’t get a lot of gifts. I want to cherish this one. This isn’t like the racks of designer clothes he had some personal shopper pick out for me. No, this seems much more special.
It could be an owner’s manual to the freaking rental car, and you wouldn’t be able to wipe the smile off my face. I fold open the paper and still.
Keeper of Beautiful Songs
It’s a leather journal, and the words are tooled in simple script on the front.
I blink back tears, lifting a hand to my mouth. “Oh my God. It’s . . . it’s beautiful.”
Creighton crosses the room to stand beside me. “There was a woman at the grocery store selling them in a little stall in the front.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, because I can picture Delores Maynard and her arthritic hands that can still take leatherworking tools and turn simple cowhide into beautiful pieces of art. The grocery store lets her set up her little stall so she can supplement her Social Security income and the tiny pension her husband left after he died in a mine collapse forty-odd years ago.
“You bought this yesterday?”
“Yes. That’s why it took me a little longer than I planned. I knew you had to have it.”
“Yesterday, when you still should’ve been pissed that I left New York—again—and you’d found me the night before hammered and out with another guy and—”
Crey holds up a hand to interrupt. “Yesterday, when I was trying to figure out how to show my wife that she means everything to me so I don’t fuck this up and lose her for good.”
That little piece of my heart I was holding on to? No longer mine.
I carefully lay the journal on the bed and stand to face him.
“When did things change? When did this go from being a whim to being . . . everything?”
Crey lifts a hand and brushes a flyaway strand of hair out of my face. “I know I should have an answer for this that’s epically romantic, but I don’t think I can pinpoint the exact moment. I knew you were meant to be mine from that first night, but you’re right—it was nothing but a gut feeling. I wanted you. Knew I had to have you. Wasn’t going to stop until I found you.”
When I smile up at him, he smiles back, but his expression sobers.
“Coming home to find you gone that first time made it clear to me that I had something to lose. Watching you onstage that first night in San Antonio made me realize that you weren’t only a unique woman, but an extremely talented one that I would always h
ave to share with the world, because it wouldn’t be fair for me to keep you all to myself. I thought I would struggle with that, but instead, it’s made me insanely proud to know that you’re mine.”
He pauses, jaw tensing. “The second time I came home to find you gone, I knew my heart had walked out the door. I don’t ever want to feel like that again, Holly, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it never happens again.”
His words stir up so many different emotions. I’m still trying to process them all as he pulls me out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
Surveying my outfit, he asks, “Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough?”
“If you’d tell me what we’re doing, it’d be easier for me to decide.”
Crey grabs a flyer off the kitchen counter and holds it out to me.
GOLD HAVEN WINTERFEST
My eyes dart up to his. “Are you serious? You really want to go to this?”
“I have it on good authority from Delores Maynard that it’s a good time. Not to be missed. Plus, she’d like to see you again. She was hoping for an autograph.”
The fact that he chatted with the old woman while she made the journal makes me melt a little more.
I lean up and press a kiss to his lips. “Okay. Winterfest it is.” A thought flashes through my brain. “But I forgot something. I’ll be right back, and we can head out.”
I’m about to pull out of the A&W parking lot, and I’m still amazed that we drove an hour to eat burgers and drink root-beer floats in the car.
I look sideways at Holly, who’s grinning in the passenger seat. “I still can’t believe you’d drive this far for fast food.”
She reaches for the radio power button and tunes it to the local country station, which is no surprise.
“It’s not like there was much else to do around here. We’d pool our money for gas and get out of town when someone had their parents’ car. You could only eat so much Mr. Burger. Besides, A&W is the best. You can’t get root beer like that just anywhere.”
Her smile is infectious, and I lean over the center console to press a kiss to her lips before I back out and head in the direction of Gold Haven.
An hour later, I’ve learned a few things. First, Holly knows the lyrics to every damn country song on the radio. Second, listening to her attempt to sing bass notes is fucking adorable. And third, I need to come up with a foolproof way to calm my dick down, because she gets me harder than a rock without even trying.
The way she wiggles her ass in the seat and uses her fist as a microphone and belts out the songs . . . Jesus. I was tempted to pull the car over several times and fuck her senseless on the shoulder of the road. The only thing that stops me is knowing that she’s likely still sore as hell from yesterday. I haven’t missed her wincing this morning, and given how badly I want her, there’s no way I’ll be able to take it easy.
Since the main streets are blocked off for Winterfest, we pull onto one of the side streets. I still have no idea what Winterfest actually entails, but I see a big tent in the middle of the street and lots of outdoor heaters set up. I’m assuming there’s beer involved, which isn’t unwelcome.
Once we’re parked, I’m out of the car and opening Holly’s door before she can get out. She looks surprised. I shut the door behind her, lace my fingers through her gloved ones, and we head toward the revelry. As we get closer to the tent with lights strung from the sides, I see a bar and a band and a dance floor. Some people crowd around the bar while others are line dancing. The noise dies down a decibel or two when people catch sight of us.
“It seems we’ve been spotted,” I say.
“Of course. You’re hard to miss.” Holly looks sideways at me.
“Me? I’m not the drop-dead sexy one here.”
Her eyebrows go up. “I would argue that point. Do you see the drool dripping from those Cover Girl lips pouting at the bar?”
Not bothering to look in the direction she indicated, I stare down at her, hoping to make one thing very clear. “I don’t see anyone but you, Holly.” When she flushes pink, I squeeze her hand. “Care to dance?”
This time her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You know how to line dance?”
“Not even a little bit,” I admit. “But I thought you could teach me.”
She laughs, and I fight the urge to drag her out of the tent and back home to break another fucking table.
Holly twines her fingers in mine. “I’d be happy to school you in something, Mr. Karas,” she drawls.
I lean down and speak directly into her ear. “You already did. In love.”
She squeezes my hand and presses a kiss to my jaw. “That was cheesy as hell, and for the record, I loved it.” She pulls me toward the dance floor just as the band announces they’re taking a quick break.
“Well, hell. I guess we’ll have to wait to teach you the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
“You really gonna get Karas out on the dance floor?” a familiar voice booms out.
When I look over my shoulder, I see Logan Brantley coming toward us with a beer in each hand.
I nod at his full load. “Double fisting tonight, Brantley?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Was being polite and grabbed one for you, man. But if you don’t want it, I know your wife likes a cold Bud just fine.”
Holly shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not drinking tonight. I may not ever drink again.”
“An old pro like you? Damn, Holly.”
“It’s not like she’s been able to drink for that long.” I look down at my wife. “Unless you were a juvenile delinquent.”
Holly just shrugs. “There’s not much else to do around here, I guess. Everyone looked the other way. Spent a lot of nights out in a field, chillin’ on the tailgate of a truck backed up to a bonfire, stereo rockin’ and a keg iced down in the bed.” She laughs. “It sounds just like one of Boone’s songs, probably because he writes from his experience just like I do.”
Her expression turns wistful. “That’s the best damn thing about country music. The heart and the truth. Writing about things that real people can relate to because we live it. We sing about our lives and our roots and the heart of us.” Holly shakes her head. “Now I’m sounding all melancholy like I’ve been drinking. You better take that beer from Logan before I grab it.”
I accept the beer, and Logan lifts his in a toast. “Cheers to the newlyweds.”
We clink our bottles and I take a drink. It’s not the fancy microbrew Cannon drinks, or my usual scotch or whiskey, but it’s cold and delicious. The smile on Holly’s face makes it taste even better.
“You better get in line for the food too, before that’s all gone. You’re almost too late as it is,” Logan says.
“No need, we’ve already sampled the goodness of A&W this evening.”
Logan looks sideways at me and Holly. “You let her drag you an hour away for burgers?”
“And cheese fries,” Holly adds.
“You’re a good man,” Logan says, raising his bottle to his lips.
Holly shivers, and I release her hand in favor of wrapping my arm around her and pulling her into my side to keep her warm. It’s probably an excuse, but I’d rather have her closer.
“Probably better than I deserve,” Holly whispers.
I don’t know what prompts her comment, but both Logan and I hear it and take issue with it.
“Now listen here—” he starts, but I interrupt.
“Not nearly good enough for you, if you ask me. But I’m working on it.”
When the band comes back from their break and launches into an upbeat number, Logan motions with his beer.
“I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. I got my eye on a likely lady for the night, and two-steppin’ is a sure way to get her warmed up.”
I don’t turn to watch him leave because I’ve got my full attention on Holly. “You want to teach me to two-step, sweetheart?”
She smiles. “You want to?”
“I’m up for anything
tonight.”
Her smile turns a little mischievous. “Good to know. Finish your beer first.”
We watch the couples gather on the dance floor, and Holly points out the general technique while I gulp down the cold beer. I haven’t chugged like that since a frat party in college.
Once I finish, the song is just ending, but the band launches into another two-step number. We step onto the dance floor, and I’ve got one of Holly’s gloved hands clasped in mine, and the other is on my shoulder. I pull her closer than is probably necessary, but I can’t help but want to have her pressed against me. She’s my woman, and it’s my privilege to do so.
We’re both aware of the random flashes coming from our periphery, but I don’t fucking care if there are pictures all over the papers of us tomorrow. Holly is gazing up at me like I hung the moon. I never understood that saying before, but I feel like I finally get it now.
“Are you happy you came home?” I ask her.
Nodding, she replies, “Yeah, I am. And I’m happy you came too. I’m glad I don’t feel like I have to hide this part of myself anymore, that I don’t have to be ashamed of where I came from. It’s a weight I’ve been carrying that I’m glad to be rid of.”
“You never have to hide anything from me, Holly. I’m in love with the woman you are, and anything that made you this way is something to be grateful for.”
Her cheeks flush. “You still haven’t met my mama.”
“We’ll figure that out. There’s got to be a way to smooth it over and make that part of your life easier.”
She shrugs. “I don’t want to think about that tonight. Not at all.”
“That’s fine. What would you rather think about?”
Her smile comes back to life instantly, and once again, it’s one that’s colored with mischief. “Maybe the fact that I’ve got a surprise for you when we get home.”
She already has my undivided attention, but now she’s roused my curiosity as well. “Is that so?”
“Yep. One I think you’re going to like.”
I study her face as if I’ll find the answer written there. The music is loud and the other couples are a few feet away, but still I pitch my voice low when I say, “You know I’m not lifting my ban on certain activities today . . .”