by Stacy Gail
It wasn’t that she just made him happy.
She was his happiness.
“I hope I don’t embarrass you.” Smoothing a napkin over her lap, Miranda slid him a small smile, her voice lowered for his ears only. “I’m so hungry I might plop my face into my plate and snort up all the food like Mommy’s little piggy.”
Coe stared at her, this polished product of the finest Brookhaven background, and knew without a doubt she’d never say that to anyone else. Just him. He was the only one she revealed her silly side to, not to mention her vicious side and every now and again her sweet, vulnerable side that moved him so much he’d tried to capture it in a picture on his phone. So maybe he didn’t know anything about love—he’d admit it. But he understood that when she shared those parts of herself with him, she was giving him a gift she didn’t give to anyone else.
And that made him one lucky son of a bitch.
“Coe.” She handed him the gravy boat after pouring a dollop on her potatoes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not really going to do it.”
“Wouldn’t bother me if you did.” Without thinking about how much he hated public displays of affection, he gently touched her back where he knew his name was while his heart did a crazy bungee jump in his chest. Leaning sideways, he kissed her cheek and nuzzled his brow against her temple. It was the strangest thing, how simply touching her brought him so much peace. “By the way, I like your gravy.”
A huff of laughter escaped her as she turned to brush her nose against his. “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. You made it. That means I like it.”
“I hope you know that doesn’t make sense.”
“Making sense is overrated. All I know is that I like everything about you. Everything.”
Her breath hitched, that same delicate sound she made when he was inside her. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Coe,” she whispered, eyes darkening.
No, wait. That was the most beautiful sound in the world—his name on her lips. God, it was out-fucking-standing.
“Okay, folks, if I can have your attention.” Coe started at the intruding sound of a fork tapping against the side of a glass. Blank-eyed, he turned to find Sully standing at the head of the table, grinning at everyone. “Time to make you pay up for enjoying the best food in Texas, and I’m going to do it by plunging you all into some serious awkward embarrassment.”
Willard made a show of looking at his watch. “Gee, look at the time. Pauline and I have to be going now...”
“Ignore him, I always do,” Pauline offered amid the laughter. “Keep going, Sully.”
He bowed in her direction. “Since this is Lucy’s and my first Thanksgiving in our new home, I’d like to start a tradition by sharing what I’m most thankful for—and then forcing you to do the same.” He shot his fiancée a smile so loving it didn’t surprise Coe when Lucy blew him a kiss. “At this exact time a year ago, I was in pieces. I was so broken, I didn’t even know what pieces were missing. All I knew was that I was incomplete, and I had this suffocating sense of panic. Like I should be doing something important, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Then Lucy came along and saved me by putting me back together. So this year, I’m thankful for second chances to get things right, and for the only woman I’ve ever loved who gave me that chance. With it, she’s made me whole again.”
Amidst the applause that broke out, Coe stared at the couple as Lucy stood for a kiss.
I’m thankful for second chances to get things right.
That thought twined around his head and dragged his gaze back to Miranda as if magnetized. This was exactly the thing that had hit him earlier, the thing that had been stalking him on quiet feet. There were two times in his life that he could remember being this happy. Once was when he’d kissed her for the first time while he’d washed her hands. And now. Right the fuck now.
Because this was his second chance.
“No one’s getting out of this without playing along. Miranda.” Threading her fingers through Sully’s, Lucy pointed mock-sternly at her. “Let’s have you go next, so do some fast thinking and cough something up. What are you thankful for?”
“I’m thankful for the kindness you showed me with those fabulous cupcakes. Oh, they were a huge hit, by the way.” Miranda’s smile was the genuine article, and he was glad to see her relax her guard with his lifelong friend. “And...”
“And?” Lucy prompted. “No holding back. Spill it.”
Miranda slid a reluctant look back at him, almost as if she’d tried not to glance his way and lost to the temptation. “I...”
His breath stopped, which made sense. With all the anticipation filling his chest, there was no room for something as unimportant as oxygen.
“I’m thankful for...”
He leaned forward, his chair creaking.
“I’m thankful the gravy turned out so well, and that I didn’t poison everyone. The whole not-poisoning thing is always a plus.”
Coe barely heard the good-natured laughter as his body resumed normal breathing function. But the anticipation still hummed. He’d seen something there before she looked away, something huge, something awesome and something that had to do with him.
Whatever it was, he’d find a way to get it out of her. One way or another.
He couldn’t wait.
* * *
“That was the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.” Miranda yawned, valiantly fighting off the dreaded turkey coma as Coe led the way into his house. Without discussing it, he’d driven them through Bitterthorn’s sunset-washed streets straight to his place, and she couldn’t come up with a single reason to object. She wanted to be with Coe for as long as she could, however she could. The time for pretending otherwise, even to herself, had passed. “And I don’t think it’s because I stopped celebrating it years ago. Today was perfect.”
“Tonight’s going to be more of the same.” Hooking their coats on a coat rack in the entryway, he dropped his keys on the table. “Why did you stop celebrating this holiday?”
“For me, Thanksgiving was always oriented around family. Since I didn’t have one anymore, I didn’t see the point.”
“How about now?”
“I have a healthier perspective, I think. Thanksgiving isn’t whether or not you have a family you can tolerate spending a couple hours with. The point of it is to reflect on the many gifts you have in life, and to be thankful for them.” A smile curled her mouth when she spied the squeeze bottle of chocolate on the counter. After she’d unzipped her boots and set them near the entryway, she moved to pick it up. “For instance, I’m thankful we worked things out this morning, because I’d still love to have a chance to indulge my artistic side.”
Understanding dawned immediately in his expression, and he backed up toward the bedroom, arms open wide. “Your canvas is ready, if you’re feeling a burst of creativity.”
“My canvas is wearing too many clothes.”
“Not for long.”
She couldn’t hold back a laugh when he began to strip as if he was under a time limit. “Did I mention I’m also thankful for your encouragement of artistic endeavors?”
“I get the feeling you didn’t mention a lot of things you were thankful for.” His shirt was unbuttoned by the time he hit the edge of the bed, his jeans undone and shoes were off. “Am I wrong?”
“No.” She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d almost blurted that being forced back to Bitterthorn—and into Coe’s life—had been a blessing she hadn’t seen coming. It was such a relief to know that he no longer held her responsible for her father’s actions. Now, if she could just get him to take things seriously when it came to meeting the requirements of her father’s will, all would be right with the world. “There are some things I’m not comfortable with
saying in public.”
“Such as?”
“Such as...I’m thankful we spent the day together.” That was a truth that wasn’t too threatening, and with a smile she pushed him back onto the bed. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“I’m thankful you were here to spend it with me.” He seemed to take personal issue with her sweater and skirt, so he made quick work of getting rid of them. “I’m thankful you secretly say things to me that you wouldn’t say to anyone else. When you do things like that, you make me crazy-happy.”
She laughed. “Is that a thing? Crazy-happy?”
“It is when I’m with you.”
A flood of warmth came to embrace her like a gentle fist, and she lowered her eyes before he could see the silly wash of moved tears flooding her eyes. There were so many things about him that she found beautiful—his unvarnished honesty and strength that gave him the courage to lay himself bare, and even the trust he had in her to show those facets of himself that he might otherwise keep to himself. What a gift that was, a gift she was determined to cherish no matter what the future held for them. For now, in this moment, he believed in her utterly.
That, she knew, was her truest blessing.
The few clothes remaining were discarded, and she pushed him back against the pillows. “Time for my dessert.”
“Wait.” To her surprise, his hands landed like twin brands on her thighs as she moved to straddle him. Her gaze bounced to his, only to find him staring up at her as if he were a man who’d been blind and was now seeing for the first time.
Everything inside her melted. “What?”
“Let me just look at you for a second.”
Honestly, he couldn’t have chosen a more self-conscious-inducing phrase if he’d tried. She arched her back just a bit to make sure her breasts were displayed to the best of her ability. She wasn’t overly curvaceous, and after having packed away a huge meal like a burly truck driver preparing for a long haul, she suspected her stomach protruded more than anything else. “Did you know that staring is considered to be rude?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
Ugh. “Coe—”
“I don’t how it’s possible for you to get more beautiful with each passing second, but you do.” His work-rough hands, so big and powerful, slowly glided up the long line of her thighs. His thumbs traced the crease where leg met body before venturing deeper, brushing against her sex. With deft mastery he sampled the wetness of her cleft, a boldly sensual touch that both stimulated and held her captive. “It’s not just your body, though that’s totally booming, and I hope to God you know it. There’s something inside of you that glows so much I’m amazed no one else gets dazzled by it. That’s why I love looking at you. Miranda-watching is my favorite pastime.”
“Then look your fill.” She was for his eyes only, though she didn’t know how to say that without it sounding corny, or worse—like an exclusivity promise. That wasn’t the way he rolled and she knew it. But he cared about her in his own way, and his admission made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. “Do whatever you want, because that’s what I’m going to do with you.”
“Promises, promises.” He pressed the pad of his thumb into the most sensitive part of her, then grinned when her thighs trembled and hips jolted.
“Promise...fulfilled.” Her breath tried to gush out all at once at the intimate massage, but she wasn’t going to let him divert her quite yet. It took most of her concentration not to surge against his touch, but it helped to focus on upending the chocolate and scrawling a haphazard heart on the smooth, muscle-padded wall of his chest. Part of her thrilled at the catch of his breath when her tongue followed the path of sweetness, while her brain desperately worked overtime to shut out how her forward-leaning position pushed her against his working hand. That pressure was so intense it made her close her eyes at the excruciating delight. It didn’t help that his penis, semi-hard when she’d first positioned herself over him, was now fully erect and inches away from her entrance. If she lifted her hips up, just a little, she could easily impale herself on him...
As if he’d read her mind, Coe threw out a hand toward the nightstand. The alarm clock crashed to the floor as he jerked the drawer open, fumbled out a condom and got it in place. The idea of taking her time and covering him with chocolate scrawls faded under an edgy urgency to melt her body around his. She had to have him where he belonged. And he belonged buried inside her so deeply that for a few fleeting moments they were one.
She wasn’t finished erasing the chocolate from his skin when he pushed his hips upward, the tip of his staff sliding against her folds now swollen and pulsing with a need only he inspired. She braced her hands on his shoulders and looked to him in surprise at how marble-hard his muscles were.
“Coe, easy...”
“I can’t.” It sounded like an apology, the words pushed through the barrier of clenched teeth, and he looked tortured, almost broken, but thrilled to be that way. “I need you, Miranda. I need you, I need you, please take me in, just take me, I’ll do anything to be inside you, babe, please...”
He’d lost it.
Her heart went wild as the realization struck. Coe never lost control. He never moved unless he was ready to, and never once in all the time they had known each other had he ever begged for anything. For such a strong, self-reliant man to beg for her to take him was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever done.
The chocolate was forgotten. It was a fun but unnecessary toy. They weren’t playing now. With all the seriousness of life and death and the pleasure that lies somewhere in the middle, she let him position himself, the sensitive crown at her threshold. Then with a graceful role of her hips she swept down on him, her inner walls stretching and heating to glove him as if custom-made to fit him. The sensation was so fiercely good it sent a shockwave of pleasure into her, so pure it bowed her back and pumped her hips. It exploded inside her with each move, and as their cries of ecstasy hit a simultaneous note of unity, in the back of her mind she knew that even if she hunted for the rest of her days, she’d never be able to find this absolute perfection.
Chapter Twenty-One
The faintest wail of a baby pulled Coe from a sleep so deep and peaceful he wasn’t even sure where he was. The bed moved and dimly he registered a tousle-haired Miranda heading out to the front room, dragging his discarded shirt over her nakedness. Slowly his eyes slid closed, his body sinking, sinking. Ah, good. Miranda had this. She’d get the baby. If there was a problem, he’d be sure to hear about it...
His eyes snapped open, his dream state shattering as if hit with neutron bomb. What the fuck, he thought, jerking to a sitting position and rubbing his face to wake himself up. They didn’t have a baby. They didn’t even have a busted condom to make a concern that there might be the beginnings of a baby. So where the hell had that dream popped up from?
Confused and out of sorts, he glanced over at the other side of the bed only to find it empty. His confusion deepened. Wasn’t she here...?
Even as a jolt of alarm sprinted through him that once again she’d bolted after they’d spent the best night of his life together, she reappeared, looking harassed and holding her phone.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she muttered, searching with one hand for something while she busily thumb-typed with the other. “My sister’s in town. She just texted me.”
The crying baby. That explained it. “I heard the baby sound in my sleep, and for a second I dreamed we had one.”
Her recoil of horror was disturbingly genuine. “Dear God, bite your tongue. Katherine hitting town is more than enough drama as it is. Do you want to know where she is at this very moment?”
“Um.” He glanced at the blind-covered window, trying to guess the time. That was easier than trying to figure out why her response bugged him so much. “
Wait, I’ve got it. Is she hitting all the Black Friday sales on Main Street? I heard Busy Fingers Craft Store is having one of those doorbuster sales on acrylic paints and scrapbooking supplies.”
“Good guess, but no.” With a sound of triumph she came up with her panties. “Katherine is over at the clinic, swearing she’s suffering symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning from—wait for it—standing outside of my padlocked, taped-up and officially condemned trailer. Is old Doc Benson still practicing?”
Coe shook his head, trying not to laugh. “He died several years ago. Payton Pruitt-Sharpe came back and took over, much to the relief of the town.”
“Sharpe?” She tilted her head. “As in, Wiley Sharpe? I had the biggest crush on him about a thousand years ago.”
His good humor vanished. “He’s an old, ugly married guy now with a kid on the way. Why would you have a crush on him?”
“Maybe I have weird taste in men.” Only when she stuck her tongue out at him did he realize he might be overreacting. “Who did you say he married?”
“Payton Pruitt. I don’t know if you remember her. I think she and Katherine were in the same graduating class.”
“Oh. Oh, boy.” She shot him a leery look. “I remember her. People called her Baby Brain, right? I think my sister was that girl’s number-one tormentor throughout high school.”
Coe scowled. Since he’d lived with the worst possible type of bully in the form of his father, that brought his hackles up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that nowadays Katherine would have been arrested for all the terroristic crap she pulled. When she’d have slumber parties with her gaggle of bubble-headed mean girls, I could hear them laughing about all the things they’d done, mainly to Payton Pruitt. Even then I wondered how it was possible I was related to such an unapologetic bitch.”
“I think there was a mistake at the hospital, myself. Either that, or you got all the good and Katherine got all the bad. Genetics are wacky that way, ask anyone.”