Reckless Hearts

by Melody Grace

  “Will . . .” she gasps, but it’s not a protest, it’s more of a plea. Her face is glazed, cheeks flushed with desire. She bites down on her lower lip, as if to keep from making a sound.

  “What?” I tease, stroking slowly through the thin fabric of her dress.

  “We’re . . . someone could see.” Delilah sinks back against the doorframe.

  “There’s nothing to see,” I grin, loving how her body is tensing, shuddering under my hands. “We’re just standing here, having a casual conversation. Aren’t we?”

  “You’re a wicked, wicked man,” Delilah grins, her eyes bright, desire clear to see.

  “But you want it anyway.” I lean closer, whispering in her ear. “You want me to take you inside and fuck you, right up against the wall. Maybe even leave the door open, just a little, just enough for someone to see you come your brains out.”

  It takes every measure of self-control not to deliver on that right now, but I give one last caress and release her. I want her thinking about me all afternoon, wet and aching for my touch.

  “You have a great day now,” I wink, turning to go.

  “What?” Delilah’s voice is ragged. “Wait, you’re leaving? Now?!”

  She’s standing there, breathless and flushed, and looking so damn fuckable, I deserve a medal for leaving her be. “You have work, remember?” I grin, enjoying the frustration on her face.

  Delilah’s jaw sets. “OK then.” She smiles sweetly. “I guess I’ll just have to take care of myself. See you later.”

  Now I’m the one left speechless as she unlocks the door, and heads inside, closing it behind her with a click.

  She wouldn’t . . .

  Oh, but she would.

  Damn.

  I laugh, heading back to the truck. That girl is dynamite, and today can’t go fast enough until I can get her in my bed again. Or out on my porch. Up against the wall. Over the backseat of my truck. I’m not picky, just as long as she’s naked and screaming my name, I’ll be just fine.

  I stop by the bakery and grab some breakfast and a coffee, a real one this time. Then I head back home and get down to business, out in the workshop that has become my second home. Clean and light, I’ve been working here all week, and now I’ve got all my tools set up, and a gorgeous cord of reclaimed wood just waiting to be transformed.

  Life is pretty damn great right now. Or at least it would be, without those voicemails cluttering up my phone.

  I turn my attention to the table I’ve been building, a huge seven-foot slab of oak with rustic, wrought iron fixtures I want gleaming and polished by the time I’m through. My phone rings, and I pause at the unfamiliar number, automatically tensing. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Will, it’s me Declan.”

  I relax. He’s an old college buddy of mine I haven’t seen in years, but I dropped him a line the other week. “Declan, man, how’ve you been?”

  “I’m great, but what about you?” Declan asks. “What’s this I hear about you going country?”

  I laugh.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” he continues. “I had to find out for myself. What’s the deal?”

  “No deal.” I look around at the woods and backyard, content. “Time for a change, that’s all.”

  “I can’t believe it, you were about as New York as they come.”

  “What can I say? I traded the suit and tie for jeans. I’ve never been happier.”

  Declan chuckles. “I can’t imagine Helena’s too happy about that.”

  I tense. Even her name is enough to turn my blood to ice, and it seems even more wrong to hear it here, where she’s supposed to be a distant memory. “I’m not really concerned how she feels about anything,” I say shortly. “She’s still in the city.”

  Eight hundred miles away and still finding ways to cause some damage, cluttering up my voicemail and calling at all hours.

  “Oh. Hey, sorry man. My mistake. It’s been a while,” he says apologetically.

  “No worries, it’s OK.” I take a deep breath, then change the subject to the reason I reached out to begin with. “Listen, do you still have that showroom?” Declan runs a great spot in Charlotte, showcasing all kinds of high-end furniture design.

  “Sure do,” he answers proudly. “We’re opening up another store in Atlanta in the fall.”

  “That’s awesome, man. Congratulations. Listen, I’ve been getting back to design, and I’d love to figure out how to start selling some pieces.” I trace the pockmarked lines of the old wooden table. “You think I could get your expert opinion some time over beers?”

  “Why don’t you just bring a few pieces by next time you’re in the city?” Declan suggests. “I’d be happy to take a look.”

  “You sure?” In my former life, I made million-dollar deals without blinking, but somehow, the thought of showing my work to a professional like Declan makes me pause. “How about next week?”

  “Absolutely. I’m always looking for new designers to carry. Who knows, maybe we can take some pieces for you, see what the market’s like.”

  “That would be great, man. Really. And I mean it about the drinks, it’ll be great to catch up.”

  Declan chuckles. “Just as long as it’s not like last time. Man, what was that club we all wound up at? I couldn’t look a tequila bottle in the eye for months.”

  “Nothing but beer this time,” I promise. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I hang up, already looking around the workshop trying to figure out what to take. I won’t need much: just the table, and some chairs I’ve been working on, maybe—old vintage leather and a raw hewn frame—but it should be enough to show him what I’m working with, and figure out if maybe, just maybe I’m not kidding myself to think my designs are worth anything.

  I get back to it, my new deadline looming. It’s easy to lose myself in the work. It feels good, the physical labor, sanding the grain until it’s smooth to the touch, unloading another cord and sawing at the wood by hand until I’m sweating. I spent so many years sitting at a desk, doing nothing but move numbers around on a screen, getting my workout at a fancy gym on hi-tech machines. But there’s nothing like the feeling of real work like this: seeing my efforts take form in the wood, knowing that every hour I spend here will produce something real. Something useful.

  It just makes sense.

  Like Delilah.

  I can’t stop thinking about her, all those wild memories from last night keeping me high, on-edge, counting down to seeing her again. It wasn’t just the sex, even though, damn, I’ve never known anything like that. For the first time, I saw her open up to me, let down her guard, and just be: her gorgeous, sweet, tender self. I didn’t know why she was keeping me at arm’s length, but learning more about what her father did, I understand it now. She’s scared of being hurt, and having her heart betrayed.

  So why won’t you tell her the truth?

  I push back the guilty voice in my mind. I know there’s too much I still haven’t told her, but there’ll be a time for that later. I won’t let my past interrupt this new beginning, not when I’m still earning her trust. She’s too damn skittish; I knew that the minute she sneaked out of my bed and high-tailed out like I was some mindless one-night stand.

  Still, I knew she’d be back.

  Maybe I was kidding myself, but somehow, I just had faith. The connection between us is so strong, I knew she couldn’t stay away for long. Hours, days, weeks—I’d give her all the time she needs, but instead, it was barely twenty minutes before I heard the door click, and her footsteps on the stairs again.

  That’s when I knew she felt everything too.

  Mine.

  She belongs to me in a way that nobody else has, and I’m not going to risk that, not for the shadow of a world that’s behind me now for good. This is supposed to be a beginning, and I’m not about to go digging through the wreckage of the past. Still, I can’t shake the feeling haunting me, those old damn ghosts. Bitter mistakes, and even more painful memories. I bui
lt a life from scratch here, but the shadows still linger, the scars I thought would take forever to heal.

  Right on cue, my phone rings again. The number I would have blocked long ago if she wouldn’t find some other way to call. I haven’t said a word to her in weeks, but finally, today, I snap and pick up the line.

  “Don’t call me,” I order harshly. “Do you understand? I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. There’s nothing in the whole goddamn world that can take back what you did, so for fuck’s sake, stop trying!”

  There’s a pause, then a shaking breath. “Will, please—”

  “No.”

  I hang up and have to drop my phone to keep from hurling it clear across the room.

  I thought I could switch off. Just walk away and be done, but here I am, getting wound up in fury all over again.

  Fuck.

  If Delilah were here, it would be different. She makes me forget it all. One touch, one kiss, and it’s like I’m a new man. The right kind of man, one who would never have fallen for all the bullshit fake lies I left behind in New York.

  The man I want to be.

  I’ve tried to move on, but how long can I keep the past buried? How long will this new beginning last until the girl on the end of those voicemails either gives up her fight—or it all comes undone?

  Fifteen.

  Delilah

  The afternoon flies by, even with me checking my watch every five minutes, counting down to seeing Will again. I feel like I’m floating three feet off the ground, wrapped up in a delicious afterglow that radiates through my entire body.

  “Not you too!” Lottie wails, greeting me on my front step. I only dropped home to grab some clothes—and my toothbrush—before heading back to Will’s, but now she’s gazing at me forlornly over the stroller like I just killed a puppy or something.

  “Me too what?” I ask, beckoning her inside. She hitches Kit in her arms and follows as I dash to stuff a change of underwear into my weekender bag.

  “You’re in love. It’s written all over your face.”

  I can’t deny it, but I can’t say the words out loud just yet either. “I’m in lust,” I say instead, grinning. “I spent the night with Will.”

  “And?” Lottie pulls up a stool at my counter, eyes wide.

  “And, wow,” I tell her, pausing my whirlwind of activity. I feel it again, that delicious shiver in my bloodstream, the hot pulse just remembering everything that happened. “Seriously, I have no words. He was . . . magnificent.”

  “I hate you,” Lottie groans. “No, I love you, and I’m happy for you, I just hate you, too. You want to know how I spent last night? Fighting this guy to go down to sleep, then up every two hours because he’s teething and needs me there to sing to him before he’ll stop screaming.”

  “I’m sorry.” I lean in and kiss them both on the cheek in turn. “Hang in there, your prince will come!”

  “I’d settle for a frog right about now,” Lottie remarks, then smiles again. “But this is awesome, I can’t believe it. Does this mean you’re actually going to make a go of it with him? Think before you answer,” she demands, “because I’ll slap you if you walk away from wow like it doesn’t mean anything, when some of us are stuck with ow or just plain ugh.”

  “I’m not walking away,” I reassure her. “I had a minor freak-out this morning, but we’re past that. It’s all good.”

  Lottie lets out a sigh of relief. “Phew. I was worried there for a minute. I’ve got a mean left hook.”

  I laugh. “No catfight today.” I look over at Kit. “Wait, did we have plans to hang out? I’m sorry, I forgot!”

  “No plans,” Lottie says. “I just saw your car. And I talked to Eva this morning: she’s coming to visit!”

  “She is?” I brighten. “That’s awesome!”

  “Just a few days, but she’s been missing us. And it’s perfect timing, because now she gets to meet Will.” Lottie smiles meaningfully.

  “Maybe,” I laugh. “But we should definitely plan a girls’ night, just the three of us. I can’t wait.”

  I grab the last of my stuff, then walk Lottie and Kit out. “Let me know when Eva gets in,” I tell her.

  She makes a face. “Does this mean you’re disappearing into your dirty sex haze for the rest of the week?”

  “Here’s hoping,” I wink, and she laughs.

  “Have fun. And stay safe,” she adds, buckling Kit into his stroller. “You never know when that one moment of passion is going to wind up teething at three in the morning!”

  I drive back over to Will’s, thinking about Lottie. I’ve always been in awe of the way she took to motherhood: putting college and everything else on hold after she found out she was pregnant at just seventeen. She loves Kit more than anything, and always puts him first, but I can tell, it’s been hard these past few years watching her sister and me go off and have wild adventures while she’s right here at home. Not for the first time, I wonder what the story is about Kit’s father; she’s never breathed a word to anyone, not even his name. I can only hope she finds a guy who deserves them both soon, and gives her the passion and love I know she has ready to share.

  It makes me feel even luckier as I turn off the highway and head up the now-familiar dirt track to Will’s place. Despite all my efforts to keep him at arm’s length and not let myself feel anything real, he didn’t back down. He just waited, being so damn irresistible and sweet and sexy that I had no choice but to realize the chance of a lifetime is standing right in front of me.

  He took that chance on me, and now I can’t wait to prove he made the right call.

  When I pull up out front, I can hear the radio playing old country songs, coming from the workshop in back. I stroll around, and I’m rewarded with the sight of Will, hard at work with the doors wide open. He’s bent over, sanding a gorgeous table down, so focused I can see the care and attention to detail in every move—and the gorgeous taut bulge of his biceps, rippling with every move. He glances up and sees me, his face spreading into a smile that warms me from the tips of my toes.

  “Hey, you.” He straightens up and wipes his brow, looking sweaty. “How’d it go?”

  “Good, I think. A couple of offers coming,” I tell him. “But it took forever. I couldn’t wait to get away.” I wander closer, looking around the workshop. “What are you working on?”

  “Just a sample,” he says. “I’ve got a meeting set for next week with an old friend. He runs a showroom now, carrying local designers and craftsmen. I’m going to show him some of my pieces.”

  “That’s great!” I exclaim, excited for him. “Once he sees this stuff, he’ll be blown away.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Will shrugs, looking self-conscious. “But he’ll be able to give me some pointers, either way.”

  I look around the workshop, curious. There’s a tarp in the corner, covering something big, so I go and tug the edge, wanting to see.

  “Wait, don’t touch that!” Will’s voice stops me. I freeze. “It’s just . . . a real mess. Work-in-progress,” he explains, steering me back over to the front of the space. “I don’t want you getting hurt on something.”

  “Awww, so sweet.” I grin, touched. I slide my arms around his waist, and lean in closer, feeling his heartbeat steady in his chest, already so familiar.

  God, it feels good to be holding him.

  “I missed you,” I admit softly, tilting my head up for a kiss.

  He presses his lips to me for a moment, then pulls away. “I don’t want to get you dirty,” he says, holding me at arm’s length.

  I laugh. Like that could stop me. “Dirty is hot.” I grin, tugging him back in by the collar of his T-shirt. “Although, I can all these dirty clothes off you if you’re really concerned . . .”

  “I might just take you up on that.” Will catches me in his arms then, kissing me deeply until my head spins and my heart races with a wild fever in my chest. How did I get so lucky? I wrap my arms around his neck, br
inging me closer, and he grips my thighs and lifts, setting me down on the workbench. Now he’s cradled between my thighs, my skirt hitching higher under his palms as our bodies press hotter and my lips part to let his tongue roam deeper—

  “Don’t mind us,” an amused voice comes. I break away in surprise and look over Will’s shoulder to find two guys in the backyard, looking around. “Sorry to interrupt,” one of the men grins, looking anything but.

  Will must know them, because he laughs. “Your timing sucks,” he says, stepping back. “But it’s good to see you. Ryland, this is Delilah. Ryland’s been giving this place a facelift,” he explains.

  I hop down from the bench, smoothing my skirt down. “Hi!” I say, feeling flushed—but lucky. If they’d been even one minute later . . . well, they’d be getting an eyeful of a whole lot more than my blushing cheeks.

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Ryland comes forward and greets me, looking sheepish in jeans and a plaid shirt. “Sorry about, well . . .”

  I laugh it off. “Please. Like you haven’t been interrupted before. And thanks for the hot running water,” I add, remembering the shower.

  “Any time.” Ryland turns to the man beside him, a tall, dark-haired guy in his thirties who somehow looks crisp and put-together even in jeans and a plain shirt. “This is my brother-in-law and business partner, Ash Callahan. We were in the neighborhood, and he wanted to check out this plot.”

  Ash shakes Will’s hand. “I know you just wanted some work done, but are you sure you aren’t in the market to sell?” he asks, looking around with an assessing eye. “We develop a lot in the area, and this is such a good piece of land. I could get you a great price.”

  I laugh and elbow Will lightly. “See, I told you so.” The guys look over. “He’s stubborn,” I explain. “I’ve been telling him to pack it in and move ever since he came. Wait, Callahan?” I pause, recognizing the name. “You’re building those great beach houses, just down the coast.”

  “That’s us.” Ash smiles.