Unexpectedly Hers (Sterling Canyon Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “My boys dealt with a lot of chaos when they were young. Ryder went with the flow, but Wyatt never could. He wanted to control something, and snowboarding gave him that. Made him feel safer, if you can believe it. ’Course, we learned the hard way it wasn’t safe at all, though Wyatt wasn’t the one who paid the price.”

  The screen displayed footage of Ryder’s crash and Wyatt’s anguished reaction. Emma’s smile vanished and a hard lump formed in her throat as the echo of his mother’s final words—dripping with blame—replayed in her head. Emma recognized that tone from the way her own mom sounded whenever her father’s name came up.

  Wyatt must feel the weight of that blame every single day. So much so that he was willing to risk avalanches and other potentially fatal accidents in order to support his brother and mom, to restore stability to his family. Could his need to have Ryder participate in this comeback actually be some kind of apology, or chance at salvation?

  Emma frowned as she quietly backed away without being noticed. She dabbed her dewy eyes. Her chest ached a little. Her mind hurt from trying to reconfigure all the pieces of the puzzle that made up Wyatt Lawson.

  She stopped by the front desk to check the voice mail. While listening to a message from her mother, Wyatt and Ryder entered the lobby—without Jessie.

  Ryder greeted her with a brief nod. “I’m going to b-bed.”

  Wyatt kept his gaze on Emma, although he managed to slap his brother’s shoulder. “See you in the morning.”

  Emma wordlessly placed the phone back in its charger. She wanted to run to him and kiss him and let him take whatever control he needed from her if it made him feel safe and secure. But Mari and Jim were awake, and Ryder hadn’t yet disappeared into his room.

  “I told Jessie I didn’t plan on her staying in my room, so we picked up Ryder, they had a drink, and then she went home.” He approached the desk, an obvious question shone in his eyes.

  “I see.” Emma could feel heat traveling to her cheeks, but she didn’t care. He’d turned Jessie away, and she knew he’d done it for her. Only the tiniest part of her brain rattled a warning about getting in deeper with Wyatt, like a gnat buzzing near her ear. Still, she said, “If you’re hungry, I can bring something to your room.”

  The gold and green streaks in his smoky hazel eyes flickered. “I’m starving.”

  “I’ll be up shortly with something to satisfy you.” Emma could hardly believe her ears. It was as if Alexa had invaded her body. Her knees weren’t even wobbling. If anything, Wyatt looked like he might be dizzy.

  “Be quick,” he finally said, reestablishing some sense of control. She let him have it.

  “As you wish.” She gestured toward the stairs. He walked away, still watching her over his shoulder until he couldn’t see her.

  She turned and strolled past Mari and Jim, straight through the kitchen to the pantry, actually. Reaching out to the third shelf, she snatched the small honey pot and then made her way up the old servants’ stairs in the rear of the kitchen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wyatt’s heart raced while he brushed his teeth and waited for Emma. Since Jessie’s arrival, he’d been working out how to fix the situation without hurting either woman. Ultimately, he’d had to hurt someone, so he’d picked Jessie.

  That hadn’t been a great moment. Scratch that—it had plain sucked. Wyatt hated to disappoint anyone, especially a special friend like Jessie. If only she had called before coming, he could’ve spared her the trip rather than having to reject her advances to her face. Jessie had taken it in stride, but he wouldn’t know how she truly felt about him until he saw her again, if he saw her again.

  Wyatt laughed to himself, then wondered what, exactly, it was about the prim innkeeper that fascinated him so much that he’d gambled turning away his ex for the possibility of seducing Emma again.

  He’d assumed he would’ve had a lot of persuading to do to get Emma in bed, given her frosty ’tude earlier this evening. Never had he expected for her to offer a repeat of last night’s performance without first demanding answers about Jessie.

  Wyatt paced the narrow room, his body temperature rising with each anxious step. Before long, he’d tossed his shirt aside to cool off. He sprawled out on the bed, hands behind his head, and recalled the night before, when he’d had Emma pinned to the wall.

  The visceral memory made him painfully hard in an instant. How much longer until she showed up?

  Following a quick warning knock, he heard his door open. He sat up just as Emma came into view holding the honey pot. Holy shit. She’d remembered his earlier comment from the pantry and was willing to play along. That kind of attention—playfulness—could make her a keeper, but he shoved the dangerous thought aside.

  Wyatt shot off the bed. Emma’s gaze drifted over his chest and then dropped to the bulge in his pants, where his state of arousal made itself known.

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He smirked as he took the honey from her, already imagining the places he’d taste-test it. Brushing his knuckles along her cheek, he whispered, “I love that you brought this, Emma. You’re full of surprises.”

  “Sometimes, anyway.” She grinned, and his heart galloped like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby for having made her smile. He made a mental note to try to do that more often in the coming weeks.

  When Emma started to unbutton her shirt, he set down the honey. “Let me.”

  He refrained from ripping it open, choosing to enhance both their pleasure by stretching out the anticipation. He might be locked and loaded, but Emma needed time to catch up.

  Stepping closer still, he cupped her face before kissing her. He started off lazily, giving himself time to savor the feel of her smooth cheek beneath his thumb, the way her pillowy lower lip slid between his, the taste of her mouth—she’d obviously sampled the honey.

  Her hands pressed against his chest, as if testing his strength, before she slid them up over his shoulders and around his neck. She threaded her fingers through his hair—her firm yet gentle touch very much like the woman herself—sending goose bumps racing across his scalp.

  Wyatt had kissed enough women to know it wasn’t always enjoyable. Sometimes a person could be too aggressive, making him feel as if his mouth were being jackhammered by someone else’s tongue. Some women kissed like a dead cod, just opening their mouths and letting him do all the work.

  Emma kissed perfectly. Together their tongues found a natural rhythm of give-and-take that foretold of things to come. Things he was all too eager to do. Things that gave his heart a vigorous workout in more ways than one.

  He unfastened a second button, all the while maintaining the steady pace of their kiss. He listened for little sounds of impatience in her throat, savored the way her fingers groped at him more urgently. Even though his dick throbbed insistently, demanding release, he kept a leash on his own desire in order to stoke hers.

  Wyatt didn’t often do tender, yet something about Emma inspired the gentle feeling in spite of his baser instincts. She’d brought him the honey pot, after all. But moreover, Emma had overcome a childhood blow without turning bitter and hard. If anything, she showered those less fortunate than her with love and respect. She deserved to be the center of someone’s attention, and Wyatt was more than happy to be the guy to do it.

  Slowly, he removed her shirt, kissing her shoulders as he tugged her arms free from the shirtsleeves. He brought his hands around her back and unclasped her bra, then trailed his fingers beneath its straps and gently removed it as well.

  The sight of her perky breasts, tipped up, rosy nipples every bit as hard as he was, strung him even tighter. He cupped them, enjoying the weight and warmth of her in his rough hands. He kissed her harder now, while using his thumbs to toy with her.

  She moaned and arched her back slightly while pulling him closer. “Wyatt.”

  Her voice carried his name through the air, caressing him like a warm breeze. Patience frayed as lust became more
insistent. He unzipped her pants while she stroked the length of his erection over his jeans.

  God. He pressed her against the wall to keep himself upright. He reached for the honey and dribbled some on her breasts.

  “It takes two million flowers to make one pound of honey, so we better not waste a drop,” he murmured before covering one nipple with his mouth and sucking hard.

  Her pleasure-filled moan confirmed that, for all her softness, Emma liked sex a little on the forceful side. Her gasps urged him to continue, so he moved his attention to her other breast and suckled there, too. Before long, his legs shook with need, so he dropped to his knees. “Stay still.”

  He yanked her pants down, removing them completely, then slowly rolled her panties down, too. A blush crept up her body, making him smile. She was a contradiction, this girl who’d submit to his will and play with props but who still got embarrassed by her body or sex or both. Maybe she just needed more practice—another thing he’d be happy to provide.

  While on his knees, he kissed her stomach and used his hands to stroke her waist, hips, and legs. He sunk his fingers into the damp curls between her thighs.

  Emma may be shy, but she responded with lightning speed. The slick feel of her, her musky scent, drove him wild with hunger. When her hands dug into his hair, he removed them and planted them against the wall on either side of her hips. He smeared honey across her pelvis and below before licking her skin and moving his mouth to where his fingers had previously been exploring.

  Emma bucked her hips and moaned her approval, tilting her pelvis to provide him better access. His chest tightened with emotion, with the desire to please her and help her let go.

  The unique taste of her juices mixed with the sweet, sticky honey had him tonguing her hard and fast, like a man who’d been deprived of food for a week. Fire raced through his blood, scorching him, shooting electric currents through his body.

  He heard a little whimper and sob just before her knees buckled. He gripped her hips to keep her upright while redoubling his efforts to make her come.

  “Oh, oh. Wyatt!”

  He stood, holding her trembling body against the wall until she recovered, and then kissed her mouth. When her slackened muscles reclaimed their strength, she began to tug at his jeans.

  “Lay on the bed, face down,” he commanded.

  She didn’t hesitate. While he yanked off his pants, he watched her stretch across the mattress, her sweet behind exposed for his pleasure. Standing at the edge of the bed, he bent over and grabbed that ass, the one that taunted him every single time she turned away. He pinched and slapped her there until it turned a little pink.

  A quick test with his fingers told him it turned her on. Now he wanted to feel her everywhere, so he climbed over her, trailing his tongue along her spine until he reached her neck and they were skin to skin. He nibbled at her ear while slowly grinding his erection against her body. “I wish we had some way to tie your hands.”

  “I won’t move them,” she promised, and he smiled. He’d meant to take her this way, but suddenly changed his mind.

  “Do you want a taste of honey, too?” he asked, now certain he wanted her mouth on his dick more than just about anything.

  “Yes.”

  He turned her over and kissed her, enjoying the way her hands stroked his back and cupped his ass. Before he got carried away, he rolled onto his back and nodded toward the honey pot. “Enjoy.”

  “I will.” She smiled before drizzling honey over the head of his penis.

  His hands groped the sheets in anticipation of her mouth clamping around him. Even bracing for it hadn’t prepared him for the full-body seizure that seemed to tear through him. He wanted to watch. To enjoy the cascade of her silky red hair against her creamy complexion, the slight sway of her round, firm breasts, those full lips sucking him. Too soon his eyelids grew heavy and his head tipped back. “Jesus, Emma. Slow. Down. Slow . . .”

  He longed to explode in her mouth, but he also needed to bury himself inside her body. Pressure built to a nearly unbearable point. His muscles went rigid. Just in time, he dragged her up against his chest and kissed her before rolling on top of her. He snatched a condom from the top of the dresser and quickly applied it, and then finally seated himself fully inside her.

  For a moment, he propped up on his elbows and held himself still, brushing her hair from her face. She opened her eyes. So pretty, those clear eyes. So trustworthy and trusting at the same time.

  A peculiar, soft emotion stole through him. A feeling of rightness, of contentment born of more than lust and attraction. A sense of comfort and stability at a time in his life when everything else was shifting unpredictably.

  He eased his hips slowly in and out, all the while keeping his gaze locked on hers. He registered when her lips parted, when her heartbeat quickened, when her breath came heavier and faster. Physically, everything between them felt so damn good, yet he wanted more than her willing body there with him.

  “Admit that you like me,” he said, surprising both of them. Then, as if he could counteract his unexpected vulnerability, he thrust hard, hoping to somehow restore dominion.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she purred. Her flirty answer didn’t satisfy him. It didn’t sound like Emma, either. It sounded like what Emma thought he wanted to hear.

  “No. Admit that you like me, not just the sex. You spent a whole week pretending not to like me, Emma. Tell me that was all a lie.” He kissed her before she replied, because a little part of him feared her answer.

  Wyatt had never, ever demanded anything like that during sex before. Hell, he’d been a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy most of the time, although he’d had a few weeks-long relationships now and then.

  In the dimly lit room, shadows made it difficult to clearly see her expression. But she brushed her hands up his arms and across his shoulders until she was tenderly holding his face. “I like you very much.”

  Emma’s words washed through him, soothing him like the sound of a steady rainfall on the roof always had. “I like you very much, too.”

  Suddenly things looked more vivid, smelled a bit stronger, tasted a bit sharper. He’d gone still again without realizing it, until Emma slid her hands down to his hips to remind him to move. And move he did.

  Starting with a leisurely pace, he deliberately alternated long, slow thrusts with sharp, quick ones, building steadily. When her legs wrapped around his waist, she cried out, at which point he finally allowed himself to tip over into the same state of bliss she’d reached.

  Wyatt collapsed on top of her, his head turned away, blinking and dazed. Confused, yet totally sated.

  Emma traced his spine and shoulders in a gentle, endless loop of caresses. She made no move to lift him off her body, or to shift uncomfortably beneath him. He might well have fallen asleep in the comforting arms of this puzzler of a woman if he didn’t think she’d suffocate.

  Grudgingly, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. It was late. He had yoga in six hours, yet he couldn’t let her leave just yet. And although she hadn’t asked, he said, “I’m sorry about Jessie.”

  Emma briefly tensed. “It’s fine.”

  “I’d texted her weeks ago and not given it much thought after that. I had no idea she would just show up.”

  “Wyatt, you don’t owe me an explanation. It’s not like we’ve made any promises.”

  He frowned at her indifferent response. “I’d rather you not go out with some other guy while I’m here, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Emma chuckled, nestling against his side. “I’ll be sure to keep them all at bay until you go.”

  Her self-deprecating tone caused him to raise her chin and look her in the eye. “You’re a girlfriend kind of girl, Emma. Why aren’t you with someone like Andy?”

  “Andy?” she laughed. “He’s like family.”

  “You know what I mean. A local guy who’d buy you flowers and take you out, make you happy.”

  S
he looked away then, no trace of a smile remained. “Most guys our age are still looking to have fun. ‘Saint Emma’ isn’t generally viewed as being very fun.”

  He heard the sting in her voice about the nickname he’d given her last week. She hadn’t liked it, apparently. He remembered his initial impression of her, and how he’d dismissed her as being uptight. Of course, that impression had evaporated the second he found her dancing in the pantry. Even before that, he’d questioned whether something wilder swam beneath her calm demeanor. “Lucky for me, I’m smarter than most guys my age.”

  She grinned. “Or maybe you’re just making the most of a convenient situation before you take off. Unlike local guys, you don’t have to worry about dealing with me month after month. Living in a small town makes it awkward when things end, so it’s sometimes easier not to date at all.”

  “I know all about growing up in a small town.” He flashed back to his childhood home, which made this inn seem like a royal palace. “At least this one is pretty.”

  “Will you return to Vermont after competition season?” She nestled her head against his chest.

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead. If I can up my sponsorship money, I can make sure my mom is okay. She wants Ryder to be home with her, but I think he’ll get depressed there, especially around her negativity. He needs to be with people his own age. Someplace like this town, which is friendly to outsiders.”

  “What does Ryder want?”

  Of course she’d ask that question.

  “Hell if I know. You might have noticed, he doesn’t talk much these days.” Wyatt heard her quiet intake of breath and knew she’d just held something in. He squeezed his arms around her. “I heard that. Whatever you’re thinking, go ahead and say it.”

  She rested her chin on his chest. “Maybe he’d talk more if he believed you’d listen.”

  “I listen all the time.”

  “Did you know he thinks the main reason you’re competing again is for his sake?”

  “He told you that?”

  “That first day, when you left the inn, he said that you were doing it for money for him, but that he hadn’t asked you for help. So he’s not only concerned for your safety, but also feeling guilty at the possibility of you getting hurt.” She pressed her lips together and added, quietly, “I suspect you know a little something about that feeling, though.”