by Maisey Yates
She had done research on him, somewhat covertly, in the past weeks. And she had seen that he had donated large amounts of money, homes, to a great many people in need.
He hid all of that generosity underneath a gruff, hard exterior. Knowing what she knew now, she continually came back to that moment when he had refused to say his plan for revenge was born out of love for his sister. As if admitting to something like love would be disastrous for him.
She saw the top of his cowboy hat through the window of the tasting room, where she was waiting with the Soraya-branded wines.
He walked in, and her heart squeezed tight.
“I have three complete products to show you. And I hope you’re going to like them.”
She held up the first bottle—the Tempranillo Tantrum—with a little silver porcupine charm dangling from the top. “Because porcupines are grumpy,” she said.
“Are they?”
“Well, do you want to hassle one and find out how grumpy they are? Because I don’t.”
“Very nice,” he said, brushing his fingers over the gold foil on the label.
“People will want to take pictures of it. Even if they don’t buy it, they’re going to post and share it.”
He looked at the others, one with a rose-gold unicorn charm, the next with a platinum fox. And above each of the names was Soraya.
“She’ll love this,” he said, his voice suddenly soft.
“How is she doing?”
“Last I spoke to her? I don’t know. A little bit better. She didn’t seem as confused.”
“Do they know why she misremembers sometimes?” He had told her about how his sister often didn’t remember she’d had a fairly late-term miscarriage. That sometimes she would call him scared, looking for a baby that she didn’t have.
It broke Emerson’s heart. Knowing everything Soraya had gone through. And she supposed there were plenty of young women who could have gone through something like that and not ended up in such a difficult position, but Soraya wasn’t one of them. And the fact that Emerson’s father had chosen someone so vulnerable, and upon learning how vulnerable she was, had ignored the distress she was in...
If Emerson had been on the fence about whether or not her father was redeemable...the more she knew about the state Holden’s sister had been left in, the less she thought so.
“Her brain is protecting her from the trauma. Though, it’s doing a pretty bad job,” he said. “Every time she has to hear the truth again...it hurts her all over.”
“Well, I hope this makes her happy,” she said, gesturing to the wine. “And that it makes her feel like...she is part of this. Because she’s part of the family now. Because of you. My sisters and I... We care about what happens to her. People do care.”
“You’ve done an amazing job with this,” he said, the sincerity in his voice shocking her. “I could never have figured out how to make this wine something she specifically would like so much, but this... She’s going to love it.” He touched one of the little charms. “She’ll think those are just perfect.”
“I’m glad. I’d like to meet her. Someday. When she is feeling well enough for something like that.”
“I’m sure we can arrange it.”
After that encounter, she kept turning her feelings over and over inside of her.
She was changing. What she wanted was changing.
She was beginning to like her life with Holden. More than like it. There was no denying the chemistry they shared. That what happened between them at night was singular. Like nothing else she had ever experienced. But it was moments like that one—the little moments that happened during the day—that surprised her.
She liked him.
And if she were really honest with herself, she more than liked him.
She needed...
She needed to somehow show him that she wanted more.
Of course, she didn’t know what more there was, considering the fact that they were already married.
She was still thinking about what she wanted, what she could do, when she saw Wren later that day.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Wren looked at her, jerking her head abruptly to the side. “No,” she said. “Don’t you think you would have known if I’d ever been in love?”
“I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff. We talk about work. You don’t know if I’ve ever been in love.”
“Well, other than Holden? You haven’t been. You’ve had boyfriends, but you haven’t been in love.”
“I didn’t tell you I was in love with Holden.”
“But you are,” Wren said. “Which is why I assume you’re asking me about love now.”
“Yes,” Emerson said. “Okay. I am. I’m in love with Holden, and I need to figure out a way to tell him. Because how do you tell a man that you want more than marriage?”
“You tell him that you love him.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough. Anyone can say anything anytime they want. That doesn’t make it real. But I want him to see that the way I feel has changed.”
“Well, I don’t know. Except... Men don’t really use words so much as...”
“Sex. Well, our sex life has been good. Very good.”
“Glad to hear it,” Wren said. “But what might be missing from that?”
Emerson thought about that. “Our wedding night was a bit unconventional.” Tearing tuxedos and getting tied up with leather belts might not be everyone’s idea of a honeymoon. Though, Emerson didn’t really have any complaints.
There had been anger between them that night. Anger that had burned into passion. And since then, they’d had sex in all manner of different ways, because she couldn’t be bored when she shared a bed with someone she was so compatible with, and for whatever reason she felt no inhibition when she was with him. But they hadn’t had a real wedding night.
Not really.
One where they gave themselves to each other after saying their vows.
That was it. She needed to make a vow to him. With her body, and then with her words.
“I might need to make a trip to town,” she said.
“For?”
“Very bridal lingerie.”
“I would be happy to knock off work early and help you in your pursuit.”
“We really do make a great team.”
When she and Wren returned that evening, Emerson was triumphant in her purchases, and more than ready to greet her husband.
Now she just had to hope he would understand what she was saying to him.
And she had to hope he would want the same thing she did.
* * *
When Holden got back to the house that night, it was dark.
That was strange, because Emerson usually got home before he did. He was discovering his new work at the winery to be fulfilling, but he also spent a good amount of time dealing with work for his own company, and that made for long days.
He looked down at the floor, and saw a few crimson spots, and for a moment, he knew panic. His throat tightened.
Except... It wasn’t blood. It was rose petals.
There was a trail of them, leading from the living room to the stairwell, and up the stairs. He followed the path, down the dimly lit hall, and into the master bedroom that he shared with Emerson.
The rose petals led up to the bed, and there, perched on the mattress, was his wife.
His throat went dry, all the blood in his body rushing south. She was wearing... It was like a bridal gown, but made entirely of see-through lace that gave peeks at her glorious body underneath. The straps were thin, the neckline plunging down between her breasts, which were spilling out over the top of the diaphanous fabric.
She looked like temptation in the most glorious form he’d ever seen.
�
��What’s all this?”
“I... I went to town for a few things today.”
“I see that.”
“It’s kind of a belated wedding gift,” she said. “A belated wedding night.”
“We had a wedding night. I remember it very clearly.”
“Not like this. Not...” She reached next to her, and pulled out a large velvet box. “And we’re missing something.”
She opened it up, and inside was a thick band of metal next to a slimmer one.
“They’re wedding bands,” she said. “One for you and one for me.”
“What brought this on?”
He didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know what to think about this at all.
The past few weeks had been good between the two of them, that couldn’t be denied. But he felt like she was proposing to him, and that was an idea he could barely wrap his mind around.
“I want to wear your ring,” she said. “And I guess... I bought the rings. But this ring is mine,” she said, pulling out the man’s ring. “And I want you to wear it. This ring is yours. I want to wear it.” She took out the slim band and placed it on her finger, and then held the thicker one out for him.
“I’ve never been one for jewelry.”
“You’ve never been one for marriage either, but here we are. I know we had a strange start, but this has... It’s been a good partnership so far, hasn’t it?”
The work she had done on his sister’s wine had been incredible, it was true. The care she had put into it had surprised him. It hadn’t simply been a generic nod to Soraya. Emerson had made something that somehow managed to capture his sister’s whole personality, and he knew Emerson well enough to know that she had done it by researching who Soraya was. And when Emerson asked him about his sister, he knew that she cared. Their own mother didn’t even care that much.
But she seemed to bleed with her caring, with her regret that Soraya had been hurt. And now Emerson wanted rings. Wanted to join herself to him in a serious way.
And why not? She’s your wife. She should be wearing your ring.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the ring and putting it on quickly.
Her shoulders sagged a little, and he wondered if she had wanted this to go differently, but he was wearing the ring, so it must be okay. She let out a shaking breath. “Holden, with this ring, I take you as my husband. To have and to hold. For better or for worse. For richer or poorer. Until death separates us.”
Those vows sent a shiver down his spine.
“We took those vows already.”
“I took those vows with you because I had to. Because I felt like I didn’t have another choice. I’m saying them now because I choose to. Because I want to. And because I mean them. If all of this, the winery, everything, goes away, I still want to be partners with you. In our lives. Not just in business. I want this to be about more than my father, more than your sister. I want it to be about us. And so that’s my promise to you with my words. And I want to make that official with my body.”
There were little ties at the center of the dress she was wearing, and she began to undo the first one, the fabric parting between her breasts. Then she undid the next one, and the next, until it opened, revealing the tiny pair of panties she had on underneath. She slipped the dress from her shoulders and then she began to undress him.
It was slow, unhurried. She’d torn the clothes from his body before. She had allowed him to tie her hands. She had surrendered herself to him in challenging and intense ways that had twisted the idea of submission on its head, because when her hands were tied, he was the one that was powerless.
But this was different. And he felt...
Owned.
By that soft, sweet touch, by the brush of her fingertips against him as she pushed his shirt up over his head. By the way her nimble fingers attacked his belt buckle, removing his jeans.
And somehow, he was the naked one then, and she was still wearing those panties. There was something generous about what she was doing now. And he didn’t know why that word came to the front of his mind.
But she was giving.
Giving from a deep place inside of her that was more than just a physical gift. Without asking for anything in return. She lay back on the bed, lifting her hips slightly and pushing her panties down, revealing that tempting triangle at the apex of her thighs, revealing her whole body to him.
He growled, covering her, covering her mouth with his own, kissing her deep and hard.
And she opened to him. Pliant and willing.
Giving.
Had anyone ever given to him before?
He’d had nothing like this ever. That was the truth.
Everyone in his life had taken from him from the very beginning. But not her. And she had no reason to give to him. And if this were the same as all their other sexual encounters, he could have put it off to chemistry.
Because everybody was a little bit wild when there was sexual attraction involved, but this was more.
Sex didn’t require vows.
It didn’t require rings.
And it didn’t feel like this.
This was more.
It touched him deeper, in so many places deep inside, all the way to his soul.
And he didn’t know what to say, or feel, so he just kissed her. Because he knew how to do that. Knew how to touch her and make her wet. Knew how to make her come.
He knew how to find his pleasure in her.
But he didn’t know how to find the bottom of this deep, aching need that existed inside of him.
He settled himself between her thighs, thrust into her, and she cried out against his mouth. Then her gaze met his, and she touched him, her fingertips skimming over his cheekbone.
“I love you.” The words were like an arrow straight through his chest.
“Emerson...”
She clung to him, grasping his face, her legs wrapped around his. “I love you,” she said, rocking up into him, taking him deeper.
And he would have pulled away, done something to escape the clawing panic, but his desire for her was too intense.
Love.
Had anyone ever said those words to him? He didn’t think so. He should let go of her, he should stop. But he was powerless against the driving need to stay joined to her. It wasn’t even about release. It was about something else, something he couldn’t name or define.
Can’t you?
He ignored that voice. He ignored that burning sensation in his chest, and he tried to block out the words she’d said. But she said them over and over again, and something in him was so hungry for them, he didn’t know how to deny himself.
He looked down, and his eyes met hers, and he was sure she could see straight inside of him, and that what she saw there would be woefully empty compared to what he saw in hers.
He growled, lowering his head and chasing the pleasure building inside of him, thrusting harder, faster, trying to build up a pace that would make him forget.
Who he was.
What she’d said.
What he wanted.
What he couldn’t have.
But when her pleasure crested, his own followed close behind, and he made the mistake of looking at her again. Of watching as pleasure overtook her.
He had wanted her from the beginning.
It had never mattered what he could get by marrying her.
It had always been about her. Always.
Because he had seen her, and he could not have her, from the very first.
He had told himself he should hate her because she had Maxfield blood in her veins. Then he had told himself that he needed her, and that was why it had to be marriage.
But he was selfish, down to his core.
And he had manipulated, used and blackmailed her. He was no diffe
rent than her father, and now here she was, professing her love. And he was a man who didn’t even know what that was.
All this giving. All this generosity from her. And he didn’t deserve it. Couldn’t begin to.
And he deserved it from her least of all.
Because he had nothing to give back.
He shuddered, his release taking him, stealing his thoughts, making it impossible for him to feel anything but pleasure. No regrets. No guilt. Just the bliss of being joined to her. And when it was over, she looked at him, and she whispered one more time, “I love you.”
And that was when he pulled away.
Fifteen
She had known it was a mistake, but she hadn’t been able to hold it back. The declaration of love. Because she did love him. It was true. With all of herself. And while she had been determined to show him, with her body, with the vows she had made and with the rings she had bought, it wasn’t enough.
She had thought the words by themselves wouldn’t be enough, but the actions without the words didn’t mean anything either. Not to her. Not when there was this big shift inside her, as real and deep as anything ever had been. She had wanted for so long to do enough that she would be worthy. And she felt like some things had crystallized inside of her. Because all of those things she craved, that approval, it was surface. It was like a brand. The way that her father saw brand. That as long as the outside looked good, as long as all the external things were getting done, that was all that mattered.
But it wasn’t.
Because what she felt, who she was in her deepest parts, those were the things that mattered. And she didn’t have to perform or be good to be loved. She, as a person, was enough all on her own. And that was what Holden had become to her. And that was what she wanted. For her life, for her marriage. Not something as shallow as approval for a performance. A brand was meaningless if there was no substance behind it. A beautiful bottle of wine didn’t matter if what was inside was nothing more than grape juice.
A marriage was useless if love and commitment weren’t at the center.
It was those deep things, those deep connections, and she hadn’t had them, not in all her life. Not really. She was beginning to forge them with her sisters, and she needed them from Holden.