by Jamie Beck
Since her conversation with Mari, her moods had swung from delight to near depression on an hourly basis. She’d dissected this relationship from its inception. At the outset, Emma had convinced herself she could enjoy Wyatt just as she’d enjoyed that one night in Aspen. A discreet event that hadn’t touched her heart yet had temporarily set her free. Allowed her to safely explore a side of herself she’d always deemed dangerous and not altogether good.
It had started out that way, that night earlier this month when he’d tricked her into coming into his room to check on the radiator. Perhaps she could’ve remained on the sidelines, cheering her body on, if she’d restricted their interludes to sex. But by the third or fourth night, she’d started staying longer. Sometimes they’d slept a while and then had had sex again, other times they’d talked into the night. They never discussed their futures—both were smart enough to know they didn’t have one—yet she didn’t feel alone in her disappointment that everything would very soon, and very abruptly, come to an end.
But facts were facts. He had to go compete, and she couldn’t indefinitely keep Steep and Deep a secret from him if things continued beyond next week. Ironically, Wyatt would probably get a kick out of the fact that she’d written erotica, but he’d also want to read it. That would be a disaster.
If her pen name didn’t trigger his memory, surely one or two of the specifics in the sex scenes might. The combination . . . well, surely the déjà vu would grip him until he figured it out and then he’d feel used. And Mari would eviscerate her if she found out about her past link to Wyatt and its connection to her book.
A slight shiver passed through her.
“You cold?” Wyatt’s sleepy voice brushed across her ear as he snuggled her closer. His hand cupped her breast then, and his warm mouth kissed her shoulder.
She reached up behind her to stroke his cheek and thread her fingers through his hair. Boy, she’d miss this. Miss the way he smiled at her, touched her, whispered in her ear. Miss being part of a couple, even one as secret and screwed up as this love affair.
A slight purr rumbled in his chest and before long she felt his hard shaft against her hip. She twisted within his arms to face him. To kiss him.
Dark shadows hung like drapes around them. In the quiet, she could hear her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Beneath her hands, his muscles tightened as his body reacted to desire, excitement, and need.
Their minds were always in sync in bed, knowing just how and when to stroke, tease, touch, or kiss. A perfect fit, she thought, as he glided into her with lazy thrusts.
“Emma,” he murmured, the weight of feeling he attached to her name settling over them like a thick, down blanket.
At night, they were playful, experimental, and he always seized control. But when they made love like this, her heart came alive with tenderness almost to the point of pain. Despite the lack of light, the room glowed from pure emotion.
The strongest urge to confess everything pressed on her chest. Her secrets tarnished what otherwise had been the most beautiful few weeks of her life. Other words wanted to be let out as well. Words like love. Rationally she knew that love didn’t happen so fast. That lasting love took time and honesty and everything else she and Wyatt didn’t have.
Nonetheless, her heart beat out those four significant letters like a drum, reminding her of all the things she admired about him: his strength, his loyalty, his ability to apologize, his generosity, and the way he accepted and desired the parts of her that she’d always feared.
She’d repressed her needs and curiosity for years, but how would she return to hiding it all when he left? Having soared for weeks, how could she lock it all away again without suffocating?
When their bodies were sated, Wyatt stroked her cheek. “Are you crying?”
She felt her other cheek, not realizing tears had leaked from her eyes. Oh how she wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to hide.
“Emma?” Wyatt’s solemn face looked so beautiful she felt new tears springing forth. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. She cupped his face. “I’m being emotional.”
“Because I leave next week?”
“Because . . . because I’m not used to this, to someone like you. You’ve burst into my life and changed me. I didn’t expect . . . I didn’t expect all of these feelings to surface. It caught me by surprise.”
“I never meant to make you sad.”
“You haven’t. This month has been the best,” she chuckled. “That’s why I’m sad. It’ll be hard to say good-bye, even though I’ve always known it had to be this way.”
He frowned and pressed his lips together. “I’ll miss you, too. We’ll keep in touch, though, right?”
She nodded, although the words sounded empty. Of course, she’d rather he not make false declarations. He’d already shouldered enough guilt about Ryder, so she wouldn’t add to it by pressing him for promises he couldn’t keep. Promises she couldn’t allow herself to consider because of her own deceit.
Wyatt buried his face against her neck and held her. “Don’t think about next week. Let’s make the best of the time we have and figure out the rest later.”
“I agree.” She kissed the side of his head. “And now you have to roll over because I’ve got to shower, start breakfast, and do a million things before I drive up to Montrose with Ryder to get your mom this afternoon.”
He rolled off Emma and grimaced. “I’m sort of dreading seeing her. When we’d left Vermont, I’d planned on Ryder being excited about everything, not spending hours each day making pottery. Not going off without any kind of plan. His random behavior will be another thing she’ll blame me for. Another way I failed him.” He threw one arm over his eyes.
Emma kissed his chest. “Ryder’s been much happier since you let him out of the project. She’ll see that. I’m sure all she really wants is to see you both happy. Besides, you can’t control him. And frankly, from what you’ve shared, she should’ve done a better job protecting her sons when she had the chance. Glass houses, you know.”
Wyatt’s megawatt smile burst through the shadows. “True enough.”
“See you later.” Emma kissed him once more before slipping out of his room, determined to get a grip on herself and make his final few days with her as perfect as possible.
Chapter Sixteen
Emma stood at the door, waving good-bye to Wyatt and his crew as they loaded up their van to hit the slopes.
“What time should I be back here to go pick up my mom?” Ryder asked.
“Noon should give us plenty of time to park and greet her at baggage claim.”
“Okay.” Ryder’s ride to Jack Crawford’s studio pulled up to the curb. “See you later.”
She closed the door and hustled to the registration desk to scan her lengthy to-do list. When she heard the door open, she assumed Ryder had forgotten something.
“Emma?” Andy asked, surprising her into looking up.
Smiling, she asked, “Hey, what are you doing here? I thought Avery wanted to hit the road early so you’d get to Arizona before five.”
“We’re leaving soon, but I wanted to swing by first . . . make sure you were all set for the holiday. Will you join Kelsey’s family?”
“No, I’m preparing everything for Wyatt’s family and crew, but don’t worry. I’m fine.” More than fine, actually. Her first holiday shared with a love interest in many moons, sad as that was to admit. Not that Andy knew it. “It’s hardly the first Thanksgiving I’ve prepared for guests. Just the first without my mom.”
“How’s her trip going?” Andy ran a hand through his hair.
“So far, so good. They’re heading in to New York City as we speak.” For a moment, she envied her mom’s mini-adventure. She projected decades ahead, imagining taking off with Avery and Kelsey on an adventure longer than the four days they’d spent in Cabo in September and smiled.
“You’ve really been enjoying the break from her, huh? Gets a li
ttle tedious working and living with a parent, I bet?”
“It can be.” The burden of being the main focus of her mom’s life sometimes wore thin. She’d stepped into that role as a teen to help lift her mom’s depression. Complacency, timidity, and love then conspired to keep Emma forever locked in the role.
Andy kicked his toe against the carpet a couple of times, hands in his pockets. Then he glanced around, making sure no one was listening. “Em, the truth is, I’m concerned about how you’ve gotten attached to Wyatt. Now you’re hosting his family holiday, like you’re in a serious relationship. Like you’ve forgotten he’s leaving here next week. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’ve got all this under control, but if you don’t, I’ll be here for you once he’s gone . . . if you need someone to lean on.”
Andy’s candor set her back. The vague reference to being there for her neatly brushed along the edge of friendship while also preserving it. His feelings both touched and embarrassed her.
“Thanks, Andy, but I’m honestly fine. I know what I’m doing.” Liar.
He stared at her, brow cocked, unable or unwilling to hide his doubt. “Okay, then. Have a happy Thanksgiving. See you on Monday.”
“’Bye.” Emma watched him go. Off to be with his family, unlike her, who was playing house with a secret lover who would soon be out of her life. A little bout of blues surfaced as she thought about her own family. Picking up the phone, she decided to call her mom. “Just checking in. How’s it going?”
“We’re getting close to the George Washington Bridge. Lord, the traffic around here. I don’t know why people live like this.”
Emma smiled, imagining her mom and Aunt Vera amid the sophisticated, fast-paced crowds of New York. “Remember to be careful, Mom. New York can be dangerous.”
“We’ll be fine, honey. How about you? Will you be going over to the Callihans’ for dinner tomorrow?”
“No. I’m cooking for our guests.” Emma doodled flowers on the nearby notepad.
“Oh, of course. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She set the pencil down. “It’s the job.”
“You sound sad. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Emma, I know you. Something’s on your mind.”
“Can’t I just call to say hi? Maybe I miss having you hovering over my shoulder.” Emma smiled to herself because, despite her complaining, a tiny part of her did.
“And here I assumed you were enjoying my absence . . . perhaps a bit too much.”
Rather than take the bait, Emma opted for sarcasm. “I won’t lie. The wild parties have been a blast. I’ve redecorated, too. Red and purple velvet all over the place. Wait until you see it.”
Her mother sighed. “That’s not the tone I expect from the girl I raised. Honestly, Emma, what’s gotten into you lately?”
Emma frowned. She couldn’t say nothing because that would be a lie. She had been changing, little by little. But now wasn’t the time for that discussion. “Sorry, Mom. I was only kidding. Have a good time at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade tomorrow. I’ll speak with you later.”
“Love you.”
“You, too.” Emma hung up and glanced around. Despite the vast, empty spaces, the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Rather than sink into a funk, she set her mind to being productive.
Given her long list of tasks—addressing matters related to her book launch while also preparing the pork tenderloin marinade and afternoon snacks—she’d brought her laptop downstairs to save herself multiple trips up and down two flights of stairs.
Less than two weeks from now, she’d officially be a published author. A twinge of energy tickled her nerves. If a similar sensation consumed Wyatt every time he soared off a jump, no wonder he flung himself into the air on a regular basis.
Setting up her computer at one of the dining tables, she opened her website and studied it. Against the advice of pretty much everyone in the industry, hers didn’t contain an author photo.
Although she’d been told readers like to put a face to their favorite writers, Emma wouldn’t risk creating any link between herself and Alexa Aspen. She’d purchased a photo of a silhouette of a woman in lingerie to use as her avatar on social media sites. She’d set up a Gmail account under her pen name.
The only tricky part of her plans had been her P.O. box. Everyone at the local post office knew her, so she’d traveled ten miles to Ophir to preserve her anonymity. Kind of a hassle, but it made her feel better. So far she’d been able to slip things past her mother, although the box of advance review copies had been a challenge. She’d been slowly depleting her supply by sending them to bloggers and a few readers who’d started to follow her on Instagram and Facebook.
Emma scrolled through some photos she’d saved for her prelaunch countdown post, proofread a blog post one last time, and published it. Glancing at her watch, she then hustled into the kitchen to prepare the apricot glaze for the pork and pull together the black bean and quinoa side dish. After those tasks were complete, she went back into the dining room and logged on to Facebook to post the link to her blog and engage with her author friends for ten minutes.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
“Hi, Jill,” she answered, noting her agent’s name on the screen.
“Emma, I’m checking in because I was expecting your draft manuscript by now. I need time to read it in case you need to make revisions before its submission deadline.”
“Sorry. I got a little hung up, but I promise you’ll have it within a week.” In order to separate Dallas from Wyatt, she’d scoured Pinterest until she’d found a suitable replacement image—Marlon Teixeira—that freed her to write Dallas as she wanted without feeling like she was somehow using Wyatt.
“Great. I look forward to reading it. I assume you’re getting geared up for the launch now, too?”
“I am. I admit, I still love staring at the Steep and Deep cover. The title font is perfect, and the black and red is really sexy. I’ve scheduled a bunch of fun posts and a Facebook party with some giveaways. I’m almost finished writing all the blog posts publicity requested for the blog tour they set up. Things look good.”
“They’re putting a lot of promotion behind this project, so I’m feeling confident it will make a nice showing.”
“Thanks, Jill. I hope readers fall in love with Dallas like I did.” As she said those words, she frowned, because in that moment Dallas’s face had become Wyatt’s again. A Freudian slip of sorts, she supposed. Not a good thing, because one-sided love would likely be more painful than the loneliness she’d learned to live with.
People say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but having watched her mom suffer from lost love, she wasn’t looking forward to feeling even a fraction of that kind of pain.
“I did, and I suspect others will, too. He’s a memorable hero.” Jill’s words were reassuring.
“Thanks.”
“Have a great Thanksgiving. I’ll speak with you soon.”
“Have a good holiday, too.” Emma hung up and shut down her computer, satisfied with her productivity.
She pulled out two platters for the afternoon snacks, checked Mrs. Lawson’s room to make sure Andy had prepared it before he’d taken off, and then tied back her hair and put on a little hint of makeup. What little she knew of Mrs. Lawson didn’t warm her heart, but Emma still wanted to make a good first impression. She laughed at herself then, because the odds of Emma ever seeing Mrs. Lawson after this visit were longer than those on the Colorado Rockies playing in the World Series.
Emma unloaded Mrs. Lawson’s luggage from the van and followed her and Ryder into the Weenuche. The woman couldn’t be much older than fifty despite the cracked-leather texture of her skin. She must’ve been a smoker, or spent a lot of time outside in the harsh Vermont climate. Her petite frame and graying hair lent a hint of vulnerability to her otherwise rugged appearance.
The woman had hung on Ryder’s every word since
they’d collected her at the airport. Love and concern shone from her hazel eyes, which were similar in color and shape to Wyatt’s.
Emma hoped Mrs. Lawson would shower Wyatt with that same degree of attention when he arrived. Although Emma couldn’t bring herself to be honest with him, she’d worked hard to help knit his family back together. That feat would absolve her sins of omission—or so she hoped.
“How old is this house?” Mrs. Lawson asked once they entered the lobby. Her even tone didn’t disclose whether she liked or disliked the aging Victorian.
“It was built in 1900. Survived the 1914 flood, actually.”
“So much history. Is it haunted?” When Ryder snickered, his mother playfully tapped his arm. “These old places can be, you know.”
Apparently Wyatt’s interest in the spirit world had been fostered from a young age. She supposed all parents, not just her own mother, had a way of brainwashing their children into adopting their belief systems. Emma’s mom had instilled one set of values and fears, Wyatt’s mom another.
“Wyatt mentioned the same thing, but I’ve never yet seen a ghost here. Let me know if you sense any. Perhaps my grandfather will appear. He grew up in this house and absolutely adored it, so I could imagine him hanging around.” Emma went to the front desk to retrieve Mrs. Lawson’s key. “I planned to put you beside Ryder here on the first floor, in Room 102. Is that okay, or would you rather be upstairs?”
“Next to Ryder is perfect.” She cast him another fond gaze and pinched his cheek, as if he were still a kid. “It’s good to see my beautiful boy.”
Acid pitted Emma’s stomach. She’d expected Mrs. Lawson to dote on Ryder because of his injuries, but the woman hadn’t asked a single question about Wyatt since they’d picked her up ninety minutes ago. Wyatt, the son who’d paid for her ticket. Who was working hard to provide his mom and Ryder some measure of security. “Wyatt should be back soon. He planned to cut his training short today to spend some time with you.”