Love Me Again

by Jaci Burton

  "Parents are always overprotective. It doesn't matter how old their kids get, they're always going to worry about you."

  She nodded. "It goes beyond that, though. My father has always been . . . disapproving. No matter what I did, it wasn't good enough. I never made the right choices as far as he was concerned."

  He pondered that while he took a swallow of wine. "Is that why you married Tom?"

  She lifted her gaze to his, then didn't answer for a few minutes. Finally, she said, "I think partly it was. The other part was being the ever-dutiful daughter, something I'd been taught from an early age. They thought Tom was the right fit for me. I'd been taught they always knew best. So I did what they told me to do. I followed their instructions instead of . . ."

  She trailed off.

  "Instead of what?"

  She stared at her glass. "It doesn't matter now. I can't change the past."

  Finally, she looked at him. "And I honestly wouldn't change it. I would never change my past. It gave me Hazel."

  "I don't blame you for that. She's pretty great."

  "Or maybe I would if I could have walked a different road and still ended up with her. I don't know. It's so confusing. And it makes my heart hurt for her because I ended up giving her such a lousy father."

  "Not your fault."

  She laughed. "Entirely my fault."

  Their waiter brought their appetizer, so Deacon waited to respond. Once the waiter left, he looked over at her. "You know, Loretta, at some point you're going to have to let it go."

  She had been filling her plate with fried oysters. She lifted her gaze to his. "Let what go?"

  "The guilt and the blame. Start looking toward your future and stop living in the past. Stop taking responsibility for all the mistakes. It's over and done now. You can't change it, so quit dwelling over it. And quit letting other people make you feel guilty for the choices you've made."

  Loretta stared at Deacon, unable to form words to respond to what he'd just said. So many people had made her feel guilty and like a horrible person for the decisions she had made. He'd never said much to her all those years ago, but she knew she had hurt him. And now he was the one sitting across from her telling her to let it all go. Basically, to forgive herself and move forward.

  She took a sip of wine and laid the glass on the table. "I would think you'd be the last person to tell me to put the past away."

  "Why? I'm sitting here with you now, aren't I? I've let it go. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. We were kids, Loretta. Kids make dumb decisions all the time. God knows I did. If I felt bad over every asinine mistake I made in my teens and early twenties, I'd be consumed by guilt and wouldn't be able to climb out of bed every day. You have to start looking forward instead of backward."

  "You're right, of course. And it's what I've been trying to do. But sometimes the past is hard to let go of, especially when people I'm close to keep reminding me of my mistakes."

  "So don't let them. It's up to you to stand firm, to keep reminding them that the past is over and you're more interested in the now and in the future. You have to be strong, Loretta."

  She was strong--when it came to Hazel. She'd fight to the death for her daughter's happiness. But for herself? Maybe she needed to work on that.

  "I'll try."

  He popped a fried oyster into his mouth and smiled as he chewed, then took a swallow of wine. "You don't sound convincing. Need me to toughen you up?"

  That caused her lips to lift. "Oh, you think you can make me tough? How?"

  "I don't know. Maybe we could practice by me hurling insults at you until you don't cry anymore."

  "Hey, I'm not a crier. Never have been."

  "Is that right?" He studied her. "If I recall correctly, we went to see some romantic comedy when we were together in high school. It was some weird time travel crap where the girl was a young teen and suddenly she was thirty. You cried when the guy she loved went off to marry someone else."

  Loretta's eyes widened. She couldn't believe Deacon remembered that movie. "Oh, that was 13 Going on 30. I loved that movie."

  "And you cried."

  "Because Mark Ruffalo was going to marry someone else besides Jennifer Garner, who he had clearly been in love with since they were kids. Who he was still in love with, but she'd broken his heart. And when she's an adult she realizes she's in love with him. It was a movie about second chances. And in the end she made the right choice when she became a teenager again, so she could start over and do it all the right way."

  "Uh-huh. Anyway, you cried."

  She rolled her eyes. "Of course I cried. It was romantic and cheesy and heartbreaking and I loved it. And I was a teenager and madly in love with you and I--"

  He looked at her. "Go ahead, say it."

  "And I couldn't imagine not making the right choice. Which, of course, I didn't. Too bad I can't go back in time and fix my mistake. But that kind of thing only happens in the movies. In real life, you can't right the wrongs of your past."

  "No, you can't. But that doesn't matter, because you're only looking forward now, remember?"

  He made it sound so simple, when it was anything but. She was willing to try to lose the angst that seemed to constantly tie her up in knots, though. "True. And now I'm enjoying this appetizer. And the company. And this amazing wine."

  "Good." He refilled her glass, and they finished off the oysters just in time for their dinner to arrive.

  Now that she'd gotten past her awful day, Loretta relaxed into her meal and their date. She didn't quite understand why Deacon had been so forgiving, but she decided to stop questioning it and enjoy being with him. If he could get over their past, she supposed she should attempt to do the same.

  It was time to start living in the moment and having fun. No reason to dwell on the past or worry about the future. Right now was pretty damn good.

  So was dinner. She ate almost all of her trout, then asked Deacon for a bite of his duck, which melted in her mouth.

  After dinner they shared a poached pear au chocolat. It was to die for.

  "I'm so full I won't be able to walk to the car," she said as she laid her spoon on the plate. "I'll need a crane."

  "You ate light and they were small portions. But we can take a walk if you'd like."

  "I would like that. Thank you."

  Deacon paid the bill, then they stepped outside. It was warm out, but not ridiculously hot, since the sun had gone down. In fact, a breeze had kicked in.

  They strolled around the shopping center where the restaurant was located. It felt good to stretch her legs--and maybe her stomach.

  "Thank you for dinner," she said. "It was lovely."

  "It was. I wouldn't mind eating there again and trying a few other menu items."

  "I'd be game for that as well."

  Deacon led her to a bench in the center of the square. They sat and enjoyed the gentle breeze. She swung her legs back and forth and thought about how this day had gone from bad to good.

  "Thank you for easing my mind about a lot of things."

  "I didn't do anything."

  "You've done more than you think. You've forgiven me, and you've taught me how to forgive myself. That's huge."

  The wind was whipping up harder now, and her hair slapped her cheeks. He tucked a particularly annoying strand behind her ear. "I'm glad I could help. Maybe you could start being kinder to yourself."

  "I'll work on it." She reached for his hand. "In the meantime, my goal is to live for today. Or, rather, tonight. So how about we make out on this bench?"

  He laughed. "That's a good motto. Nothing like living in the present. And as far as your question . . ."

  He surprised her by pulling her onto his lap. Then he kissed her, and as always, the minute their mouths were connected, there was fire between them. There always had been, and it had never been extinguished. If anything, the blaze had only grown hotter. She fell under a hazy spell of passion, and she wouldn't have it any other way
.

  She swept her hands over his shoulders, settling against his body so she could feel every part of him connected to her as his kiss grew bolder. His hand roamed over her back and cupped her butt.

  Sure, she knew they were sitting right here on a bench in the middle of the shopping square, but it was mostly deserted, and frankly, she didn't care. She was focused on Deacon's mouth, the way his tongue flicked against hers, the low groan in the back of his throat as she shifted against the hard ridge of his erection.

  Okay, maybe they needed to ratchet this down just a touch. At least until they got home.

  She pulled her lips from his. "That was a good start, but maybe we should--"

  A fat drop of water hit her cheek. Then another. And suddenly it was raining. Hard.

  "Yeah, we should," Deacon said, sliding her off his lap.

  He took her hand and they made a fast dash for the car, but both of them were soaked through by the time they made it there. Deacon opened her door and she slid inside. He came around to the driver's side and got in, then turned to her.

  She was drenched. So was he. His hair had fallen over his forehead, rivulets of water dripping down his face. His clothes clung to his body. She wasn't faring much better. Her dress stuck to her like a second skin, and she was sitting in a pool of water.

  Yuck.

  It was thundering outside, and strikes of lightning lit up the sky.

  "That was unexpected," he said.

  "No kidding." She shivered.

  Deacon reached around to the backseat and grabbed one of the rain jackets she kept back there and handed it to her. "This might help."

  She slipped it over her head. "Thanks."

  He drove them back to the ranch, but their progress was painstakingly slow. The storm intensified, and by the time he made it down the driveway to her house, it was raining even harder and he was dodging deep puddles of water. He pulled as close to the house as he could, but there was no denying they were going to get soaked again.

  "You ready?" he asked.

  She had already taken off her heels, figuring she could make a run for it barefoot. She nodded, and they dashed from the car to the house. Loretta already had the keys in her hand, so she opened the door and they stepped inside. She took off the jacket and dropped it to the floor, then laid her purse on the table.

  Even though she'd had the rain jacket on, it was thin, and it was raining so hard she was soaked through.

  Deacon was in even worse shape.

  "You need to strip out of those clothes so I can dry them."

  He started to unbutton his shirt. "You know, if you wanted to get me naked, Loretta, all you had to do was ask."

  She laughed and turned her back to him. "Can you unzip me?"

  He drew the zipper of her dress down. "It's usually not this easy."

  "What?"

  "Getting a woman out of her clothes."

  "It's very easy when a woman is sopping wet and freezing her butt off. Laundry room is this way. There are towels."

  She hurried into the laundry room, climbing out of her wet dress as she did.

  "And the view just gets better and better," Deacon said behind her.

  She smiled as she made her way into the room, letting the dress pool onto the floor at her feet. She stepped out of it, then shimmied out of her underwear.

  "Can you undo my bra?" she asked.

  "Those are magic words to a guy, ya know."

  Deacon expertly undid the clasp, then removed his shirt, pants, and underwear while she grabbed towels from the shelf above the dryer. She handed him one, took one towel to vigorously dry her wet hair, and wrapped another one around her body. Then she scooped up all of their clothes.

  "I assume all of these are washable?" she asked.

  "Yup."

  She tossed their clothes in the washing machine, added soap, and turned the machine on.

  "How about some coffee?"

  He nodded. "Sounds good."

  They went into the kitchen, and she grabbed a couple of cups from the cabinet, then made coffee. She handed the first cup to Deacon. She had to admit that the sudden thunderstorm wasn't a bad thing. Ogling a sexy, chiseled man wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips was pretty much the highlight of her year.

  Maybe of the past decade, actually.

  She sipped her coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter, unable to pull her gaze from the way the towel balanced oh-so-precariously on Deacon's amazing hip bones. Maybe if he coughed the towel would fall off. Gee, that would be awful, wouldn't it?

  "You're staring."

  She put her attention on his face. "Yes."

  "It's making me hard."

  Her gaze traveled south, and she smiled. "So it is."

  He put his cup on the table, then made his way over to her, taking her cup and setting it on the counter behind her. He settled his hands on the counter on either side of her, his skin brushing hers. "Warm now?"

  "Very." She skimmed her fingertips down his chest and splayed her palms over his steely pecs. She lightly dug her nails into his smooth skin and delighted in his harsh intake of breath.

  Yes, she was affected, too.

  When she tilted her head back to look at him, she saw a firestorm of desire in his eyes.

  He grasped a handful of her hair and held tight, then took her mouth in a kiss that seared her body in a ball of flaming sexual need.

  Her towel fell from her body as she moved in closer to him. She reached down and tugged his towel away, needing to feel the heat of his body against hers. She wrapped her leg around his hip, his cock hard and heavy against her thigh as he rocked against her.

  She whimpered in response and he pulled back, picked up a towel and laid it on the counter, then lifted her and sat her on it.

  "I've thought a lot about you this past week," he said as he spread her legs and moved in between them. He framed her face with his hands, his thumb caressing her bottom lip. "About your mouth, how soft your lips are when I kiss you."

  He brushed his lips across hers, giving her a light tease before drawing away. Then he teased his finger around one of her nipples. It puckered into a sharp point in response.

  "About how soft your skin is--every part of you." He bent down and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently until she felt the pull of need between her legs. Her breath caught as he teased each nipple, taking his time to bring her to delirious heights of pleasure before straightening.

  He kissed her again, more passionately this time. It was a deep, soulful kiss meant to turn her world upside down. She was dizzy from pleasure, from desire, and this time, when he pulled away, she gripped his arms to keep her balance.

  "And how sweet and tart you taste here."

  He spread her legs and put his mouth on her sex. She leaned back and gave herself up to the fiery pleasure of his mouth and tongue, letting her head tilt back so she could soak in every sizzling, body-melting stroke.

  She'd been wound up tight these past few days and she hadn't realized how much she needed the release that came all too fast for her. She cried out as she came, shuddering against him as wave after wave of euphoria crashed over her.

  Deacon kissed his way up her thigh, her hip, and her belly, then took her mouth again in a blistering kiss that tasted of completion and renewed desire, ratcheting hers up to blistering levels. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, undulating her hips forward to brush against his rock-hard cock.

  He lifted her off the counter and carried her to the bedroom, depositing her on the bed. He leaned over and grabbed a condom out of her nightstand drawer, put it on, then climbed onto the bed.

  Loretta propped a couple of pillows against the head-board.

  "Lean back," she said.

  Deacon sat back against the pillows, then reached for her. "Come on."

  She straddled his hips and slid down over his delicious erection, enjoying every inch of him as she seated herself on top of him. His cock twitched inside
of her, and her body responded with quivers of its own.

  Deacon ran his hands over her thighs, squeezing her flesh as she moved against him.

  "You are so beautiful, Loretta." He reached out and circled her nipple, teasing the bud with the tip of his finger until it puckered, the sensation shooting directly to her sex, making her quiver and tighten around his cock.

  His gaze held to hers. "Do you feel that?"

  She nodded. "Yes. I feel everything. The way we're connected, the way you move inside of me. It's as electric as the lightning outside."

  The storm grew in its intensity, both outside and within her, as thunder crashed all around them and the sky lit up as nature roared with all its fury. She felt that fury within as Deacon reared up and pulled her closer. She adjusted, wrapping her legs around him.

  His mouth fused to hers and she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding on to him like a lifeline in this incredible sensation storm as he thrust into her while he kissed her with a driving passion that threatened to topple her every emotion until she couldn't think, couldn't see, could only feel their connection to the elements surrounding them.

  It was wild, uncontrollable, and when he laid her on her back and drove into her, she splintered, falling apart with a broken cry. He was right there with her, kissing her, clutching her to him as he went right over the edge with her, both of them shuddering through the storm together.

  She was panting, barely aware of her surroundings as she came to her senses again. Deacon's cheek was pressed to hers, her hair wet and plastered between them.

  "I'm not sure," he said, "but I might have been struck by lightning."

  Her lips curved. She swept her hand over his back, felt the perspiration there. "We need a shower."

  "I'll say."

  They got up and took a quick shower together. After she got out and dried off, she dressed, then threw their clothes in the dryer. The rain had let up enough for Deacon to dash out to his truck for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt while she fixed them something cold to drink.

  "Storm's passed us by," he said after he came back inside and slipped on his clothes. "Still thundering and lightning out in the northwest, though, so we might get more rain tonight."

  "You keep clean clothes in your truck?" she asked.

  "Yeah. On the job site, it gets messy. And sometimes I'll have a client meeting right after work with no time to go home and change clothes. The last thing a client wants to see is a dust cloud of job-site dirt coming off my clothes." He turned around and held out his hands. "So I always keep a clean pair of jeans and a shirt in the truck."