Reckless at Heart (The Kincaids of Pine Harbour Book 1)

by Zoe York

  His movements were jerkier than usual, a little bit desperate and a lot demanding. Like he couldn’t get enough of her as clothes dropped off. He sucked her breasts into his mouth, as much flesh as possible until she ached between her legs, until she needed him to fuck her senseless.

  Then he carried her into his room, spread her out on his king-sized bed, and loomed large over her. He watched her touch herself, his gaze hooded and hot, as he grabbed protection, then he was pressing into her.

  No more foreplay. Her first orgasm of the evening would be on his cock, and it was barrelling toward her like a freight train already. Owen’s hands clamped down on her wrists, his thighs pressing her legs apart, and she gave herself over to him and the wild, rolling sensations.

  He was such a good man, and he fucked like a beast possessed. It was a wicked combination that did dangerous things to her heart.

  She dug her heels into the tight flex of his ass, finding the right angle—there, oh, yes—for him to send her flying. He hunched over her, letting go of one wrist so he could find her breast again, tweak that nipple as she arched beneath him.

  When she lost control, so did he. He powered into her, his orgasm ripping out of him with a shudder and growly groan, and then he collapsed on top of her.

  “God,” he whispered, his mouth hot next to her ear. “Fuck. Ah, fuck, Kerry, I—”

  Oh, holy crap, did she know the feeling. She smiled and nodded as her eyes drifted shut.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Three weeks after Thanksgiving, Becca and Hayden moved into an apartment together. The hockey team had unexpectedly come through for them after finding out Hayden was being given a rough time by some of his teammates. The coach argued that players who came to the team from out of town were placed with families—essentially, providing accommodations due to need. Local players stayed with their families, but this was an exceptional circumstance, and the coach happened to own an apartment building. It was a gift that meant Hayden could keep playing without worrying about a job, at least for the winter.

  Owen helped them move, and then filled their fridge.

  When he got home, his house was just as empty as it had been around Thanksgiving, but he felt differently about it now. It was empty in a forever kind of way, in a build that home gym kind of way, and he didn’t know if he liked it.

  So when he picked Kerry up for dinner a few nights later, and saw a sign that the parking lot would be closed for two weeks for re-paving, he had a Very Good Idea. “You should stay with me while the lot’s being re-done,” he suggested over dessert.

  “I can park on Main Street and go up through the clinic,” Kerry said. “It’s fine.”

  “Sure.” Owen gave her his most temptingly wicked grin. “It’s fine. But is it fun?”

  “Ahh,” she said, catching on. Her eyes twinkled. “Are you lonely?”

  “A little. The house is kind of quiet.” He hastened to add, “And I’d love to have you in my bed, all night. I should have led with that.”

  “I can come and go, but it would be nice to not have to jostle for parking on the street.”

  “You can come and stay, too. Up to you.” But if he could trick her into staying the whole two weeks with good food and great sex, he wouldn’t be above such deviousness.

  The next night she showed up with a duffle bag, which he helped her unpack into two drawers he’d cleaned out for her. “You can use the closet in the spare room, too. Or this closet. I can move my shit.”

  She hopped up onto his bed, kneeling on it so they were eye-to-eye, and cupped his face in her hands. “I don’t need closet space. It’s all good. Thank you.”

  “I want you to be comfortable here,” he said, feeling a bit unsettled. “So you might stay over more often even after you don’t have to.”

  She laughed and pulled him down on top of her.

  The days slid by in quiet delight. Cooking with another grown-up, who shared his tastes, was totally different than cooking for a picky teenager, even one who ate a ton of vegetables and had turned into a great chef herself.

  But Kerry was open to anything, and they lingered at the table, slowly talking as they ate. They discussed everything from their shared politics to very different taste in art, future hypothetical travel and curious food trends—and often, they talked shop. She’d always expressed an interest in emergency response on the interagency working group, but spending most evenings together, for hours, allowed them to dig deeper into spirited explorations of how emergency response ran into primary medical care.

  And she griped good-naturedly about some of the EMTs she had run into over her career as a midwife. It wasn’t that uncommon for paramedics to respond to spontaneous deliveries or assist in a birth if a second midwife couldn’t get to a home birth in time. “You know who absolutely gets it? Matt Foster,” she said. “If I see him come through a door, I know my client’s going to be in good hands.”

  “He’s one of my best,” Owen said, proudly. “We used to be partners, before I took the supervisor role.”

  “I see your influence on him.” She stroked her fingers down his forearm. “I’d like to see you in the field more.”

  “Me, too.” Owen blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that.

  Kerry cocked her head to the side. “Are you tiring of being a supervisor?”

  “I dunno.” He tugged her into his side and rested his chin lightly on her hair. “Maybe.”

  That question kept coming back to him over the next week. There were parts of his job that he loved. He liked the sense of responsibility he had for the station as a whole. He loved making dinner for the volunteer firefighters on training nights, and ensuring that his paramedics had the schedules and training support they wanted. He liked knowing everyone was doing okay, and intervening quietly if they weren’t.

  But he missed being in an ambulance every day.

  When he came home from firefighter training the following week, and found Kerry curled up on his couch, wearing nothing more than a pair of booty shorts and a tiny tank top, there was a little whisper in the back of his mind that he could have more time with her, more time for himself, if he went back to being a regular EMT.

  She was watching a European murder mystery with subtitles, so after he changed out of his uniform, he slid onto the couch behind her, curving himself around her body.

  He’d forgotten how good it felt to hold a warm body against his. Not for sex, not for release, but for the warmth itself. For the soft, squishy goodness of a lover at rest. Having Kerry in his arms felt like how he saw Becca latch on to her favourite stuffed animals at bedtime for so many years.

  He laughed at the image, a rumble from deep inside him, and Kerry turned enough to look at him. “What?”

  “It’s silly.”

  She paused her show. “Try me.”

  “I was…” He trailed off. How to properly capture it? “I like holding you like this.”

  “Mmm.”

  “And it reminds me how kids cling to their teddy bears.”

  She didn’t make a second appreciative noise.

  He groaned. “I told you it’s silly.”

  “I’m your teddy bear?” Her belly shook then, under his hand. “That’s…really sweet.” She turned around in the tight space on the edge of his couch. “But then you need to be my teddy bear, too. It’s only fair, right?”

  Absolutely fair. And sweet? Hell, yeah. Dangerously, precariously on-the-edge-of-no-return kind of sweet. That didn’t stop him from nodding, though. Damn straight he was her teddy bear.

  Kerry loved every minute of her two weeks at Owen’s house. She loved the way he always kissed her as soon as he saw her, like he wanted to consume her.

  She let him every time.

  There was an unspoken agreement between them now. This wasn’t forever. They didn’t talk about it like that. It was too fatalistic, somehow. And it missed the point. They’d both worked so hard to be honest about what they wanted, how much they liked each other,
to pretend this wasn’t a full-blown affair with feelings and all.

  Their feelings were very real. While she was caught up in this whirlwind love with Owen—and that’s what it was, for better or worse—she wasn’t going to diminish it by focusing on the fact it would need to come to an end one day. It was the most perfect thing in the world, if only for right now.

  And it was so nice to share a bed, not needing to do the schedule comparison—in a two-pager relationship, one of them was invariably having to get up and sneak out in the middle of the night. Or crawl back into it just before dawn.

  On one of those nights, when she thought she had to work, but then the labour was transferred to an OB for a c-section that went well, and mom and baby were tucked into a postnatal room at the hospital just after dinner, she texted Owen from the hospital in Walkerton.

  Kerry: I’m coming back early! Do you want me to pick up dinner?

  Owen: Yay! I can make something. But can you pick up condoms on the way? We’re running low.

  She did a happy little skip.

  Kerry: On it.

  She stopped at the drugstore on her way out of town. They were probably close to talking about being fluid-bonded, but with Owen’s history, Kerry didn’t want to rely on pills alone for birth control. As she walked back to the cash register, the greeting cards caught her eye. Was there one that properly conveyed Thanks for the Good Sex, and all the Super Real Feelings?

  When she walked in the door at Owen’s house, it smelled suspiciously like he’d also made something for dessert. “What is that delightful smell?” she called out.

  He strode out of the kitchen looking like a king.

  “I made oatmeal cookies,” he murmured as he drew her close.

  “Healthy dinner.”

  “There’s a veggie tray in the fridge.”

  “Balance is important.” She giggled as he helped her take off her coat, then dragged her to the kitchen.

  It wasn’t just a veggie tray. He’d made a beautiful cheese board, complete with little hand made paper flags that named all of the cheese.

  “Artisanal store-bought cheddar,” she read out loud. “Artisanal farmer’s market fresh goat. Artisanal Brie…”

  He cracked her up and pleased her so very much in equal measure. This was the dinner she didn’t know she’d wanted, but now couldn’t wait to gobble up. In between the cheeses were veggies, crackers, and grapes. He poured her a glass of wine, which also had a made-up label on it to match the cheese. Artisanal White. They picked at the cutting board until they were stuffed, with just enough room for cookies, then they cleaned up together.

  Dessert was had standing next to the kitchen counter. Owen fed her a cookie, catching the crumbs that tumbled off her lower lip.

  Then he kissed her, kept kissing her, until the cookies were forgotten. She peeled off her shirt and he chased her to the shower.

  She loved Owen’s bathroom. A big tub, extra deep and extra wide, with a convenient ledge at one end. He cranked up the steam, then knelt, sweeping a soapy washcloth down her leg. She sighed and leaned back against the tiles as he lifted her foot into his hand, carefully scrubbing every inch before switching to the other leg.

  “You’re spoiling me.”

  “I like taking care of the people in my life.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She ignored the way her heart pitter-pattered at being included in that select group.

  “Can I take care of you tonight, Kerry?”

  How could she say no to that? Heat swirled through her, nothing to do with the steamy shower, as she slowly slid her legs apart.

  Owen’s gaze flashed dark, hungry. His shoulders pressed against her thighs and he braced his hands on her hips, curving around so his fingers cradled her bottom.

  He moved his face against her, not quite kissing her. The barest of breaths, a tease, and then firmer touches. His nose against the dip between her leg and her sex, then his lips against the curls covering her pussy.

  She breathed his name, and her body bloomed for him. Wet, slick, ready.

  When his tongue finally slid into her inner folds, where he’d so carefully touched her before with his fingers, she nearly came undone. Jumping, she trembled as he caught her and pressed her hips firmly back against the tiles. She was his now, because he’d promised to take care of her, and he wasn’t going to stop until she came for him.

  He murmured for her to let go, to feel good. “You’re so hot,” he whispered up at her, and the compliment fed her soul. He would fuck her next, and she would love that, too.

  Because she loved Owen. Because their connection was so much more than anything she’d had before, and that was both scary and wonderful.

  A hot tear threatened behind her eyelid as a tsunami of sensation rolled over her. And then joyous laughter followed as he sat her down on the ledge, as he got out of the tub and found them towels.

  On his bed, she pushed him onto his back. He sheathed up, then pulled her onto his cock. She rode him slowly, then faster. His hands squeezed her hips, then her breasts, her shoulders, before tangling in her hair and pulling her in close. Their foreheads pressed together. Their breaths synched up, slowing, as if their pulses aligned. And then, suddenly, as everything got hotter and needier, tighter, he shuddered, and her breath caught in her chest. There. He surged into her, tensing, every muscle in his body turning to granite beneath her. His thumb fell to her clit, and she followed him, that firm pressure the final stimulus she needed to get there with him.

  The aftershocks rippled through her as she caught her breath, still on top of him. It was so good, she thought. So damn good.

  Until she went to climb off him.

  “Shit.” Panic raced over her as a slick mess slid between her legs. “Owen, the condom broke.”

  “Oh!” He scrambled up and grabbed a towel hanging on a hook on the back of his door. “Here.”

  Fingers shaking, she took it and shoved it between her legs. Words failed her as her brain raced to find the right way to reassure him that the second layer of protection probably wasn’t necessary. But she felt sick that it was the condoms she had bought that broke. Usually they used ones he had, and were they better? Had she not bought the right brand? Weren’t all condoms equally good, as long as the size was right?

  “Hey,” Owen said, getting in front of her face. “Are you okay?”

  She blinked at him. “Are you?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “It happens. It’s been a while since I’ve had to have this conversation, but if you want me to get tested, I will. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though.”

  “I’m not worried about you,” she whispered. She was shaking. Great. Why was she shaking? She took a deep breath, then another. “I’m on the pill. You know that, right? I take it religiously. It’s in my purse so I can take it in the morning. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Owen squeezed her hands. “It’s okay. I’m not worried about that.”

  She looked up at him. “I thought you might…you know, because of…”

  He shrugged. “I’m shooting blanks now. I got a vasectomy a decade ago, when I knew I wouldn’t want any more kids. I thought it might help with the dating thing, because I never wanted that kind of surprise again. Turned out I had other trust issues that made it all more complicated.”

  A vasectomy.

  Oh.

  He searched her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She would be.

  Why didn’t she know that he’d been snipped? Years ago. This whole time, everything they had shared with each other, why didn’t she know that?

  “Kerry…” He sighed and curled up next to her. They were both still naked.

  She pulled the sheet up over her body. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I just thought you’d be upset.”

  “I’m not.” He kissed her temple and ran his fingers through her hair. “We just hadn’t had that talk, that’s all.”

  “Right.”

&nb
sp; But her heart didn’t feel the same as it had just minutes before. It was bruised, and she wanted to cry.

  She didn’t. She rolled into Owen’s warmth and let him hold her. She breathed in the scent of his skin and told herself it would be easier to think about in the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next day, Kerry moved back to her apartment.

  Her heart didn’t feel any less bruised, but that wasn’t why she moved back, she told herself. It was time. The parking lot was open again.

  Owen said she could leave stuff in his drawers for sleepovers, but she packed everything up. Deep down, she knew she wasn’t coming back, and she was sick over it. This wasn’t fair—she’d known Owen didn’t want any more kids. He’d told her those days were behind him. She’d known, deep down, that he would never be the guy to have her own babies with.

  And yet she felt blindsided.

  She was beating herself up for that, too. How could she be so foolish? And how could she be so harsh on him?

  He clearly thought the vasectomy was no big deal, because he’d never mentioned it to her. Not once. She’d remember that, oh boy. And that was the problem. He was too sure. Too cool. And that was entirely his right. His body, his choice, and probably none of her business—up to a point. She’d feel the same way in his shoes. But she wasn’t in his shoes. And her shoes really wanted babies.

  Her heart had been in denial, and now she knew what she already knew. Owen really, really never wanted babies.

  What was she doing falling in love with him? Playing house? Would he want to keep fucking her if she had a baby on her own, with sperm donation? No.

  Their relationship had to end. It would end, at some point in the not too distant future, so it needed to end now.

  How could she tell him? What could she say? You’re a wonderful man. You are a wonderful father. I would love to make babies with someone like you—with you, in fact, but you don’t want that. You really, really don’t want that. You made a permanent decision to make sure that never happened to you again, and I had no idea.