“Why are you so hard on yourself?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it because she didn’t know. She’d just figured since the things she’d done were bad, then she was bad, but he had a point. She wouldn’t label Trevor bad, after all.
Oh, she was so mixed up! Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?
Alone.
At the thought, she was suddenly desperate to lean on him, since it was probably the last time. Resting her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and cherished the steady beat of his heart. She would have stayed there all night if he hadn’t gently pushed her away and taken both her hands in his. Again he was looking down at her, this time with infinite tenderness.
“Forgive yourself,” he said softly. “If Trevor deserves it, so do you.”
She looked up at him, and the world fell away. If only she could shed the past so easily, along with the burden of guilt she’d been carrying for so long. All her mistakes, all her struggles, all the ugly things that had happened—she looked up into his dark eyes and wanted to let them all go.
“You’re a good person,” he said. “The best. You have a kind heart, and you do your best to do the right thing. That’s in you and always was. It’s who you are.”
She looked down at the ground, biting her lip. Every day, she thought of the mistakes she’d made, the things she’d done—but she’d always tried, hadn’t she? The thought made her feel better than she had in a long time. People like the Harpies might never forgive her, but she could forgive herself.
They were just outside the Red Dawg’s back parking lot, and she could hear Christmas music streaming from the bar’s back door. It was one of her favorites—“Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.”
Griff pulled her closer and began to sway, humming the melody. His voice vibrated deep in his chest, and she swayed along until they were slow dancing to the ancient carol, just the two of them under a lonely streetlight on the edge of town, beneath a cracked plastic candle propped in a Christmas wreath. The low hum of the crowd drifted from the party, but it had nothing to do with them. This was their world. Their time.
She joined in with the lyrics.
“Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.”
Griff joined her, his voice strong enough to lift hers higher, and the song rose into the night.
“Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies…”
And then she was crying for real, because he was so sweet, and she was so happy, and everything was going to be okay. She might lose Griff. She knew she would. But after what he’d said, she felt for the first time in her life that she might deserve to be this happy.
Chapter 45
Griff had heard a lot of Christmas carols in his life, but he’d never understood the words the way he did when Riley sang them, and he’d certainly never meant them the way he did now. The words about reconciliation and redemption, forgiveness and a higher power—they spoke to him, and he hoped they spoke to her.
After the music faded away, he held her as long as she’d let him, knowing by the shaking of her shoulders that she’d been moved by the carol, too. When she pulled away, she had to swipe away tears, but the smile she gave him was real as if…well, as if she’d joined the triumph of the skies. Dramatic as that sounded, he couldn’t think of a better description.
He looked down at her, and her eyes were so trusting, he realized he was getting that second chance. Cupping her face in his hands, he did his best to be gentle, to prove that business in the mudroom would never happen again, to let her know that he treasured her, cared for her. Would take care of her, if she’d let him.
Riley relaxed on a sigh, and then he didn’t have to think so hard. The rest of the world receded, the sounds of the bar going faint, and the cold creeping into his coat was conquered by the warmth that started in his heart and spread to every part of him.
“Come home with me,” he murmured when they stopped kissing and stood face-to-face, a bit breathless. “Quit all this nonsense about Fawn. I don’t want her, I want you. So don’t go back to Ed’s. Come to the ranch. It’s all I want.”
He’d have to find out who turned on the Red Dawg jukebox just then. Wayne always stocked it with Christmas classics, and now Mariah Carey started warbling about how all she wanted for Christmas was you. Riley smiled.
“I can’t hit those high notes,” she said.
“Honey, you are a high note.” He waved her toward the truck. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Riley looked up at Griff and remembered the nights they’d spent together—the gentle look of his face in sleep, the way his lashes flickered when he was dreaming, and the way they’d stop when she stroked his brow. The surprising softness of his skin in the hollow of his shoulder. She remembered how it felt to know this big, strong man, this warrior prince, needed her to get through the darkness of his dreams, and a wave of tenderness knocked down all her defenses.
The two of them were magic together. She could tell Griff sensed it, too, but he’d find it again with Fawn because he was the magic. He just didn’t know it yet, and he apparently wasn’t ready for a forever girl like Fawn yet. So going home with him just this once wouldn’t change anything, would it?
She thought of the promise she’d made to Fawn, but then she remembered the hard, lumpy cot in Ed’s office and the way the old radiator woke her up with its harsh clicking in the night. Lots of people had slept in worse places, including her. But it was Christmas, and she longed for some hint of warmth and family. And the Bailey house had that aura about it—something settled. Something warm.
She’d go, she decided when they reached her truck. It was all she wanted for Christmas, too.
Sorry, Fawn. You’ll have to wait a little longer.
This would be the last time, but she wouldn’t think about that. For now, she hoisted herself into her truck, leaned over, and unlocked the passenger side door for him. How many times had she driven down the highway behind a pickup and seen the silhouette of a cowboy driving, a girl snuggled up in the middle seat? She wanted to be that girl, just this once. That girl with the gearshift between her knees and the cowboy’s arm across her shoulders.
Griff slid over to the middle seat now, and she savored his strong profile, silhouetted against the streetlight where they’d danced. It lit a swirling cone of falling snow, and she wished she could run over there and stand in the light, because she’d been busy dancing and hadn’t paid attention to the private world they’d made there. Things were easier in that world, where there was no Fawn, no Trevor, no trouble. So while she settled into the seat with a sigh of satisfaction, there was a touch of longing, too.
Merry Christmas, Riley. Enjoy it while you can.
She smiled up at the man she…loved. Yes, loved. It was okay to admit it to herself.
He didn’t have to know.
* * *
When Griff had left the ranch, he hadn’t figured Riley would ever come back, so he’d turned off the timers for the twinkle lights, leaving the place lit only by moonlight. And yet as they pulled into the drive, the house, nestled in moonlit drifts on the silver plain with just one lamp burning, still looked like Christmas.
Once they’d found their way inside and given Bruce the fur ruffling and smooching he demanded, Riley raced around flicking on all the Christmas lights she could find.
“Thanks,” Griff murmured, ashamed of his Scrooginess. “It didn’t make sense to keep them lit just for me.”
As he fed the woodstove and started a fire, he enjoyed the glow of a new kind of happiness. Back when he was a kid, he hadn’t enjoyed life much. He’d just gone through the motions, doing the chores he’d hated, watching his parents’ marriage fall apart, and dreaming of seeing the world. But he hadn’t been able to see the most important world of all—the one that had made him who he was.
<
br /> Always warring with his dad, he’d been desperate to escape the ranch. He’d found kinship with the men in his unit, but with that fateful explosion, all the pieces of his new family had scattered and his future had gone up in flames. He hadn’t really believed he could find another one until tonight in the standoff with Darrell, when the men of Wynott had arrived with their guns, asking no questions, spouting no braggadocio or hard words. He doubted half of them could shoot straight, and the guns probably weren’t even loaded. Outside of hunting season, nobody ever shot anything unless somebody found a rattlesnake in the road or gophers taking over a pasture.
Something about their quiet courage had helped him harness his anger. He’d felt less alone, less like he had to save the world on his own. That was what had been giving him nightmares—being alone, more than he’d ever been in his life, but with the same impossible tasks to accomplish.
While he’d been staring at the fire like a dumb old cow, Riley had shed her coat, kicked off her boots, and fed Bruce before settling into an armchair, pulling her feet up, and clasping her knees like a child as she admired the Christmas tree. The dog lay on the floor beside her, drooling over memories of kibble. Riley was still wearing the elf suit, and she looked like the real thing when she glanced up at him with her eyes alight.
“Hey, Santa.”
He glanced down at the costume and gave her a rueful grin. “Guess I’d better get out of this suit.”
She nodded. “Guess you’d better.”
He gave her a hopeful look. “Want to help?”
She looked at him a long time, her expression serious beneath the elf hat, with its jingle bell dangling over her head. He wondered what was going on inside her heart.
“Yes,” she finally said. “I do.”
He stood, holding out his hand, and she took it and followed him up the stairs.
Chapter 46
On the way upstairs, Griff tore off his beard and ditched his pillowy belly, or what was left of it. He seemed unaware of Bruce, who’d climbed the stairs behind him and now grabbed the poofy mass and carried it back down.
When he reached the landing and turned, he’d shed the suit, and Riley had never seen him look so serious. His gaze was so…devoted, almost. As if there was something more between them than this bed, this room, those nights. Maybe there was, but it was nothing she wanted to talk about. He’d never wanted to talk about it, either—the dreams, the nights he’d start awake shouting, the times she’d come in here to comfort him.
That was what she was here for. Not for herself. Not with any thoughts of the future. Just for him.
He helped her with her green velvet jacket, the absurd slippers and pants, and leaned in to her. This was where she belonged—on this bed, between these sheets, where they could come together without speaking. Removing a stray shred of cotton from his cheek, she kissed him, and he returned it with so much passion that her whole body warmed as if her bones had turned to liquid, as if every part of her was readying itself to open for him. She pushed him back onto the bed and pressed against him, rolling them over until he rose above her and their hips pressed tight together. Closing her eyes, she rocked against him, and a sweet release began to build.
“Riley.”
He sounded serious. Gripping his hips, she tugged him against her, hoping he’d lose whatever he wanted to say in the sensation, but when she opened her eyes, he looked serious, too.
“Stop talking,” she said. “Come on. I need you.”
“I will,” he said. “But just one thing.” He hiked himself up on one elbow. “You don’t know much about elves, do you?”
“I read Lord of the Rings,” she said. “Twice. So I bet I know more than you.”
“Nope. That was fiction. I’m talking about real elves here.”
“Okay.” She grinned. “Tell me about elves.”
“They don’t have pasts,” he said. “They’re born anew every morning. Clean slate.”
She stared up at him, and something inside her rose and flew away. Maybe it was the butterflies, but it felt like something bigger. Like fear or guilt or the past itself.
“Really?”
He nodded soberly. “Really.”
She looked up into those eyes and realized he knew her better than anyone in the world. Knew what she needed—what she wanted most of all. “A fresh start,” she said. “I think that’s the nicest Christmas present anyone’s ever given me.”
Seeing herself through his eyes, she felt the burden of her misdeeds leaving her, and when he bent down and kissed her, hard and long, it made the whole world go away except for now. There was no past to regret, no future to fear. She was alive in this present moment, and it was everything—their own world of touch and sensation and love.
Yes, love. Just for now.
This bed was her happy place. He was her happy place, so she’d remember this night the way some folks remembered a beach or a lake when they needed to calm down. She’d take out this memory like a smooth stone from her pocket and trace its gentle curves, caress its soft, smooth surface. She’d be able to find an echo of this moment anytime she wanted. That was all she needed from Griff Bailey.
He’d stopped talking now, which allowed her to concentrate as he dipped his hand into her panties—bad-girl panties, black and silky with a scrap of lace. When he touched her, she was already wet, so his finger slipped inside as he bent his head to her breasts.
She’d never let a man control her the way he did. He mastered her, holding her arms while he touched and sampled, stroked and licked. She’d never trusted like this.
Pulling her panties down her legs, he slid his fingers inside and…
Merry Christmas.
He hit all the right spots. All of them. Wrestling her arms free, she clung to him and tensed, her eyes squeezed shut, wanting to hold on to every bit of this pleasure.
But if she wanted to remember, she should look. Opening her eyes, she found him watching her face, so serious, so earnest, so loving, that her heart flew to him—and that was the best feeling of all. Helpless, wild with need, she bucked against his hand. She almost lost it then but caught herself and reached down to stop him.
“It’s Christmas,” she said. “So we give and receive.”
He opened the drawer in the nightstand and made short work of a condom while she watched with greedy eyes. He was so beautiful, his body big but spare. She loved the strong column of muscle that defined his thighs, the broad spread of his shoulders, the square, muscular chest and narrow hips. But the best part was who he was and what was between them.
He was Griff, her Griff. For tonight, anyway. For now.
He looked into her eyes, his expression questioning. “Now?”
She laughed. Had she said it out loud? “Yes, now!”
She pulled him to her, into her, and everything inside her opened to take him in. Now he was the one who closed his eyes, and she watched him, gathering images to savor later. She memorized the bow of his back, the way his big hands gripped her hips, the way his jaw clenched when their bodies met and meshed.
She could tell he was afraid he’d hurt her, but he never did. She urged him on, and when they found their rhythm, he opened his eyes, and she loved him looking at her. She felt nothing but beautiful for the first time in her life.
Reaching down, he touched her right there, still watching her eyes. She didn’t know whether it was his touch or the intensity of his gaze, but she broke apart, crying out, leaving nothing behind as her spirit soared to the stars. Her body seemed to melt away into a smoking puddle of sensation.
Just as she started to spiral down to earth, he closed his eyes and thrust hard, letting go, and that sent her skyward all over again, so they both rose to the stars and fell together, a tangle of limbs and lust and love.
They were one at this moment, this precious now. She wanted to close her
eyes, but she didn’t want to miss so much as a second. This was her treasure, the smooth stone that fit her palm, the precious gem she’d take out and turn over in her mind when she needed something good in her life.
Chapter 47
Griff loved Riley’s body. Spare and small-breasted, she was nothing like the swimsuit models and movie stars who were supposed to be ideal. She was ideal for an elf, though. With that pale skin and silver hair and the tattooed vines climbing her arm, she had him believing such beings were real. It was like making love to a sprite, a nymph, an illusion—but her strength, her toughness, was human.
When she threw her head back and lifted her hips, crying out, he watched her rise to the heights and hang there, taking everything he could give, and then he was with her and they were both rising, losing themselves in the stars.
If only they could stay. If only she could give herself to him like this, without reservation, without holding back. She thought he should be with Fawn, which was a joke. As far as he could tell, it was just because they’d both been born in Wynott, both to ranching families. She thought Fawn was a “good girl” and she wasn’t—but that depended on your definition of good. For him, good meant compassionate, kind. Making an effort, always, to do the right thing. Thinking of others and not just yourself.
That was Riley. And while he didn’t know Fawn all that well, she simply couldn’t compete.
What if Riley had been born on a better day, in a better place? What if she’d been spared whatever ordeal had made her flee to Wynott? He might never have known her—but surely she’d be even more remarkable, even more special.
Or would she? Wasn’t it the past she’d overcome that made her Riley? Conquering her troubled past had given her a killer combination of toughness and vulnerability that made her irresistible. He admired her. Everyone did. How could he make her understand that? It wasn’t that he wanted to give her happiness. She seemed to do that for herself.
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