by Katie Lane
“You kept it,” he whispered before he gave her a deep kiss filled with all the memories of two young kids desperately in love. Finally, he drew back and smiled. “Do you mind if I take my clothes off? I’m feeling a little overdressed.”
She nodded and watched as he stood and removed his clothes. Boone’s body had changed. All the small teenage muscles had turned into big manly ones. Manly muscles that she wanted to touch in a bad way.
When he bent over to remove his socks, she stood and appeased her desire, moving behind him and sliding her hands along the muscles of his back and then over his firm buttocks. He straightened abruptly, but didn’t turn around or say a word as she squeezed his firm cheeks. She now understood why men loved to grab women’s butts. There was something extremely sensual about it—something forbidden about shaping your hands to the curves and tracing the crevice with your fingertips.
Or maybe what felt forbidden was being naked with Boone again. It was wrong. So very wrong. She knew in her heart that only hurt would come of it. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Her hands had a will of their own as they released his butt and slid along the muscles of his back and over the curves of his broad shoulders.
She stepped closer and pressed her lips between his shoulder blades as her hands explored his hard chest—cupping his pectoral muscles and teasing his nipples until they stiffened.
Through it all, Boone didn’t move or make a sound. The only way she could gage his reaction was the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage. But when she traced her fingertips down his muscled stomach, his entire body tightened. And when she took his hard length in hand, his breath rushed out on a groan.
“You’re killing me, Em.”
She spoke against his back. “Maybe that was my plan all along.”
“Devious plan,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I thought so.” She fisted her hand around him and stroked from base to tip. Boone’s growled low in his throat, and a second later, she found herself lying on the couch beneath Boone. The expression on his face was pained.
“I need to be in you, Em.”
“Then come,” she said as she led him home.
As soon as he slid inside her, time spun backwards. They were eighteen again and lying on her twin bed with their breath halted and their eyes locked as their bodies became one.
“Em,” he whispered.
“Boone,” her heart answered.
He started to move, each stroke deeper and more intimate than the last. He touched her like no man had ever touched her before . . . and she feared that no man would ever touch her again. When his slow, deep lovemaking finally pushed her over the edge, it wasn’t just her body that climaxed. It was her soul.
She was terrified.
Chapter Seventeen
Boone woke feeling like everything was right in the world. Before he even opened his eyes, he reached out for the woman he’d spent one night with in body and a thousand nights with in mind.
The other side of the bed was empty.
He sat up and opened his eyes, squinting in the bright sunshine that came in through the window. When his eyes adjusted, he glanced around. Emma was gone. Fear settled in his stomach. He picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and checked the time. It was only a little after seven. She didn’t go to work this early . . . unless she was upset. Maybe last night hadn’t been as good for her as it had been for him. Maybe he’d screwed up again.
He quickly called her cell phone. The Darth Vader theme song that came out of nowhere startled him. He glanced at the nightstand on the other side of the bed and saw Emma’s cell phone. She wouldn’t leave without her phone. She was here. Probably in the bathroom down the hallway.
His shoulders relaxed and he hung up his phone, causing the ominous song to cut off. He laughed. It figured she would pick that particular music for his ring tone. She saw him as an evil villain. Or at least she had. Hopefully, last night had changed her view.
He leaned back on the pillows and grinned up at the ceiling.
She’d kept the ring.
The prom dress he could’ve written off. A lot of girls keep their prom dresses. And Emma could’ve kept hers just to remind herself of what a jerk he’d been that night. But the ring. The ring was a different story. The ring had nothing to do with prom night. It had to do with a promise he’d made her years ago. And a promise she’d made him. He could still remember the fresh-faced little girl standing at her window yelling for all the world to hear.
I’ll love you forever, Boone Murphy.
He’d thought he’d killed that love. But the ring and the way she’d made love to him last night proved he hadn’t. Emma still loved him. She loved him. All the years of waiting for her to forgive him were over. He had Emma right back where she belonged.
With him.
Romeo’s loud howling pulled him away from his thoughts and he got out of bed and walked to the window. It stuck when he tried to open it. He made a mental note to fix the damn thing . . . along with the loose porch light fixture and the broken newel post and the dozens of other things that needed to be fixed in the old house.
Emma had bought a lemon. She should’ve painted it yellow like his barn instead of pink. Of course, maybe he didn’t have to fix anything. Once they were married, they could sell the house and move out to his grandparents’. Emma had always loved the small ranch. It would be the perfect place to raise their four kids. And maybe that’s why she had chosen the paint color. Maybe she had planned to live there all along.
He finally got the window open and leaned out. “Hush up, Romeo!”
The dog shut up immediately. Probably because he was confused to see him instead of Emma. Romeo gave him a look of pure disgust before he lifted his leg and peed on the flowers as if that’s what he thought of Boone stealing his woman. Then he trotted back through the hedges.
“Ornery dog.” Boone laughed as he closed the window. Something on the windowsill caught his attention. He pushed back the curtains to find a pair of binoculars. He lifted them to his eyes. Sure enough he could see into every room in the back of his house.
He grinned. “Why you naughty girl, Emma.”
She was a naughty girl. She had proven it numerous times the night before. And he liked naughty Emma. He liked her a lot. He wanted to see much more of the uninhibited woman who had loved him through the night. He set down the binoculars and pulled on his boxers. But before he could go in search of her, she walked into the room.
She wore a cute fuzzy pink robe that matched her house. Her hair was all mussed and her eyes were still a little sleepy looking. When she saw him standing there, a blush stained her cheeks as if she was remembering all the naughty things they’d done the night before. There was nothing Boone wanted more than to walk over and pull her into his arms and repeat those things. But before he could, she held up a cup of coffee.
“Cream but no sugar.”
His heart did a little skip that she had paid attention to how he took his coffee. He moved closer and took the cup from her. Just the brush of their fingers made his pulse jump.
“Good mornin’, Em.”
The blush on her cheeks brightened to match her robe and moved all the way down her neck to the chain that peeked out from the edges of the robe.
The chain that held his ring.
“Good morning.” Her gaze locked with his for only a second before it lowered to her bare toes. If anyone had told him that just the sight of bare toes could get him hard, he would’ve laughed in their face. But Emma’s toes made him lightheaded with lust. He wanted to kiss each perfect digit before he sucked them into his mouth and nibbled them with his teeth. The way she stood there fidgeting with the belt of her robe, she looked like she was about to run. He couldn’t let her do that. Not again. She was his and this time he was going to keep her.
“Thanks for the coffee, Em.” He took a sip. “It’s perfect.” Just like the woman standing in front of him.
She continued to look everywhere but at hi
m. This bashful Emma wasn’t someone he was used to. “You’re welcome. I’m not really good at making coffee because I don’t drink it.”
“I know. You like lemon green tea with honey. But only during the day. At night, you drink mint herbal with no sweetner.” Her gaze flashed to him, and he smiled. “I pay attention too. Now would you quit acting like I’m a stranger who broke into your house? It’s just me—the boy who used to boost you up so you could swing on the monkey bars.”
“You did not have to boost me up. I was a good head taller than you until we were in eighth grade and you shot up like someone had spiked your milk with growth hormones.”
“A head taller? Maybe six inches.”
Her eyes flashed with fire. Now here was the Emma he knew and loved. He should’ve known that verbal sparring would work better than anything else at making her feel comfortable with what had happened last night.
“Try a good ten inches,” she said. “My mom has the height marks on her hallway closet door to prove it.”
“Your mom still has our heights recorded on her hall closet door?”
“She does.” Her eyes turned sad. “Although it won’t be there for long. I’m sure whoever buys the house will paint over it.”
He couldn’t let that happen. “Then we’ll just have to go and take that door before your folks sell the house. I’m sure we can order one the exact same size to replace it.”
“And just what am I going to do with a door with our heights and ages on it, Boone Murphy?”
Add their kids’ heights to it. But he didn’t say that. First came marriage then the baby carriages. “How about prove me wrong when I get too big for my britches,” he teased.
She struggled to hold back a smile, but it broke free like the sun shining in the window. “I do love proving you wrong.”
“Admit it, Emma Johansen. You live for it.” He set down his coffee. He didn’t want coffee. He wanted Em.
“And you don’t live to prove me wrong?” she asked.
“Damn right I do. But you’d rather paint your house pink than admit you ordered the wrong paint color for a customer.”
She tipped up her chin. She had one stubborn chin. “I did not order the wrong paint color.”
“Yes, you did. And I think it’s time I got you to confess the truth.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she crossed her arms. “And just how do you plan to do that?”
He waggled his eyebrow. “Tickle torture.”
Her eyes widened before she started to back up. “Don’t you dare even think about it, Boone Murphy.”
He took a step closer. “Oh, I’m going to do more than think about it, Emma Johansen.” She turned to run, but he caught her and tossed her onto the bed. She struggled and fought, but he easily straddled her and pinned her arms above her head.
Her eyes danced with fire now. He loved it. “You let me up right now, Boone,” she said. “You know how much I hate to be tickled.”
“I know.” He gave her his most evil smile. “And you know how to get out of it. All you have to do is tell the truth, Em.”
She gritted her teeth. “Let me up, Boone, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Not until you fess up.”
“I’m not confessing anything. I happen to love the color pink for a house. Just like I love the color yellow for a barn.”
“Oh, Em, that color you forced me to paint my granddaddy’s barn was the wrong thing to bring up when I have you in my clutches.” He shifted both her wrists in one hand and lifted the other, wiggling his fingers. “Let the tickle torture begin.”
She was still as ticklish as she had been as a kid. Just the bare brush of his fingers on her ribs had her squirming and shrieking with laughter. Which made him laugh.
“’Fess up, Em.”
“Never!” she yelled between fits of giggles.
He might’ve continued to tickle her if in her struggles to get free hadn’t caused her robe to come open. Once her naked breasts popped into view, Boone forgot all about the tickle game and started thinking about a new one. He stilled and stared down at the pretty pink nipples topping the perfect scoops of pale flesh. Of their accord, his tickling hands moved up her ribcage to cup the sweet softness.
Her laughter stopped, and her gaze locked with his.
“Oh, Em,” he said. “You are so damn beautiful.” He gently squeezed her breast, then brushed his thumb over her nipple until it hardened into tight nub.
Her eyes closed. “Boone,” she breathed. He would never grow tired of hearing her say his name like that. He leaned down to worship her perfect breasts with his lips and tongue. Her fingers scraped through his hair and curled into fists. The tug had him lifting his head.
“We can’t, Boone,” she said. “I need to open the store.”
“To hell with the store.”
“But what will people say?”
“They’ll say Emma Johansen had better things to do than sell people toilet plungers.” He smiled. “Like staying in bed all morning with Darth Vader.”
Her eyes registered surprise before she laughed. “It’s a perfect ringtone for you.”
She was right. He was like Vader. He had left the light and gone to the dark side. He’d let what happened between his mother and her father take him there. But like Vader, he had finally returned to the light. And he wasn’t leaving again.
“I don’t mind being your Darth Vader, Em,” he teased. “Just as long as I get to wield my light saber.”
“I don’t think so, Dark Lord.” She reached between them and slipped her hand inside his boxers. “I want to wield your saber.”
She did. She took him in her fist and wielded him like no woman had ever wielded him before. When he was breathless and begging for mercy, she guided him inside her. And being deep inside of Emma was heaven. He took things slow, wanting this moment to last forever.
But Emma had other ideas.
She wrapped her legs around him and pumped against him until they both cried out in release. Afterwards, he thought she would want to head to work, but instead she cuddled close and played with the hair on his chest. He had almost started to nod off when she spoke.
“I’m leaving Simple.”
He blinked awake, thinking he’d misunderstood. “What?”
Her hand stilled, her fingertips resting over his heart. “I’m leaving Simple.”
It was such an outlandish thought that he laughed. “Okay. Is this like the April Fool’s joke you played on me in fifth grade where you pretended your dad got offered a job in New York and you were moving?”
She lifted her head and her eyes were sad. “I’m not kidding, Boone. I’m leaving Simple. If only makes sense that you should get the hardware store. You love it like I never will.”
He sat up as fear replaced happiness. “What are you talking about, Emma? You might not like hammers or tools, but you love the store. We both love the store. Which is why neither one of us is going anywhere. We’re getting married. That’s the plan. That’s always been the plan.”
She smiled, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That was a young girl’s plan, Boone. A young girl who didn’t know anything about life and love.”
He took her arms. “I love you, Em. I’ve always loved you. Don’t act like you don’t know that.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I know that, Boone. You love me . . . and yet you hurt me. You hurt me badly.” She blinked back the tears that were breaking his heart. “I get it. You were scared about graduating and all the pressure of going to Harvard and doing well. I take the responsibility for adding to that pressure. I should’ve never planned out our entire lives before we were even out of high school.”
She wiped a tear that ran down her cheek. “But you should’ve talked to me and told me how you were feeling. Yes, it would’ve hurt me to break up, but you hurt me even more by not explaining anything and just running off. Then you didn’t come back for seven years. Seven years, Boone. And when you came back,
you tried to act like nothing had happened and everything could go right back to the way it was.” She shook her head. “But it can’t. We can never go back to that innocent, trusting love again, Boone. That love is gone.”
He wanted to explain everything. He wanted to tell her about his mother and her father and how when he’d caught them cheating he’d felt like everything he believed about love was a lie. But he knew hearing about her dad’s infidelity would break her heart even more. And make her hate Boone for being the messenger.
“You’re right, Em,” he said. “I should’ve talked to you. I shouldn’t have just run off without any explanation and stayed away for so long. I was wrong. I was a screwed-up kid who got a little disillusioned about love. But it’s not going to happen again. I’m not going to leave you.”
She stared at him. “But I’m leaving you.”
His hands tightened on her arms. “You don’t mean that, Em. We’re going to get married and have four kids and live the rest of our lives right here in Simple.”
She pulled away from him and got up, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I’m not going to marry you, Boone. Don’t you see? Too much has happened between us to go back. Too much hate and mistrust. And I won’t be the type of clingy wife who worries every time you leave the house that you’re never coming back. You’ll only end up hating me and I’ll end up hating myself. If we marry, I’ll be the girl in Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story’ begging for your love to save me. But Romeo couldn’t save Juliet. The only way Juliet can be saved is to save herself. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m saving myself.”
She turned and ran from the room.
He wanted to follow her. He wanted to yell and scream and make her listen to reason. But he knew Emma. He knew when she made up her mind there was no changing it. And she had made up her mind about their love not being enough. The truly sad part was that he only had himself to blame.
He got up and got dressed. He didn’t know where Emma had gone and he didn’t look for her. He just headed out the back door, slamming it behind him. At his house, he changed out of his dress clothes and into a t-shirt and old jeans. Needing the comfort of working with wood, he went to the garage. He’d forgotten about Miss Gertie’s cross. The words he’d engraved into the wood were like a hard punch to the face. With a growl of frustration, he picked up the cross and threw it against the wall.