by Naima Simone
“I didn’t know Ivy was auditioning for the pageant.”
She didn’t have to turn around to identify the person behind her. Didn’t need his fresh wintergreen scent to tease her nose or her memory of how it sharpened when thicker with desire. Didn’t need to hear the low, dark rumble of his voice that seemed to delight in rolling around in that wide chest before taking its time in climbing up his throat and sliding off his tongue.
No, she didn’t need any of those to recognize him. Not when every nerve in her body erupted like sparklers on July Fourth, sizzling through her, leaving her singed and...marked.
So...no. She didn’t need to look behind her to identify Wolf.
“I didn’t either,” she murmured.
As they watched, Ivy leaned toward Cher and whispered to her, and the other girl nodded, her gaze not moving from Ivy.
“Maybe she isn’t,” Wolf said. “I think your sister is helping mine.”
“Ready, Cher?” the man with the clipboard called out.
“She’s ready,” Ivy answered instead of Cher, confirming Wolf’s hunch.
Nodding at the pianist, Ivy took Cher’s other hand in hers, and as the first notes of a song echoed in the auditorium, the two girls didn’t move. Didn’t sing. The pianist trailed off, peeking over her shoulder. Even from the distance of the huge room, Cher’s fear was clear in the stiff set of her shoulders and the unnatural stillness of her body.
“You got this, sweetheart.” Wolf propped a forearm on the chair beside Nessa, his blunt fingertips grazing her shoulder. “You can do this.”
Once more, Ivy whispered something to Cher, and the twin briefly closed her eyes, nodded. And Ivy glanced at the pianist, who turned around and played again.
This time, Ivy started singing. “O Holy Night.” The purity of her voice. So mature. So clear. Almost painful in its beauty. It filled the auditorium and reached into Nessa’s heart, gripping it, squeezing it.
“Jesus.” Wolf shifted, dropping into the seat next to hers. “Mozart has one hell of a voice on her.”
Yes, she did. And Nessa hadn’t known. Her sister could sing like a freaking angel, and she’d had no idea.
At the second verse, Cher joined in, her perfect, sweet soprano harmonizing with Ivy’s alto. Their rendition of the Christmas carol held her spellbound, the girls’ voices joyous and celebratory and...honest. That honesty had Nessa blinking back the tears pricking her eyes.
The last note rang clear and high, and for an instant, an expectant and reverent hush rested on the auditorium, almost as if it’d transformed into a church. Then applause rang out, as thunderous as thirty people could manage. Nessa rose to her feet, Wolf beside her, and they clapped along with everyone else. Wolf popped two fingers in his mouth and whistled, yelling his sister’s and Ivy’s names.
Stunned, Nessa clasped her hands to her chest, staring as Ivy and Cher grinned at one another, then turned to their audience and sank into sassy curtsies. Wolf chuckled, and Nessa tried. The humor bubbled up inside her chest but all that left her was a tight wheeze.
“I didn’t know,” she rasped. “I didn’t know she could sing. How did I not...?”
A huge hand slid across the back of her neck in a caress that, with a hard thump of her heart, she was coming to recognize as their thing.
They shouldn’t—couldn’t—have a thing.
“Nessie, let it go.” He squeezed her neck, and she looked at him, caught up in the warmth of his beautiful emerald gaze. In the warmth that swept through her like a swollen stream after a violent rain. Yet the understanding there... That threatened to strengthen and undo her. “You can’t change what was. But you do have now. And here, this moment and what you do with it is what matters.”
“Nessa.” Ivy skipped up the aisle to her and Wolf, Cher right next to her. “I didn’t know you were here. Did you see us sing?”
Nessa cleared her throat. “I did. You two were great.”
“Yeah.” Wolf dragged Cher into a hug that swallowed the girl until only several of her curls sprung over his arms.
Envy crept into her heart as he smacked a loud kiss on the top of Cher’s head. It must be nice to have that kind of easy affection with her. To know that it wouldn’t be rebuffed, but would be returned. Be welcomed.
“I knew you could sing since I’ve been hearing you blow around the house forever, but wow, you were awesome. And you, Mozart—” he flashed a grin at Ivy “—you’re a regular Celine Dion.”
Ivy blinked at him.
He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Billie Eilish.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Wolf.”
“You were...” Nessa cleared her throat again. She shouldn’t be this nervous. Waiting in the bay for an incoming ambulance from a three-car pileup didn’t have her stomach twisting this hard. “You were...God, Ivy, amazing. Simply amazing.”
The girl’s face blanked, and she stared up at Nessa, her lips parted, dark eyes wide.
“Really?” Ivy whispered.
“Damn amazing,” Nessa whispered back.
“Language.”
They smiled at one another, and when Nessa reached for Ivy’s hand, she met her halfway.
It wasn’t a hug.
But it was a start.
Fourteen
“THE WOMAN THINKS of everything,” Nessa muttered, shaking her head and staring down at the line of Christmas-themed mugs set out on the counter and the boxes of tea bags or K-Cups behind them.
And were those...?
Yep. On the other side of the farm sink sat a covered platter of muffins.
Moe Dennison had the hospitality game down on lock. Even at eleven o’clock at night, when her guests should be in bed instead of wandering her inn, she found a way to take care of them.
The Four Seasons might have top-notch room service and amenities, but did they serve tea at almost midnight in cups with Santa Claus faces? She thought not.
Picking up a mug, she set it on the base and hit the button for hot water.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Trapping a scream behind her closed teeth, she whirled around, snatching up another cup, arm wound back and ready to hurl it at the intruder.
“Whoa. Stand down.” Wolf held his hands up in front of his chest, palms out. His eyes narrowed on the mug in her hand. “And if you crack Moe’s elf mug and break up the set, she’s going to be pissed.”
“Dammit, Wolf. You scared me.” Huffing out a breath as her heart slowly started to ease its pounding beat, she cautiously replaced the cup and focused on the steaming water pouring into her mug.
Better than staring at him like he’d transformed into one of his mother’s chocolate chip muffins.
God, standing there in his bare feet, a long-sleeved shirt thin enough that she could grab a pencil and outline those hard, powerful muscles, and all that thick, brown hair tumbling around his face and hooded eyes... She blew out a breath that did nothing for the heated squirming low in her belly. He appeared as if he could’ve just climbed from bed. Fresh from satisfying some woman who Nessa instinctively resented.
“What’re you even doing here?” she demanded, tone sharper than she intended. Unfounded and irrational jealousy tended to do that to a person.
“I stopped by after the drive-in to see how your day at the clinic went but you were already upstairs. So I ended up staying and talking with my dad. He just went up about five minutes ago.”
His feet barely made any sound across the floor as he moved next to her and chose a cup for himself. She shifted out of his way, careful not to allow any part of her—not even a wayward elbow—to brush against him. It was self-preservation at this point. In a middle school auditorium surrounded by people, she could permit the occasional touch. But here? In this kitchen with only shadows and memories of what happened the last time they were alone?
No.
>
She couldn’t tempt fate. Or herself.
“How did you know about my working at the clinic?” She removed a tea bag from the box and slipped it in the hot water.
Wolf prepped the machine with a coffee pod. “Sydney mentioned it when she and Ivy dropped by the town square earlier today to check out our progress on the gazebo. Which is coming along, by the way. You should visit and I’ll give you the tour. Short as it is.”
“I did. See the gazebo,” she amended, fiddling with the tea bag and avoiding his gaze. “I’m starting to believe you might actually finish it by Christmas Eve.”
“You saw it? Then why didn’t you come over and speak?”
Of course he would latch on to that part.
“I was on my way to the clinic.”
“Nessa.” His big hand covered hers, halting her incessant dunking of the bag.
“I was,” she insisted.
And she’d been in a hurry. Yet, she’d still taken a moment to study Wolf at work. To remember how those hands that so skillfully set beams had cupped her head, held her steady and stroked her face. To recall the strength he so easily tempered.
“Nessa,” he repeated her name, gentler this time but no less firm. “Your tea is shitty.”
She jerked her gaze to him, scowling. “I happen to like it this—”
“There it is.” Cocking his head, he grasped a thick strand of her hair, winding it around his finger. “I get tired of ordering you to look at me. If insulting your tea-making abilities does the trick, I’m not above it. Because, Nessie, I enjoy your eyes on me.”
The air in her lungs evaporated, and she struggled not to allow the shiver that trembled in her knees to work its way through her body.
“Your coffee is finished.”
“Fuck the coffee.”
She blinked, the vehemence of the words not matching with the almost pleasant tone of his voice.
“I gave you a chance to talk to me after the audition. And then again at the movie—”
“It was Alastair Sim’s A Christmas Carol. I wasn’t missing that,” she grumbled.
“But you’re avoiding me. Nessie.” He lifted his hand from hers and raised it toward her face, but it hovered next to her jaw before he dropped it to his side, as did his other hand, releasing her hair. “Did I push too hard last night?”
She tried—and failed—to hide her flinch. The reference to that kiss, the kiss he apologized for, scraped over her raw nerves. A jagged chuckle that revealed too much escaped her.
“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that question? But to answer yours, I’m fine.”
“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have used Ivy and the twins like human shields tonight. Or you would’ve been able to look at me for longer than two seconds. Or you would’ve said more than two consecutive sentences to me. Baby...”
“Don’t.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Dammit. So much for convincing him she was fine. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
She wasn’t a violent woman; as a nurse, she was a healer, had promised to do no harm. But right now, with Wolf deliberately playing obtuse, she could easily envision herself swinging on him. With her luck, though, she’d most likely break her hand on the perfect line of his jaw.
“Because I don’t like it,” she lied between gritted teeth.
Wolf edged closer, lowering his head until his breath brushed her skin. Until she could taste the tease of his kiss on her mouth.
“We both know that’s a lie.”
Silence throbbed between them, loud and hard like a heartbeat. Instead of blood, it pulsed with heat, with desire. Step away. Leave the kitchen. Return upstairs. The orders marched through her head, but her feet remained glued to the floor. She stayed there, trapped by his gaze, by his heady scent, by the magnetic essence of him.
“I have a theory, Nessa. Do you want to hear it?”
The “no” trembled on her tongue, but she couldn’t shove it off. Wolf nodded as if he heard it anyway.
“Last night I apologized, and you misunderstood the reason why. But after a lot of thought, my theory is I think you chose to take it the wrong way.”
Nessa’s chin jerked back as if clipped, and she scowled at him. That was bullshit, and she parted her lips to tell him so, but his pressed to hers, quieting her. Shock rippled through her, the kiss-that-wasn’t-a-kiss locking her down. He lifted his head, taking his mouth away, and she swallowed the groan that clawed at her throat. Yes, he’d effectively shut her up with the equivalent of placing a finger over her lips, but she didn’t care. She just wanted that delicious, heavy pressure back.
Wanted to taste him.
Dammit. After this, she and her pride were going to have a serious talking-to.
“When I said I was sorry last night, I meant for being too rough. For not asking if my mouth on you was what you wanted. And even if you didn’t know those specific reasons, you suspected I didn’t mean I was sorry for kissing you. But you grabbed on to that so you could get out of the truck and away from me. So you could put distance between us and have time to put that wall of yours back up.”
For being too rough. For not asking if my mouth on you was what you wanted.
His words tossed kindling on an already simmering fire, and the flames shimmered and danced inside her. Was he kidding? She’d loved how he’d handled her. How he’d just...claimed her. As if she weren’t fragile. Or...damaged. Just desired.
“See, take away the beard, your stunning beauty, my height and your wicked curves and we’re the same,” he murmured, bending his head so his lips grazed her ear and his hair tickled her nose, her cheek. Closing her eyes, she inhaled him into her lungs, held him there. “We’re two people finding ways to push others away, so we’re not hurt. So they don’t dig below the surface and glimpse who we try so fucking hard to hide, afraid they might not like who they see. We’re dirty street fighters, you and me. And last night, you slung mud.”
Nessa shivered. But this time, not from lust.
From a murky jumble of fear, joy and...excitement. There was terror in being seen so clearly, but in that same vein existed a joy at not having to hide.
And underneath? Underneath crackled an excitement that this man called her on a truth she hadn’t acknowledged before this moment. Pushed her on it. Because no, she hadn’t been able to read his mind and ascertain the reasons behind his apology, but Wolf wasn’t wrong about her reaction. If she were bone-deep, dirty honest, she had jumped to that conclusion out of self-preservation. It’d been the safest assumption—for her.
If he regretted kissing her, then it made keeping her physical and emotional distance easier. Then she wouldn’t make the mistake of touching him again...of becoming involved with him.
Of falling for him.
She fisted her hands next to her thighs. What the hell was in Moe’s tea bags? There existed zero chance of her developing feelings for Wolf Dennison. A kiss—or anything more—didn’t equate affection. Or, lo—Hell, she couldn’t even utter the word in her head.
She didn’t subscribe to the antiquated belief that women couldn’t separate sex from emotion. She could definitely enjoy one without losing herself in the other.
And why was she standing here, arguing with herself over this?
“I don’t know what you want me to say?” she whispered, haltingly. For the first time with him, uncertain. About what he would say next. Do next.
What she would do next.
As someone who valued control, who needed it especially when everything in her life had tripped and fallen on its head, not having it terrified her.
“I want you to tell me that for tonight, at least, you’re not going to deny us what we both need. I want you to tell me to kiss you again and make it all go away. I may not be able to offer you much, but that I can give you.”
; She didn’t need to ask what he meant by “it.” The grief of her loss. The secrets of her paternity. The uncertainty of her relationship with her sister. The pain of her past.
She could hand it over, and he would make it disappear under passion.
Oh God, he was temptation and seduction rolled into sinful flesh.
I may not be able to offer you much...
Like that unspecified “it,” she didn’t need to ask him to clarify what he meant by that either. More than tonight. A promise of commitment. A future. His heart.
He didn’t have that to give her because as he’d told her—warned her the night before—he was broken. If she possessed the sense God gave a gnat, she’d make her excuses and exit right now.
Instead, like Eve before her, Nessa was going to fall.
She didn’t reply. Didn’t want to risk it. Instead, she turned her head, captured his mouth and sank into him. Deep. Sank so deep into him that she didn’t care about breathing, about existing. All she needed, wanted, was him. On her tongue. Under her hands.
Inside her.
Tunneling her fingers through his thick hair, she fisted the strands, tugging him impossibly closer. Opening impossibly wider. Tumbling impossibly further.
Like last night, he clasped those big hands to her face, holding her steady for his taking. Tilting her head at an angle he desired, an angle that provided them both with the greatest pleasure. Because with every greedy stroke of his tongue, each dark, rumbling growl, each luxurious lick, he gave her so much, so much pleasure.
It’d been a long while since she’d felt desired. No. Craved. As if she were sustenance to a dying man. It filled her with a headiness that had her feet lifting off the floor...
Oh wait. Her feet were literally off the floor.
Tearing her mouth away from his, she glanced down, blinking. What the hell?
“Can’t do this in my mom’s kitchen,” Wolf muttered, cradling her in his arms and sweeping her across the room.