Sutton pushed the door to the boutique open. A deep voice from the rear of the store stopped her in her tracks and set her nerves jangling. Her daddy never dropped by to see how his investment was panning out. In fact, he often offered to turn the loan into an outright gift, but she insisted on transferring installments into his account the first business day of every month.
Not that her father would mean to manipulate her to his own ends, but he would do it “for her own good.” She’d heard that phrase from both her parents often enough to choke on it.
“Here she is.” With an ironic tilt to her lips, Maggie slipped by Sutton and whispered, “He pumped me like an empty soap dispenser for the dirt on Andrew and you and Wyatt Abbott.”
“What’d you say?” Whatever else had come from her humiliating break with Andrew and Bree, Sutton was getting to know a side of her sister she’d never seen and she liked it.
“Not enough to satisfy him, so watch out.”
Maggie escaped and left Sutton to paste on a smile and launch her first deflection. “Are you looking for something to give Mother for your anniversary?”
His face blanked for a moment. “Is it September already?”
Her father never forgot a golf game but was hopeless when it came to birthdays and his anniversary. She put the jewelry counter between them. “Almost. A repeat of last year will get you sent to the couch, and you know your back can’t handle that. How about a pendant or an antique broach?”
He waved his hand. “Fine. I trust your taste. Pick something and wrap it up for me.”
She was tempted to choose something gaudy and outrageous. As she was unlocking the sliding door in the back, he tilted her face to the side with a finger on her chin.
“What’s that on your neck?”
She checked herself in the oval portrait mirror and slapped a hand over the obvious red mark marring her otherwise pale skin with a gasp. Her first hickey at nearly thirty years old. She was going to do very bad things to Wyatt for this. Very bad things that she hoped they both enjoyed.
“I think it’s … poison ivy.”
“Really?” Her father’s skepticism was well-deserved but no way was she going to tell him the truth.
“Must have touched some and scratched myself while I was pruning the roses.” She grabbed a scarf off the display, knotted it around her neck, then laid a lovely cameo broach on the counter. “Now, how about this one?”
Her father ignored the jewelry to turn his judge-and-jury gaze on her. “Andrew came by the other night.”
“Maggie told me. I know you and Andrew have to maintain a professional relationship, and you golf with him and his daddy, but I would appreciate if you’d refrain from discussing me.”
Her father sighed and shot a glance toward Maggie, who was doing her best to ignore them while still bending her ear in their direction. “I don’t want to see you throw away a good thing is all. He’s contrite if that makes any difference.”
“Why are you defending him? You want me to be with someone who respects me and treats me well, right?”
“Of course I do.” Red stained her father’s ruddy cheeks.
Good. He should be ashamed of himself. “That is not Andrew.”
“Does Wyatt Abbott treat you well?” He gestured toward her neck and the place Wyatt had branded with his lips felt like it was on fire. “I thought he was squiring you about town as a friend. Is it something more than that?”
How to answer that? Considering what had transpired on her couch that morning, she hoped to goodness it was something more. “Wyatt is a good guy. Honest. Funny.” And panty-meltingly sexy, she added in her head.
“He’s not … our kind, Sutton.” He held up a hand to cut off her gasp. “I don’t mean that unkindly. I respected his father. But he wouldn’t be comfortable hobnobbing with your friends from the Junior League, and you wouldn’t be comfortable out in the boonies with his friends.”
“He wasn’t an embarrassment at the pig picking, and if you must know, he took me to a bonfire out in the country, and it was fun.” She cursed the defensiveness that snuck into her voice. Her father was right; she hadn’t been wholly comfortable. And while Wyatt had looked good in khakis and a golf shirt, imagining him in a tuxedo at the gala was like putting a top hat on a gator.
“I don’t mind recommending him as a mechanic, but be careful he’s not using you for your connections.” The warning in his tone was clear.
Anger from some deep, dark place she’d ignored for years oozed out. “Andrew is the one who was using me for my connections, Daddy, and if you can’t see that, then you need glasses.”
“The Tarwaters have been family friends for decades.”
“Did you and Andrew discuss the election for your position?”
“He assured me I have his support.”
“I would ask a few questions at the county courthouse and make sure he hasn’t filed papers to run against you.”
“He wouldn’t.” The surety in her father’s voice was unshakable. And maybe he was right.
Any residual anger receded, and she closed the door on it. “Who are you playing golf with this afternoon?”
Once he was on the subject of golf, he was hard to stop, and she ushered him out the door, still discussing his handicap. She hadn’t even made it back to the counter to recover when the bell tinkled, and Bree swept over the threshold, pushing sunglasses to the top of her head.
Her dress was cute, her hair pin-straight, but as she drew closer, the dark circles under her eyes and general air of strain made her look worn and tired. “I thought the Judge would never leave. Did you tell your parents everything?”
“How else was I supposed to explain breaking things off with Andrew?”
“They hate me. I was at church, and your mother refused to even say hi to my mom.” Bree ran a hand over a pretty midnight blue dress on the nearest mannequin.
“I’m sorry.” And she truly was. Bree’s parents were nice people and didn’t deserve to be ostracized, especially at the place that preached forgiveness. “I’ll talk to Mother, but she never met a grudge she didn’t invite in for a good long visit.”
Bree flashed a smile, but it was brief and settled into an even deeper sadness. Guilt niggled at Sutton like a splinter left to rot, but she kept her mouth clamped shut.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Bree said. “I’m sorry for what I did, but also the way I acted afterward. I was a real bitch.”
“No arguments here.” The anger that had burned so hot toward Bree was getting harder and harder to stoke.
“I’ve always been jealous of you.”
Nothing Bree could have said would have shocked Sutton more. “Of me?”
“The way you grew up. All that money. And you’re so natural and nice, people gravitate toward you. People don’t like me. They’re afraid of me, I think.”
“I liked you.”
“I know, and I screwed that up forever, didn’t I?”
Sutton couldn’t locate an answer. A week ago, she would have yelled “hell yes,” but time had blurred the black-and-whiteness of the situation.
Bree covered her face with both hands and continued. “When Andrew started coming on to me, for the first time ever, someone thought I was better than you. Then I really did fall in love. I’m the worst person on the face of the planet.”
A badass. Sutton was a badass and didn’t want to be the beige girl that people walked all over. But, faced with a weeping Bree, her heart splayed open and the truth spilling out like her life’s blood, Sutton couldn’t not offer help.
She pulled her former best friend in for a hug and patted her back. “Yeah, falling in love is way worse than that little Korean dude threatening to annihilate the world. Or those Chinese hackers that stole state secrets. I should get Daddy to throw you behind bars for life.”
A laugh sputtered through Bree’s sobs. “How can you joke about this? I ruined your life.”
Her life didn’t feel ruined. The opposite in fact. She felt alive and excited and optimistic. She was coming out of the closet—literally—with her clothing designs, and Wyatt … The man had set up camp in her thoughts. Strike that, he was building a fortress.
“Did you ruin it?” Sutton grabbed a box of tissues from behind the counter and nudged Bree’s shoulder with it. “Because I’m not the one crying my eyes out and looking like I haven’t slept in days.”
Bree took several and blew her nose. “You look good.”
“You’re welcome to Andrew, you know. If you and he can make it work, then go for it.” She wouldn’t dance at their wedding, but nothing but indifference surged thinking of them together. On the other hand, she might dance if it was the two-step with Wyatt.
More tears welled in Bree’s eyes. “He hasn’t given up on you. He loves you.”
Sutton had to remind herself they were talking about Andrew and not Wyatt. “He never loved me. He wanted to be the Judge’s son-in-law, not my husband.” She paused for a moment. “Do you think that maybe a small part of you wants to be a prominent lawyer’s wife and not Andrew’s wife?”
“All I know for sure is that I wish I’d never hurt you.”
She wasn’t ready to give Bree the absolution she so obviously craved, but for the first time, Sutton could see a time in the future when she would. “I know, but you did.”
A breath shuddered out of Bree, but she contained any more tears. “Are you this happy because of Wyatt Abbott?”
The question struck her like a slap. Not the kind given in anger but the ones you gave people who had fainted. Sutton blinked at Bree. Was she happy? She definitely wasn’t unhappy. Any woman who had been cheated on and dumped by her fiancé should be unhappy. Was there something wrong with her that she wasn’t?
Ignoring her philosophical crisis, she touched the spot on her neck where Wyatt had left his mark. In the most basic of ways, he’d made her very, very happy this morning. “Yes, Wyatt makes me happy.”
“I’m glad. Is it getting serious?” Bree asked, her eyes lighting with a shrewdness Sutton associated with her job as town counsel. Was Bree interested as a friend or ferreting out details she could use against Sutton later?
Forgiveness and trust weren’t one and the same. Would she ever blindly trust a friend or lover again? “I need to get back to work. Inventory.” She worried how easily the lie rolled out.
Bree rubbed her arm, hunched her shoulders, and took shuffling steps backward. Shades of the uncertain girl with frizzy hair and acne Sutton had known so long ago had her hand coming up, but she stopped herself before the gap between them was bridged and turned her back to Bree.
The tinkling bell on her exit signaled a transition. Whether it was a death or rebirth, Sutton wasn’t able to tease out. Her life had become irrevocably complicated over the last weeks. Wyatt was the one golden thread to grab hold of through the mess.
What he offered was pure physical pleasure plus a sprinkling of hope and laughter. The fact they got along and could talk and make each other laugh didn’t mean anything. It was fundamentally about the simple act of sex.
She toyed with the scarf around her neck. Problem was the morning interlude had marked her deeper than a hickey on her neck. Echoes of pleasure from that morning mixed with the self-doubt circling her head.
“You hear all that, Mags?” Sutton asked.
“Your life has been more exciting than any of my books.” Her sister popped out from behind a mannequin she was fitting with one of Sutton’s gowns. “I’m putting this in the window, and I guarantee it will bring people in.”
Sutton couldn’t watch. She imagined it was like watching your child go up onstage and perform. A combination of hope and worry and terror.
She retreated to her office and stared at her phone. Crazy colorful sex. That was the goal, right? He’d told her to get a list of fantasies ready. Except it wasn’t the feel of him, thick and hard in her hand, that held her focus, but the depth of sadness in his eyes. He had been hurting last night.
Thinking about U. There. A simple yet open-ended text. Minutes passed. He was probably in the middle of some complex mechanical thing under a car. Or maybe he regretted everything. She paced.
Thinking about U2. And this morning. But have to cancel tonight. Sorry.
Her stomach swooped, and her hands grew clammy. Is it work?
Not work, but I’d be terrible company. Talk to you tomorrow though. Promise.
K.
She tapped her phone against her chin. He wasn’t blowing her off. Whatever was making him bad company involved his father’s death. Whether it had been a day or a year, Wyatt’s grief was still raw.
As crazy as her parents drove her, losing either one of them would be devastating. Wyatt had now lost both his parents, one through abandonment and one through death. Her chest tightened in reflected pain. Even with him over the river and miles away, she wanted to soothe him somehow.
What did one do for a death in the family? In Cottonbloom, grief was counseled with casseroles. So what if his father had died a year ago? Wyatt was still grieving him. She would whip something up and drop it by the shop. No strings attached. Just like their relationship.
* * *
Mack squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder on the way out the door. It was the only acknowledgement of the one-year anniversary of their pop’s death. Sadness and melancholy had spread over the garage like an oil spill.
The fact Mack was retreating to the house before Wyatt had packed up said more than words. Jackson had already disappeared. Probably heading for the racetrack. He seemed to work out most of his problems going round and round as fast as possible.
Yet … Wyatt had needed his brothers. He wanted to sit around and trade stories about their pop, but none of them were good at talking about the important stuff. Him included, he supposed.
He picked up his phone and stared at the texts between him and Sutton. He had been honest. That didn’t mean he didn’t want her. He did—badly—but he wouldn’t be able to hide the intensity of his need under a flirty, superficial smile. Not tonight.
Still, his thumbs hovered over the keypad. The comfort of her company and her body called, but that’s not what they were doing. His already aching heart squeezed painfully.
He turned off the lights in the shop and stood there for a long moment. The quiet was disconcerting and lonely as hell, the shadows pressing at him. He backed out the door and took deep breaths of the humid air. It wasn’t even five. The night stretched to forever.
He stripped off his shirt, strapped on gloves, and let the punching bag bear the brunt of his grief. His arms burned and sweat trickled down his back. It was only when his lungs ceased to pull in enough oxygen that he stopped and hung on the bag, swaying like they were dance partners. He rested his forehead against the canvas and closed his eyes.
“Are you finished or was that round one?” Sutton’s voice came from behind him.
He turned, praying his lack of oxygen hadn’t turned him hallucinatory. She leaned against the doorway of the barn, a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered dish in the other. She was in a tight white V-neck T-shirt, a striped skirt, and flip-flops with big pink flowers between her toes. The smile on her face was hopeful and sweet and a little sheepish.
He wanted to chalk his weak knees up to his workout, but he had a bad feeling she was the cause. His insides buzzed like a streetlight at dusk.
He didn’t want to be alone.
He wasn’t like his brothers, who shut down and turned inward when troubles came to call. His pop’s death had been devastating for all three of them, but Mack and Jackson had remained stoic, and needing comfort signaled a sign of weakness in his family.
Every nerve ending screamed at him to take her into his arms, but he resisted. Barely. “I’m calling it a draw. Whatcha you got there?” He hoped he didn’t sound as pathetic and needy as he felt and gestured with his chin toward her hands.
“Casseroles heal all hurts.” She held up the bottle of wine and examined the label. “And if that doesn’t work, alcohol should do it. I can drop this off and go, but”—she shifted on her feet and bit her bottom lip—“I had a feeling you might need company.”
“What gave me away?”
She took a step forward and his feet shuffled to meet her halfway. He took the wine bottle, and she put her free hand in the middle of his chest. His heart felt like it was trying to break free of its confines to experience her touch.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about everything you told me last night. I had a feeling you might need a friend.” She shrugged a shoulder but didn’t drop her hand. “Is that crazy?”
“I happen to relate to crazy. It runs in my family.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and glanced his thumb across the soft back of her hand. She leaned even closer to him. So close he could feel the residual heat coming off the dish propped on her hip.
“Your family is not crazy.” Her voice was breathless and vaguely distracted sounding.
“Have you heard about the curse?”
“What curse?” Her hand twitched on his chest, her fingernails scraping against his skin erotically.
“There’s a long history of twins in my family. My aunts Hyacinth and Hazel are the previous generation’s set. Jackson and I are the most recent.”
“Guess that means one of you boys will have twins.”
“No set of twins have ever gone on to get married. A bunch of Abbott old maids and bachelors.” He tensed although he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
She was silent for a moment, a crinkle appearing between her eyes even as she smiled. “You don’t really believe that will happen to you, do you?”
What had been a funny family story had turned into an ominous one. After the last two weeks, he was very much worried that would happen to him. Admitting that would cement his crazy status. Her gaze dipped to where their hands entwined over his heart before rising to meet his.
A long moment passed in which all they did was stare into each other’s eyes. The bond between them was strengthening by the second. He recognized the danger, uncuffed her wrist, and stepped away.
“Looks like there’s plenty to share. You wanna come up?” His voice sounded strange.
She followed him toward the loft stairs. “I don’t know if you classify as crazy, but I’d say you’ve inherited more than a touch of wildness.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to be mighty disappointed.” He halted midway up the stairs and turned.
She took one more step, putting them so close he could kiss her. She tilted her face up to his, her tongue dabbing along her bottom lip. His breathing accelerated as if he’d gone another round with the body bag.
“No way are you going to disappoint me.” Sutton’s laugh was throaty and sexy.
Her eyes were hypnotizing and his stomach swooped. Clearing his throat, he continued up into his loft. Without her eyes on him, he found his footing, but he could feel her presence like a caress.
Once inside, he backed away as if she were an explosive. “I need to hop in the shower.”
“Take your time.” She veered toward the kitchen area. “I’ll pop the casserole into the oven to heat back up and open the wine. Daddy made me promise to let it breathe.”
Out of sheer cowardice, he stayed in the shower long after he’d scrubbed himself clean. He rubbed the steam off the mirror, seeing a fuzzy reflection of himself. She was returning the favor and here on a mission of mercy.
He glanced around and cursed. His habit was to streak around naked, and he’d been so intent on escaping her, he hadn’t brought any clothes in with him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and poked his head out the door. The smell of the casserole made his mouth water, and the bottle of wine was in the middle of his small table uncorked.
Had she left? He took a step out of the bathroom, and she straightened from a long shadow at the window, holding a water glass filled with red wine. Water dripped from his hair and down his chest and back, and his grip on the towel at his waist tightened.
They stared, and the longer they stared the more electric the air grew between them. Wyatt had never experienced the kind of gravitational pull she exerted with any other woman. Whatever storm brewed behind Sutton’s eyes had nothing to do with casual fun.
He held his ground this time, but the challenge he’d sensed in her faded into a smile he recognized. It was the one that made her eyes crinkle and settled a warmth that helped burn away his worries of the future.
“You get dressed, and I’ll set the table.” She had kicked off her flip-flops and her skirt swished around her thighs as she headed to the kitchen area.
He left the door cracked and grabbed a pair of broken-in jeans and a T-shirt. Watching her putter around the kitchen through the narrow opening, he pulled his clothes on. She was on tiptoes reaching for something on the top shelf. The homey sight settled a knot in his belly and an ache in his chest. Whatever affliction he was suffering was more complicated than simple lust. It felt closer to longing.
He wasn’t sure where the night was headed, but he made his bed just in case they got up close and personal with it. He covered the stew of frustration and anticipation with a smile and joined her. A quick peek inside his oven revealed a bubbling, cheese-topped casserole.
“Five minutes to go. Time enough for a glass. Daddy has good taste; the wine is delicious.” She got down another water glass and poured him some.
“I’ll bet the Judge would be horrified if he knew we weren’t using proper glasses.”
Her laughter was slight yet held a tease. “He’d probably disown me.”
He sat down, the table only big enough for two. It had been handed down from an Abbott relation when he and Jackson had been furnishing the loft. Most of the hand-me-downs they’d replaced with nicer things over the years, but the table was so seldom used, they hadn’t bothered. He and Jackson usually ate on paper plates in front of the TV. Two mismatched dinner plates were flanked by silverware. Sutton was probably used to eating off china.
He took a sip of the wine. He was more of a beer connoisseur, but even his inexperienced palette sat up and took notice. It was good. She joined him and the silence that followed wasn’t the comfortable kind.
They weren’t friends or lovers or even dating by the strict definition. But potential for all three brewed between them.
“Did you want to talk about it?” she asked softly. “Your father, I mean?”
The way she said it made him think she already knew, so what was there to say? But then her hand snuck across the neutral zone of the table and covered his. He shifted his hand so their palms slid over each other, his rough and callused from his work in the garage, hers soft and feminine.
“Pop died a year ago today.”
Her fingers knit between his, and she squeezed. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d told me last night.”
He shrugged.
“Where are your brothers? Why aren’t you all together?”
“Jackson’s racing. Mack is probably sitting in the dark with a beer. Ford was a no-show today.”
“Would you rather be alone?” She shifted as if she was pushing up, and he tightened his hold on her.
“No.” He half-closed his eyes and took a too-big sip of the wine. “I cancelled earlier because this isn’t what you signed up for.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he said softly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He could say more, but it would be the opposite of fun and flirty and superficial.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She didn’t flinch.
He dropped his gaze to the purple depths of his glass. “Pop’s ghost hung over the shop all day, but we kept our heads down and worked.”
“Did you and Jackson talk about it?”
“Jackson is a lot like Mack. He doesn’t need to talk. Doesn’t need people. I’m not sure he even needs me.”
“That’s not true.”
Wyatt made a scoffing sound and took another sip.
“Tell me more about your dad.” Her gaze was on the play of their fingers.
“He was…” He sighed. “Everyone’s friend. Lovable. Always laughing. He was the glue that held the family together.”
“Just like you, then.”
He was ready to protest, but her smile silenced him, her eyes trying to strip away his already shaky defenses. He killed the rest of the wine and set his glass down with a thump. “I like to have fun. That’s why you propositioned me, right? Nothing special about that.”
“Oh, Wyatt.” The slight exasperation in her voice was tempered by humor and something else he couldn’t put his finger on. She disentangled their hands and rose to stand in front of him. He shifted to accommodate her between his knees, and she lay her hands on his shoulders.
She leaned in, and he took a sharp breath, thinking—hoping?—her destination was his mouth, but instead she veered to whisper in his ear. “You are the most lovable, amazing man I’ve ever met.”
When she lifted her hands from his shoulders, she took a weight he’d been carrying around so long he didn’t realize it until it was gone. Her words circled his head. She thought he was amazing? And, lovable? What did that even mean? Stuffed animals were lovable. Dogs were lovable.
He shifted to watch her take out the casserole with a singed pair of oven mitts. The domesticity of the scene made him reel—off-balance and unsure and searching blindly for his next move.
He was the one supposed to be teaching her how to loosen up and tap into her wild side. Instead, here she was, soothing his demons and tempering his grief.
She spooned portions onto their plates, hers with a modest helping and his plate piled high with an Italian looking mishmash of meat and noodles, and added two pieces of buttery looking bread tucked to the side. His first bite registered as a religious experience. With his second, he was sure Sutton qualified for sainthood.
“You like it?” she asked.
His grunt was caveman-like.
She took a bite around a smile. They made small talk for the rest of the meal, mostly about the travails of owning businesses in a small town. The conversation waned as they split the rest of the wine.
The night was at a crossroads. He swirled the wine and watched it lick the edge. Without looking up at her, he said, “I want you to stay with me tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice was tentative. She was doing her best to be wild and reckless, but she was nice and sweet and everything he’d ever dreamed of finding in a woman.
“So sure that it’s scary.”
A hint of sadness colored her smile, a forewarning of what was to come. She didn’t speak, only stood and held out a hand. He blew out a slow breath and rose to meet her.
“You left me in a bad state this morning. Why’d you do that?” The change from serious to teasing in her tone was abrupt and wasn’t the real Sutton. It was someone she thought she should be for him.
He should play along and be the guy she’d recruited for her endeavor, make her tell him all her fantasies, but he couldn’t. Not today. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you. Needed to make sure you really want me.”
Her face softened. Weaving their fingers, she molded herself against him and wrapped her other arm around him in a hug that was close to a stranglehold. Except everything about her was soft and feminine.
He nosed into the hair at her temple. Already her scent was summoning memories of kissing her and teaching her to play pool and dancing around the bonfire.
“I do want you,” she whispered.
He felt as much as heard her words. It was enough. It would have to be enough. He swept her into a cradle hold, and the noise she made was half-shocked cry, half laugh.
“What are you doing?”
“Sweeping you off your feet?” He smiled, but the sentiment took a skimming hit at his heart, leaving a painful crease. If he’d been a rabbit or squirrel, he’d advise putting the creature out of its misery.
He dropped her across his bed and came over her on his elbows, brushing her hair back from her face. Diffused light from the setting sun filtered in from the skylight and windows, broken up by fast-moving, dark, storm clouds. It made sense the weather would mimic the complicated nature of their relationship.
He needed to keep this simple. Except her eyes pulled him in like a hypnotist, and his heart spun out of control. She cupped his cheeks and lifted her head to reach his lips. The moment they met, his existence narrowed to that moment. Nothing else mattered.
He took control, pressing her into the mattress and taking the kiss to the next level, touching his tongue to hers. Her slight gasp spurred him to take the kiss deeper. He lifted off her enough to work her T-shirt up and over her head, tossing it over his shoulder.
He leaned down to nip at the soft, white skin above the white lace of her bra. Her nipple received the same treatment. She grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him back on top of her, but he resisted. As much as he wanted to bury himself in the comfort she offered, tonight had to be about her, and if he kept his hips pressed between her legs, his resolution to be unselfish would get voted down by more primal instincts.
He stood up, his gaze trailing over her body. “Take off your skirt.”
She shimmied off the skirt and kicked it to the side, a touch of shyness giving her movements an endearing awkwardness. He peeled off his shirt, and it landed on top of hers on the floor. One of her hands came up to cover her chest while her legs cut against each other. A natural seductiveness lurked under the trappings of what she’d learned was proper, and he would be the man to set it free.
He might not be her first lover, but he’d be the one she remembered forever, dammit. His good intentions were dented when she propped up on an elbow and ran her fingertips over the prominent erection next to his zipper. She tugged at his belt, and he grabbed her wrist.
“Not yet. First you.” He was dimly aware he spoke like a man whose native language wasn’t English.
He squatted down, hooked his hands behind her knees, and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Her gasping yelp turned into a breathy moan when he ran his tongue along the center of the impractical scrap of lace she called underwear. He hooked them to the side and did what he’d been thinking about since forever.
His emotions were raw from grief over his father, worry over the garage, and frustration over her. Being between her legs and hearing his name on her lips soothed the rough edges of his spirit even as his body clamored for more. She was already hot for him, but he wanted her wild.
When her hands speared into his hair and drew into fists, pulling at his scalp, he glanced up to find her watching him. His tongue stilled. The moment was more intimate than any they’d shared, the barriers between them demolished.
* * *
Sutton had assumed sex with Wyatt would be fun and light and satisfying, similar to their interlude on her couch. This felt more like life and death. Like she might die if she didn’t get him inside of her.
“Please, I need…” Was that her voice?
“Tell me. You have to tell me.”
She again propped herself up on a shaky elbow and reached between his legs. If anything, his erection had grown bigger and harder. “You. Inside of me.”
He didn’t say anything, but reached around her to unhook her bra and draw it off. She’d purposefully worn sexier-than-normal underwear, half hopeful, half scared they’d end up exactly where they were—in his bed.
Yet the urge to cover herself like a prudish heroine from a Victorian novel was undeniable. That wasn’t the kind of heroine she wanted to be. She wanted to take charge and be bold, but couldn’t quite put a stamp of ownership on her sexuality. She half covered her breasts with an arm.
He leaned over her and dropped a simple kiss on her lips. “You’re beautiful and sexy and perfect.”
Truth smoldered in his eyes. Courage. He gave her courage. She put her hands on his bare flanks, the skin hot and smooth, the muscles taut. Her reward was a smile. In a quick move, he lowered his head and took one of her nipples in his mouth.
Her eyes might have rolled back in her head for a second. The mind-blowing pleasure was short-lived. He stood, unbuckled his belt, and pushed his pants down and off with a feline grace.
His erection bobbed at eye level, and her courage went on hiatus. She scooched back on the bed, but before she escaped his reach, he grabbed her panties and yanked them down.
He crawled to join her in the middle of the king-size bed and came over her. This was it. Tensing, she closed her eyes, spread her legs, and waited. Nothing happened. She opened one eye to find him looking at her, his head tilted.
“What are you thinking right now?” His voice held all sorts of questions.
“I’m ready for you to … do it.”
“Why is your face all scrunched up like you’re preparing for a flu shot?”
Oh God, she was blowing it. And not in the sexy sense of the word. She attempted to smooth her expression. “After this morning, I figured you’d want to, you know, get yours. I’m ready.”
“You’re not nearly ready.” He rolled them so she straddled him and pushed her to sitting. The position startled her into indecision. What did he expect her to do?
He circled his hips and ground his erection against her. She undulated involuntarily. It felt so amazing, she did it again. And again. Her head fell back, and she stifled a moan. His hands spasmed on her thighs, and she stopped, worried she did something wrong.
“Don’t stop, babe,” he said gruffly.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Instead of making her feel foolish, his slow smile made her confidence bloom. “Do what feels good. And don’t worry, we’re both going to end up with a smile on our faces.”
The flash of self-consciousness at her position—naked and dimly backlit by the lights from the kitchen area and the setting sun—was seared away by the intensity of his gaze. She continued to grind along his length until she wasn’t only ready, she bordered on frantic.
He slid his hands from her thighs, up and over her hips to circle her ribcage. The calluses along his palms rasped pleasurably along her nerve-endings, and his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts. Her nipples peaked, and she arched into his touch.
“More, please.” The words emerged from her strangled throat on a shallow breath.
As if he’d been waiting for her cue, he maneuvered her as if she weighed nothing to pull her nipple into his mouth. He reached for a condom and rolled it on, brushing the most sensitive part of her with his knuckles. She couldn’t wait a second longer.
She shifted back, and his erection pushed inside of her an inch. They moaned in tandem, the hum vibrating from her nipple to between her legs, and he moved his hands to her hips. She was thankful, because any sort of physical coordination was beyond her.
Slowly, his grip firm, but not biting, he guided her until he was buried deep. He felt perfect inside of her.
“Are you good?” The breathlessness in his voice was gratifying.
“So, so good.” She peppered his face with kisses until her lips met his, and he assumed control. Even though she was the one on top, he possessed her. Any vague worry over her easy surrender disappeared with his first thrust.
The rhythm he set was slow, each glide deep. The chase to orgasm was on, and her body responded by picking up the pace, no longer needing his hands for guidance. He pushed her to sitting, interrupting her rhythm, but the position moved him even deeper. She braced herself on his chest, his muscles tensed.
“Go on, take what you need,” he said in a guttural voice she barely recognized as his.
The concept was foreign. She’d never been given freedom in bed. Sex had been an orchestrated, textbook affair. But Wyatt had turned everything she thought about herself on its head. The freedom was intoxicating, and she rose and fell on him, not worried about whether or not he was enjoying it or how she looked doing it.
She moved her fingers to where they were joined, and he whispered encouragement. Her orgasm swept over her, turning her movements clumsy, but his hands were there to steady her and keep the rhythm intact.
His thrusts became harder, lifting her up, until he too succumbed, his body bowing inward. As soon as he turned lax underneath her, she collapsed to his chest, her face buried in his neck. Their breathing slowed together.
She wasn’t sure how long they lay there. Minutes, hours, a lifetime. Her thoughts were scattered and varied, but the one that jumped out was a silent call of thanks to Andrew. Without his betrayal, she would have never had this experience with Wyatt.
The question that jabbed at her was whether their explosive passion was like two chemical elements that were inert until combined or whether it was all Wyatt. Was sex always like this for him? Did it matter?
It shouldn’t, but it did. Still, she wasn’t naïve enough to ask him if she were special. The dissection of truth and lie would take her out of the moment, and the moment was very good. That’s all the new and improved Sutton wanted to concentrate on.
He shifted her to his side and rolled over to dispose of the condom. Too relaxed to cover herself, she ran her fingertips over the muscles of his back. He gathered her in his arms and tucked her against him.
With their legs tangled in the sheets and Wyatt tracing masterpieces on her back, Sutton felt like she was floating as close to heaven as she could get without actually dying. Although that orgasm … she might have seen God. She had definitely called His name with more emotion than she’d ever used in church.
A premature darkness had snuffed out the dying light. Lightning flashed, followed seconds later by rumbling thunder. The storm was still miles away, but getting closer. She was thankful for the excuse to stay a little longer.
“Storms terrified me when I was little. I used to crawl in bed with Mack.” His voice was faraway and dreamy.
“Not Ford even then?” She explored his body in a way she’d never been comfortable doing with Andrew. One of his hands was tucked behind his head, and the bulge of his biceps inspired awe.
“Ford was the reason I was so scared. Told me stories about how a hurricane blew through and drowned half the parish. It’s why I took the top bunk and made Jackson sleep under me. How’s that for brotherly love?”
She laughed softly. “I don’t remember stories of a flood like that.”
“That’s because he lied to scare me. Of course, I had put a salamander in his bed earlier that week. Too bad I was too dumb to connect the two incidents.”
She chuffed a laugh and nuzzled at his neck. “Not dumb. Young and innocent. Did Mack tease you too?”
“Naw. He’s an old soul as Aunt Hazel would say. Always been too serious. Not sure he knows how to have fun.”
“What about Jackson? Does he know how to have fun?”
“A different kind than most people are used to. He loves to race. Not sure what he’s chasing out on the track or if he’ll ever catch it.”
His heart beat under her ear, a soothing tempo that urged hers to match. “My father and Bree came to see me today.”
“Busy day. What did they want?”
“Apparently, Andrew isn’t giving up on getting back together. Bree told me she was jealous of me, and that’s part of the reason she took up with Andrew. She apologized, and it felt real this time.”
“Did you accept?”
“I didn’t not accept.” She explored the thick dusting of dark hair on his chest and followed the line down his belly to the sheet. His torso was solid and thick, with muscles earned through hard work and not in a gym.
He grabbed her hand, his body rumbling with laughter. “Is this the turn-around you threatened me with this morning?”
She tilted her head back to see his face. His eyes were closed, his smile sultry. If he wasn’t bothered by the temporary nature of their relationship—maybe hook-up was more accurate—then she’d try not to be either. People did this sort of thing all the time.
“You can forgive her that easily?” he asked.
“We’re not friends, but not enemies either. I don’t know what she is or what she’ll be to me in the future.” She slipped her hand under the sheet to his hip and explored the curve of his buttock. “Daddy’s worried you’re using me.”
“Did you tell him that you’re the one using me?”
Her heart stuttered, no longer synchronized with his, and she propped up on her elbow. “I’m not using you.”
He smiled an unfamiliar smile—smaller and sadder—and pushed her tangled hair over her shoulder, his hand staying to caress the skin. “You don’t need to lie to me.”
She couldn’t hold his gaze and sank back down to his chest, but her utter contentment had been invaded by worry and more than a little anger.
“I’m not surprised Tarwater wants you back,” he said as she tried to get her whirling thoughts under control.
Finally, she said, “It’s all political. Andrew is gunning for Daddy’s judgeship.”
“You’re selling yourself short. Maybe he didn’t realize what he’d had until it was gone.”
She harrumphed. “Please.”
In a blink, he’d rolled on top of her, any hint of lassitude gone. “You’re amazing in bed and out. Any man with a functioning brain cell would want you.”
Irritation colored the still simmering arousal. “You’re using me too. You only agreed to date me to get business for the garage, right? Sex is an unexpected perk.”
He bared his teeth and pushed her hands above her head. She didn’t understand the roil of emotions on his face, but the brush of his erection between her legs incinerated her questions, except for one. “You want to do it again?”
He transferred her wrists to one hand and reached for a condom as his answer. She spread her legs wider, her need, now that it had been uncaged, had grown exponentially. He pushed inside of her and dropped his mouth to hers. Brutal and taking, his mouth tried to impart a lesson she was in no mood to learn. She nipped at his bottom lip.
He was angry, and so was she, yet she still trusted him to bring her pleasure and not pain. As his thrusts turned as hard as his kiss, her hips rose to meet his, and she shattered around him. This time it wasn’t the Almighty she called for but Wyatt, over and over, urging him to join her.
When he did, his hands loosened on her wrists and weaved with hers, his body still grinding into her, prolonging her orgasm and bringing tears to her eyes for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint but which were more than purely physical. She turned her face to the side and squeezed her eyes shut like a dam against the tidal wave of emotion.
As the wind and lightning and thunder grew more violent outside, whatever storm had raged between them abated. He brushed his lips against her temple and pulled back.
“Tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” Her voice came out shaky, and she tucked her chin against her shoulder to stem the wobble.
“Why are you crying, then?” He unwound their hands and forced her to face him.
“I don’t know.” It was such a girly thing to say, but it was true. He hadn’t hurt her physically, yet something inside of her ached just the same. Another tear tracked from the corner of her eye and into her hair.
The last week had taught her the need to protect herself, and she was loathe to expose a weakness to anyone, especially a man who had no allegiance to her. After they were over and done, what would he say about her to his friends at the Tavern or to his brothers?
“What are you going to tell people after the gala … after we’re over?”
“I don’t want to think about us being over when we’re just getting started.” His gray eyes swallowed her in warmth and kindness and melancholy, the stew of emotions mimicking the ache inside of her. “But if you’re asking whether or not I kiss and tell, the answer is no. Whatever happens between us, stays between us.”
His answer didn’t sooth her, and with a shock she realized why. She didn’t care what anyone else thought or said about her. Only what Wyatt thought of her mattered. This moment had nothing to do with Andrew or Bree or her father or even Cottonbloom. It was for them.
Her instincts urged caution. Overanalyzing the situation while he was still between her legs, his chest rubbing her breasts, was foolhardy. She curled her legs around his thighs and brought him closer.
“Even I can’t go three rounds without a break, darlin’.” Would she ever tire of his laughter? Husky and sexy and rough. He squeezed her hands and rubbed his cheek against hers. “You sure you’re okay?”
The affectionate gesture made her heart tingle as fiercely as the sex had made her body tingle. “Better than okay. That was more intense than I expected is all.”
Worry lingered in the pull of his lips, but he didn’t pursue the line of questioning. Instead, he rolled off of her with a sigh. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the storm settling into a steady rain against the windows.
She pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts and sat up, unsure of what was expected. “Should I…?”
“Stay? Yep. Grab a T-shirt from the top drawer if you want, but naked is even better. You shouldn’t be out driving in this mess anyway.”
Her car had excellent windshield wipers, but she wanted to stay, so why fight it? She’d never slept naked before, not by herself or with anyone else. It seemed a decadent and very non-beige thing to do.
After cleaning up in the bathroom, she bypassed his drawer and slipped back in bed to cuddle up against him. Worries about what would happen in the morning wormed into her head. Her parents would expect her at church in the morning, so she’d have to leave before then. Between the rain and the warmth of his body, sleep claimed her before she could make a plan of escape.