by Maisey Yates
“I mean, I get that we don’t know each other very well, but you’re basically all I’ve got. It’s nice for you, that you had this whole other family just waiting to discover that you existed. A dad that’s happy to meet you. But I don’t have that. I don’t have any of that. And if I didn’t have you...well, then all I’ve got is Mom and she doesn’t care. You know that.”
“I know,” West said. “But that was never what I meant to do. I went away for a while, and being in prison gave me a lot of time to think. Which sounds like a cliché, but it’s true.”
He lifted his head up and looked at the wide expanse of blue sky. At the mountains covered with pine trees and the endless green hills spread before him.
“I’ll never take this for granted again,” he continued. “Being able to go for a ride when I choose to. Being able to look at the outdoors and all its glory. But I was... I’ve been lost for a long time. Most of my life. I thought that if I could make money I could find a way to buy myself some kind of normal. And I thought that was what I wanted. What I needed. I’ve been a lot happier here. Not with status. Not with money. Just with what I’ve got. With myself. With what little freedom that means. I don’t need to be normal, I don’t need to fit in. Neither do you. That’s not what you’re supposed to do in the world. Fit in. You’re supposed to walk your own path.”
“I thought I was supposed to walk on yours, because you knocked down all the bushes for me or something.” A scowl wound through Emmett’s voice.
“You get the idea,” West said. “I’m trying to make a metaphor.”
“Well, stick to riding lessons. You’re actually okay at that.”
West chuckled. “Thanks for the compliment. Pretty sure that was a compliment.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Emmett said.
“I know it hasn’t been a good road for either of us,” West said. “I know it hasn’t been easy. But you can count on me.” He looked back at the kid. “We’re brothers. And that matters.”
Emmett didn’t say anything. He just nodded. But West had a feeling there was a wealth of meaning in the nod.
He could only hope that it meant he was reaching the kid.
Because he was reaching West somehow, this whole place was reaching him. He felt like he belonged, sure and simple. And it wasn’t the land or the trees or the sky, as much as he liked them. No, it was the people.
His family.
In his mind, pretty brown eyes glittered.
Yeah, this place was really getting to him. Including one particularly pretty police officer.
* * *
IT WASN’T HER birthday that made her feel different. Not this year. She hadn’t even really been thinking about it. But then, she had told her family a long time ago that she didn’t want a big deal made out of her birthday, and they respected that. She wished it weren’t her day off.
She didn’t like sitting around doing nothing on her birthday. Not that she wanted to do a birthday thing. She just wanted to distract herself.
Because sometimes she felt dissatisfied with her years-old sweeping statement that she didn’t want a party or presents or cake. A card with a cute animal on it.
But the other night was a great example of why she didn’t feel like she could. It was just...it was just that she felt like they all had their roles. And it was important that they stuck with them.
Iris had taken her to coffee that morning. Then Pansy had gone back home and done chores. Caught up on cleaning, which she did not do a very good job at.
Come to think of it, she did most of her cleaning on her birthday every year, to distract herself from the fact that she both wanted and would be appalled by a big party.
She was on her hands and knees reaching underneath her couch to see if there was anything down there—there was no reason for there to be, she was just on the quest for busywork—when there was a knock at her door.
She got up, her heart hammering.
It could be her family with a surprise birthday cake. But it wouldn’t be.
Given she had left them under the impression that she didn’t want that.
She made her way to the door and jerked it open. And there he was.
Holding a cake.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s your birthday,” West said. “And I was going to come by anyway, birthday or not.”
“How did you know it was my... How?”
“That is a matter of public record, Officer. These kinds of things are posted on the internet for all to see.”
“You looked me up?”
“I did.”
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Why?”
“Well, in fairness I looked you up after I ran into your police chief, who mentioned to me that it was your birthday. And I then confirmed it.”
“Why did he...why did he tell you it was my birthday?”
“I imagine he’s aware that we have a connection.”
“How?”
West stepped inside of her house without waiting to be invited in and he touched her cheek with his fingertips. The look in his eyes burned all the way down.
“It’s easy to see, Pansy. To anyone who wants to take a look.”
Heat sizzled through her. “Really?”
She wasn’t exactly horrified by that.
The idea that someone could see that this man wanted her felt special somehow. Wonderful.
“The cake is strawberries and vanilla, I hope you like it. For some reason you seemed like the kind of woman who liked those sorts of flavors. A little bit sweet. A little bit tart.”
He was right. She didn’t know how the hell he was right.
“I do,” she said, her insides tensing up, on the verge of something. On the verge of giving in to this entirely, or pulling back completely, she didn’t know. She really couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Well, that was really nice of you,” she said.
“I have ulterior motives,” he said, winking and heading into her kitchen. He moved around in there like he had every right to. Like it was normal. Like she had asked him to, or like he had done it a hundred times.
When she followed after him, she saw that he had put two cake slices onto two small plates, then closed the cake itself back in the box. “I don’t sing,” he said, handing her the first piece. “But happy birthday.”
“If you don’t sing I... I don’t know,” she said.
She was holding onto the plate too tight. But she couldn’t quite make herself ease up. She didn’t know what was wrong with her.
Her fingers were bent back slightly at the first knuckle, straining against the bottom lip of the porcelain. “You really don’t want me to sing,” he said, “trust me.” He took a bite of his cake, then set it back down on the counter.
He started to walk toward her, and she backed up slightly, the counter hitting her right in her lower back.
He took her fork from her hand and moved it smoothly through the cake, holding it up for her.
It was silly. She wasn’t going to let him feed her. He had brought her cake, which already felt sort of ridiculously over-the-top in terms of taking care of her. She didn’t need to be taken care of. She took care of herself. She made sure she was okay.
But he brought the fork to the edge of her mouth and she opened for him. He slid the fork in and slowly, she felt an erotic echo move through her entire body. “Good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, looking down. Because if she looked at him she was going to spontaneously combust. Over cake. And that would just be embarrassing.
“It’s fine,” he said. “But I bet you taste sweeter.”
He took the plate from her hands and set the cake on the counter behind her. And then he leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers, slowly, gently. He slid his tongue between the seam of her lips and
the sound he made reverberated inside of her.
“Just like I thought,” he said against her lips. “Delicious.”
“West...”
“It’s been too long, Pansy. I’m starving for you, don’t you know that?”
“You brought me cake,” she said, the words shaky. “And then you took it away.”
“You can have it later,” he said, his voice husky. “I need you.”
The pleasure of those words shot through her, sharp and swift. He needed her.
It made her feel like maybe she hadn’t needed to hold on to that cake plate so tight. Like maybe she wasn’t losing her mind. Like maybe everything would be okay. If he needed her.
Maybe the weakness she felt inside of her wasn’t so weak after all. But then he put his hands on her hips, and he kissed her again, taking it deeper and harder, and she started to shake.
Need.
That word kept rolling around inside of her head.
She didn’t like it.
It terrified her.
He could need this. In the moment.
That made sense.
And maybe if he could then so could she.
Maybe that’s all it was.
Maybe it had nothing to do with need in the big, wide sense, that might fill her whole world and her whole life.
Maybe it was just this moment in her kitchen with those big hands bracing her in place, and his mouth all hot and hard and searching over hers.
With his tongue slick and perfect as he tasted her deep and long. He angled his head and consumed her. And she let him. Just stood there and let desire riot through her. Let him take what he needed. Because somehow that felt easy. Easier than grabbing hold of his shoulders and clinging to him. Admitting that she needed him too.
He was going too slow, though. And eventually she got restless, rocking her hips against his and trying to urge him to go faster. To make his hands rough like he had done the last two times they were together. To take her up against the counter, with the lip biting into her body so that she had a counterbalance to the sweetness that he was pouring over her like honey. Like frosting. Like the best cake she could ever imagine.
But he didn’t go faster. And he didn’t get rougher. He kept it slow, and he kept it sweet, and she began to whimper in frustration.
He moved his hands to her hair as he continued to kiss her, and she moved her hands to his stomach, pushing them up his shirt so that she could feel his bare skin. So that she could try to urge things along.
And then he pulled her ponytail. “Hey,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “Don’t get ahead of it. Relax.”
She was ready to argue. To tell him she didn’t respond to commands.
But then his mouth was back on hers, and she couldn’t think of a single compelling argument for why they should do anything differently. Because his touch was magic, and his lips were magic, and he made her feel magic.
She had never felt magic in her whole life.
She had felt restless. And she had felt wrong. She had felt triumphant. And she had felt self-righteous.
But not like she might contain something bright and brilliant that existed inside no one else.
But West Caldwell needed her.
This big, handsome cowboy needed her.
And if he did, then maybe there was something special in her. Not just something wrong. Not just something wild that needed to be tamed. Something bad that needed to be corrected. But something that shimmered like gold, just like the sparks of pleasure inside of her.
This was the best birthday gift she’d ever gotten, and for some reason the realization made her throat feel tight. Made her feel like her emotions were trapped there, growing and building, expanding down her chest, into her stomach. Building pressure behind her eyes.
So she tightened her hold on him, because it made her feel like she might be closer to holding herself together, if she could brace herself on all his strength.
At the dinner table she’d had to be strong. Rigid. Self-contained.
But she could be contained in West’s arms. Stand solid against that broad, muscular chest.
She could rest.
His hands moved achingly slow over her curves, and when he picked her up off the floor, she didn’t even think to protest.
“Which way to the bedroom?” he asked.
This was pivotal, and she knew it. Letting him into her house like this, into her bed.
If he laid her down on that mattress and had his way with her, as he had done against the wall, as he had done on that couch in the barn, well, it would be different. This was her space. Her bed, where she slept every night.
His skin would be against her sheets. And when it was over her bed would smell like him. Like the scent of his skin and hers together.
She was already changed. But this was different. This was him in her home, changing the shape of her mattress with the weight of his body. Changing the shape of her life.
“Second door down the hall,” she said, her voice rough.
Because she couldn’t tell him no. No matter how much she might fear this. No matter how intense it might seem.
She couldn’t turn back, because she wasn’t made of that sort of thing.
Because once she had been wild. And once she had run across the property with her hair flying in the wind, not trapped in a ponytail.
Because once she had gone barefoot in the fields.
And that girl would have grown into a woman who hadn’t feared this at all.
But that girl felt locked behind a wall inside of Pansy. And for the first time she wanted to let her out.
He walked into her bedroom and set her down at the foot of the bed. Then he closed the door behind them.
He took his shirt off slowly, giving her a good view of his body. Then he worked his belt buckle free, pulling his belt through the loops on his jeans as he toed his boots off. Then he slowly undid the button and the snap on those jeans, and she felt her internal muscles clench in anticipation.
He pushed the denim down his thighs along with his underwear, leaving him gloriously naked in front of her.
She took a step toward him, then another. They had gone so fast all the other times. So desperate. And he had set the pace this time, keeping it slow.
It made her ache, but the idea of taking the time to explore him a bit... That made it seem worth it.
She reached out and touched his chest, licking her lips as she dragged her fingertips down over those hot, hard muscles. When she wrapped her hand around his hard length, his breath hissed between his teeth.
“You know, I’ve seen a lot of half-dressed men running around in my life. Hazards of growing up in the kind of house I did. But I’ve never seen a naked man like this.”
His response was nothing more than a guttural sound.
“I didn’t know that I’d think...you’re kind of beautiful.” She squeezed him, and he jerked in her palm.
“You’re the first woman who’s ever called me that,” he said, his voice gritty.
“I find that hard to believe.”
Suddenly, she hated the woman that had married him. Hated her with everything inside of her. And Pansy hadn’t known that she possessed the ability to hate that way.
She had always taken the stance that life was too short for negative feelings. But forever would be just long enough to hold a grudge against the woman that had taken this man, this beautiful man who saw her for who she was, whose body was a damned work of art, and seen him locked away in a prison cell.
How had she not appreciated him? How had she not appreciated this?
She pressed herself against him and kissed him hard, not letting go of his hardened length as she did. She wanted... There was no way she could ever be close enough to him. She wanted to make up for those lost years, so
mehow. She wanted to fix the fact that he’d given his heart to someone who’d done that to him.
She wanted to protect him.
Ex-convict West Caldwell, and she wanted to protect him.
With all of her five feet four inches.
A tear slid down her cheek, and it was embarrassing and ridiculous, but she didn’t even care. She just kept on kissing him. His hands were big and firm on her butt as he held her against him, as she kissed him and kissed him and tried to pour all of the confused feelings that swirled around inside of her into that kiss.
She kissed his neck, his chest. She remembered the way that he had explored her body, and she moved her way down his body. Her lips blazing a trail over all that hard packed muscle. He took a sharp breath and they shifted beneath her mouth, and her stomach tightened in response.
She dropped to her knees, examining the deep line that ran just below his hip bone toward that hard, male part of him that jutted out away from his body. She wrapped her hand around him again, and leaned in, tasting him shyly.
The deep groan that vibrated through his body told her that she was doing it right. Then she followed that. Exploring him in a way that she hadn’t realized she needed to. Taking him in deep.
Taking every harsh, fractured sound he made as her due for the pleasure that she gave him.
“Enough,” he said, panting hard.
He hauled her up off the ground, and then kept on lifting until her legs were wrapped around his waist and he was walking her back toward the bed. He stripped her top off. Her bra.
Then threw her down on the bed and took her jeans off, leaving her panties on.
He followed her onto the mattress, his breath hot against her stomach, just beneath her belly button. And he kissed her there. Just above the waistband of her panties. He pushed his finger beneath the gap in the fabric where the seam met her thigh and he teased her. Finding where she was slick and hot for him and dragging his fingers through her folds. He teased her until she was arching up off the bed, but still he didn’t take the underwear off. Then he pushed them aside and spread her thighs ruthlessly, dropping his head and dragging his tongue directly down the center of her body, the center of her need.
