Grand Lake Colorado Series: A Complete Small Town Contemporary Romance Collection

by Alexis Winter

  He hands over a bottle and sits where he had before, far away from me. “So, what’s up?” I ask, taking a drink.

  “I thought that maybe we needed to address last night…”

  I nod. “I thought the same thing, but honestly, it seems we’re both doing the right thing here, right?”

  He looks over at me with a lift of his brow.

  “We’re ignoring it?” I say as I wait for him to comment, but all he does is nod. “I mean, you have a lot going on. You just moved and bought this place, you’re trying to start up a company, and you have Margo. Starting a relationship should be the last of your worries. Not to mention, Margo is young. We don’t want our bad choices to cause her any pain in the future. I think what’s best is just to put it behind us.”

  He clears his throat. “I couldn’t have said it any better myself,” he agrees.

  I nod once. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page. Now, do you want to watch a real scary movie?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood by being playful and smiling.

  He laughs. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “I’ve always loved the Nightmare on Elm Street series.”

  “Really?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

  “Yeah. I mean, you can run from killers like Jason and Michael, but you can’t run from Freddy. Everyone has to sleep some time.”

  I shrug. “I guess I never really thought of it like that.”

  He pulls up a streaming movie channel and searches for it, finding the first one.

  “Yes! This one is my favorite. Young Johnny Depp, yes sir,” I joke and he laughs.

  I kick off my boots and pull my feet up onto the couch, getting comfy. The two of us sit, watching the movie and drinking beer after beer. Halfway through the movie, I find myself leaning more toward the middle, and I don’t think anything of it—not until I notice him do the same thing a little while later. But we’ve been sitting upright on this couch for hours now. I’m sure he’s just getting to be as uncomfortable as I am.

  By the end of the movie, I find myself lying back, resting my head against the arm rest with my butt and feet in the middle. He’s leaned over on his side now, head resting on his fist and his elbow against the couch. His arm is almost touching my leg, and I can somehow feel the heat coming off of it.

  The credits roll, and the living room gets darker. Neither of us move to shut off the TV. I’m feeling good and relaxed, finally comfortable and in no rush to move. I’m tired from getting up so early and staying up late for the second night in a row. I have a feeling it’s going to take a Mack Truck to get me off this couch.

  He turns his head and looks up at me, his eyes finding mine in the darkness. The air between us seems to grow thick again, something I’m finding happening more and more when we’re left alone. I don’t know how to pull away. I only know that I should. But why? I suddenly can’t remember.

  I don’t know how the space between us gets smaller and smaller. I don’t move. But the next thing I know, his lips are against mine. His body is half covering mine, pressing me into the couch cushions. His tongue swirls with mine, and the longer we kiss, the further it goes. His hands start out on my hips, but they slowly move over my body, my jaw, my neck, my shoulder, my side, inching closer and closer to my breast, but never touching it.

  It’s almost like he wants to, but something is holding him back. It’s like he’s dancing along a line. Once that line is crossed, we can never go back. He wants to, and I want to, but do we really want to? Knowing that we can’t ever go back? Is it worth it? Will we come out on the other side better, stronger? Or will we both end up lost, not knowing how to move on?

  He lets out a deep growl, like he’s suddenly giving in and tired of fighting. His hand lands on my breast, lightly squeezing it as he uses his hips to push my legs apart. He slides down between them, his hips pressing against a part of my body I haven’t thought about in a long time. I can feel how hard he is as he strains against his jeans, pressing against me. I can feel the sudden change between us. Once guarded and unsure, now we’re throwing caution to the wind.

  I know I should stop this, but he feels too good pressed against me. My hands come between us, and they begin pushing his shirt up his stomach. He lifts himself up just enough to pull the shirt up higher. Reaching behind him, he yanks it off from the back. I hear the threads popping and snapping, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  Our lips are only parted for a moment, but it gives me all the time I need to see what he’s been hiding. His biceps are big, as are his pecs. It’s easy to see how much he takes care of himself. His abs are hard and rippling, and he has just the smallest amount of hair on his belly button that trails down below his pants.

  His lips are back on mine in an instant, and his hands seem more persistent this time. They’re pushing my shirt up my stomach, and I raise my arms so he can pull it off. The moment he does, his lips don’t come back to mine. Instead, they fall to kiss the swell of my breasts. He pulls the cups of my bra away, sucking my nipple into his mouth. It immediately hardens and tingles with pleasure.

  We’re both panting and breathless when he pulls away. His dark eyes find mine. “Can I take you upstairs?” he asks in a hushed whisper.

  I don’t speak, unable to trust my voice, so I nod.

  He picks me up against him, and our mouths find one another again as he carries me up the stairs and into his room. The room is dark but smells of him. The scent is rich and thick and woodsy. He places me on the bed, and his scent is only stronger here. The blankets are thick, and the pillows are fluffy. It’s like a bed that you only find in a nice hotel. Soft, comfy, and perfect.

  Now that’s we’re hidden away in his dark room, he leans back on his knees and unfastens his pants. I make quick work of removing the rest of my clothing. We both somehow finish at the same time, and before I know it, we’re crashing together, lips, hands, and legs, all tangled around each other. His hips are between my legs, and his erection is hard as it presses against my core. His hands are moving all over, touching all of me at once, my hips, my waist, my breasts, his strokes alternating between firm grasps to light caress.es

  I lift my hips, enjoying the feeling of his soft tip running between my wet folds. Both his hands come down on my hips, holding them still. The moment he trusts me not to move them again, one hand falls away. He takes himself in hand and guides himself into me, filling me. It must be just as overwhelming for him as it is me because he keeps pausing. Every time I think he’s all the way in, he pushes in more. I feel almost painfully full, but I’m sure it’s just from lack of anyone being inside of me in so long.

  Finally, I feel his hips touch against me, and I know that it really is the last stretch. He still doesn’t move though. He holds completely still, adjusting to my tightness and heat.

  “Fuck, Violet,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re so fucking tight, I want to come right now.” He rocks his hips, and his tip finds that perfect spot that has me letting out a soft moan.

  “Please, don’t stop,” I beg, needing more.

  His lips find mine, and he pulls his hips back, slamming them into me. I dig my nails into his back as I moan into his mouth, already ready to fall apart. He wraps one arm around my back, like he’s hugging me to him, but it lifts my hips up at an angle that is perfect and delicious. He uses that arm to pull me back into his thrusts, making them feel harder and more powerful.

  While his hips keep moving, he leans down and sucks my nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue against it. I feel my release begin to rise and my breathing picks up.

  “Are you going to come?” he whispers, moving his mouth up to my ear.

  My hold on him tightens, but I’m still unable to find my voice as I let my release build higher.

  His hips move faster, his thrusts getting harder. His hands squeeze my body, and his mouth ravages my neck and jaw. “Come for me, Violet. I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.” His teeth nip my ear, and my moans grow loude
r.

  “Carson,” I breathe out his name. “Fuck, don’t stop,” I beg. Pressure continues to build until it’s too much, and the next thing I know, I’m spiraling, falling, breaking into a million tiny pieces. My orgasm washes over me, hot and heavy, swirling around inside of me like a hurricane, slowly taking over every nerve ending. My toes go numb, my lungs stop working, my heart races, and it feels like every hair is standing on end. I ride out every last wave he provides me until I can finally suck in a gasp of air.

  His thrust seem to grow more impatient, and they get faster but less precise. Suddenly, they jerk to a stop, and he lets out a sound from deep in his throat that has my stomach muscles tightening from the sexy noise. His hips slow and come to a stop. Finally, he’s still on top of me.

  We’re both breathing heavy, trying to get control of our bodies. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest, which is pressed to mine. But as quickly as all this happened, his body tightens again, but this time, it’s not in the same way. He’s back to being guarded, only giving me one small peek at himself. Now, he’s confused, unsure of what we just did. I can feel his unease creeping up like a spider I’ve been watching travel the room. The question now is, how’s this all going to play out? Will he ask me to leave? Will he beg me to stay? Maybe I should just make this easier for him and remove myself. I’m sure he’s fighting with himself right now, and to be honest, so am I.

  Eight

  Carson

  I haven’t even pulled out of her yet, and already, I’m freaking out. I keep the thought of Kate at bay, along with the fact that Violet is the first woman I’ve been with since her passing. What gets me, though, is how we even got here and the cost that I won’t have to pay—but Margo will. If this ends badly, I’ve taken Margo’s closest thing she has to a friend. The guilt eats me alive.

  I pull myself away from her and lay on the bed beside her. She’s still breathing heavy and unable to move. My lungs are working double time, and my heart is racing to keep up. I can’t even remember the last time sex felt that good. Of course, it was always good with my late wife, but this is something different. This is the sweetness of something new, the excitement, the fear, and the nervousness that comes with it. Violet was too perfect, and I couldn’t help but to take her. She’s beautiful and sweet, she loves my daughter, and I couldn’t resist. Being with her was even better than I imagined. She was unbelievably tight. I would almost think that she isn’t very experienced, but she moved perfectly. She was hot, nearly too warm and welcoming, and I wanted to blow the moment I slid into her. Her moans and whimpers were soft and sweet and a turn-on.

  But now we’ve reached the awkward part. What do we do now? Will she get up and leave, or will she stay? Will she pretend that this didn’t happen? Will she be ashamed of being used? Because that’s basically what I just did. I wanted her and I took her like a new toy, knowing that I was only going to play with it once.

  It’s dark and quiet in my room, so I don’t have to worry about her finding my worried expression, but then, I don’t have to worry about it at all because she’s sitting up on the bed and pulling her clothes back on.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, confused.

  “I gotta get home. It’s late.”

  “You don’t have to rush off. You can stay if you want,” I offer, but all the while, I’m hoping she doesn’t take me up on it.

  “Thanks, but I really don’t want to have to explain this to Margo tomorrow.” She stands up. “Where’s my shirt?”

  “In the living room floor with mine.” I nearly laugh out. I stand up and pull on my jeans. “I’ll walk you out,” I tell her, leading her toward the door.

  Downstairs, I pick up our shirts and I hand hers to her. She pulls it on quickly, then sits down to pull on her boots. I stand back, watching and trying to think of what needs to be said here, but I’m coming up blank.

  She grabs her bag and stands up. “Well, um, thanks for the invite?” she says, but it sounds like an awkward question.

  I laugh as my hand raises on its own to run through my hair, a nervous habit. “No problem. Margo loved having you here and…so did I.” I add on the last part, and it sounds just as awkward as her last statement.

  “Okay, well…I really should get going.”

  “Oh, right,” I mumble, shaking my head at myself. I turn around, and she follows me to the front door. I open it for her and stand back, watching her walk through it. On the other side, she pauses and turns back to face me.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  I hold up my hand and wave, but she doesn’t see it. When she gets in the car, I shut the door and lock it behind her. I head back into the living room and turn off the TV, then head up to my room to sleep off the night. Obviously, this is something that I need to think about with a clear head and no mixed-up emotions to confuse me further.

  When I fall into my bed, her scent is all around me, and I pull the pillows in closer. I forgot about how good it feels to smell someone other than yourself on the pillows. I take a deep breath and it comes back out in a sigh. Kate forms behind my lids and that guilt I felt earlier returns.

  I wake feeling rested in the morning, and I go straight to the bathroom to shower. I undress and turn on the water. I shave while it warms up and then step inside. The moment I do, I think about yesterday, and that leads me to think about last night. I let out a groan, annoyed with myself. Why did I go and do that? She’s going to avoid me now, and Margo isn’t going to understand. I guess all I can do is see how it plays out and hope that she’s a good enough person to not punish my daughter for my mistakes.

  I’m making coffee in the kitchen when Margo walks in, rubbing her eyes. “Dad, breakfast?”

  I pour my coffee and turn to her. “What would you like?”

  “Can we get donuts?”

  I shake my head once. “Not today.”

  She rolls her dark eyes. “Pancakes,” she finally says, turning to go to the living room.

  I pull out the box of frozen pancakes and throw a couple on a plate to put in the microwave. While they heat up, I pour her a glass of milk and get out the syrup. I cut them up for her using a pizza cutter and then drizzle the syrup on top.

  “Margs, breakfast,” I call out. She knows that with sticky syrup, it has to be eaten at the table, so she doesn’t argue as she walks in and goes to eat. I pick up my coffee and take a sip as I look out the window at the lake. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky.

  “Will I get to see Violet today?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “We can’t live on baked goods, Margo. We’ll be fat and unhealthy.”

  She smirks. “You’ll be fat. I’ll be fine,” she insists.

  “Either way, we’re not going there every day. I have some work to do in the garage, so eat up.”

  I don’t have to see her to know that she’s rolling her eyes.

  The rest of the day is spent in the garage, getting some work done while Margo plays in her little corner. When we go back inside, Margo gets a bath while I cook dinner, then we have a quiet night at home.

  Days pass. I haven’t been to the bakery, and Violet hasn’t randomly shown up here. The more time that passes, the more awkward I feel about how I left things. I wish we would’ve talked before she left, but I think we were both so surprised by the sudden turn of events that we didn’t even have our thoughts put together yet. On Friday, I finally work up the courage to go to the bakery.

  We walk in and Margo runs up to the case, looking over the selection. I hang out in the back, since Violet must be in the kitchen, leaving the register to her staff member. Margo picks out her donut and then I order a coffee. I pay at the register, and as I knew she would, Margo asks for Violet.

  “She’s in the kitchen. You want me to get her?” the woman asks, and Margo’s head bobs up and down quickly.

  She sticks her head in the swinging door, and moments later, Violet walks out, a look
of surprise on her face. She rights it quickly, putting on a smile for Margo. “Hi, Margo. What are you doing here? Oh, you got your Friday donut, huh?”

  Margo smiles and nods. “Where you been? Why hasn’t you come over again?” Her little brows furrow together.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve just been really busy. And I have to get up super early so I can’t stay out late—like, super early.”. I’m here before the sun is even up.”

  Margo’s eyes stretch wide, unable to imagine it. “What about dinner? You come for dinner tonight? Daddy will cook and you can play with me.”

  She smiles, but her eyes flash to me like she’s not sure how to answer.

  But this could be the perfect time to talk to her about what happened between us the last time, so I say, “Yeah, that’s a good idea, Margo.” I look up at Violet. “Violet, would you please come over for dinner tonight? I’ll order in and won’t subject you to my poor cooking skills.”

  She laughs but nods. “Okay. What time?”

  “Six?”

  She agrees, and I somehow manage to draw Margo away from Violet.

  The moment we walk out of the bakery, the anxiety kicks in. What should I order? What does she like? I don’t know why, but I want to impress her. Maybe I should just stick with something easy that everyone likes, like pizza.

  When we get home, Margo runs off to play, and I get busy with cleaning up the house, wanting it to look and smell nice for Violet tonight. Again, I remind myself about what I’ve decided. Margo is too important, and I refuse to take Violet from her. I won’t touch her again. I can’t ruin this. Hopefully, Violet is on the same page.

  I get online and order two large pizzas, an order of hot wings, and some cheesy bread along with a desert pizza for Margo. Just before six, the doorbell rings, and Margo runs for it with me following behind her. She throws it open and screams, “Violet!”

  Violet giggles and bends down to hug her. I stand back, staring at her beauty. She’s wearing a short pair of cutoffs. The bottoms are frayed, and they look to be ripped and torn up, the small holes through the material giving me flashes of skin. She’s wearing a white T-shirt with some saying on the front and a pair of Chuck Taylor sneakers. Her long tan legs tease me. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, not framing her face like usual. I love the look of her sharp jaw and high cheekbones, not to mention her slender neck. I wet my lips and chant in my head, You can’t touch her. You can’t touch her. You can’t touch her.