Warmth swelled in his chest and crept up his face.
A guy could get used to being appreciated.
After dinner, she chased him out of the kitchen and insisted she and Nicholas would do the dishes while he enjoyed a bowl of banana pudding.
He found the Nighthawks game on TV—the Copper Valley team was playing the Giants tonight—but he couldn’t concentrate on baseball.
Not with Skye and Nicholas chatting in the kitchen, talking just low enough for him to not hear what they were saying.
Or while he was eating the best banana pudding he’d ever tasted in his life. And his mom’s banana pudding had been damn good. But there was something special about Skye’s recipe. The ratio of bananas to Nilla Wafers to pudding, or the sweet fluffiness of the meringue on top, or maybe it was special simply because she’d remembered it was his favorite dessert.
After an eternity—which was really only an inning and a half—the two amigos emerged from the kitchen. “Go get your pajamas on,” she told Nicholas.
The boy dashed for the stairs while she plopped onto the opposite end of the couch. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” she declared. “Oh, dang it. Is that another dirty bowl?”
“Not yet.”
She leaned toward him and peered at the bowl, bringing the scent of lemon dish soap and flowery Skye shampoo. “Did you lick that clean?”
“I’m highly skilled with a spoon.”
Her pretty green eyes bulged for a split second before she covered her face and laughed. “Oh, jeez. That is not what I thought you were going to say.”
Considering he had licked the bowl clean, he could imagine her thoughts and gone to his tongue. The pink in her cheeks made his groin stir.
“Talented with that too,” he murmured.
Her gaze snagged on his and held.
His heart leapt into a jog.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” she said softly.
“That a good thing?”
“It’s not a bad thing.”
It probably shouldn’t be a thing at all.
Would Beck kick his ass for making a pass at his sister? Probably not.
But he didn’t know if his heart would make it if she gave him a chance and found him lacking.
She’d found him lacking all his life.
Could a few days in Hope Falls honestly change her perception of him? Could he be enough for her? Right for her?
He flicked his attention back to the game as the Nighthawks struck out. “Losing again.”
“But we love them anyway,” she said.
She was watching the TV now too, but she was still leaning toward him, her slender arm propped on a throw pillow with Beck’s face on it, a soft smile tipping her rosy lips.
“Should get tickets for tomorrow,” Wyatt said. “They’re in San Francisco. We could make the drive and back in a day.”
“Wouldn’t be the same.”
“As being home?”
She paused before giving a single nod.
“Miss it?” he asked.
“It’s home.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what it used to be. When we were kids.” The freedom. The lack of responsibility. Having his best friends, the friends he’d desperately needed, at his back every day. He’d made plenty of good friends in the Air Force, but none of them were the same as his neighborhood brothers. “When we were all there, together, all the time.”
“Why the military?”
“To pay for school.” Partly, anyway.
Her head tilted, and her thick brown hair slipped over her shoulder. “Oh. I guess I never thought about that.”
He pointed the remote at the TV and flipped a few channels while the commercials were playing. “Mom stretched her budget when we moved into the neighborhood, but she wanted me—wanted us somewhere safe.”
He could feel her peering at him, knew if he looked at her, he’d see that single wrinkle creasing her forehead, lips pursed. Soft fingers landed on his forearm and squeezed, shooting white hot sparks over his skin.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” she whispered.
“Long time ago.” He covered her hand with his, and he didn’t know if he was touching her soft skin for her sake, or for his.
He just knew he couldn’t not touch her.
“No, I’m sorry I ever thought you were an asshole,” she said.
“Nobody’s perfect.” He tried to cover the huskiness in his voice with a smile.
“You try though.”
He would barely have to move to wrap a lock of her hair around his finger. To brush his thumb over her cheek. To taste her lips.
Years.
He’d dreamed of kissing Skye for years.
And that taste the other night hadn’t been enough.
They both knew this was a bad idea—she had to know it too—but she was here, touching him, leaning into him, eyes dark, lips parted, breath shallow while her gaze dipped to his mouth.
“Skye—”
“Uncle Wyatt, can I read more Phoebe Moon tonight?” Nicholas bounded down the stairs, and Skye jerked back.
Her breasts rose and fell beneath her fitted white tank top. She tucked her knees up to her chin and hugged her shins.
Wyatt shifted on the couch and nodded to Nicholas on the stairs. “Sure. But if there are any more inept generals in that one, I’m having a talk with your mom about your reading material.”
“This one has firemen, not military people.”
“Ah, great.”
“Miss Skye, you’ve read it, right?”
“Loved them all, kiddo,” she said. “You like baseball? The Nighthawks are playing.”
Nicholas crept into the room and glanced at the screen. “Oooh, the Giants! Are the Giants winning? Dad loves the Giants.”
Wyatt groaned.
And only partially because his brother-in-law had given up on their home team.
The other part was that Skye was scooting off the couch. She grabbed Wyatt’s bowl. “Seconds? Or are you done?”
“Seconds.”
Of banana pudding. Of her touching him. Of getting close enough to kiss her.
He definitely wanted seconds.
Chapter Ten
Skye was flat on her back in the front yard, camera aimed at the starry night sky, mind back in the house with Wyatt.
Her mind hadn’t been anywhere but with Wyatt the last few days.
She needed a tripod to do any justice to pictures of the night, but her heart wasn’t in capturing the diamonds glittering in the inky sky.
It was too busy chasing itself in circles.
Had Nicholas not come down the stairs when he did, she would’ve kissed Wyatt.
He was unexpected. Did she want a boyfriend right now? She certainly hadn’t been looking.
But the way he focused on her, the way he believed in her, the way he took care of Nicholas, the way he simply cared…
She shivered.
Was the risk worth it?
A falling star streaked through the night.
If she’d blinked, she would’ve missed it. If she’d been searching for a constellation, or looking through her camera lens differently, or checking her phone, she would’ve missed that little serendipitous moment.
Was that what she had with Wyatt?
One quick, serendipitous moment where the two of them were in the right place at the right time to fully appreciate each other?
Or was he on her mind because he was here, and he’d made it clear he liked her, and therefore, he was easy?
Or was this easy because it was right?
She blew a breath into the cool summer night.
Wyatt Owens was so much more than she’d ever seen before. And she’d never look at him the same again.
“Miss Skye?” A shaft of light illuminated the yard, and she heard a stifled yawn. “Can I have a hug goodnight?”
She pulled herself up and made her way to the door. “For my favorit
e buddy? Absolutely.”
Wyatt wasn’t in the doorway, nor was he in the living room. She walked Nicholas up to his room and squeezed him in a tight hug. Had Wyatt been like Nicholas when he was younger? She couldn’t remember—she simply remembered he’d taken Beck away. But he’d probably been gangly too. Awkward, but earnest.
And bullied.
By his own father.
Her heart hurt to think of either of them—Wyatt or Nicholas—ever being bullied.
“You sleep good, okay?” she said. “I’ll teach you all the PAC-MAN tricks tomorrow.”
“I love you, Miss Skye.”
Her throat went tight and her eyeballs stung. “Love you too, sweet boy.”
He gave her a shy grin, then darted to the massive bed with his awkward, lanky lope. She tucked him in and made it to the kitchen before she let herself slump against the counter and squeeze her eyes shut against the flood of emotions choking her.
Nicholas didn’t have to love her. He’d barely met her, but here he was, offering all of the affection in his little heart.
Would he have still claimed to love her if they’d met a few years later?
Would he still be so sweet when he reached his teenage years?
She’d known him four days, and she already knew she’d miss him when the week was over. She’d miss him to the point of pain.
“Skye?”
She blinked her eyes open, then wiped them with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. Lost in my head.”
Wyatt stopped before her, blocking out everything with his solid, sure presence. He lifted a hand, brushed his thumb over the moisture on her cheek, those beautiful blue eyes of his steady on her, as though he could stare down the demons in her soul and banish them through sheer willpower.
Not that she had many demons.
But she wanted to let him slay them.
She settled her hands on his chest, felt the steady drumming of his heart under the hot, solid wall of his muscular chest, and her own heart raced to match his rhythm.
“Why would you like me?” she whispered. “I was so mean to you.”
“You were strong and happy and you stuck up for the underdogs. I wanted to be like you.”
“I’m not strong.”
“You are.”
“I don’t know if I remember how anymore.”
“Yes, you do.”
With him so close, so intense, so This is how you love someone, Skye, she wanted to be strong. She wanted to be brave. She wanted to be his.
Which should’ve been crazy, but instead felt right.
Her heart was pounding, her fingers tingling, and she had a lump swelling at the base of her throat. She ached deep in her core, wanted to touch the dark stubble on his face, feel the prickle of his short haircut, the heat of his skin.
She slid her hands up his chest, over his shoulders. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists. “Are you sure?” he growled.
“Yes. Please, Wyatt,” she whispered.
He buried his nose in her neck with a curse. His solid body pinned her against the counter, his fingers trailing lower on her hips. “If you’re going to pretend this never happened, we have to stop now. Because I can’t pretend. I won’t pretend.”
“No pretending.” She stroked the back of his neck and up his head, his short hair like rough velvet. “Show me how to love you.”
When he lifted his face, the sheer reverence and vulnerability in his deep blue eyes made her lose her breath.
And when he angled his jaw to hers, his skin hot and rough and perfect, her heart nearly erupted.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to kiss you,” he murmured against her lips.
“No pressure or anything,” she whispered.
He huffed out a chuckle.
Going up on her tiptoes to touch his lips with hers again was the easiest thing she’d done all week.
He made a noise deep in his throat and gripped her hips tighter, pressing the hard length of his manhood against her belly. He licked her lower lip.
She whimpered.
Kissing Wyatt could’ve been so awkward, but nothing about his touch, his mouth, his body, was awkward. They fit.
Just as they had the other night, when she hadn’t been able to acknowledge that there was more than carnal arousal to their attraction.
She parted her lips and deepened the kiss, and soon she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began, or where she was, or even who she was.
All she knew was that she belonged in this kiss.
She belonged to this kiss.
Heart, mind, body, and soul.
He eased out of the kiss, and she whimpered again. “More.”
“Downstairs?” he murmured as he pressed his lips along her jaw line.
Her rubbery legs wouldn’t make the stairs. “Master bedroom. Now.”
* * *
He backed her into the bedroom down the hall. Her hands were all over him, her mouth hot and eager and delicious.
Every time she said his name, raw satisfaction surged through him.
She was softer, sexier, stronger—more everything than he’d ever dreamed.
And tonight, she wanted him.
Simply being wanted by Skye was enough to break down any lingering resistance he might’ve had.
They could pretend that first kiss hadn’t happened, but they couldn’t go back after this.
And he didn’t want to.
They reached the bed. She pulled him down on top of her. “More, Wyatt,” she urged, pressing his face to her neck.
As if she had to ask.
He suckled that sweet skin beneath her ear.
Her gasp sent what little blood he had left in his brain flowing straight to his groin. Her hips bucked, cradling him between her thighs.
Cradling him in heaven.
She tugged at his shirt. He yanked it off, then pushed her tank top up, revealing her perfect breasts nestled in pink silk. He bent his head and licked a slow line between the two beautiful mounds.
“Yes, Wyatt,” she gasped. “Oh, so good.”
“You’re delicious.”
“You’re perfect.”
He boosted her farther up onto the king size bed. Light trickled in from the hallway, and the mingled scents of shampoo, mountain air, and aroused female swirled about him.
Candles. Champagne. Chocolates.
He should’ve treated her to a long, slow seduction, but wanting her was driving him mad.
Decades.
He’d loved her for decades.
She blinked those big emerald eyes at him and touched his cheek. “So intense,” she whispered.
“So beautiful.” He lowered his mouth to hers, and he loved her.
He loved her with his mouth.
He loved her with his words.
He loved her with his body, his soul, his spirit.
And when he slid into her, her wide green eyes held his gaze with an intensity he knew in his bones.
“Yes, Wyatt, yes,” she moaned.
She arched into him, accepting him, wanting him, and for the first time in his life, he was whole.
* * *
Skye could feel herself glowing.
Every cell in her body was sated. Her limbs were Jell-o, and her mind was in that magical, mystical happy place overflowing with rainbows and cupcakes and puppies.
“That’s quite the smile,” Wyatt murmured.
“I’m quite happy,” she murmured back.
His soft, answering smile from the pillow beside her sent another skitter of pleasure across her skin. They were tucked under the covers in the massive master bed after a third round of love-making, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her hip.
Or, more likely, very precise circles, planned and executed to ultimately reach his highly-focused goal.
Wyatt didn’t dabble in lazy.
He was a master of concentration and dedicated intensity.
She’d never real
ized before how intoxicating those little skills were.
But everywhere this week—out hiking, playing games, and now, in the bedroom—his attention to the details, to the little things, had been a special gift.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had another person’s undivided, captive attention.
Or the last time she’d appreciated it so much.
She watched him watching her, eyes alert even now.
“Happy, hmm?” he said.
“Very. You?”
“Remember being a kid, when you were waiting for Santa to come, and you just knew he was going to bring you the one thing you wanted most?”
He was so sweet. How had she never noticed before?
“But then Christmas morning,” he continued, “it wasn’t there?”
She sucked in a breath.
“I’m the opposite of that,” he said.
She paused halfway to sitting, covers grasped over her chest, when his words sunk in.
His unrepentant grin was the most boyish expression she’d ever seen on his face.
“You—” she started.
He lifted his covers and gave her a come here gesture. “Pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said. “Tell me again all those nice things you said about me and my skills. I think I missed them the first time.”
She gave him a playful shove, but still snuggled into his hard body. “Is this going to get messy?” she whispered.
“Nope.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Simple, really. You move to Georgia with me, we date, we get married and have a few kids—seven or eight, probably—then I retire, and we move back home.”
She laughed. “That simple, huh?”
“Probably not that simple.” His arms tightened around her. “But it doesn’t sound half-bad, does it?”
She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him.
Moving to Georgia with him didn’t sound half-bad. “You’d be sick and tired of me in a week.”
“Probably.”
She laughed again. “How is it that you’re still single?”
“Who said I’m single? I have three other wives. Trying to make a basketball team.”
That dry delivery almost fooled her, but his chuckle when she went rigid was the ultimate gotcha.
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