by Maisey Yates
He set the mug down on the counter. “It’s a little too close to domesticity, don’t you think?”
Worse, it had made him ache. Made him long for something that he’d never wanted to long for ever again. Because he knew how marriage gone bad looked. He’d lived it. And he never wanted to put himself, or his daughter, through that again.
“That wasn’t my intent,” she said. He could tell she meant it, and he could also tell he’d hurt her feelings. Which he hated, but dammit, she knew what this was. He knew what it was. There was no point wanting more or pretending, even for a second, that it could be more.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough.
“I could go,” she said, “while you decorate the tree.”
And then he’d have to explain to Kayla why Miss Larsen had left. Because of her mean old dad. And that didn’t seem fair at all. Especially when he’d been being an ass about the decorations.
Sarah was right; Kayla needed normal, and he was too busy being pissed that the holidays were daring to come. He’d been worried about dealing with a Christmas without Elise, and what that would mean for Kayla, and he hadn’t accounted for the fact that not getting a tree wouldn’t make Christmas stay away.
They had to deal with it. He had to deal with it, whether he wanted to or not.
“Stay,” he said.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Walker did the lights, Sarah wrapped the tinsel, and Kayla hung ornaments until she fell asleep in front of the tree, completely wiped out.
“I’ll carry her to bed,” Walker said. He scooped his daughter up and his eyes met Sarah’s. It was another of those moments—the ones that filled him with hope and anger all at the same time.
The kind that made desires long dead stir back to life inside of him.
It was all fine and good when the only thing she’d woken up was his cock, but now she was starting to get to his heart.
He was pretty sure he’d signed a DNR for his fricking heart. But she was doing it. Damned woman.
He sighed heavily and deposited Kayla into her bed. He looked at his daughter’s face for a long time. So peaceful. And he prayed that she was young enough that she wouldn’t carry the scars her mother had left forever. The fact that Elise had died would never be easy, but in some ways the purposeful abandonment would always be harder to deal with.
It had destroyed his trust. He only hoped it didn’t destroy hers. He wanted more for her than that. More than this angry, dark feeling swirling inside of him all the time. More than the intense, gut-wrenching longing, married to a fear that was so strong it threatened to destroy him.
Yeah, he wanted more than this for her. But he didn’t want more for himself, because he was too damn scared. So there was that. And he’d admitted it.
He rubbed his hands over his face, weary down to his bones.
What a mess. He started back down the hall, back down the stairs, with the intention of sending Sarah home. He needed distance, and he needed to get his head back on straight.
But then he saw her sitting in front of the couch looking at the lights. And he wondered who she was going home to tonight. If her house was warm. If she had a Christmas tree.
“Do you have a tree yet?”
“What?” She turned to look at him, and his heart skipped. “No, it’s just me. I don’t see the point. I’m only a block away from the town tree, and the lighting is at the end of the week. I walk down there and enjoy it, but then I don’t have to vacuum up pine needles.”
“Smart. But I have to vacuum up pine needles.”
“I can help you with it, Walker.”
“I didn’t hire you to be the housekeeper, Sarah.”
“I know.” She stood up and stretched, the move so unconsciously sexy that it sent a bolt of lust straight to his gut. “So, I should probably go.”
“Not yet,” he said, regret and warning warring in his stomach. She should go. He knew it. She knew it. But he didn’t want her to.
“What am I waiting for?”
“You can’t buy mistletoe and expect I won’t want to make use of it.”
He wandered over to the doorway and stood beneath the mistletoe. Waiting. She moved to him, confusion and desire visible in her eyes, and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he should turn her away. Tell her to go home. Never touch her again.
But he couldn’t.
He needed her too badly. And he was, it turned out, all out of selfless.
“I’ve never been kissed under the mistletoe before,” she said.
“I don’t expect you have been.”
“You’re the only man I’ve ever kissed, Walker.”
He felt like he’d been punched. “Shit, baby, you have to stop surprising me with things like that.”
“Sorry.” She looked down. “It’s kind of embarrassing, really.”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
“Kind of hard not to be.”
“You’re brave, Sarah. To try and change your life and find out who you are. Most of us are just content to let the status quo stand.”
“Well, I didn’t like my life. And I realized I was living it for someone else. Someone who’s dead, actually, which I think is extra lame.”
“But you aren’t living for her now. You’re living for you.”
“I suppose so,” she said, but she didn’t sound very excited. Or very convinced.
“Can I give you your first under-the-mistletoe kiss, Miss Larsen?”
Her eyes drifted closed, her lips parting, like she was expecting him to feed her a decadent dessert. “Please.”
And he obliged her. He dipped his head and kissed her. She tasted like apples and cinnamon, fruit and spice mingling with the flavor of Sarah. A flavor that was unique, that he knew down in the deepest parts of himself. That he was sure he would never forget.
It would haunt his dreams, and he knew it. A craving that could never be satisfied. Like the milk shakes from an old diner in his hometown. It had closed when he was a kid, and there had never been anything else like them.
And even now, he remembered the way they tasted. And sometimes, for no reason at all, he would crave one. A craving that would always go unmet.
That’s how it would be with Sarah.
But he couldn’t keep her. Because he couldn’t offer her marriage or love. All he could offer was sex. Half the night in his bed, and then a boot out into the cold.
That was nothing. That was balls.
And he wasn’t going to insult her by asking for that.
When Christmas was over, this would be over too.
So for now he was just going to keep kissing her under the mistletoe. Like he was a teenage boy with a date. Like there was no time limit. Like his body wasn’t roaring for more. For her to be naked, for him to be inside of her.
He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, slid his tongue against hers. Her lips were so soft, her kiss so generous. She was a damn good kisser for a woman who’d only learned how recently. Or maybe skill didn’t really matter. Maybe the only thing that mattered was how much he wanted her, how much she wanted him. And how that made him feel.
He tightened his hold on her, pulling her body up against his, feeling her breasts pressed so perfectly against his chest. She wove her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, kissing him harder.
“I think we should take this upstairs,” she said.
“You do?” he asked, his stomach tightening, blood rushing south of his belt.
“Definitely. I have plans for you, Walker Callahan. Naked plans. And they need to be done where we won’t get walked in on.”
“I’m all for seeing how these plans work out,” he said.
“You’ll like them.” She pulled away from him and started to walk upstairs. He had a flashback to their first night together, to when she’d walked up to the loft ahead of him. She’d looked timid then, so different than the woman she was no
w. She had a sway in her hips, the confidence of a woman who knew that she was wanted. Who knew she was driving him crazy.
He hadn’t been able to imagine then that that woman could become this one.
To an even greater degree, he couldn’t have imagined that she would still be in his life. That she would be in his home. Or that she would make his chest feel like it was going to explode.
He should go roll around in the snow and get himself under control. He should send her home. He should stop whatever madness had taken him over.
But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He could do nothing but follow her up the stairs, because his need for her transcended logic. It was more basic than that. Completely and totally undeniable.
And he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste time denying it when he could be embracing it, and her.
When they got into his bedroom, she started taking her clothes off. She pulled her shirt over her head, slowly, and revealed a bra he’d sure as hell never seen on her before. Red satin, pushing those glorious breasts up high. And when she took her jeans off, he could see she had matching panties.
“Damn, woman,” he said, advancing on her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her until they both ran out of breath.
“Do you like?”
“I more than like. But I didn’t think I was supposed to get such pretty presents, since I’m sure I’m on the naughty list.”
She chuckled, throaty and seductive. “I know you are, but I wouldn’t ask you to be any different.”
“No?”
“No. You make me feel pretty naughty too.”
“You might not get any presents this year, baby,” he said.
Her lips curved, her smile nothing short of wicked. “As long as I get this”—she put her hand over his cock, her fingers caressing him through his pants—“I don’t really mind.”
“Sarah Larsen, I believe I’ve corrupted you.”
“Maybe so.”
“Think you can handle a little more?”
“Is there any more?”
“Get on the bed, Miss Larsen,” he said. She obeyed, a questioning light joining the mischief in her eyes. “I like it when you give orders,” he said, taking off his shirt. “I like it a whole lot.” He loosened his belt and pulled it through the loops on his jeans. “But I like to give them too. On your knees.”
“What?”
“Do as you’re told, Miss Larsen, or you don’t get your present.” She nodded slowly and rose up onto her knees. “Turn around,” he said, his voice hoarse. And she obeyed again.
He finished undressing and joined her on the bed, putting his hand on her stomach and kissing her shoulder, sweeping her hair to the side and kissing the back of her neck. “Yes,” he said, “I like this view.”
He unhooked the clasp on her bra and admired the line of her bare back, her hips, the little dimples above her ass. He couldn’t have created a more beautiful woman in a dream.
“These have to come off,” he said, running his fingertip beneath the waistband of her panties.
“Do they?”
“For what I have in mind? Yeah.” He pushed them down her hips, and stopped where her knees bent. “On second thought . . . leave them like that. And bend over.”
“What?”
He traced a line over her back. “Was something confusing about my command, Miss Larsen?”
She shook her head, her hair cascading over her shoulder like a copper river. And she obeyed, bracing herself on her hands.
“Better.” He swallowed hard, his hand going to his erection, squeezing himself because if he didn’t do something he was going to go off now. She was far too erotic a picture for him to keep his cool.
He had a perfect view of that perfect ass, with her red panties halfway down her thighs. His for the taking.
“Wait just like that,” he said.
He got a condom out of the bedside drawer and rolled it on quickly, his hands shaking, his heart pounding so hard he was sure he was on the verge of a major cardiac incident. But it wasn’t going to stop him. He couldn’t stop. Not now.
He leaned forward and kissed her on her rear-end cheek, following it up with a light smack of his opened hand. She let out a short, sharp sound, but didn’t change her position.
“Okay?” he asked.
“I don’t think you could do anything I wouldn’t like,” she said, lowering her head, her hair spilling over to cover her face.
“You’re going to make my ego explode,” he said, sliding his hand down between her thighs and pushing two fingers inside her, one hand braced on her lower back as he tested her, making sure she was wet and ready.
She rocked her hips back and forth against his hand, setting the rhythm. He withdrew from her and placed his cock against her slick entrance, going in slowly.
She breathed in deep, her hands curling around the blankets.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Oh, no. So good. I didn’t realize.”
“I’ll bet this is a first for you too,” he said, his voice rough.
“Yeah. This is something else I’ve never done. Under the mistletoe or not.”
He gripped her hips and pulled her back hard against him. “You feel so good.”
“Mmm.”
“I take it that’s good?” He took one hand off of her hip and slid his fingers over her clit. Her ass hit him hard as she pushed against him, a harsh groan on her lips. “I take that as a yes.” He repeated the motion and was rewarded again, her slick body holding him tight as she moved against him.
And then he was lost. In her. In the emotions and pleasure that were pounding through him, in his blood, so deep he didn’t know if he would ever be free of it. Didn’t know if he wanted to be. She was everything in that moment. So right, so perfect.
She was pleasure and she was pain. Happiness and perfect sadness. Because while he wanted it all to last forever, he was so very aware that the clock was counting down. That the closer he came to orgasm, the closer he was to his last time with her.
Each measured thrust, each passing second, was closer to the end.
But he couldn’t hold on anymore, couldn’t stretch the moment out, no matter how much he wanted to. He felt her tighten around him, and it pushed him over, his blood roaring through his ears as his climax overpowered him. Left him numb and shaking.
He withdrew and lay on his back next to her, trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving with the effort. Sarah was beside him, on her stomach, looking at him.
“Wow,” she said.
“I agree.”
“Walker . . . I . . . Walker, I love you.”
***
Sarah knew she’d said the wrong thing. She’d known for days it was the wrong thing. So wrong she’d never even said it to herself. She’d never even said those words to another person.
She’d lived with her grandmother all her life and had known that while the older woman had cared for her out of duty, she hadn’t loved her. And so Sarah had never said the words. Sarah knew that blood ties and time weren’t a guarantee. And that was one of the many reasons she was so confident that, regardless of the fact she hadn’t known him long, what she felt for Walker was love.
And now she’d admitted it. To herself and to him. And he looked . . . like he’d been hit in the head with a hammer.
Which was maybe not the thing a woman wanted when she confessed she loved a man. But how would she even know? In this, as with everything else, she was woefully inexperienced.
But something had changed in the past few seconds. All of her thoughts about how Walker should be a milestone in her new life, a stopping point on her way to true independence and liberation, suddenly seemed so ridiculous.
Because she realized that she was still trying to live someone else’s life. She was trying to fit a vision of what her life should look like without her grandmother’s influence, without asking what actually made her happy. She was after an ideal, n
ot after what she truly wanted.
She wanted Walker. She wanted to be his wife. She wanted to be Kayla’s mother. This was the life that she was meant for, the man she was meant for. This broken rancher who had felt so unwanted in his marriage, who didn’t know how to trust. Who had taught her what it meant to be confident in her desires, who had told her she never had to be ashamed.
Yes, she was meant for this man. Most of all, she was meant for him because she loved him, and when she realized that, she’d also realized that she couldn’t hold back her feelings because of fear.
Because her whole life had been her obeying fear.
But she was over that. Because she really was a new person. And she was ready to prove it.
“I love you,” she said again.
“Oh . . . shit, Sarah, don’t do this.” He sat up, his muscles shifting and bunching. Strange that she would notice how beautiful he was, even now. Strange that it should still be so prominent in her mind even while she was starting to break apart inside.
“I’m not doing anything,” she said. “I’m telling you how I feel. I’m not . . . I’m not doing the obligatory ‘I’m a virgin so I fell in love’ thing. I didn’t want to fall in love, Walker. I wanted to kick-start a new, independent life. I wanted to find out who I was and what I wanted. But . . . but I found out that what I want is you. So no matter what my vision was for the future . . . it doesn’t matter anymore. Because you’re the man that I need. The man I want. I’m braver because of you—if I wasn’t braver I couldn’t do this. I’m more myself because of you. I bought red underwear because of you. I like this version of me better. I like this life better.”
“I told you,” he said, his voice low, “that this isn’t what I wanted. I am not putting myself, or Kayla, through the marriage thing again. Not ever.”
“Can we at least have a relationship?”
“Why? So I can tell you in six months that I don’t want marriage? I’m not changing my mind, Sarah.”
“Why? Why are you so opposed to it? I’m not your ex. I’m not . . .”
“You know what, Sarah? She wasn’t my ex either, in the beginning.”
