by J. H. Croix
I looked into Boone’s familiar gaze — dark, intense, and so warm it almost hurt – and felt my head nodding. Just as Wayne chimed in with another rumbling purr.
Stepping back from the door and holding it open, I gestured Boone through. “You’ll have to deal with Wayne.”
Boone’s low chuckle sent a hot prickle chasing over my skin as I closed the door behind him. The snick of the lock felt weighted.
Boone knelt down beside Wayne, stroking a single fingertip over the top of Wayne’s head. “How are you doing, my man?”
I felt caught in a vortex, spinning back in time. Boone had always spoken to Wayne as though he were an old friend, conversationally and casually. Those afternoons after school when he would stop by usually meant stolen kisses when my parents weren’t looking, and Boone teasing me and making me laugh.
I gave my head a shake, taking a moment to let my gaze linger on Boone. He wore jeans, worn and faded, hugging his strong thighs like a soft caress. Battered leather boots and a faded T-shirt that didn’t do much to hide his muscled frame completed his look. He glanced up from Wayne, catching me looking at him. I felt the heat flood my cheeks. Oh well. No sense in pretending as if I hadn’t been staring at him.
As he straightened, he asked, “Does he still have his favorite bed?”
My heart wobbled. Of course Boone remembered Wayne had a favorite bed. It was over a decade old now, but I still kept it for him. A round, denim covered pillow, that had never been meant to be a cat bed, was Wayne’s preferred place to sleep.
“He does,” I belatedly replied, pointing toward the couch where the old pillow had fallen to the floor nearby when Wayne jumped down from it. Restless with my nerves jangling, I turned away, calling over my shoulder, “Strawberry margarita?”
“Oh, I get a drink too?” Boone teased.
Rounding the small island, I lifted a shoulder in a shrug as I picked up my margarita to take a healthy swallow. Setting it down, I added, “I make a mean margarita. I cover the bar at the lodge sometimes. Slinging drinks for hours has honed my skills.”
“I’ll take one.”
“Have a seat.” I pointed to one of the two stools on the other side of the island.
I was relieved he took me up on my offer, if only because it gave me something to do with my hands. Turning away as he slid his hips onto the stool, I grabbed the pitcher half-filled with crushed ice margarita and a glass out of the cabinet before I filled his and topped mine off.
After I slid the glass across the counter to him, I silently bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t thought to keep a stool on this side of the island. If I went over to where Boone was seated only to drag the only empty stool all the way back around to this side, I’d look like an idiot.
I was an adult for God’s sake. It was just I didn’t entirely trust my body when I was in close proximity to Boone. Heartbreak aside, there had been a perfectly good reason for me to work so damn hard to avoid Boone after he moved back to Stolen Hearts Valley. My heart and body had missed the memo from my mind on all matters pertaining to Boone. I still wanted him. Fiercely.
Rounding the counter, I slipped onto the stool beside him, all too aware that no more than a foot separated us. My body—my disloyal, irrational, and plain stupid body – hummed to life. Boone exhibited an easy strength. He was all low-key but potent masculinity. He was the kind of man who gave off an air of leashed power. You knew, if necessary, he’d roar like a fucking lion and fight for anyone who mattered to him.
His confidence was so absolute there wasn’t even a touch of arrogance to it. My Grandma always said arrogant men were a dime a dozen. A man would have to do something else to impress her. She was gone now, but she had adored Boone.
I clung to my icy cold margarita, hoping maybe that might calm me down. No such luck. I felt a bead of sweat roll down the valley between my breasts.
Boone took a swallow of his drink. After a quiet moment, during which I could practically feel the gears in his brain turning, he slid his gaze to mine. The moment he started searching my face, I wanted to look away. I was so unsettled with his closeness and even more unsettled by the tumult and emotion banging around inside of me.
I had tricked myself into believing I had actually gotten over Boone. I had told myself, time and time again, that my anger toward him was because I’d truly loved him once upon a time. I had truly loved him. Yet now, it was becoming clear to me that my lingering anger was so powerful because I’d never fallen out of love with him. My anger was my shield, my only defense at facing just how much it hurt to be near him.
You could convince yourself of all kinds of things when you never had to come face-to-face with whatever it was you were trying to avoid.
In my case, that was Boone.
Chapter Seven
Grace
While my mind was kicking these thoughts around, Boone began talking. “I need to say this before what I say next. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know the whole story. I also need to say that I’m sorry. There were a lot of things I couldn’t control. But I panicked, and that made everything worse.”
The moment he started to speak, my focus locked onto him. My heart kicked up to a wild, drumming beat, while anxiety churned in my stomach. Gripping my glass, I lifted it to take another swallow. “Okay.” I set my glass back down, releasing it to lace my fingers together.
Boone waited as if he were giving me a chance to—I didn’t know—tell him to shut up and get the hell out of my apartment. “Go on,” I urged.
I knew Boone and I had to have a reckoning, as Evie had said. I supposed I’d rather just get it over with. I was tired of the jagged edges of the scars left behind by the way we broke up. I was tired of feeling as if my love had been tossed aside. I was tired of wondering just how much I’d misunderstood. I elected to ignore the tiny clamoring voice of hope shouting deep from within the recesses of my heart.
Boone took a long swallow of his margarita before setting it down and turning to face me. For a moment, I thought he was going to reach for my hand, but he didn’t. He rested his palm on the counter, his fingertip idly tracing along where the tile met the glossy wooden edge.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to just get it all out in one shot.”
At my jerky nod, he began. “I have one question before I start.”
“Okay.” I could hardly hear my own voice over the thundering beat of my heart.
“That summer, did you date anyone?”
“Just once or twice. But like I told you, I realized it was silly for us to take a break. I missed you.”
It took a lot for me to be honest with him. But if we were going to lay things bare, I figured it was only fair.
Boone nodded sharply. “The reason I asked is because I’m pretty sure you think I lied. I did, but not the way you think. We said we’d take that break, and hell if I know why we did. It was fucking stupid, Grace. All the way up until you called me that day and said you missed me and couldn’t wait for me to come back, I went out on the whopping total of three dates. That’s it. I hadn’t even seen anyone for over a month then. I had sex with one girl. I didn’t find out until after you and I talked that she was pregnant. I learned that little bit of news on a Tuesday, and that Friday, my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer.”
I knew Boone’s father had died. I’d been so sad for him, but we hadn’t spoken for years by then. “I’m so sorry about your dad,” I whispered.
Boone nodded in acknowledgment but moved along. “Because he was sick, I knew I couldn’t come back. Not then. I didn’t love that girl. It was just…” He paused and shook his head before taking another gulp of his margarita. “I was only twenty years old, and it was a one night stand. I’d used a condom. To make a really long, shitty story short, I couldn’t leave my dad because things didn’t look good for him. I knew I wasn’t going to get that time back with him. And Diana—that was her name—convinced me I was the father. I wasn’t. But I didn’t know that ‘til la
ter. She had a miscarriage around six months in.”
The look of pain that crossed his face was so complete my heart felt as if a knife slashed across the surface of it. I didn’t realize I had reached for his hand until his warm grip curled around mine. He gave me a tight squeeze before releasing my hand to lift his drink again. “Yeah. That sucked. Because you see, I thought it was my baby. Maybe I wasn’t in love with Diana, and maybe I didn’t know what the hell to do because I was too young to know how to handle all the shit that was happening, but I cared. I cared more than a little about that baby, and she died.”
“I’m so sorry, Boone. I didn’t know,” I whispered. While Evie had told me what she’d discovered from her online sleuthing, I hadn’t known then. It was excruciating to see the pain in his eyes.
“Of course you didn’t know. Because I didn’t tell you. It was just all too damn much. I panicked. I figured the cleanest thing was to just tell you I wasn’t coming home, then to man up and deal with the fucking mess I’d made. By the time I learned I wasn’t the father, my dad was in his second round of chemotherapy, and it wasn’t like I was going anywhere. I didn’t find out until almost a year after the miscarriage that I hadn’t even been the fucking father. Diana never told me, her mom did. Guess she felt guilty about keeping that secret.”
A flash of anger rose inside of me. “Oh my God, she lied about you being the father? It wasn’t just that she didn’t know for sure?”
Boone nodded, a look of resignation on his face. “Guess she thought I was a better mark as a father than the guy who actually was the father. She knew she was pregnant when she was with me. If she’d actually had the baby, I probably would’ve done the math and figured it out. Her mom said she found out she was pregnant a few days before we went out.”
“Oh wow, that sucks,” I said, not even knowing how else to respond.
His short laugh held a note of bitterness. “Yeah, it did. The whole thing sucked.”
He took another long swallow of his margarita, almost draining it. Looking to me as he set it down, I sensed he was waiting to see what else I might have to say.
“What?”
He lifted a shoulder in a light shrug. “I’m not sure. I just wanted you to know the whole story.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened then?”
My heart felt raw. Part of me was shocked, angry, and hurt on Boone’s behalf. And yet, I still carried that old sting of betrayal. I didn’t quite know how to turn it around immediately.
“I don’t have a good answer to that. I panicked. I knew you’d feel hurt if you knew I had gotten someone pregnant—even though that’s not what actually happened. I thought I had to take my lumps and deal with the situation. I was never really with her seriously at all. We went on one date. Just one. I guess I thought it was easier if I gave you the chance to move on.”
“Jesus, Boone.” He thought it was better to let me think the worst? I took a deep breath, trying to calm my galloping pulse.
“Grace, I don’t know what was better. I wasn’t really thinking anything through. I was completely freaked out, and my dad had cancer. Everything collided. I know I fucked up the way I handled it. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
His blunt words somehow actually did make it feel a little better. Taking another breath, I shifted gears. Seeing as I didn’t quite know how to incorporate the reality of what actually happened with my misunderstanding about it all this time, I needed to let that settle for a bit. “I’m sorry about your dad,” I said softly.
“Thanks. That sucked too. He had some time before he got too sick, so I’m glad I was there.”
“That was a rough few years for you.” I was nothing if not obvious when I wasn’t sure what to say. Sigh.
Back when Boone and I dated before, I knew his parents’ divorce hadn’t been the greatest. He’d been a kid stuck bouncing back and forth between them, like so many kids whose parents didn’t stay together. He loved them both. His father had moved for work, which left only the summers and holidays for them to visit. My heart squeezed to think of Boone trying to be there for his dad on his own.
Boone was quiet for a few beats before lifting his glass and draining the last of his drink. After he set it down, his familiar gaze caught mine. “Yeah. Rough is one way to put it. Even though I blew it with you, I’m glad I was there with my dad for his last few years. You don’t get a do-over on things like that.”
“No, you don’t.” I hadn’t realized I reflexively reached for his hand until he squeezed mine.
He cocked his head to the side, his eyes softening. “So there you have it. The messy truth.” His thumb was brushing back and forth across my wrist, right over the sensitive skin on the inside. That tiny strip of skin tingled, little streaks of fire racing up my arm and spinning in pinwheels throughout my entire body. “I missed you. I still miss you.”
His blunt, unvarnished words hit me hard, almost stealing my breath. He had no idea how much I’d missed him. Just now, for the first time in years, I could experience that feeling without being angry about it.
Oh, how I had missed Boone!
There was something so exquisitely frustrating about missing a person whom you believe betrayed you. There was a special madness to it.
My words surprised me. They all but elbowed their way out. “I missed you too.”
I hadn’t meant to let that slip. Oh no. But then, Boone had always had that effect on me—stripping away my defenses without me even noticing.
Another stroke on the inside of my wrist, and before I realized what he was doing, Boone reached over, curling his free hand around one of the legs on my stool. He slid it closer until my knees bumped his.
Now, he was mere inches away. My heart kicked off on another wild gallop, leaving my breath in the dust. Time with Boone had always had this strange quality, a combination of racing by at a blur and slowing to the speed of molasses pouring.
“Here’s the thing,” he began, his husky drawl sending heat spinning through my veins. “I want another chance with you, Grace.”
My heart was hammering so hard, it wouldn’t have surprised me if it flew out of my chest and slammed into him. Hope raised a holy clamor. All this time, I’d been nursing anger and betrayal. I was so accustomed to guarding myself.
Boone made me want to forget all that. He made me want to remember the girl I was once before. Yet, I didn’t quite trust it. I didn’t quite trust my heart to anyone.
As if he could read my thoughts, he said, “I know you might not trust me. Just tell me if you want me to go.”
As if. The one and only man I’d ever loved was sitting in front of me with his face inches from mine, and his thumb wreaking havoc in my body with nothing more than a subtle brush back and forth on my wrist.
Leaning forward slightly, he lifted his free hand and traced his finger across my brow as he brought his palm down to cup my cheek. All the while, my heart kept on galloping along with hope, flinging wild streamers in the sky.
This time, when his lips pressed against mine, I didn’t shove him away. I thought maybe I could let myself have this. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Electricity burst through me at the brushing contact. Boone tugged me a little closer between his knees. He angled his head to the side, more fully fitting his mouth over mine. I suddenly felt as if we were diving into a place that was both comforting and terrifying.
Because kissing Boone was a special form of heaven. He’d never been a man to hurry, and he didn’t now. His tongue delved down into my mouth with a slick tease against mine. He drew away and dropped a kiss on each corner of my lips, lightly catching my lower lip in his teeth and murmuring my name right before he brought his mouth over mine again.
It might have been years, but I hadn’t forgotten how good it felt to kiss Boone. It felt both familiar and new, so intense and overwhelming that I felt caught, tossed asunder on a crashing wave of desire. All the while, he kissed me masterfully, as close to perfect as a kiss could be
— a mix of slow and sensual. His touch burned my resistance to ashes.
Before I knew it, I was gasping, arching into him as his palm slid down to cup my nape. I’d convinced myself in the years apart from him that I didn’t like it when men tried to take control. The thing was, I had plain forgotten what it felt like to be with someone who demolished all thought and got me so wrapped up with need that everything else fell away.
Boone and I were like the sun and the moon to the earth. Emotion, need, lust and more were a force of gravity forever pulling us together. With a gentle tug on the elastic holding it up, my hair tumbled loose as his lips broke free from mine. He pressed hot, open kisses along the side of my jaw, sending a sweet jolt through me. I was oh-so-ticklish, and the moment he nipped lightly on the side of my neck, I giggled.
At the sound, I became abruptly aware the last time anyone had knocked my guard down this hard had been with Boone.
Chapter Eight
Boone
The sound of Grace’s giggle, and the way she shivered slightly in my arms made me feel like a fist squeezed around my heart. I hadn’t forgotten Grace was ticklish. Yet, I had pushed that memory deep into the recesses of my mind, in a closet where the door was kept locked, and I could forget about it.
I loosened my grip on her hair, letting my hands slide down her spine and over the lush curve of her bottom as I tugged her a little closer. I couldn’t resist lightly grazing my teeth on the sensitive, sweet-tasting skin on her neck again.
She giggled again, the sound tightening the fist around my heart. Then, she stiffened slightly, and I knew she realized she’d let her guard down.
Back in high school, Grace had been a challenge, one I wanted to win. So proper, so buttoned up. I went to great lengths to break through the guard she kept around herself.
