Come Home to Deep River

by Jackie Ashenden

  Her throat moved as she swallowed, but again, she didn’t look away. “Okay, fine.” The fingers resting on his arms tightened. “I want you, Silas.”

  There was no stuttering. No hesitation. Her gaze absolutely level. And that satisfaction he’d felt before, when he’d kissed her, unfurled inside him again.

  His breath caught. He’d dreamed for years of hearing her say those words, but he knew he never would. She’d never say them, not to his face. His fantasies would remain just that—fantasies. Dreams.

  But he wasn’t dreaming now and this wasn’t a fantasy. This was goddamn reality. Hope Dawson, finally, after all these years, telling him that she wanted him.

  “And what do you want to do about it?” he demanded, because he’d be damned if he was the one to say it first, not this time. Besides, as he’d already told her, she needed to be clear about what she wanted.

  Why? Surely you’re not going to take her up on it?

  Oh, he’d told himself he wouldn’t. Told himself very firmly that he wasn’t going to cross the line with her. But that had been before she’d touched him. Before she’d told him out loud that she wanted him. And now that she had, the question wasn’t whether or not he would take her up on it, but whether or not he could refuse. Because he wasn’t sure he could, even considering how it would complicate just about everything.

  Hope took a soft breath, her gaze dropping to his mouth in a way that made a growl gather in his throat. “Well, avoiding you doesn’t work, and as you’ve already pointed out, neither does fighting you. And since you’re around for another week and we have some important things to concentrate on…” She lifted her gaze back to his again. “It only leaves one thing left, doesn’t it?”

  “And what’s that, Hope?”

  Her dark lashes fluttered. “Do I really have to spell it out?”

  “Yes. I want to hear it from you, so there can be absolutely no argument.” He held her gaze, the wood of the chair arms digging into his palms. And then he added, since if he wanted her to be clear, then he had to be clear in return. “Because once you’re in my bed, I can’t guarantee I’m going to want to let you out of it.”

  She searched his face—for what, he couldn’t tell. “I’m not up for a relationship, Si. If that’s what you mean.”

  Well, he didn’t want one either, not with her. He wasn’t staying here, and she plainly wouldn’t be leaving. Plus, he wasn’t relationship material. He was as selfish as his old man about a great many things, and he didn’t want to inflict that on someone else, and most especially not her.

  “No,” he said. “That’s not what I mean. I’ll still be leaving, and that’s not going to change. But if you’re in my bed, Hope, I’m going to want to keep you there and for more than one night.”

  She nodded slowly. “Anything else I should know?”

  “If you change your mind, I’m not going to take it well.” He could be nothing but brutally blunt about this. “Don’t get me wrong, if you decide you don’t want to take this step after all, I’ll stop. But you can bet I’m not going to be happy about it. I’ve had thirteen years of thinking about you, Hope Dawson. And I can’t honestly say I’m going to be able to hold myself back.”

  The pulse at the base of her throat had quickened, her eyes widening. “Well, okay. But don’t go assuming that I’m going to want you to hold yourself back. Or that one night will be enough for me either.” She paused, the flames in her eyes flickering higher. “You have no idea what I want, Silas.”

  “No, it’s true, I don’t,” he murmured. “So, why don’t you show me?”

  She stayed still for a moment, staring at him. Then her hands on his arms moved higher, to his shoulders, and higher still, curling around the back of his neck and into his hair. And then she was pulling his head down at the same time as she lifted her chin, her mouth meeting his.

  He held himself still as she began to kiss him, letting her take the lead for a moment, because there was something unbearably sweet about this, about her kissing him. Her mouth was so soft and so hot, and there was a little bit of hesitancy to the kiss. It was clear to him that she was inexperienced, and he was Neanderthal enough that he liked that she was. Not that it would have put him off in the slightest if she hadn’t been, but there was a degree of possessiveness in him that made him want to be the only man for her. The only one she thought of. The only one she imagined at night, alone in her bed.

  Tonight, he’d wipe her memory of every man she’d been with but him.

  Yet still he held himself back, loving how she touched her tongue to his, seducing him, coaxing him the way he’d coaxed her. She tasted delicious, and he wanted to stay like this for a while longer, letting her find her way with him, but his own need was clawing his insides to shreds, and if he didn’t take her now, he’d probably die. Literally.

  So he moved, letting go of his death grip on the chair and leaning forward to grab her hips, pulling her up from the chair as he pushed himself away from the desk, holding her against him, her arms around his neck, her body arched into his.

  Then he kissed her the way he’d wanted to the night before, deeper, hotter, exploring her mouth the way he’d dreamed of doing. He slid his fingers into her hair and curled them, gripping onto the silken mass as he took the kiss even deeper, becoming hungry, becoming desperate.

  She shuddered in his arms, her mouth opening wider, her head angling back to give him greater access. And she kissed him back, just as hungry, just as hot. There was no hesitancy now, no uncertainty. She tasted of honey and fire, a sweet flame he couldn’t get enough of, and he was so hard he ached.

  Her fingers were curling in his hair, holding on so tightly it felt almost painful, but he didn’t care about the pain. All that mattered was that Hope was in his arms, and she was kissing him every bit as desperately as he was kissing her.

  He turned them both, backing her up against the desk, the kiss turning feverish. She felt so good against him, so soft and warm and feminine, her breasts pressed to his chest, the heat between her thighs against his aching groin making him even harder than he was already.

  His hands dropped from her hair to her hips, and he gripped her, lifted her onto the desk before he’d even had a chance to think straight. Then he nudged her thighs apart with his hips so he could stand between them, pulling her to the edge of the desk and holding her there, fitting all her sweet heat against him.

  The kiss sharpened his hunger, a knife-edge that could cut. It had been so many years thinking about being with her like this, dreaming about her like this, and now that it was going to happen, he almost couldn’t handle it.

  Her hands had dropped from his neck, and they were at the fastening of his jeans, her fingers fumbling with the button, brushing against the hard ridge of his erection, sending white-hot jolts of sensation through him and making him growl.

  He had to brush her hands away; otherwise, this was going to get very real very soon, and he didn’t want this to become some kind of hasty fumbling in her back office. He wanted her naked on a bed, where he could spread her out and take his time. Feast on her, savor her the way she should be savored.

  Except…God, he didn’t know if he could hold out. It had been too long, and her hunger for him was making everything that much more desperate. Her hands had now found their way underneath his T-shirt, stroking fire across his skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from flipping open the button on her jeans, then tugging down the zipper.

  She gave a soft moan as he spread open the denim, stroking over the front of her panties, the fabric damp beneath his fingertips. “Si…” She breathed his name, her voice thick, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

  He wanted to hear it again, so he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her underwear, his fingers sliding down and over slick, hot flesh.

  Hope shuddered, gasping, and he nipped her bottom lip, making her tremble hard
er. “Si…” she whispered again. “Si…please…”

  He stroked her, loving how she shook and trembled in his arms, kissing down her neck, nipping at the delicate tendons at the sides, licking the hollow of her throat, tasting salt and sweetness and heat.

  Because that was Hope. She wasn’t this tough, spiky, prickly woman who’d been arguing and pushing at him from the moment he’d returned to Deep River. No, she was more complex than that and always had been.

  She was honey and fire, with a tart edge.

  You’re screwed. You know that, right? In every way.

  The thought registered dimly in his brain, and he knew it for truth. Because now he’d had a taste of what he could have with her, nothing else would compare. But when had that ever mattered? Every other woman had always been like a candle flame next to the bonfire that was Hope, and he’d known that the second he’d walked away.

  He didn’t have to walk away now though. Now, he could make that bonfire leap high, burn bright. Now, he could burn along with her.

  He stroked her, circling and teasing, making her pant and writhe on the desk, as if there wasn’t a bar full of people right outside the door. As if the door wasn’t unlocked and anyone could come in.

  Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers digging in, gripping him tight. And it became a matter of grim determination for him to keep going, to not just push her back onto the desk and sink inside her, because he wanted to give her this before he took anything for himself. Wanted her to feel what he could do to her, the pleasure he could give her, make her aware of what she’d been missing out on all these years.

  There’s no need to punish her.

  And it was a punishment of sorts. Yet not one that she wouldn’t enjoy. It was one that wasn’t without pain for himself too, since it meant he had to wait. But he didn’t stop, pressing his thumb down on the small, sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, finding the entrance to her body with his fingers and pushing gently inside.

  Hope gave a small cry and turned her face into his neck, her whole body shuddering. He held her tighter, sliding his fingers in and out of her, pressing down lightly with his thumb, concentrating on the jerk of her hips and the soft, breathy sound of her panting against the side of his neck.

  It didn’t take long.

  She gripped his shoulders and her body tightened, her sex clenching hard around his fingers. And then she was gasping out his name, shaking in his arms as the climax took her, and he turned his head, covering her mouth, silencing her cries of release.

  He held her for long moments after that, kissing her slowly and leisurely as she quieted, easing her down. Ignoring the pain of his own desire because her going soft and pliant against him, knowing that he’d been the one to give her that, was one of the most satisfying experiences in his life.

  But then he lifted his mouth from hers and stared down into her darkened eyes. “My turn, sweetheart,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  Sweetheart. He’d called her “sweetheart.” Had anyone ever used an endearment with her before? Ever?

  Hope’s brain flailed about trying to remember and failed. But she didn’t really care, because in that moment, nothing really mattered. Her body felt lax and heavy and supremely satisfied in a way she’d never felt before.

  Except not entirely satisfied, it had to be said. There was room for more.

  More of the way he looked at her, heat glowing in his gaze. Of the way he touched her, as if she was precious and rare. Of the intense pleasure he’d just given her, and yes, she definitely wanted more of that. A lot more.

  “Your turn?” she echoed, staring up at him. She was leaning forward against his rock-solid torso, her head resting on his powerful shoulder, and she really didn’t want to move.

  The lines of his face were tense, and there was no green at all in his eyes now; they were a brilliant, burning gold. She could hear the beat of his heart beneath her ear and it was fast, getting faster.

  He wanted her and badly—it was obvious. And it occurred to her that she really liked that. Because no one had looked at her with such open appreciation in years, and it made her feel good. Made her feel like a woman and not the tough, practical owner of the Happy Moose bar. Or the pessimistic daughter having to take care of her fragile, bitter mother.

  It made her feel like she was eighteen again and there were still possibilities alive in the world. Possibilities that didn’t begin and end in her small backwater town.

  Silas’s hands moved to her shirt, and he gripped the fabric, then pulled and she took a sharp breath as several buttons came loose, the material ripping. He pushed the shirt from her shoulders, leaving her sitting on the desk in her bra and jeans, still shaking from the orgasm he’d given her.

  He didn’t say anything, but his gaze dropped, following every inch of her body, and her heartbeat began to speed up, echoing in her head. A shiver went through her as his hands settled on her hips, before sliding up to caress her sides, making her shiver yet again, goose bumps rising everywhere he touched.

  The hunger on his face intensified. “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice had deepened, full of gravel and sand, like it had been dragged from the bottom of the river. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  And she trembled, because no one had ever told her that. Not once in her entire life.

  She didn’t know what to say, but then it became clear that she didn’t need to say anything, because he’d slid one arm around her, his hand at the small of her back, and he was cradling her as he bent her back, his mouth at her throat, moving down. Then he was tugging down the cup of her bra, exposing her breast, and he bent his head further, his tongue teasing her nipple. She jerked in his arms, gasping, pleasure licking up inside her. And he kept doing it, kept lightly teasing the aching tip of her breast, before drawing it into his mouth.

  Hope shut her eyes, all her awareness zeroing in on the heat of Si’s mouth and the way he began to suck on her, every pull on her nipple arrowing intense sensation right down between her thighs.

  “Si…” she murmured, her hands on his powerful shoulders. “Oh my God…”

  His free hand roamed further south, pushing at the denim of her jeans, sliding around and beneath the waistband, curving over her ass, squeezing her gently in time with the suction of his mouth.

  Light burst behind her closed lids. No one had ever touched her like this, not even that one guy she’d lost her virginity with. He’d been very matter-of-fact with her, and at the time, since she’d been nervous, she’d appreciated it. But she hadn’t felt anything like this. That had involved some pain and then some mild physical pleasure, but she hadn’t felt desperate the way she did now, like she would die if he didn’t keep touching her. And she certainly hadn’t ached to touch him back. Not the way she wanted to touch Silas.

  She tried to move her hands from his shoulders, down to his T-shirt and under, to again feel the smooth, velvety skin of his stomach and the rock-hard muscles beneath it. To feel his heat, because he was so damn hot and she loved that; it was like coming inside after an icy winter’s day and standing next to the furnace, a deep, sensual pleasure.

  But then Silas was moving again, lifting his head from her breast and shifting his hold, gripping her jeans, then pulling them down, taking her panties with them, so she found herself sitting not just topless on her desk, but actually entirely naked.

  There was a moment of exposure as the cool air hit her bare skin and she instinctively raised her hands to cover herself. But he took her wrists in his strong fingers and held them away from her body, the expression on his face suddenly ferocious. “No, don’t. I want to look at you.”

  Heat swept through her. “Silas—”

  “I’ve spent thirteen years fantasizing about having you naked,” he interrupted. “And now that you are, I want to look.”

  She took a bre
ath, as the reality of that began to filter through. Thirteen years he’d wanted her and she hadn’t really grasped what that had meant for him until now. Until she could see the ferocity of his desire burning in his eyes. And there was a moment of strangeness, where it felt weird to be bare-ass naked in front of her best friend, and to have him look at her with such hunger. But then the moment passed, because this man in front of her wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. He was something else entirely.

  His gaze moved over her body, from her throat down to her breasts, to her stomach and hips, lingering between her thighs for so long that she felt she might burst into flame where she sat. Then he finally looked down over her legs to her feet, before raising his gaze again, his eyes full of heat.

  Without looking away from her, he reached around to his back pocket and took out his wallet. Extracted a silver packet. Then he dropped the wallet to the floor and held out the packet to her. “Put this on me.”

  She didn’t think about not obeying. It was clear he wanted her to protect them both and she wanted to. She so very much wanted to touch him.

  Her hands shook as she took the packet, putting it down on the desk beside her, then reaching for the buttons of his fly. She fumbled a little with the button and the zipper, but he didn’t make a move to help. Instead, he watched her as if she were the only thing worth looking at in the entire universe.

  Her heartbeat accelerated, the pressure of his gaze doing things to her. Making her feel vulnerable and exposed, yet making the ache between her thighs more intense. And then the vulnerable feeling disappeared as she slid her hand inside his boxers, closing her fingers around him, finding him hot and smooth and hard. He took a short, sharp breath, and when she looked up at him, she could see the effect she had on him written all over his face.

  He looked like a starving man seeing a feast laid out before him.

  It thrilled her down to the bone.

  She stroked him, loving the velvety feel of him and the way he tensed as she gripped him tighter.