“I’ll tell you anything. Maybe. Probably.”
“No, I mean, tell me something. Start a conversation.”
“All right.” He roved his fingers down the ridges of her spine. “If you had to choose between eating soup or facilitating world peace, would you want broccoli cheese or chicken noodle?”
Her chuckle drifted between their bodies. “Funny man. So, if I choose world peace—”
“You can’t have soup for the rest of your life.”
Oh, the horror! “I’d choose world peace.” Barely. “Then I’d pour soup over bread and call it a sandwich. Boom! Problem, meet Solution.”
Her scalp tingled as he wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Moral of the story: there’s always a way to get what you want.”
“Exactly.” She traced the edge of his navel, drawing a ragged breath from him. “You once told me you’re a mess, but I’ve seen no evidence of it. You’ve even stopped drinking excessively.”
“You don’t like when I drink, so I’m not going to drink.”
This man! “You said you have trouble sleeping, but you appear well-rested. If you’ve had nightmares, I’m unaware.”
“My mind has been…quieter lately. More focused.”
Because of me? Feeling bolder by the second, she urged her fingertip along the length of his shaft. A tattered sound rumbled in his chest. His whole body shook, sending vibrations along the mattress. He hardened right before her eyes. A fascinating—and titillating—process.
I touch him, and he is helpless to react… Another first for Lyndie.
“Scottie,” he prompted, his jaw tightly clenched. “It’s been a long time for you, and you might be sorer than you realize. I’m ready for round two, but I don’t want you regretting it tomorrow and hobbling around. So which is it? Either we talk or we fu— screw. Lady’s choice.”
She almost said Let’s screw! But he was right. Her lady business was a little tender. And really, getting to know each other better was far more important than getting each other off.
“Fine. We’ll talk,” she said. “Tell me why you won’t cuss in front of me.”
“Cussing is often associated with a temper. With you, I will never have a temper.”
Resistance, crumbling. Every time he complimented her or teased her, her trust in him deepened. But this went far beyond compliments and teasing. And as her trust deepened, her attraction to him intensified.
Already falling for him.
Careful. Pretending he hadn’t rocked her world, she said, “Do you think I have a magical vajayjay?”
He sputtered for a moment. “Magical…excuse me?”
“Well, a few months ago, I started reading romance novels. Since I didn’t have a love life, I thought it might be nice to live vicariously through the characters, and it wasn’t long before I noticed a pattern. Somehow the heroines always manage to heal the hero’s broken heart while they’re having sex. Meaning her vajayjay is a magical healing portal. So of course I’m wondering if sleeping with me cured you of all your ills.” She tried for a teasing tone, but this particular topic of conversation had inadvertently struck a genuine chord of yearning inside her.
I want to heal him.
Her mother used to say: Always leave a person better than you found them.
It was simple common courtesy.
Brock appeared thoughtful. “I suspect you do have some healing properties, but I’d need to do more research to be sure.”
She chuckled.
“Maybe after our divorce, we can keep seeing each other.” A muscle jumped underneath his eye, as if he wasn’t happy with his words. “Romance novel heroes probably need to visit the magical healing portal often. Preventative medicine is important.”
“Excellent point. But…” To silence a whimper of longing, she chewed on her bottom lip. “I considered the same thing earlier, but we probably shouldn’t.” Already in too deep. On top of every other reason, they shouldn’t confuse their—her—kid.
And what if Brock later changed his mind about wanting to see her? Commitment wasn’t his thing. He preferred variety. So. When the time came, she would be better served severing ties.
Stiff as a board now, Brock kissed her forehead. “You wore me out, Red. I better go. Don’t want to accidentally fall asleep in your bed.”
She’d hurt his feelings. So not her intention.
Already grieving his loss, Lyndie opened her mouth to ask him to stay. Perfect opportunity to assert your independence. She held her tongue. But oh! She was wasting an even better opportunity to question him about his past. Or maybe not. Maybe he would have left sooner if she’d tried.
Well, she had to try.
“Stay,” she said. “Tell me about your childhood and your years in the Army.”
As quickly as humanly possible, he disentangled his body from hers and stood. Ignoring her request, he said, “I tend to toss and turn when I sleep. If I sleep.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “And I know how much you value your independence.”
Had he read her thoughts?
As he strode from the room, shutting the door behind him, a silly little piece of her heart actually…broke.
Chapter Sixteen
Keeping busy, Brock dressed and escorted the animals inside the house. The whole bunch of them were over the moon excited to see him, as if he’d left for a year and had only just returned. When he plopped on the couch in the living room, Pepper and Athena joined him, cuddling into his sides. The cats—the overlords of the home—prowled through every room, inspecting their “lair” to make sure nothing had been changed.
He was tempted to head to the Strawberry Inn to kill a bottle of whiskey with Daniel. He’d go to the Scratching Post, but Jude was working, and Brock didn’t want townspeople talking.
Just married and already back to his old ways.
If you wanted different results, you had to do something different.
Maybe he should just tell Lyndie everything. Confess every sin, every crime he’d ever committed. She’d handled a few details about his time as an Army Ranger surprisingly well. What if she offered comfort rather than fear or censure?
No! Can’t risk losing her.
Especially not now. What if she’d gotten pregnant tonight? Timing wasn’t perfect, but wasn’t impossible, either.
He sucked in a breath. A baby. With Lyndie. A family—his family. Longing clawed at his insides, but so did fear of his own. He would not be able to walk away from his child even if Lyndie insisted. He would assert his rights as a father.
She would hate him, would believe he’d tricked her. He would break her trust in him. Hard-won trust, at that.
Guilt scalded him, and a cold, clammy sweat beaded over his skin, but he could not regret what he’d done.
I want my family.
Brock popped his jaw and let his head fall against the back of the couch. He’d just had mind-blowing sex. Never had a woman felt so good. Magical healing portal? Undoubtedly.
Somehow Lyndie had healed him. Not fully, not yet, but the potential was there. For the first time in years, he felt as though he was finally on a path to recovery.
When he was a little boy, his mother had convinced him of his worthlessness. Tonight Lyndie had looked at him as if he wasn’t just something special to her—as if he was something special, period. He did not want to change her mind.
She’d clung to him, unable to get enough. She’d thrashed and writhed and screamed with pleasure. Other men might scare her, but not Brock. Not anymore. She trusted him.
Another prick of burning guilt. One he ignored.
His wife wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for him. He felt calmer in her presence, and valued. Worth something. When they weren’t together, thoughts of her constantly invaded his mind. He didn’t have time to ponder the past, the people he’d killed, the wrongs he’d done, the wrongs that had been done to him, or how different things could have been if he’d taken another path.
After L
yndie, no other woman would do. Ever. The connection they shared—
He closed his eyes. He was going to say it, wasn’t he? He was going to go full-on romantic, with all kinds of cheese.
She completes me.
He cringed, all that cheese leaving a bad taste in his mouth. But no way he would go through mental hurdles to override the sentiment. Truth was truth, and he finally understood his obsession with her. He’d loved her at moment one, when his heart had known what his mind had not. She’s my other half.
Brock Hudson loved, adored and worshipped Lyndie “Scottie” Scott-Hudson.
She had such a kind heart, not just for people but also for animals. She was sexier, wittier, and far more fun than he’d ever anticipated. Her wicked sense of humor was a perfect match for his.
The past week, he’d kept his distance sexually because he’d wanted her on fire for him. Something he’d quickly discovered? He was content just breathing her in, watching her do anything, everything. Read, grade papers, hook a lock of hair behind her ear. Chew on the lid of an ink pen. Relax on the couch with a glass of wine.
His biggest goals in life? Keeping Lyndie safe and making her happy.
He needed her to love him back. Would beg for the honor.
What shocked him most? Earlier, he’d loved imagining her pregnant with his child…loved thinking about growing old with an adoring wife. If she loved him back, she couldn’t hate him, ever. The two emotions could not coexist.
Down goes the eternal bachelor. How quickly he had changed his tune.
The idea of a lifelong commitment scared him to the core, but losing Lyndie scared him far more.
He had to prove they could make a relationship work forever. But how?
Maybe, if he gave her what she thought she wanted—sex without emotion, space, and very little attention—she would begin to miss what they’d first shared?
Worth a shot, anyway. Determined, he nodded. At the very least, he had a plan.
Tomorrow he would put that plan into motion.
No way he could fail.
* * *
He failed.
Only took him two and a half weeks, but his grand plan to make Lyndie crave what they’d first had together, to make her want him more than she wanted her independence, had essentially pushed her further away. She seemed more than fine with emotionless sex. Might even prefer it.
Brock parked in the driveway of the home they shared. Home. The word struck him as odd. He’d never felt welcome in his parents’ house. After joining the Army, he’d kept an apartment for the months he was on leave, but as little time as he’d spent there, no attachment ever formed. The cabin he’d shared with Jude had come close, but no cigar.
This small farmhouse always welcomed him with open arms.
Night had fallen, but his car’s headlights illuminated the Halloween decorations Lyndie had added at some point today. There were jack-o’-lanterns scattered across the porch and a fake skeleton sitting in a rocking chair. A white sheet—ghost—hung from the roof, flapping in the breeze.
A smile teased the edges of Brock’s mouth. The decorations were new, in more ways than one. Couples celebrated holidays together, meaning he never had, because he’d never had a significant other before.
Now he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being without a significant other.
Locusts buzzed as Brock did his usual, stalking around the house to check for any sign of Lambert. Stalker Man hadn’t been spotted since the spitting incident.
Finding no evidence of an intrusion, Brock made his way inside—and braced for impact. AKA his first contact with Lyndie after hours apart. His heart pounded against his ribs as the sweetness of her scent enveloped him and his skin heated.
All the colors of the rainbow greeted him, a sight he would never tire of seeing. Though every piece of furniture bore some kind of scuffmark or scratch, he’d never once considered suggesting they replace a single item. An expensive couch, chair, or coffee table could not compete with the hominess of Lyndie’s pieces.
Hmm. She wasn’t in the living room. He made his way to the kitchen…
Impact. There she was, seated at the counter, her hands digging inside a large pumpkin.
His heart beat even harder. His skin burned even hotter. She’d piled her strawberry-blond mane atop her head, though multiple tendrils had already escaped confinement to caress the elegant line of her neck. A frilly pink apron covered a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. On her feet were black-cat slippers.
The animals slept around her, choosing to lie on the hard tile floor just so they could be near Lyndie.
Brock understood. He was pretty sure he’d move heaven and earth just to be close to this woman. Too bad the sentiment wasn’t reciprocated.
He set down his briefcase and keys with more force than intended and loosened his tie.
She glanced up and offered him a small smile. “Hey. You’re back earlier than expected.”
“I am.” Because I can’t stay away.
She spent the bulk of her time at the school. If she wasn’t teaching class, she was meeting with parents or lesson planning.
He’d had to search for ways to be together even as he searched for ways to stay way and preserve his sanity. Flying the Hud and Son jet out of a private airport in Strawberry Valley cost more but shaved four hours of daily travel from his schedule. Monday through Thursday, he made the three-and-a-half-hour flight to New York to oversee day-to-day operations at the company—no, he hadn’t closed the doors yet. He also worked with a forensic accountant and pored through the books. Unwilling to spend a single night away from Lyndie, he returned every evening.
Fridays, he stayed in Strawberry Valley to visit Lyndie at school and make sure Lambert wasn’t hiding nearby. Last time she had looked at Brock like he was a hero.
Now he lived for the next moment.
In fact, he made the decision then and there to stay in Strawberry Valley from now on, saving even more time for Lyndie. His original plan had failed, so he needed a new one anyway.
He would host video conferences with his employees while avoiding Miranda and Braydon.
Braydon continued to come to the office under the guise of getting to know him better.
“How was today’s trip?” Lyndie asked.
“Productive. So…what is it you’re doing?”
“Carving pumpkins for my class like a boss.”
“Halloween is…when?” He’d lost track of time.
“Three days away.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my gosh. Do not tell me that you haven’t gotten a costume.”
“Guilty.” Perhaps he would dress up as a doctor, and Lyndie would dress up as a patient who’d just been admitted to his ER. After Dr. Love gave her a thorough exam, he could have a treat…
He would remind her of how good things could be between them.
Anything would beat their “baby-making” sex. AKA the sex without any emotional connection. She would slip off her panties, sit at the edge of the bed, recline and spread her legs. He would open the fly of his jeans, his erection springing free from its prison. Then he would spear her with two fingers to make sure she was ready for him.
The shocking truth, and the only reason he’d clung to hope? She was soaked. Every—single—time.
He’d done his dead-level best to ensure the experiences were as stilted and perfunctory as possible, and the complete opposite of their first explosive encounter. He’d hidden the nearly all-consuming desire to worship her with kisses and caresses behind a bland expression and impersonal touch.
A few days ago, he’d taken it a step further and asked, “This the way you like it?”
She’d replied, “Shhh. Let me concentrate on being fertile.”
At first, he’d held her for five minutes after every encounter before climbing out of bed and returning to his bedroom. No more, no less. He’d watched the clock, hoping she would cling to him, ask him to stay, to hold her all night—something! The past few times, she ha
d left him.
He was pretty sure his behavior had only reinforced her ridiculous notion that she was better off without him.
Sometimes he suspected she had taken things a step further, actually fighting her pleasure, as if she didn’t want to give Brock—or herself—the satisfaction of climaxing. It only added fuel to the fire of his resolve, prompting him to reach between their bodies and stroke her little bundle of nerves until she erupted.
Anytime she came, he came, her climax always pushing him over the edge. More than once, however, he’d considered faking it.
As soon as she started baking a bun in her oven, she would have no more need of Brock. On the opposite end of the spectrum, she might decide to stay with the father of her child.
He truly hated the needy POS he’d become.
Yesterday he’d almost come unglued. Just as she’d gotten into position, she’d said, “Can we hurry? I have papers to grade.”
“You mean last evening’s ten-minute longie was too much for you?” His tone had been drier than dirt.
“Yes! How about this? If you can keep this under five minutes, you’ll win a prize.”
He’d ground his teeth. “Such as?”
“I won’t complain.”
His main goal in bed was now to stop complaints? Come on!
“Well,” Lyndie said now. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about trying to track down a decent costume at the last minute. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Tell me about your costume.” He sat at the table, watching as she scooped out a handful of pumpkin guts.
“Well. It’s short…”
Short enough to see the Promised Land? “And?”
“And maybe just a wee bit tight…”
Blood heating, he leaned forward so that his body angled toward hers. “And?”
“And it’s covered in fake blood!” As he sputtered with indignation, she laughed a magical fairy princess laugh. “I’m going as Alice in Zombieland.”
“Well then, I guess I’m going as a zombie.” He snapped his teeth at her. “I’ll have an excuse to eat you up.”
Just like that her amusement faded, and tension wafted from her. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of sexual intimacy… I was thinking we should maybe might probably take a night off.”
Can’t Get Enough Page 17
