And once his twin had put the idea into Ford’s head? He couldn’t think of anything other than losing himself in Holly’s arms. Not even the thought of scrounging a meal at Due South could compete.
Ford dug into his jeans pocket and dragged out his keychain. “Good idea.” He slapped it against Harley’s chest. “Don’t wait up, and don’t sleep in my bed. You’re on the couch.”
Harley showed him a flash of teeth in a sharp grin. “Of course. Have fun, little bro.”
* * *
Writteninthestars.com Daily Horoscope.
Pisces.
An unexpected visitor challenges your hospitality. You must decide whether to give them another chance or show them the door.
Holly sat in her living room in the dark with Diablo draped over her lap. He sluttishly demanded another belly rub by bopping her with his paws.
No lights…because zero energy to move.
No TV…because the remote had fallen off the couch, and Diablo had nipped her the last time she’d reached for it.
No chocolate because, hello, she’d eaten her own body weight at the hangi prepared for the after-burial-feast yesterday, but damn if the rock residing in the pit of her belly hadn’t expanded since then.
Ford had completely shut her out, his emotions locked down tighter than a strongbox protecting national secrets. I don’t need you; I got this all on my own was evident every time she’d so much as looked in his direction with a trace of sympathy. Let alone talk to him. She’d given up that naive notion at the cemetery, watching Ford and Harley, along with their dad and uncles, carry Pania to her final resting place.
The man hadn’t uttered a word to her since she’d embarrassingly, stupidly and-at-the-worst-possible-time admitted she wanted to love all of him. Broken or whole. Puh-lease, as Shaye would say. Was it even possible a man like Ford would allow himself to lean on her even a little bit?
Three sharp bangs sounded as someone pounded on her front door.
Beneath the oversized tee shirt she’d pulled on the moment she got home from work, her skin prickled. That was a Ford-ish type of knock, and right now, dressed for the early night she planned on having, Ford was the last person she wanted to see.
Another couple of bangs. “Holly? You home?”
Definitely Ford. Crap.
She froze, becoming one with the couch cushions. No lights, no TV sounds, he’d leave in a moment.
Diablo leaped off the couch and ran out of the living room, meowing like the apocalypse approached. Holly swore and raced after him, edging into the hallway and sending out violent psychic threats of a dunk in her bathtub if the cat didn’t shut its cakehole.
“Holly. Open up before Diablo strokes out.” Ford’s strained voice came right from the other side of her front door. “Or before I kick my way in,” he added in a low rasp.
Holly flicked the lock and yanked open the door. Diablo streaked outside with one last yowl and disappeared around the side of the house. Ford, with hands braced high either side of the frame, just stared at her.
Super. Back to the strong, silent alpha-male cliché.
Don’t forget sinfully sexy, her eyes supplied, as she took in the tight black tee stretched over his wide chest, the worn denim clinging to lean hips, strong thighs, masculine bulge—
Holly jerked her gaze upward to Ford’s ferociously intense stare.
Her belly gave a little flutter. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“I’m not here to talk.”
The night air pulsed between them—a long, throbbing pulse that mimicked the thickening, down-deep ache waking in her core. Yep, her body cheerfully agreed, nipples tightening to pebble-hard under her shirt, panties growing damp, Ford was looking at her as if chit-chat was the last thing on his mind.
She ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip. How fast would she have to move to slam the door before Ford got inside? Faster than humanly possible, considering her bones already felt the same consistency as liquid honey.
“What are you here for?” she asked.
The rigid outline of him beneath his jeans spelled out the answer in an easy-to-comprehend, three-letter word.
S.E.X.
She didn’t really expect an answer, and Ford’s response told her all she needed to know about his intentions.
He took a giant step forward.
Holly took a giant step back.
The door slammed shut, and the security light clicked off.
Heavy breathing took over from the distant sound of ocean surf. Then his hands were on her—squeezing her waist, scooting her backward until her butt and shoulders bumped the wall. Lips on hers, tongue demanding entry, stroking, stoking the fire kindling in her womb.
He ground out her name, the hint of resentment at the need in it sent prickles down her spine. A chilled palm slipped under her knee, lifting it to hook around his hips. With him hard against her belly, Holly ground herself against him, and the palm moved to the hem of her tee shirt. Ford’s lips pulled away from hers long enough to wrench the shirt over her head, then his mouth returned in a ovary-igniting kiss, his roughened fingers skimming over her bare breasts. Those same fingers played over her skin like a blind man reading braille, skilful and intuitive, reading her reaction from her hitching breaths and pleasured moans.
He hooked a finger in her panties, dipping low to find her wet and ready, circling her swollen flesh until she cried out and nipped his shoulder. He peeled the panties from her legs, and they pattered softly to the floor. A rustle of foil in the darkness. The hiss of a zipper, a grunt of frustration as he peeled off his tee shirt, and then a sweet tearing sound.
Ford pulled her close again, lifting her, pinning her open to him against the wall. She drew him in with her legs, the hard nudge of him at her entrance. He kissed her throat, the muscles bunching under her fingers as she clung to his shoulders.
“Don’t know if I can make it good for you, baby. Just want this so badly. Want you.”
Holly wriggled in what little room the bulk of his body squished against hers allowed, and the engorged head of him pushed farther inside.
“It’s good,” she said as his hands tightened on her butt cheeks. “And I’m all yours. Take me like you know you want to.” Because he needed the physical, the act, without her complicating it with sappy words of love.
Ford drove inside her with one brutal thrust. Thick, hard, the slick walls of her sex gripping him tight at the sudden fullness. He gave her no time to recover, to adapt to this sensory overload—he withdrew partially and thrust into her again. And again. And again, branding her mouth with kisses, claiming her soul with every toe-curling thrust.
He drove into her over and over, his fingers digging almost painfully into her butt and thighs. The orgasm came from nowhere, electrifying and brutal, the pleasure almost more than she could bear. As she cried out her release, Ford bucked against her faster, harder, spinning her climax out into the stratosphere. He slammed into her once more, his body rigid, his shout of release muffled against her throat. Even as her body melted into his, he continued to spasm deep inside her.
Ford brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed her jaw. She squeezed her internal muscles around him, and he made a rumbling sound of approval, releasing his death-grip on her butt. Feet on the floor again, Holly braced herself against the wall, thigh muscles pinging as if she’d run a dozen miles with ankle weights.
“I was rough. I’m sorry.” He stooped to snatch up her tee shirt.
He handed her the shirt, and she hugged it to herself, forcing her lips to curve upwards so the smile would hopefully show in her voice.
“You weren’t rough; you were perfect.” She touched his cheek and then slid away from him, shaking out the shirt and tugging it on over her head. “And I bet you’re starving.”
A low chuckle. “I could eat.”
Thankful for the darkness, she did a quick run through of exaggerated facial expressions to ward off the sting of impending
tears. Crying after sex—now there was a turn-on no man could resist.
“I’ll fix us something.” Something complicated enough that she could ignore the sensation of solid ground crumbling beneath her feet.
Holly scuttled along the wall until her hands found the doorway into her living room, and she slid inside, just as Ford hit the lights. She sucked in a deep breath and kept going, mentally running through a content list of her fridge and pantry.
Two hours after Holly had fed him, Ford asked if he could stay the night—Harley being in one of his moods, Ford explained.
“Sure,” she replied. “Come to bed, sweet. We could both use an early one.”
Holly killed the lights in the living room and kitchen, taking his hand as they walked in the dark to her bedroom. He hesitated outside her door, tugging her back half a step. The hallway lights flicked on, and she squinted at his fingers still resting on the switch.
His unfathomable gaze scanned her face and then slipped, almost guiltily, to the side. “Do you mind?”
Suffering what felt like a shotgun blast to the heart, Holly could only murmur, “Of course not.”
But she minded. Oh, she big-time minded.
He’s grieving in his own way. He came to you because he needs you. Be his support, his safe harbor. He’ll open up; he trusts you. He’s just not ready yet. A litany of plausible excuses ran through her brain, none of which eased the shaky feeling of an imminent train wreck rushing toward them as she crawled under the covers and into Ford’s arms.
Chapter 20
Writteninthestars.com Daily Horoscope.
Pisces.
Clarity will come in an unexpected form today. Listen to the wisdom around you, but make up your own mind on what advice to follow.
Holly stood in the parking lot of Invercargill’s Sunnyhaven Rest Home, mentally performing an exorcism on her churning stomach.
“You okay?” Ford came alongside her. He ran a palm over the roof of his Thunderbird, glared at his fingers then swiped his hand down the leg of his jeans. “Ready?”
“Yeah. God. I hope she doesn’t beg me to get her out of this place, like she did at the hospital. It nearly broke my heart.”
Ford ran a hand down her arm and bent in to brush a soft kiss against her mouth. “You’ve been worried sick about her all week—how about we actually go talk to her first, before jumping to conclusions?”
“Yeah.” Holly offered him a weak smile and started across the parking lot.
Ford kept pace and, after a moment, linked their fingers together, squeezing her hand. She couldn’t look at him, just kept her gaze locked on the wide, concreted entrance and sliding glass doors.
She’d been worrying, all right. But not about Dixie. After Ford turned up on her doorstep, he’d been nothing but sweet to her the last few days. Sweet and attentive and ohmigawd, the amazing sex. Beyond amazing.
Be-mazing.
Be-mazing sex. Be-mazing man, who’d sat down with her and West, helping to nut out a business plan. Be-mazing boyfriend, who had shown up both evenings she had hair appointments to cook dinner for her.
And yet…
The crack of distance that had appeared between them at his mother’s tangi continued to grow. A crack that split off into other tiny cracks, deepening, spreading, hollowing out her stomach when she woke alone in bed and found Ford asleep in the living room, the lights all on…and the next morning, when he’d refused to explain or discuss the situation.
The cracks were crumbling away into a giant chasm.
Pushing aside the drowning sensation, Holly stepped into Sunnyhaven’s foyer. The walls were painted in soft neutrals but covered with colorful paintings—real paintings from local artists. At the reception desk, a young woman smiled at them and gave them directions to the residents’ lounge.
They walked down the corridor, Holly glancing into each room they passed.
“Where is everyone?” she asked Ford. “Shouldn’t there be actual people in these rooms?
Ford peered into the next room on his side of the corridor. “Here’s some.”
Three men, well into their seventies it looked like, were in the midst of a lively card game.
“Huh,” Holly said. “Not a lot of wall staring and drooling going on.”
They continued along the corridor, and as they drew closer to the large room at the end, Dixie’s distinctive laughter rang out. She raised an eyebrow at Ford, who shrugged in response. They went into the room and found Dixie surrounded by three elderly men, one who was tying colored streamers on the handle of her walker.
Dixie looked up and waved as Ford and Holly headed her way.
“About time you two got here. Bob’s just finishing pimping my ride.” Dixie grabbed the handle of her walker and a brrrrrrring tinkled out. She showed them the hand-painted bicycle bell and grinned. “I’ll be the terror of Sunnyhaven. What do you think?”
“Wow.” Holly blinked as Bob laid a hand on Dixie’s shoulder. “Um. Wicked-cool, Dix. Just try not to give anyone a heart attack.”
She chuckled. “Oh, we’re a lively bunch in here. Nobody’s had a heart attack in, how many days now, Bob? Forty?”
The look Dixie slanted up at Bob—Bob, who stood only a few inches shorter than Ford, with a full head of neatly trimmed silver hair and a smile that didn’t look at all grandpa-ish—sent all kinds of alarms off inside Holly.
Dixie was flirting?
Dixie patted the hand Bob still had on her shoulder.
Dixie was totally flirting.
“At least that,” Bob said. “But we’ll leave you to your visitors, won’t we boys.”
The other two men made polite noises and rose from their chairs.
“We still on for the Southland Museum trip later, Dixie?”
“Oh, yes, wouldn’t miss it. Don’t let them go without me.” Dixie gave Bob a little toodles wave.
With a sanitized version of the smile he gave Dixie, Bob smiled and nodded at Holly and Ford then walked away.
Holly lowered herself to the nearest seat and cocked her head. “Guessing that your nickname Sunnyhell doesn’t apply anymore?”
“Well, no,” Dixie said. “I might’ve over-reacted a little about the situation last time you visited.”
“So it’s not too bad here, then?” Ford sat beside Holly, sliding his arm around her shoulders.
Dixie’s gaze flicked from Ford to Holly, two new lines appearing around Dixie’s mouth as she tried to keep her mouth from smiling. “Not too bad at all.”
“Because of Bob?” Holly asked.
“Pffft.” Dixie waved a hand. “Not just because of Bob—though he’s a bit of all right. It’s better than not bad. It’s fun—I’m having fun—something I’d gone so long without I’d forgotten how much I missed it. Holly, honey…” She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not coming back to Oban.”
Holly just stared. “Not coming back…at all?”
“I’ll come for visits; don’t you worry—and now that you’re not moving to Invers, I expect weekly gossip updates. But my brother’s just across town, and I’ve made so many new friends here.”
“This is so sudden—are you sure?”
Dixie’s mouth curved down, and she sighed. “The powers that be have deemed it’s not safe for me to live alone—and yes, you’ve been wonderful to me over the years, but here, I can be taken care of without feeling I’ve lost all of my independence.”
“But your home? What will you do with all your things?”
Dixie pulled a face. “Ship it here or get rid of it. And as to the house, I’m happy knowing you’re there taking care of it. You’ll live in it as long as you like. I’m not planning on selling it any time soon, and thanks to George’s life insurance, I’ve no need to.”
“Don’t you worry about your things,” said Ford. “Hol and the girls will sort them out for you, and me and the guys are happy to lug boxes and furniture around.”
“I won’t need the furniture. Find a nice tenant to
put downstairs—someone who’s not going to mind the bedroom gymnastics going on above.” Dixie grinned, then her smile slipped, and she clasped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, listen to me rambling on as if it’s all about me—Ford, I was so sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. How are you and Harley doing? And Denise and Rob?”
The arm draped around Holly’s shoulder tensed, his fingers tightening briefly on her upper arm before relaxing again.
“We’re all doing fine,” Ford said.
For all the emotion showing in his voice, Dixie might’ve asked about how Ford was doing after a normal workday.
He scrubbed the heel of his palm down his leg, shifting his gaze just past Dixie’s shoulder. “Harley’s back in New York, and work keeps Mum and Dad busy. And then there’s the plans for Holly’s salon—right, Hol?”
Way to change the subject, Ford. Real subtle.
Ford launched into a detailed description of their plans for the empty space next to Bree’s gallery, pausing for breath only when Dixie held up a palm.
“That sounds wonderful.” She flicked her sharp gaze to Ford. “Do you think you could go on a quick cafe-run for us? I’ve got a hankering for one of those Chai-tea-latte things, and I know the two of you won’t want to drink the instant they serve here.”
“Happy to.” Ford stood and kissed Dixie’s cheek. “And how about a couple of pastries to go with it?”
Dixie squeezed his arm. “Always thinking with your belly, boy. Off with you.”
With a guarded glance over his shoulder at Holly, Ford left.
“Now tell me what’s really going on,” Dixie said.
Holly burst into tears.
After Holly had gone through every tissue in her purse while giving Dixie the PG version of the last few weeks, Dixie took Holly’s hands.
“George and I had been married six months before I found out he had an older brother who died in a car accident when George and Clive were teenagers,” she said. “The brothers had been out drinking together, and Clive was at the wheel when they hit another car head on, killing a woman and her young daughter. I found an old stack of photos at his parents’ place and asked who the young man next to George was. Even then, it took me months to work the whole sad story out of him.”
Playing For Fun: Stewart Island Book 6 Page 25
