by Stacey Lynn
“It wasn’t,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “But I didn’t have a choice, either, Tyson. Dad sent me off that night.”
His gazed stayed fixed on my eyes before it slid to my lips and then down my body. It felt intrusive, and I fought the urge to hide myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong except trust the man responsible for bringing me into this world. The man who sheltered me and raised me.
Perhaps, after all, that had been wrong.
“You could have come to me.”
“Really?” I tilted my head to the side. “What would you have done? Even if you’re telling me the truth, it’s not like I could have done anything different. Your dad was still investigating mine.”
His eyes closed and pain lashed across his face. I saw it clearly in the way he jolted back and sucked in a breath. “Your dad had mine killed two years later, Blue.”
The words left his mouth in a whisper and were quickly forced into the air where they formed a ball that slammed into my chest with the speed of a bullet. It seared into my skin, and tears filled my eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m not sure you’ve ever truly understood what he’s capable of.”
I shook my head again, as if the action could erase the words Tyson just spoke, or the truth in them. “How do you know?”
He laughed, but it was cold as ice. Ice trickled down my spine. “I know.”
“Then why wasn’t he investigated?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Do you know who Jimmy Galecki is? How many men in the department are in his pocket or on his payroll? Do you have any idea the influence your father has with men in this city? How much influence you have because of your name?”
I did. I’d always known it to some extent, but I had only experienced the benefit the name could bring, not the destruction. Although what he said made sense. I often searched for news of my father and our family online. Nothing was ever mentioned, not even about the DPD investigating him.
“I’m sorry.” I wiped the first tears from my eyes away and turned, putting my back to the rail. “Now you know.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I have an aunt in Colorado. I’ve been there, working on her farm.”
An odd sound came from beside me. When I turned my head, I saw just the hint of a smile that matched his incredulous look. “Farm?”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone knows my mom comes from a hippie family. Her sister has a goat farm.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, interrupting, but clearly amused. “You’ve been living on a goat farm?”
Most of the tension and the anger dissipated with just that question. I imagined what he was thinking. I thought the same thing for the first several months. Me? A girl who had a cotillion. Who began having her hair dyed and highlighted at the age of thirteen, along with weekly manicures, and had closets full of designer clothes?
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I protested.
Tyson’s grin only grew wider and he stepped in front of me. “I think I need to hear more about your life on a farm.”
Slowly, I nodded. Then I reached out and placed my palm in his extended hand. Somehow knowing that one action would change everything. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Chapter 6
While the stress eased off my shoulders, finally having answers even though I knew we had more questions between us, I could feel Tyson pulling away from me with every step we took. He led me farther north from my hotel to Harbortown, where most of the streets were lined with townhouses, some walk-up brownstones, and local restaurants. I loved it here because there wasn’t a chain or franchise restaurant in sight. My eyes widened as I saw a familiar place, one where we used to eat.
“Cherry Yo-Ville?” I asked. It could have been a coincidence.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft, proving it wasn’t a coincidence after all. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he clearly remembered the times we used to eat here. He looked down at me and tightened his hand around mine. “I didn’t even realize where I was headed.”
Then his eyes hardened again and he tugged me inside. I knew we still had a lot to discuss, but there was one thing I could no longer deny:
Even with the unknowns, I hadn’t felt more at home in the last ten years than I did when Tyson was touching me in some way.
I frowned as I thought about the way he so quickly changed his emotions and clenched my teeth together while we grabbed our bowls. We were silent while we loaded them up with different frozen yogurts and waited in line before piling on the toppings. The entire time, Tyson stood close, not touching me, but I could feel his presence like a wall of fire at my back or by my side.
“What’s going on with your mom?” he asked once we were seated at the table.
“Not much to say. This is her third time fighting breast cancer, and it’s metastasized to her brain. Her body can’t handle it anymore.” I closed my eyes and inhaled briefly, fighting back tears. “There’s nothing they can do for her.”
“Blue—,” he began, his voice full of pity or sympathy. I hated the thought of either.
The sight of her in her bed, so small, frail, and pale, flashed in my mind’s eye, and I quickly changed the subject. Talking about my mom wasn’t something I wanted to continue.
“So, you know what I’ve been doing for the last ten years.” I took my first bite of a mixture of birthday cake and Oreo yogurt and closed my eyes, savoring the flavors. As good, if not better, than I remembered. “What’d you do after college?”
He paused, his eyes glancing to his food before coming back to mine, but I caught the tightening of his jaw. Then he smiled, and it made me feel all funny. “I think we need to talk about this goat farm far more.”
My lips pressed together, a spoonful of fro-yo hovering at my closed lips, and I arched my brows.
When I realized he was going to completely ignore my question, all the warmth I had been feeling earlier began to cool. But I couldn’t stop smiling as I thought about the farm, and I let him distract me, even though I knew he was hiding something. I hoped like hell he’d tell me when he was ready.
He listened intently while I told him about my first few months on the farm, where I had spent more time facedown in mud and running from the few chickens in Eleanor’s chicken coop than I did providing any real help. He listened to my stories of farmers’ markets and learning how to make goat milk and cheese. How we made our own candles.
Life was simple on the farm, but it was good, too. I learned I was capable of more than my parents ever wanted of me. I was capable of handling myself and working with my hands. I did things I never would have considered myself capable of, but under the tutelage of my gentle, loving aunt, somehow, all things were possible.
His eyes and laugh lit up the room. I wanted to continue telling him anything just so his eyes didn’t darken anymore.
After he paid our check and escorted me out of the restaurant, his hand firmly clasped in mine, we began our slow walk back in the direction of my hotel.
“I told you about me,” I said, eyes facing forward. “Where’d you go?”
“DC,” he finally said after a long pause. “Went to law school there.”
I frowned, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re a lawyer?”
He nodded slowly, just once. His eyes were guarded though, and I felt my shoulders slump. He was hiding something from me, and I knew I should ask, call him out on it, but then Tyson pulled me toward him until I stumbled, and I braced myself with one hand against his chest.
His firm chest. Hard. Muscular. A chest I saw just that morning but now was touching through his shirt. All rational thought fled as the familiar feelings of being so close to Tyson again overpowered any other thought.
“Came home to help with my grandpa’s law firm,” he finally said. His voice was husky, a bit gravelly. His words vibrated against my ear as he lowered his head. “I never thought I’d come back to Detroit, but I can’t say I’m disappointed to get to
see you again.”
His head dipped further, his lips brushed against my ear.
“Tyson,” I whispered.
“God, I fucking missed you, Blue. I didn’t even realize how much until I saw you again.”
And then there was no more room for talking. His hand holding mine dropped to my waist, and his other hand slid to the back of my neck. With a slight tip of my head, our lips brushed against each other.
I inhaled, shocked at the feel of him. For the first time in ten years, he was in front of me, holding me, touching me, almost kissing me, and my body responded on instinct.
I licked my lips, my tongue tasting his as I did, and a noise escaped his lips. His hand on my waist tightened. My hand on his chest slid up and over his shoulder. My fingernails dug in and I lifted up onto my toes.
And then he was kissing me.
His lips slid against mine again, tasting me, teasing me. I returned his kiss, pressed against him as he held me tight. When he stopped the teasing, his mouth opened and I responded. I had to. There was no other option for me except to give him everything I had.
He was the only one I ever wanted to give anything to.
“Damn,” he whispered against my lips. “Didn’t forget how good you tasted, either.”
I laughed softly and leaned in. “Kiss me, Tyson.”
“Babe,” he said. He listened, though, and his mouth opened, his tongue slid inside mine, and we were suddenly kissing on the sidewalk, hands roaming over shoulders and skin. He swallowed a whimper that escaped my throat as our tongues tangled together, and everything, along with everyone who could see us, melted away.
I felt caught up in a dream, a memory. The best memory of my life because this kiss was not like the ones we shared before, and at the same time, it was. His hold was stronger, his kiss surer, but everything in me remembered exactly what Tyson felt like…everywhere.
“Blue,” he gasped, pulling away. For a brief moment, I thought I saw regret in his dark blues, before he blinked and it disappeared. “We need to stop.”
“I think we need to take this somewhere else, not stop.”
He stepped back, wrapped an arm around my waist until his hand was at my lower back, and then he ushered me the several blocks back to my hotel. Even with my long legs, I still had to hustle to keep up with Tyson’s hurried strides all the way to my hotel, into the elevator, and then down the hall to my room.
—
With all of our rushing, my head began spinning, thoughts running in circles, and I imagined all the things that would happen as soon as we reached my hotel room. A room where just that morning, I woke up next to Tyson.
One we got there, both of us breathing quicker than normal, excitement fled and nerves took its place.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked Tyson and headed for the small kitchen. “I know I have some wine and I think beer. There’s also water and some soda.”
“Blue,” Tyson said, his voice close at my back. “Nothing has to happen tonight.”
I curled my fingertips around the edge of the counter. “I know.”
I did. He would never force me to do something I didn’t want. The problem was I did want it. I just didn’t know if it was smart. Or if I wanted to be smart. Slowly, I turned my head to look at him, and I saw the same indecision in his eyes that I felt.
Yeah. Tyson wanted me, but he didn’t think it was smart either. I didn’t know what to think about that, so instead of asking, I opened the fridge, handed him a beer, and grabbed one for me.
“Want to watch a movie?” I asked once we popped the tops on our beers. I watched as he tipped the beer bottle to his lips, followed the slow movements of his throat as he swallowed, and kept my eyes pinned on his mouth when he licked a drop off his full bottom lip.
“Movie’s good.”
Nerves fluttered and swirled inside me, like I was sixteen all over again, making my heart beat faster as I slid past him and headed toward the living room.
Tyson’s steps were quicker than mine though, and he beat me to the couch. When he sat down, he took control over the remote, something that made me smile. With his other hand, he wrapped my waist and pulled me down so I was forced to sit next to him, and I curled into his side.
It felt so natural, so soothing, I didn’t move away.
With my beer in my hand, I let Tyson flip through the channels until he came across a Tigers’ game and he set the remote down.
“Thought we were going to watch a movie.”
“Movies suck, and there’s a game on.”
I took a quick drink from my beer, hiding my smile. “Of course. Because the Tigers could lose if you don’t cheer for them when you’re not there in person. They can tell, you know.”
He took his beer, tapped our tops together, and put it to his lips. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Seems you do remember the important things.”
So we sat like that for the next couple of hours, long after night had fallen and my eyes grew heavy, but I was enjoying this too much. This quiet peace between us where it felt like we’d gotten our past on the table, then silently decided to let it go and move on.
The question though, was move on to what?
It felt incredible to be around him again, like a part of me that had been missing had now been found. He helped me forget about the stuff with my mom. I hadn’t once thought about the request from my parents earlier today. The man next to me consumed my thoughts as his thumb trailed slow, gentle circles along my shoulder, on and off for the last hour. We barely spoke, except during commercials, because I definitely remembered that one did not speak during a Tigers game. That teasing circling on my shoulder sent shocks of desire to everywhere else in my body. And even though I was fighting to stay awake, I didn’t want Tyson to leave. I didn’t want him to head to wherever he was going to go when he left here, without getting another taste of him.
I wanted to feel him.
Turning, I shifted into him so my hand wrapped around his waist and I looked up. His hand on my shoulder tightened and his head dipped. We looked into each other’s eyes, and with each passing moment, electricity sparked and zapped in the space between us.
He still looked conflicted.
I was past caring. My hand tightened on his stomach, slowly drifted higher to brush over his hard chest, and I watched his pulse increase at the base of his throat.
“Blue,” he said. It was a warning or a plea. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.
Curling my legs beneath me, I sat up so I was on my knees and leaned forward. “Kiss me, Tyson,” I said.
He swallowed thickly, making me think he was going to push me away, when one of his hands dropped to my waist and the other slid to the back of my neck just like before. Then he tugged me forward until I was almost draped over his lap. He shifted, and my thighs spread to the outside of his until I was straddling him.
My hands went to his cheeks.
His hands pulled me forward.
Then his lips fell to mine, and he stole my breath the moment he touched me. There was no slow, passionate buildup; there was only fire and heat and intensity that I couldn’t ever remember feeling before.
I pressed my chest against his and ran my hands down his neck to his shoulders. I held on while he devoured me, tasting every place he could find inside my mouth, holding me firmly against him so I couldn’t move away.
Not that I wanted to.
I was exactly where I wanted to be.
My hips shifted, and I moaned into his mouth. He was hard beneath me. A bulge so thick it was noticeable through his denim and the lightweight cotton of my yoga pants. I didn’t even care that I wasn’t dressed sexily. That my hair was in a disheveled ponytail that only got worse as Tyson’s fingers dug into my scalp. As if he possessed mind reading capabilities, his fingers moved higher until he pulled the holder out of my hair and black strands fell to my cheeks, framing my face, and blocking out anything besides Tyson.
“Holy shit,” he murmu
red. His hips pressed into me, mine pressed down, and we rocked together, moving against each other while our hands explored each other’s bodies through our clothes. But I know he could feel every touch of my hands on him like I was touching his bare skin because that was how my body responded to his touch.
It was instantaneous.
It was amazing.
And I still craved more.
Needed more.
“Tyson,” I whimpered. Just his name. A needy plea for more. My hands dropped to his waist, and I began tugging his shirt out from his jeans. My fingers trembled as I began undoing the buttons. His hands reached for the hem of my shirt and then he lifted. I paused my own pursuit of feeling the heat of his skin against mine only to lift my arms. The T-shirt went up and off and was thrown somewhere behind me. My fingers finished on his shirt and I pushed it open, revealing his chiseled chest and sculpted abs. And as my fingers first brushed against his skin, my fingertips felt singed from the heat rolling off him. He dropped his head to the back of the couch and sighed. His hands stilled at my ribcage as he continued rocking me against him. I watched the movement while my hands pushed his shirt off his shoulders, down his arms until I couldn’t move it anymore.
“We should stop,” Tyson said suddenly, reluctance thick in his voice. His hands pushed down on my hips, holding me against him so I couldn’t move. But I needed relief. I was so close.
I shook my head.
“Slow down a bit. There’s no hurry, Blue.”
He was probably right.
“I know.”
We both paused, our harsh breath mingled together in the small space between our lips. Our gazes stayed fixed, and I waited for Tyson to take his hands off my skin. Waited for him to push me away and apologize, or something.
None of that happened.
Instead, his eyes dropped to my chest and a low groan escaped his lips. His hands slid up and then over my breasts. I shifted into him, not taking my eyes off him. His eyes went hazy, and I whimpered when his hand brushed over my satin bra. Then his thumb tugged it down, revealing one breast and then the other.
