She leaned into his hand, letting him cup her face.
He moved closer, his breath hot against her lips, and he waited, almost as if he wasn’t sure if she would move out of his touch. But she didn’t move. All she wanted was him. His touch. His lips against hers. His hands on her skin.
She wanted all of him.
His lips grazed hers, making her need for him roar to life. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let his kiss overtake her. She had imagined this moment, but it was nothing like the reality. His tongue moved against hers, pressing and teasing and making her think of other things that she wanted him to do with his tongue.
Leaning back, she pressed her back against the truck’s door. Reaching under her, he lifted her hips and pulled her down so she could lie flat on the truck’s bench seat. He smiled as he looked down at her.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful I think you are?”
She giggled, covering her face with her hands. It had been so long since a man had talked to her like that, or since a man had given her that look. She felt silly as she gazed up at him from between her fingers. She should have been so much more confident and secure—she was old enough to know how to act around a man who wanted her.
His smile grew impossibly wider as she smiled up at him. Instead of reaching up to lower her hands, he leaned down and pulled her gingham shirt out from her jeans, exposing her stomach. He ran his rough, calloused hand over the soft skin of her belly, making her skin tingle to life as she grew wet with desire.
She groaned, the sound thick and guttural, at the sensations that threatened to overtake her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had wanted a man as badly as she wanted Waylon, here and now.
“Waylon,” she whispered, the sound as rough but tender as his hands.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned down and kissed around her navel. Her hips arched upward, her body responding on instinct. Yes. She wanted this. She needed this. It had been too long. She needed to feel alive again.
He sat up and slipped his fingers from under her shirt, unbuttoning each button as he slowly moved up her stomach and toward her breasts. Opening the last button, he let her shirt fall open on the seat next to her, exposing her black lace bra. He sat back and just looked at her for a minute.
Vulnerability wasn’t even close to what she was feeling. No. It was something rawer and more frightening. She sucked in her stomach and pushed up her breasts in an attempt to make her body look as beautiful as possible, and to hide the effect of the years of hard work and ranch life.
“Stop,” he said, his voice gentle and understanding. “You don’t have to be something you’re not with me. You’re perfect just as you are.”
She could have sworn her heart stopped for a brief moment as his words melted into her. Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly be more attracted to him.
He ran his fingers up her abdomen and over the top of her bra, moving between her legs and leaning down. Pushing back the edges of her bra, he pulled her nipple into his mouth. He sucked it, before moving to the other side. She arched her back, letting him feel the heat that he was making erupt from her center.
“Waylon,” she whispered. His name tasted like cotton candy on her tongue.
He felt so good between her thighs, the weight of him pressing against her. Rubbing as he rolled her nipple over his lips.
“I want you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. “Please, Waylon.”
He leaned back, letting go of her nipple and giving her a wolfish smile. “Are you sure?”
Her body screamed yes, but there was a nagging thought in the back of her mind, in the area where logic reigned, that screamed no—this was a bad idea. For her, when two bodies came together, the hearts were quick to follow. And, in this case, her heart was entirely too close to falling over the precipice into love as it was.
This was a bad idea. Letting her body win was a rookie mistake—a mistake made by those who hadn’t become cynical about love, those who still believed the world was a fairy tale and when it came to following the heart, there was always hope. In other words, love was for people who weren’t like her. She was too strong for love.
She put her hand on his chest and gently pressed him off her. “Wait,” she said, the weak resolve she felt sounded even weaker when voiced. “I want you. This, Waylon.”
“I want you, too,” he said, the wolfish look in his eyes still feeding on his lust. “You know what?”
She was glad he was changing the subject, and that for at least a moment, she had time to think with her head and not her body. “What?”
He sat back as he ran his hands over her stomach. “You are so freaking sexy.”
She giggled like a teenager even though her mind protested the adolescent sound. She had to fight the urge to go backward in time and continue to follow her lusty impulses.
“And?” she teased.
“And I’m glad that you are who you are. You are so strong and kind. And I love that you always tell me the truth. Whether or not I want to hear it. I appreciate it—your honesty.”
His words struck a raw nerve, pulling Winnie and his family’s omission to the forefront of her mind.
If he was attracted to her for her honesty and forthrightness, then he didn’t know who she really was—in fact, she was exactly the opposite of the woman he assumed she was, the woman he wanted her to be.
Forget falling into each other’s arms; if they were even going to be friends, he needed to know the truth—no matter the consequences.
Chapter Eleven
Waylon didn’t have a clue where things had gone wrong. One minute he was feeling her quake beneath his touch, begging him to continue with the motions of her hips. She had looked and acted as though she had been enjoying herself just as much as he had, but in the next moment she had pushed him away.
He ached as he thought about how badly he had wanted her, and how sweet she had tasted. She carried the flavor of peppermint gum and sugar on her lips, and it was a heady mix. Every kiss he searched for the same flavor, pushing deeper and harder. Her touch was intoxicating—it was something he was never going to forget.
It was funny, but he’d never really thought about a kiss before; for him a kiss was a kiss was just a kiss. At least it had been with every woman before Christina. With her, it was entirely different. It was almost as if when their lips came together, they were the keys to unlocking another existence. A world where love was free to move unchecked by time, space or the needs of others.
Yet she mustn’t have felt the same way. If she had, they would be covered in sweat and making believe they were the only two people in the world.
What was wrong with him?
He ran his hands over his face and sighed as they bumped down the country road that led back to the ranch. It had been stupid to fall into her body. Now everything between them would be even more tense than it had been before. It was going to be a long few days until he would have to leave.
Was that why she had pushed him away? Because she was afraid he would leave her in the cold?
He wanted to reach over and touch her again, to feel her tense under his fingers, but he resisted the urge. Her body was so far from him that she pressed hard against the door, as though she couldn’t get enough distance. His touch was probably the last thing she wanted right now.
He opened his mouth to tell her they could try to do the long-distance thing if she wanted, but he stopped. Nothing like that would ever work. Long-distance relationships were almost always doomed to fail. There was no way people could really get to know another just based on talking. So much of what happened between two people was in the body language. Just like when they had parked. Much of what she wanted to tell him was in her eyes, in the way she had looked up at him from behind her thick black eyelashes and the
way her hips had pressed against him, showing him how she ached for him just as badly as he ached for her.
She had wanted him. Right up until the point they had started to talk. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth—it always got him in trouble. Though it wasn’t a bad thing they had taken a step back. If she wasn’t feeling it, then she wasn’t feeling it. He wasn’t about to rush her, and thinking about it now that he had a clearer head, it was a relief it hadn’t happened. He liked and wanted her, and they could have a thing while he was here, but there was no future in their relationship.
She didn’t seem like the type who would want anything to do with his lifestyle. He was a military nomad, moving from one place to another based on his orders. It took a special woman to want to follow her spouse around, and that wasn’t saying anything about what happened when he was deployed. And deployment in his life was never an if—it was always a when.
She deserved a man who could dote on her, who could give her the world and everything that she wanted from it. That couldn’t be him. His life was already promised to the country, and her life was promised to the care of Winnie. Plus, she’d made it clear that the ranch was her life. Or had she?
“Do you ever think about leaving Dunrovin?” Waylon wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth, but he couldn’t keep thinking in circles about Christina. He needed at least a soft yes or no when it came to the feelings growing within him.
She nibbled on her lip, making him think of their lips touching and her taste. His body quivered to life, but he tried to control himself.
“I’ve thought about moving away, but now that’s not really an option.” She sucked in a long breath and exhaled it slowly as she gave him a searching look. “Though that may change. I guess we just never know what the future will bring, do we?” Her expression was strange, and it reminded him of a person who was trying in vain to keep a secret.
He’d seen that kind of look before, normally when he was interrogating people. Just a few months before, he had been the lead investigator on an attempted murder at Bragg. According to the wife, her husband had come home late after a night of heavy drinking with his buddies. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and a fight had erupted about his behavior. Allegedly, the man had taken a small hatchet and come after the woman, threatening to kill her. She had been lucky, walking away with only a few scratches and bruises.
As Waylon had interrogated the husband, the man had been evasive, never really wanting to answer his questions. He had given Waylon the same look Christina was giving him now—a look that told of deep secrets. That look had made all the difference. Going back to the crime scene, he’d reconstructed the events and eventually found the man hadn’t been the one wielding the hatchet—it had been the wife.
If that was what marriage was like behind closed doors, he could do without it. He cringed as he thought about how, from the outside, most marriages were the picture of the American dream, yet when you opened the door and delved into the reality, many were the stuff of nightmares. His relationship with Alli, while not murderous, had definitely been just as dark.
“The future...” He started but paused as he tried to collect his thoughts. “There’s only a few things in life we can control. Hearts and futures aren’t on the list of things we can conquer. You know what I mean?”
She turned the steering wheel, pulling into the ranch’s parking lot. She threw the truck into Park and dropped her hands in her lap. For a moment, she just sat there silently staring, but she finally looked up at him. “Conquer? That’s not something that applies to one’s heart. You can change it, you can fill it and you can own it—at least for a time—but you can never keep what isn’t yours.”
What exactly did she mean? Was she trying to hint that he had part of her heart or that he didn’t? Why did she have to talk in riddles all the time? Women were so complicated, especially Christina. She was a mystery to him, and as much as it should have gotten under his skin, it only made him want to get to know her that much more. It would be an incredible thing to have even a part of her heart.
He moved to touch her, but before he could, she stepped out of the truck and rushed toward the barn. As she opened the door, he could see his mother standing inside, grabbing a flake of hay and stepping toward one of the older mares’ stalls. Eloise stopped and turned as Christina said something, and dropped the hay she was holding. Turning slowly, Eloise looked over her shoulder at Waylon. She looked surprised, but then as she noticed him watching, she gave him a weak, empathetic smile. She mouthed what looked like okay as she turned back to Christina.
Something was very, very wrong, and based on his mother’s expression, whatever was going on wasn’t something he was going to like.
He made his way toward the two women in the barn. He couldn’t handle the looks or the strange tension that seemed to reverberate through the air.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his gaze moving from one woman to the other, but neither seemed able to meet it.
“Are you absolutely sure this is the best time?” his mother asked, looking toward Christina.
“There’s never going to be a right time, but if we wait any longer...” Christina finally looked to him, and there were tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Waylon.”
“Sorry for what?” He hated the way she was looking at him, with pity and hurt in her eyes. The last time anyone had given him that look had been the day he’d been taken from his biological family. The woman with child protective services had given him that exact same look...it was the look that told him nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Part of him wanted to turn around and run. It could have been his instinct taking over, or perhaps it was the pain of his past, but he couldn’t just stand there and take a blow he could see coming.
He started to turn, but his mother grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. “I know you, Waylon. This isn’t something you want to run away from. At least not yet.” She let go of him and gave him a weak smile, which helped to quell some of the panic that was welling within him. “Just listen.”
He balled his fists but then slowly relaxed his fingers. “Fine. What in the hell is going on?”
Christina took his hands in hers. His mother gave him an approving nod.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Waylon. Nothing has to change,” Christina started.
The knot of nerves in his belly tightened. Now he was sure everything was about to flip on its head.
“My sister made a lot of mistakes. You know most of them. Heck, you were the victim of most of her poor decisions,” Christina said, running her fingers over the back of his hand. “But there was one mistake...well, not mistake, but rather an error in judgment that...well... We all... We...”
“We are just as much at fault as Alli,” his mother said, her voice high with nerves. “We should have told you sooner. Years ago, but—”
“Wait,” he said, raising his hand. “What, exactly, should you have told me years ago?”
“It’s about Winnie...” Christina mumbled.
His heart stopped at the sound of the little girl’s name.
Christina looked up at him, and her eyes were filled with apologetic fear. “Winnie is yours, Waylon. She’s your daughter.”
Chapter Twelve
The Dog House Bar was packed, and as Waylon walked in, he had to weave his way around the throngs in order to find the only open seat at the bar. He shouldn’t have taken Christina’s truck without asking her, but considering the bomb she had just dropped on him, he couldn’t feel bad. In fact, all he felt was the sting of betrayal.
How the hell had his family come to the decision that it was okay to keep a secret—not just a secret, but an entire child’s existence—from him?
His mother and Christina had made feeble attempts to apologize as he’d walked out of the barn. They had bo
th sworn they had wanted to tell him before and they were just doing as Alli had begged them to do, but all their excuses had fallen on deaf ears. There was no reasonable explanation that could justify the fact they had kept his being a father a secret.
He was someone’s father.
He was Winnie’s dad.
He waved at the bartender. “Whiskey.”
The bartender poured the shot and handed it over. “Anything else?”
He motioned toward the taps. “And I’ll take a Coors.”
The guy looked at him with a raise of the brow. “Rough night?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
The guy laughed, poured Waylon’s beer and slid it down the bar to him, not slopping a single drop. “That one’s on the house, but I’ll lay a bet to say your story probably wouldn’t even compare to some of the things I’ve had people tell me.”
He snorted—that, he could believe. Booze and secrets always seemed to spill together. It was one of the reasons he rarely drank. He hated to open up the doors to his heart any wider than necessary, but in his defense, it was a rare day when someone learned they had a two-year-old daughter. A daughter who had already made a place for herself in his heart...but he doubted he could make room for her in his life.
What in the hell was he going to do now?
He downed the first shot. The whiskey burned his throat, but he welcomed the feeling. He pulled air through his nose, letting the burn move through him completely. It had been a long time since his last drink, and as the sensation overtook him, he relished it.
He was a father. The thought felt as airy and burning as the alcohol on his breath. How could it have happened?
He smirked. The last time he and Alli had been together had been before he’d filed for the divorce. He stopped. No... Wait... There had been one more time...one time after the divorce had been finalized. It had been the night he’d told her he was leaving for the military. It had been their farewell to one another. One last time. One last night together.
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