by Jill Shalvis
He’d loved who she was. He’d loved her with all his aching heart. “You turned out amazing,” he whispered through a rough throat. “In spite of all the odds.”
“No. Not then. Then, I was a coward.” Her gaze was steady but shimmered with regret. “What we had scared me, Sam. So damned much.”
Ah, hell. He stroked a finger over her temple, drawing a loose strand of hair back out of her face. “I would never have hurt you, Sara.”
“I knew that, deep down I knew that, but fear isn’t always logical.”
And he knew that, too.
“I just wanted…” She sighed. “I needed to tell you how sorry I am, for how I left, for staying gone, for not contacting you, all of it. I ran away, Sam, and I’m so damned sorry.”
He wished she hadn’t. There was no denying that. But…he needed to know that it would be different this time. It wasn’t enough to be sorry. “It was a long time ago. You had a crappy childhood, and looking back, running away to Paris made perfect sense.”
“I’m just so sorry… I…”
Sorry again. Not “I’ve changed.” Not “I want you, Sam.” Not “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work this time.” And he realized that there could be nothing between them without those words. He sighed. “It’s okay, Sara. Honestly. You can stop apologizing. I’m fine, I’ve moved on.”
And until today, he’d actually believed it. He hoped she believed it, too.
CHAPTER 18
He’d moved on. Dammit. This wasn’t going to work. He didn’t want her back in his life.
Sara felt her eyes sting, her throat burn. She never cried, ever. “Don’t make this easy for me.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself, looking over at her icy, wet clothes. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Yes, you do.” He put a hand on her back. “Everyone deserves that much. Sara.”
She closed her eyes.
With a groan, he sat up as well, and reached for her, but she tugged free to reach for her underwear and bra, icy and wet or not. “I need clothes for this,” she muttered.
“Why, to hide?”
She went still but didn’t look at him. She heard him sigh and he handed over her blouse, then jammed his legs into his wet Levi’s with a wince. He stood there in just the unbuttoned jeans, looking good enough to eat, eyeing her far too intently for her comfort.
“You’re good at hiding,” he murmured. “I guess some things don’t change.”
“I have changed,” she whispered, wanting it to be true. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I might be a late learner but I have learned. I know I can’t have a future until I face my past. That’s what I’m doing.” She grabbed her pants. “Trying to right my biggest wrong.”
“And I was really your biggest wrong?”
“Walking away from you was.”
Looking staggered, he just stared at her, looking like he was waiting for something more.
Her clothes clung to her and made her shiver again. She turned away from him. He pulled her back around. “Seriously. It’s okay, Sara. I’m over it. You can strike me off your list.”
He really was over her. God, she didn’t know his rejection would hurt this much. “Okay, then. That’s…” Heartbreaking. “Good.” She could barely talk, though she managed a smile. “I just…wanted to make sure we were okay because I’m going to be in town, and—”
“And you didn’t want it to be awkward.” He shook his head. “It won’t be.”
Okay then. Look at them, being all mature. “So there’s no residual anger?”
“None.”
“You were mad at me,” she said through a thick throat. “Earlier. When you first saw me.”
“Okay, yeah. Maybe. Seeing you brought back a whole shitload of emotions I didn’t want to face, emotions I was pretty damn sure I’d left behind.” He pulled on his shirt and shuddered at the iciness of it. “But it was your right to go. I just wish you’d have told me you were going. I thought I did something, that I chased you away. I blamed myself.”
“It was never your fault,” she whispered. “I just had some growing up to do. Some exploring.”
“And, as it turns out, so did I.” He opened the door and looked out. “The snow’s letting up. We should go.”
It was over. She said she’d come to make amends, and she’d done that. The end.
Too bad it wasn’t the end she really wanted.
CHAPTER 19
Sam hated the look on Sara’s face, hated knowing that he’d hurt her this time, but truth was truth. She might still be the beautiful, funny, smart woman who’d once lit up his life, but he couldn’t go there with her.
Not again.
Still, when she shivered, he pulled her in close.
With a sigh, she snuggled in.
He let her, bending his head to hers. Then she opened her mouth on his throat and his heart kicked. “Sara?”
“If this is goodbye, then let’s make it the goodbye I cheated us out of five years ago.”
He should have pulled back, should have been strong enough to understand that this would only make it all that much harder to truly walk away, but as was already established, when it came to her, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
But he was the hardest.
She knew it, too, as she rubbed up against him, letting out a soft murmur of pleasure at the feel of him.
He kissed her. She kissed him back—their hands fighting to get their wet clothes back off. He tugged her blouse from her shoulders and then her bra. She did the same to his jeans, and before he knew it, they were once again at the desk. This time he backed to it and she straddled him, and oh yeah, he was inside her, holding on as she rode him straight to heaven.
Afterwards, they sagged to the floor to catch their breath, which took Sam a lot longer than he would have liked. But this was it, their goodbye, and he knew it.
And given the look on Sara’s face, she knew it, too. They dressed in silence, and when he got ready to carry her out—piggyback style in deference to her now badly swollen ankle—she set her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about a lot of things,” she said very softly. “But not today.”
Yeah. Him, too.
“Maybe—" she started, and his heart took a hard kick. Come on, Sara, say it. He wanted her to push for them. Wanted her to want it as much as he was coming to understand he still did. But that had always been their problem, him pushing, him wanting, and her simply going along with it.
She needed to make the next move.
But she never finished the thought.
So he carried her out.
CHAPTER 20
One week later.
Sara entered the fire station where Sam worked, nerves dancing in her belly like freshly hatched butterflies.
She’d thought about him nonstop, about that day in Big Falls Canyon. She’d come to Santa Rey to make amends so that maybe he could forget what she’d done and, she hoped, invite her back into his life, his arms.
Only he’d been so dead-set on the fact that he’d moved on, it’d thrown her.
But in the week since Big Falls, she’d realized something. He’d never said he didn’t want to see her. Only that it wouldn’t be awkward if they did.
Maybe…maybe he’d been waiting on her. After all, she’d left him, so the move was in her court.
If she wanted to see him again, that is.
And she did.
So damn much, she did.
She held a plate of brownies. Sam loved homemade brownies. Or at least he used to.
Inside, a tall, handsome man came toward her with a nice smile. “Can I help you?”
“Is Sam here?”
“He’s in the kitchen. Go on through.”
With a deep breath, she walked into the kitchen and found Sam standing in front of the stovetop, flipping pancakes. He wore a dark blue T-shirt with his firefighters’ association logo on a pec and his uniform pants, and he looked…hot.
Tak
e-her-breath-away, melt-her-brain cells, soften-her-heart hot.
He looked up and stared. “Hey.”
“Hey.” So nervous she could barely speak, she set the plate of brownies on the counter. “Hope you still love a soft and gooey center.”
He set down his spatula and turned off the flame, then came around the stovetop to stand in front of her. “I love a soft and gooey center, especially when the outside is tough and stubborn and beautiful.”
Oh, God. The way he was looking at her. It gave her such hope it almost hurt. “About that stubbornness.” She swallowed hard. “I think I’ve gotten a handle on it now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And I have this new policy about the tough part as well.”
“What’s that?" He leaned a hip against the counter, willing to listen.
“See, I no longer walk away when I want something.” She swallowed hard against the nerves. “I stand and fight for it.”
“Good to know.” He cocked his head, his eyes warm but guarded. “What are you fighting for?”
“You.” She stepped close and reached for his hands. “I intend to stand tough and stubborn and fight for you, Sam, for what we had, only better—with trust added in. And no fear.” She hesitated. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in something like that.”
“Very.” And to seal the deal, he bent his head and met her halfway.
THE END
In
HOT WINTER NIGHTS,
New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis continues her beloved Heartbreaker Bay series
Available September 2018 from Avon Books
Who needs mistletoe?
Most people wouldn’t think of a bad Santa case as the perfect Christmas gift. Then again, Molly Malone, office manager at Hunt Investigations, isn’t most people, and she could really use a distraction from the fantasies she’s been having since spending the night with her very secret crush, Lucas Knight. Nothing happened, not that Lucas knows that—but Molly just wants to enjoy being a little naughty for once …
Whiskey and pain meds for almost-healed bullet wounds don’t mix. Lucas needs to remember that next time he’s shot on the job, which may be sooner rather than later if Molly’s brother, Joe, finds out about them. Lucas can’t believe he’s drawing a blank on his (supposedly) passionate tryst with Molly, who’s the hottest, smartest, strongest woman he’s ever known. Strong enough to kick his butt if she discovers he’s been assigned to babysit her on her first case. And hot enough to melt his cold heart this Christmas…
CHAPTER 1
#NaughtyOrNice
It took Lucas Knight longer than it should have to realize he had a woman in his bed, but to be fair, he had a bitch of a hangover. Even worse than that, last night was a blur, prompting him to take quick stock. One, there was a bundle of sweet, soft curves against him. Two, his head was currently threatening to secede from the United States Of Lucas. And three, his side hurt like … well, like he’d been shot.
It’d been two weeks since he’d gotten caught in some cross fire on the job and he hadn’t yet been cleared for more than light duty—something he’d obviously managed to ignore last night given that he was palming a nice, warm, feminine ass.
Think, man.
Straining his brain, he remembered taking a pain med before going to O’Riley’s Pub to meet up with some friends. A client had been there, someone he’d recently helped save from a multimillion dollar corporate espionage. The guy had ordered shots to toast to Lucas and … shit. Knowing better than to mix pain meds and alcohol, he’d hesitated, but everyone had been waiting on him, glasses hoisted in the air. Thinking just one shot couldn’t hurt anything, he’d knocked back the drink.
Clearly, he’d been wrong and it’d been enough to mess him up big-time, something he hadn’t been in years, not since his brother Josh had been killed. Shoving that away for another time—or never—Lucas cracked open one eye, but when his retina was stabbed by a streak of sunlight glaring in through the window, he immediately slammed it shut it again. Taking a deep breath, he told himself to suck it up and opened both eyes this time, learning two additional facts.
He was naked and completely uncovered.
And the woman snugged up at his side was rolled up in his comforter like a burrito.
What. The. Hell.
A few more images slowly began to filter into his brain. Kicking ass at the pool table and winning two hundred bucks from his boss, Archer, who ran Hunt Investigations where Lucas worked as a security specialist.
Dancing with a sexy brunette …
And then making his way upstairs, but not alone.
His head was pounding too hard to remember anything more, but clearly the brunette had not only come up, but stayed. She was cuddled up too close to see her face, especially with the way she had the entire blanket wrapped around herself. The only thing visible was a mass of shiny brown waves peeking out the top.
Holding his breath, Lucas slowly pulled away until he could slide off his bed.
The brunette’s hair never so much as quivered.
Letting out a relieved breath, he shoved on the clothes he’d so thoughtfully left for himself on the floor—seriously, he was never taking another pain pill or drinking alcohol again—and headed for the door.
But unable to do it, unable to be the guy who just walked out, he stopped and detoured to his kitchen to make her a coffee. Leaving her caffeine was a nice gesture, right? Right, but … shit. He was out of coffee. Not surprisingly since he usually grabbed his from work because Molly, who ran the office at Hunt Investigations, made world-class coffee. And since one of the benefits of living on the fourth floor of the Pacific Pier Building and working on the second floor meant convenience, he texted the coffee master himself:
Any chance you’d send up a cup of coffee via the dumbwaiter?
A few seconds later, from his bedroom came a cell phone buzzing with an unfamiliar tone and he froze. If his plan was to leave before the awkward morning after—and that was always the plan—he was on borrowed time.
Since nothing came back to him from Molly, he moved onto Plan B and scrawled out a quick note: Sorry, had to get to work, take your time.
Then he hesitated. Did she even know his name? Having no idea, he added: I’m leaving cash for an Uber or Lyft—Lucas.
He dropped some money next to the note and grimaced at himself for still being a complete asshole. He stared down at his phone.
Still nothing from Molly, which meant she wasn’t going to save the day. She was smart, sharp, and amazing at her job, but for reasons unknown, she wasn’t exactly interested in pleasing anyone, especially him. Locking up, he left his apartment.
The Pacific Pier building was over a century old and sat in the center of the Cow Hollow district of San Francisco. It was five stories of corbeled brick, exposed iron trusses, and big windows built around a legendary fountain. Retail and businesses took up the ground and second floors, with residential on the third and fourth. The fifth-floor penthouse belonged to his friend Spence Baldwin, who owned the building.
All of it was currently decorated for the holidays like it was about to star in a Hallmark movie.
Lucas jogged down two flights of stairs to the second floor, passing by the building manager’s office and the offices of a nonprofit to get to Hunt Investigations. He was fully prepared to be blasted by Molly at her front desk—not just for his text, but for his appearance at all. Off duty since the shooting, he wasn’t supposed to be back at work until next week, and that was if his doctor cleared him. But Lucas couldn’t stay home another day, a fact that didn’t have anything to do with the stranger in his bed.
Or at least not all due to the stranger in his bed.
He scrubbed a hand over his unshaved jaw, feeling incredibly tense, which for a guy who’d apparently gotten laid last night, didn’t make much sense.
Nor did the fact that sitting on a bench outside of Hunt Investigations’ front door were two old ladies
dressed up as elves. Knitting elves.
The one on the left looked to be making a Christmas stocking. The one on the right was working on something too small to see. They smiled at him in greeting, lips coated in bright red lipstick. Left elf had a smudge of it on her teeth and her little elf cap seemed to quiver on top of her white hair.
Right Elf pulled out her phone. “I just got a text from Louise,” she told Left Elf. “It says, ‘Don’t be late for work tonight, Santa’s turned into Grinch. SMH.’” She blinked. “What does S-M-H mean?”
“Shaking my head,” Left Elf said.
“Oh thank goodness,” Right Elf said, putting a hand to her heart. “I thought it meant Sex Might Help.”
They both cackled over that before they saw Lucas.
“Hello there, young man,” Left Elf said. “We were hoping you were Molly. We’ve got a problem involving a bad Santa and she said to meet her here.”
“A bad Santa,” Lucas repeated, starting to wonder if maybe he was still in bed dreaming this day.
“Yes, we work for him. Obviously,” Right Elf said, gesturing to herself.
“You’re … Santa’s elves,” he said slowly. “And you work for him at … the North Pole?”
“Right.” Left Elf snorted. “We work right here in the city like you, at the Christmas Village in Soma, in too tight costumes for too little money. Honey, didn’t your mama ever tell you Santa isn’t real?”
Okay, so they didn’t believe they were real elves. That was a relief. Lucas had a great uncle who sometimes thought he was Batman, but that was only on the nights he drank away his social security checks with his cronies.
“Santa promised us half of the profits,” Right Elf said. “To go to the charities of our choice. Last year we made enough to give big and hit up Vegas for a long weekend.”
Left Elf nodded with a smile. “I’ve still got Elvis’s underwear from that big impersonator party we were invited to, remember, Liz?”
Liz nodded. “But this year, we’re not getting anything. Santa says there aren’t any profits, that he’s barely breaking even. But that can’t be true because he just bought himself a brand-new Cadillac. Molly’s my neighbor, you see.”
