by Helen Lacey
“Hi,” he said and took the steps. “Did Cecily get to her party okay?”
“Yes. What’s that?”
He held up the wine bottle in his hand. “From a local winery a short stretch from Waradoon.”
She looked at him and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought...I thought we could talk.”
“Talk?”
She looked about as convinced of that as he did. “Yeah. I haven’t seen you for a while and figured we needed to touch base about Cecily.”
Her eyes widened. “Is something wrong? Have I done something to—”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured her. “I just wanted to talk.”
Her expression went from concern to suspicion. “At night, alone and with a bottle of wine?” One brow came up. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Probably not.” He let out a heavy breath. She didn’t want him on her doorstep. He should have had more sense. “You’re right. I’ll go.”
“It’s okay,” she said quickly and moved back through the door. “You’re here now, so you may as well come inside.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and Wyatt followed her through the door. He was immediately drawn into the unique warmth of her little house. The textured shabby-chic furniture, paisley throws and craftwork dotted around the living room were far removed from the contemporary lines of his city apartment or the country charm of Waradoon. But something about the place had an unusual calming effect.
The dog shuffled around his feet for a moment and then scurried into her wicker basket in the corner of the room.
“I’ll get glasses.”
She disappeared down the hall and Wyatt let out a breath. Keep your head. He cruised around the room for a moment and lingered by a cabinet along one wall. There were photographs in frames—of her horse and her friends. He searched for anyone who looked like family. It made him think of the big staircase at Waradoon and the gallery of photographs lining the walls that displayed generations of Harpers.
“I’d like to get one of Cecily.”
She was behind him, holding glasses and a corkscrew. “Of course,” he said and took the items from her. “I can take some of you together if you like?”
“Yes, I would like that.”
“Is that your mother?” he asked when he spotted a faded picture stuck into the corner of a larger frame.
She stepped closer. “Yes. That’s Shayne.”
“Shayne?”
“She liked me to call her by her first name. It made it easier for her.”
“Easier to what?” he asked and opened the wine.
Fiona stared at the photograph for a moment. “To pick up,” she said as she turned away and sat on an overstuffed love seat in the corner. “Didn’t you get that about her from your investigation?” she asked and held out the glasses.
“I was more interested in you.” And still am.
After a moment, Fiona spoke. “She was a buckle bunny.”
Wyatt stilled. “A what?”
She said it again. “A woman who follows the rodeo circuit,” she explained. “Not a pretty story.”
Wyatt half filled their glasses and sat on the sofa. Miles away from her. Although he felt the vibration coming off her skin. “And a hard one to tell?”
She shrugged. “I guess, like all sad childhood stories. Shayne was kind of lost. Unfortunately she dragged me through her lost world for many years.”
“Before you went to live with your uncle?”
“When I was expecting Cecily.”
“And your mother died a few weeks later.”
“Yes, in a railway-crossing accident. She was an addict anyway...which probably would have killed her if the train hadn’t.”
Wyatt didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
“Does that sound harsh?” she asked and sipped her wine. “Maybe it does. She was my mother, but I was rarely mothered, if that makes sense. She drank a lot, used drugs when she could get her hands on them, drifted from one place to the next looking for someone...some man to hold on to. I felt alone most of the time.”
He stretched back into the seat and rested the wineglass on the arm. “And Cecily’s father?”
Shutters came up. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“You’ll have to at some point.”
“Why?” she queried. “It’s in the past. You said I wasn’t defined by my past.”
“I know what I said. I meant because Cecily will want to know.”
She drew in a heavy breath. “I just don’t want to dredge up a whole lot of painful stuff that really—”
“Painful?” he echoed quietly and looked directly into her eyes. “What happened to you, Fiona? You’re trying so hard to not talk about it.”
Her eyes were bright. “What I’m trying to do is look to the future and not dwell on the past. I want to concentrate on this short amount of time I have with Cecily. But if you’re concerned about the way I’m handling things with her, I would—”
“Actually, for someone who had an emotionally absent mother, you’re quite remarkable with Cecily.” Wyatt propped his glass on a side table. “In fact, I’ve never seen her happier. I’m not about to pull her out from under you, Fiona. So relax.”
“Relax? Around you?” She gave a brittle laugh. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never been less relaxed in my life.”
Wyatt shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, I feel the same way.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
“Because I wanted to see you. Without Cecily. Without Evie. Without any one of your numerous friends standing guard.”
Wyatt got to his feet and stared out the window. She wished she knew what he was thinking. His broad shoulders looked tense and she fought the urge to go to him. It was better this way. Better to stay strong.
“We agreed we wouldn’t do anything.”
He turned back toward her. “I know that. Which doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Fiona swallowed hard. She didn’t like it, either. But wasn’t about to admit that. She needed to stay grounded and keep her head. Her relationship with Cecily depended on it.
“You know, we’ve been thrown together because of the situation with Cecily. I’m not so naive that I’d think for one minute you’d be interested in me in other circumstances.”
Annoyance sharpened his expression. “You think I’m attracted to you because it’s convenient?”
“Well, I—”
“Believe me, Fiona, for the past few days it has felt damned inconvenient.”
Fiona shot up from her seat and wobbled on her heels. “Well, it hasn’t exactly been a picnic for me, either!”
The room filled with heat, swirling around, catching her skin, her blood and her quaking bones. It took about three seconds to register Wyatt’s expression as it changed from irritation to raw desire. There was no denying it. And Fiona couldn’t deny it, either. She wanted him. It was clear he wanted her, too.
“Cecily wants you to get married,” she said, trying to grasp on to some sense, some way of holding off the feelings running riot through her body, and hoping it would have the effect of a bucket of cold water over the rising desire whirling between them.
He raised a brow. “To whom?”
“To someone she likes. She wants parents again—a mother and a father.”
“I suppose that’s to be expected.” He moved across the room. “She had that before. It makes sense she’d want it again.”
Fiona stepped back and her legs collided with the love seat. “She said...she said something today. She said your sister and her husband weren’t completely happy.”
He looked at her sharply for a second and
then shrugged. “They had some problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
Wyatt moved around the coffee table and grabbed her hand. “What does it matter?”
“Cecily said—”
“It was nothing,” he said and threaded their fingers. “Enough about them.”
He pulled her toward him and she went without protest. Some faraway voice told her to resist, but the echo quickly faded as he drew her against him. “Wyatt, I—”
“And enough talk,” he said gently. “I’d rather kiss you.”
“We said we wouldn’t.”
“Yeah...but that promise isn’t working out so well for me. Is it for you?”
Fiona shook her head. “Not so far.”
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
She moved against him and curved an arm up to his shoulder. “I don’t want you to go,” she breathed. “And I don’t want you to stop.”
He smiled, dipped his head and captured her lips. Fiona opened her mouth and gave herself up to his possession. Heat fueled her blood, and she grasped his shoulders to steady her weakening limbs. Wyatt’s kiss was soft and seductive, and as he slanted his mouth over hers, she leaned into his embrace. Every ounce of longing in her heart rose up, and she knew, without a doubt, that what she was feeling was more than just desire. All her plans not to fall for Wyatt deserted her the moment he groaned against her lips and whispered how much he wanted her.
They didn’t make it to her bedroom. She urged him backward to the sofa, still kissing, still feeling and wanting like she’d never wanted before. The tiny voice in the back of her mind telling her to stop before things went too far became a distant echo. Recriminations could come later. The moment was now. And for once, she longed to live in the moment.
He laid her gently on the big sofa, knelt beside her and kissed her again. When he trailed his mouth from her lips to the incredibly sensitive spot below her ear, Fiona shuddered. She grasped his shoulders and felt the heat of his mouth against her collarbone and moaned when his tongue trailed across her skin. He pushed the sweater off her shoulder and kissed her there, and then down toward the rise of her breast. His hand splayed over her rib cage and beneath the sweater, and he drew tiny circles with his fingertips. Fiona sighed with pleasure and moved her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. His biceps were solid, strong, and suddenly it occurred to her that everything about Wyatt was strong. His character, his integrity, his very self. That’s why I’m falling. It wasn’t only that his touch made her come alive. Without knowing how, Fiona’s feelings surged from physical desire to a raw emotional need.
She tugged at his shirt and he quickly chucked it over his head. His chest was so well cut Fiona swallowed hard before she traced her hands over the defined muscles. He trembled when she touched him, and her growing feelings rose to the surface. She might have blurted it out had he not possessed her lips in a searing, drugging kiss.
His hands were suddenly impatient and he pushed her sweater up. The filmy bra she wore did little to hide her pebbled nipples, and when his mouth closed over one, she arched her back. Pleasure arrowed downward in a rush and she gripped his hips, looping her fingers around the band of his jeans. She was all impatience, all need, all want. Wyatt smiled as he kissed her. It didn’t take long for him to ease her sweater off and flick the two hooks holding her bra. Topless, Fiona fought the urge to cover herself. But there was no need for coyness. Wyatt clearly liked what he saw and touched her breasts again, caressing her with skillful seduction. Her nipples ached for him and he gently flicked one tight bud with his tongue while he pushed her skirt over her hips. Within seconds the garment was on the floor. Her briefs quickly followed.
Naked beneath his penetrating gaze, Fiona forgot her usual insecurities. A man didn’t fake that kind of desire. The freckles felt like sun kisses; the faded stretch marks on her belly from when her teenage body had carried a child didn’t fill her with the usual modesty. Wyatt knew her story. He knew her.
“You’re so lovely,” he said as he stood and kicked off his shoes. Jeans and boxer briefs followed.
Mesmerized by the sheer magnitude of his beauty and arousal, Fiona pressed back against the sofa and raised her arms in clear invitation. He took a second to extract something from his jeans, and she squashed a frown back when he placed a condom on the table. The idea that he’d prepared for this and that he might have expected it created a little resentment, a little uncertainty. But then she remembered how much she wanted him, despite her feeble denials over the previous week, and all her doubts were forgotten.
He lay beside her, and Fiona was eternally grateful she had a big couch. She’d never sit on it again without remembering how it felt to have Wyatt pressed intimately against her. He kissed her hotly and she returned each kiss, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his tongue wrapped around hers. Fiona couldn’t get enough of him. His skin, like silk stretched over hot steel, was divine beneath her fingertips. He touched her breasts, her hips, her belly and lower to where she screamed to be touched. His fingers worked magic, sending her wild and quickly to the brink. When she could take no more, when she felt herself falling, Fiona found her voice.
“Wyatt...now...please.”
He didn’t stop. “Not yet,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want you to come apart.”
“But you—”
He silenced her with a kiss and touched her with gentle intimacy, touched her like no other man ever had. As if he knew, somehow, what she longed for, what she needed. The pressure built, taking her higher, making her fly. When her body exploded in a burst of incandescent pleasure, he held her through it, kissing her, stroking her over and over as the pulsing waves receded and she returned to earth.
When she could breathe again, Fiona looked into his eyes and with a tiny smile reached out a hand and grabbed the condom. She’d never been the seductive type. Her lingering hang-ups about what happened when she was fifteen whirled around her head for a moment. She’d taken sex back a long time ago, refusing to allow one person’s brutality to hold her hostage for the rest of her life. But being with Wyatt made her realize she had been holding back. Waiting for this. Waiting for him. As she ripped the foil packet with her teeth and watched his expression darken with desire, Fiona felt sexier than she ever had in her life.
He grinned and took the condom. Seconds later he moved over her. Fiona gripped his shoulders and didn’t waver from his gaze as he entered her slowly. There was nothing hasty about Wyatt. He took his time, watching her as she shifted her body to accommodate him inside her in the most intimate way possible. It felt right. It felt real. When he moved, stars exploded behind her eyes and she held on tight, feeling more a part of him than she ever had of anyone.
“Wyatt...I...”
“I know,” he said against her lips as they moved together. “I know.”
It was like another world, a world she’d only ever dreamed of. A world where she was desired so completely, so profoundly, nothing but wanting and pleasure and raw hunger existed. And she was in that world, driven by longing, by the relentless need to feel him everywhere and in every way imaginable. His skin, his kiss, his breath...everything reached her, everything made her want him more.
The tension built, the rhythm became a mutual ride as they moved together, as one, joined by more than bodies. Fiona experienced pleasure so incredibly acute she shook with emotion as she climaxed. When he followed moments later, she held on, giving, taking and holding him with all that lay in her heart as he shuddered against her.
When their breathing returned to something resembling normal, and still taking all his weight on his elbows, Wyatt looked down into her face.
“Are you all right?”
She managed to nod and whispered, “Yes.”
“Regrets?”
“Righ
t now?” She smiled and touched his face. “No. Later...probably.”
He drew in a heavy breath. “Well, that’s honest at least. I think you’re probably the most sincere woman I’ve ever met.”
It was a lovely compliment, and because her emotions were jumping all over the place, she couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes. “Thank you.”
He smiled gently and drew away from her. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Bed?” She shifted on the sofa, suddenly conscious of her nakedness and Wyatt’s unmistakably semi-aroused state. “Oh, I thought...”
He stood up, reached for her hand and urged her to her feet. “You thought what? That we were done?” He gave a sexy laugh and pulled her close. “Oh, no, we’re not done.”
Fiona smiled and her heart rolled over. And she knew, at that moment, that she was completely and irrevocably in love with Wyatt Harper.
Chapter Eight
Morning-afters were never easy. And Fiona wasn’t looking forward to this one.
She’d left Wyatt asleep in her bed. They’d made love again at dawn, and he’d wrung every ounce of pleasure from her. Physically spent, she’d dozed for an hour and woke when Muffin jumped up on her side of the bed. Wyatt hadn’t stirred. She’d slipped out of bed, pushed her arms through a soft oversize T-shirt and lingered in the doorway for a moment. He slept on his stomach, one arm outstretched, and his dark hair was a stark contrast against the white pillow. She was tempted to crawl back into bed and trace her fingers up and down his smooth skin.
Instead she took a quick shower and then padded down the hall into the kitchen, fed the dog and cranked up the coffee machine.
Well, I’ve gone and done it now.
She pressed her hips against the countertop and let out a heavy breath. Okay, so they’d had sex. And she’d realized she was in love with him. But in the cold light of morning, clarity returned. Loving him was one thing...but imagining he loved her in return was something else altogether. Love hadn’t rated a mention during the past twelve hours. She certainly wasn’t about to announce her newly realized feelings.
