Finding Lacey Moon

by Donya Lynne

  Forty minutes and one stop at the drug store for a bottle of children’s Motrin and a box of bandages later, Lacey helped Scott get Savannah inside his cabin.

  Savannah was drowsy now that her adrenaline had crashed, so Scott took her upstairs to bed while Lacey waited downstairs.

  She’d never been inside Scott’s cabin. It was open, airy…comfortable. His kitchen was twice the size of hers, with stainless steel appliances and oak cabinets. In the living room, a stone fireplace climbed one high wall in a majestic display of rustic decadence. The furniture was worn but high end.

  Scott did well for himself.

  She was inspecting the many pictures of him and Savannah on the built-in bookcase when he came back downstairs and joined her.

  “How is she?”

  “Asleep.” His gaze shifted awkwardly to hers. “Sorry about tonight. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I invited you to dinner.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She glanced toward the stairs then back to him. “You don’t owe me any apologies, Scott. That’s your little girl. She comes first.”

  If anything, she owed him for all her lies. Helping him get his daughter to the emergency clinic didn’t even amount to half what she owed him for her deception.

  He took her hand. “I know, but I really wanted tonight to be special.”

  “It was special.” She grinned. “It’s not every day that I get to be a Good Samaritan.”

  A crooked smile curled his mouth, and he lowered his gaze before meeting her eyes again. “You were terrific tonight. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

  “You would have been just fine.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” he said with reservation. “My head went a little fuzzy for a while there.”

  She nodded. “I know. I could tell you were thinking about your own accident.”

  His eyelids fell, and his dark lashes obscured his eyes. “Battle wounds,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  He gingerly turned over her hand and ran his thumb over the small scar she’d shown Savannah, making her nerves spring to life. When he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a warm, gentle kiss on the place she’d injured as a child, she caught her breath, unable to tear her gaze away.

  Then he took a step back and pulled his sweatshirt over his head so he was only wearing a T-shirt.

  He pointed to the long scar on his left biceps then took her hand again as he closed the short distance between them. “We both have battle wounds.”

  Her mouth opened wordlessly as he kissed her palm again, letting the tip of his tongue taste her flesh. She breathed harder, transfixed by the moist warmth of his breath, his firm lips on her skin.

  Her gaze slid to the slender, pale line on his arm, right above his elbow. That was one of his badges of honor. One of the marks that proved he’d faced the worst life could throw at him and survived. How many more such badges did he bear in places she hadn’t yet seen?

  “You can touch it, Mattie,” he whispered. His intonation made it clear he wanted her to.

  Her gaze darted to his once more to find him staring at her. Desire. Yearning. Trust. All burned from his gaze.

  “My scar,” he said. “You can touch it.” Then he softly added, “You can touch me.”

  Until now, she’d been more of a passive recipient of his affections, not an aggressor of her own. Clearly, he wanted more. And if the fiery curiosity that burned in his eyes was any indication, he wanted to know she was as fascinated by him as he was by her.

  “Do you want me to?”

  He blinked as if fighting hypnosis, and his eyelids slid heavily over his eyes. “Yes.”

  Pressing her lips together, she drew in an unsteady breath, letting her gaze fall to his broad chest. It rose almost instinctively…the way a male of any species puffs himself up to catch the eye of the female he’s courting.

  And it worked. She couldn’t peel her eyes away. The thin material outlined the hard ridges of his abdomen, and his pecs pushed against the fabric, which stretched against the tight peaks where his nipples strained under her gaze.

  Tentatively, she lifted her hands to his body, stopping just before touching him. She closed her eyes and inhaled. This was another line she was about to cross, but she didn’t want to stop. For weeks, she and Scott had danced around each other, drawing ever closer to this moment, and she wouldn’t let it pass. Kissing and making out like horny teenagers was one thing. What was happening between them now was something else. Something mature, intimate. Sexual.

  As she opened her eyes again, she pressed her hands against his warm abdomen. He exhaled with her, caving to her touch as she skimmed her palms up to his chest, his shoulders, and down his arms, hesitating briefly so her fingers could caress his scar.

  “Battle wounds,” she whispered, smiling softly.

  His body was as fine and hard as it looked, cutting in strong angles, sweeping in supple arcs.

  A quiet groan rumbled from his chest, and a moment later, his hands closed on the sides of her abdomen. She could feel his restraint…could see it in the way he licked his lips as his breathing deepened.

  “I’ve never felt this way,” he whispered, running his hands around to her back as he inched closer.

  “Me neither,” she whispered back. The muscles in his arms bunched under her palms as she swept them up and back down his chest.

  His hand rose to her face, cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth as his gaze sliced into hers.

  Now. Tell him now. He needs to know.

  “Scott…”

  His mouth dove to hers before she could utter another word.

  She gasped and clutched the backs of his arms, locking him against her. This was a kiss unlike any they’d yet shared. It was primal, infernal, and spoke to a need as old as time. One requiring a man and woman to connect at the most carnal level.

  In a rush of heat, he hefted her off her feet as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. She wound her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, and held on as he swung her and pressed her against the wall.

  His lips raced from her mouth and down her neck as he pulled her sweater aside. “God, this is crazy,” he said on a breath before he assaulted her flesh again. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you.” His hands dug into her hips as he surged against her.

  Her fingers were in his hair, gripping, hanging on for dear life as she ground herself against him. Arousal whipped through her body, sending her into a frenzied, lustful haze. All she could feel, see, hear, and taste was her need to have Scott inside her, on her, making her come again and again.

  His warm, rough hands pushed under her sweater, stirring fire beneath her skin. Delicious, hungry fire.

  He was hard all over. Hard inside his jeans. Pressing all that hardness against the juncture of her legs, making her moan. If he kept this up, she would come. God, she wanted that.

  But a voice in the back of her mind edged through the pleasure consuming her body, telling her she shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t be dry humping this incredible, sexy, maddening man against the wall in his living room. His daughter slept just upstairs. What if she woke up? What if Savannah came looking for her dad and found him bucking between her legs? What if she heard their moans, their inevitable cries, no matter how muted they tried to make them?

  “Scott…” She stared up at the ceiling, breathless. She couldn’t believe she was going to stop him. But she just couldn’t do this. Not under the circumstances.

  Scott continued invading her senses, mounting an offensive that if she didn’t stop soon, she wouldn’t be able to. Her body was on the verge of passing the point of no return.

  “Scott, we shouldn’t…we can’t…we need to stop…”

  His motions slowed, and he lifted his flushed face from the side of her neck. His hair stood out in tufts where she’d been gripping it. “What’s wrong?” His eyes
searched hers.

  “Your daughter. What if…?”

  Catching his breath, he glanced over his shoulder to the stairs. A moment later, he lowered his head in understanding, reluctantly surrendering.

  “I just don’t want her to—”

  “I know.” He turned toward her, still holding her against the wall. “You’re right.” The tone of his voice betrayed how much he wished she weren’t.

  Her body still flamed. Still screamed for release. “I’m sorry.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned in until his forehead kissed hers. “Me, too.”

  She clung to his shoulders, letting her body and his come down together.

  Finally, he stepped back and lowered her to the floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  She pressed her index finger to his lips. “Sshh.” She wouldn’t let him diminish the power of what they’d just shared.

  His eyes narrowed as the corners of his mouth ticked upward, but he didn’t utter another word of apology.

  “I’m not saying that—” she bobbed her head toward the wall “—wasn’t good. And I’m not saying I didn’t want it. Because I did.” She paused to let her words sink in. “What I’m saying is that it just isn’t the right time. That’s all.”

  She brushed her hands down the front of his T-shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles their passion had created. She hated the distance between them, as short as it was. She wanted him pressed against her again. No clothes in the way. Nothing but skin on skin.

  But that would have to wait until another time.

  He brushed his fingers through his hair, glancing to the side as if his body was still recalibrating to the distance between them, too.

  A moment later, he looked back toward her. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Okay, that was a shift I wasn’t expecting.”

  He laughed and turned his eyes upward as he shook his head at himself. “I’m sorry. Sometimes, I just kind of say what I think when I think it.”

  “I like that. It’s refreshing.”

  He took her hands, his gaze meeting hers again. “So, how about it. You want to spend Thanksgiving with me?”

  “What about Savannah?”

  “Her mom’s got her for the holiday. I get her for Christmas.”

  Lacey nodded slowly. “What about the rest of your family?”

  “I’d rather spend Thanksgiving with you. We could go sledding at the golf course in the morning, which is sort of a Thanksgiving tradition around here. You know, work up an appetite.” His eyes glinted, and Lacey wondered if he was thinking of other ways they could work up an appetite big enough for a Thanksgiving feast. “Then we can come back here and have a small, quiet, intimate dinner.”

  “Sledding?” she said, cocking her head to one side.

  He shimmied closer, placing his hands on her hips. “You got something against sledding?”

  “No, but it sounds suspiciously like fun.” She grinned and coquettishly raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t think you did fun.”

  His mouth twisted mischievously. “I’m starting to see its allure.”

  * * *

  Back inside her cabin, Lacey practically floated to the couch and collapsed onto the cushions. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she recalled Scott’s body against hers, her legs around his waist, his lips on hers. Damn, but Scott could kiss! And not just kiss, but make love to her lips. And if tonight had been any indication, he’d be earth shattering in bed. For someone who hadn’t dated in ten years, he had major leg-trembling moves.

  Her journal caught her eye from the coffee table. Without thinking, she picked it up, along with the pen beside it, flipped to the next empty page, and began writing.

  Dear Diary,

  Scott and I reached a new level in our relationship tonight. It was incredible. I’ve never felt like that before. Like I was more than just an afterthought. Like I was actually part of something. I never felt that way with Doug. With him, I was a means to an end. He got off on cheating on me. Scott makes me feel special. He makes me forget who I used to be and helps me realize what I want to become. With Scott, I don’t feel like an afterthought. I feel like a woman. A normal, sexy, desirable woman.

  For. The. First. Time. In. My. Life.

  And—Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m actually thinking this—but I’m falling in love with him. I know I am. My heart beats harder every time I see him, and I feel like he needs me as much as I need him.

  We have so much in common. We both bear the battle wounds of our pasts. He’s scarred both physically and mentally from what happened to him, and so am I by what happened to me. This means we understand each other. Or at least, we would if I could just be honest about who I am.

  I hate lying to him. I hate that he doesn’t know the truth. I almost told him again tonight, but then he kissed me, and my brain shut off. All I could think was “more!” If Savannah hadn’t been upstairs, I would have made love to him. Right there in his living room. I would have given my whole self to him, body and mind.

  He’s so amazing, such a good man. A noble, moral man with principles. He would never cheat on me. With him, I would never have to worry that I’m not enough. He already makes me believe that I am. I already feel like I’ve known him my whole life. He makes me laugh, and I forget all about the shit I’m running from when I’m with him. He’s like this wonderful, sexy grounding rod that diffuses all the lightning and tension from the air.

  And he’s got this beautiful little girl. If I were to have a daughter, I’d want her to be just like Savannah. So perfect. So talented. So strong and courageous. She got hurt today, and I helped take her to the emergency clinic. She needed stitches, but she took them like a trooper. Like a pro. I’m almost jealous of Scott because she’s his. Isn’t that crazy? But she’s really such a terrific little girl.

  What am I doing? I need to tell him who I am before this goes much further. But I’m scared. For the first time in my adult life, I know what I want. Him. And I’m terrified of losing him. What if he hates me for keeping the truth from him? What if he tells Savannah, and then Savannah tells her friends, and then someone finds out that I’m here. Then I’m screwed. The press will be on me in a matter of hours, and then I’ll have to leave.

  And I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. And Scott’s the reason why. I want to be with him.

  God, did I really just write that?

  But it’s true. I see a future in Hope Falls. With Scott. He wants to be with me because of ME. Not because I’m Lacey Moon. He really, genuinely likes me. ME! Most of the time, I never know if someone is truly interested in getting to know me or my celebrity persona. I’ve had so many people, men and women alike, who simply wanted to use me to get close to the celebrity life. They’ve lied to me and told me that they’re my friends, but they really aren’t. Look at all of them who turned their backs on me during the last Olympics. Look at Doug. If I’d been just another regular citizen and not some superstar, Doug wouldn’t have given me a second glance.

  It’s hard to know who to trust when I’m Lacey Moon. But as regular girl Mattie, I don’t have to worry about whether or not someone is being nice to me because they want something or because they’re just genuinely nice.

  Which makes this whole situation one gigantic Catch 22. If I’d been honest with Scott from the beginning, I never would have known how he really felt about me. By lying about who I am, I know that Scott isn’t using me like others have.

  But that doesn’t make me feel any better about being dishonest. I suppose that’s because I do care about him. If I didn’t care, it wouldn’t bother me, right? But I didn’t come here to care about someone. I didn’t come to Hope Falls to fall in love. I came here to find myself.

  Lacey stopped, pen poised over the paper, as a scary revelation burst into her mind. So powerful was the thought that, for at least a minute, all she could do was stare at the next blank line in her journal. Finally, she pr
essed her pen to the paper and began writing again, although more slowly, as if it scared her to put her thoughts into words.

  Then again, maybe falling in love is part of finding myself. Maybe that’s what’s happening here. What if I was meant to come to Hope Falls? What if I was meant to meet Scott that first day? Not because he would inspire me to figure myself out, but because he was part of the solution. What if fate brought me here because Scott and I were meant to find each other?

  And now I have to tell him the truth. What if that ruins everything? What if that destroys this whole journey and voids everything I’ve accomplished in finding myself? I’m not sure I could recover from that.

  She set her pen aside, staring at what she’d written.

  As if fessing up to Scott hadn’t been hard enough, now she’d just voiced—albeit in the written word—one more tremendous fear to make it that much harder. Because now that she’d found him, what if she lost him after telling him the truth? It was one more reason to encourage the truth to remain hidden. Damn, but fear was a powerful motivator.

  But there was so much more to the situation than that.

  Things were moving so fast. He’d asked her to spend Thanksgiving with him. That was a holiday for families. You didn’t ask just any arbitrary someone to spend Thanksgiving with you. Sure, she and Scott had been spending a lot of time together. They obviously had off-the-charts chemistry and were attracted to one another, but this was just one more indication things were moving faster than she was ready to let them.

  She needed some perspective.

  She grabbed the phone off the coffee table and dialed her mom.

  “Lacey! Hi, honey. How’s your search for self coming along? Are you starting to figure things out? Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”