by Maisey Yates
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You deserve better than that. Better than the floor in the hallway. A hell of a lot better than me.”
“From where I’m standing it was pretty good.” Color flooded her face. “What I mean is that I fantasized about that for a long time. You. Us. I needed that.”
He felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He didn’t deserve to be the object of Holly Fulton’s fantasies, that much was true.
But now here he was, standing in front of the one woman he should have never touched, the woman he should have left a vague, misty fantasy. There was nothing misty or vague about it now. It was all harsh light, hard floors and naked skin.
“So that’s what this is? Fantasy fulfillment? I shouldn’t be that important to you,” he said. “And why was there no one else? That’s what concerns me.”
She laughed. Not something small or polite. But she honestly doubled over laughing, as though he’d just said the funniest thing in creation. “Are you implying that... I was waiting for you?”
Heat stung his cheeks as he realized that was exactly what he’d been thinking. What he’d been worried about. “No.”
“Yes, you were. That’s what you were worried about. Ryan, you’re very handsome. Don’t get me wrong. But I had a crush on you when I was like...sixteen. It’s not like I’ve been sitting around pining for you.”
“Then why? I feel like I have a right to know since I’m the lucky man who broke the drought.”
She bit her lip and looked down, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “I just... Relationships are hard for me. And there’s the Travers connection. It’s complicated. It’s the same with friendships. I have Elizabeth. Through her I have a couple of other friends, but none of them mean as much to me as she does. I’ve known you for a long time. I trust you. Not for like, love, or marriage or anything like that, but I know you. I know that you won’t just look at me with blank eyes one day like you don’t even know who I am.”
“Holly...your parents... Whatever happened with them, they weren’t normal. It has nothing to do with you.”
“I know,” she said, her voice a whisper, “I know. But it doesn’t take away the anxiety. The fear of caring for someone who will never care for you in the same way. I loved them. Part of me still does even though I haven’t seen them in years. For a long time I wished it would change. So much. My mom had me hoping I would fix her marriage. And I didn’t. Instead, I made everything harder. So they just...stopped taking care of me.” She blinked rapidly. “I couldn’t bear loving a man and having him look at me one day and say the same things. I’ll... I’ll get over that. I’m getting over that. But it’s held me back for a long time. Knowing you, trusting you, makes it safe.”
His heart felt warm, thundering heavily in his chest. There was something both deeply gratifying and slightly unsettling about her words. He liked the idea of being safe for her. But part of him rejected it. Because if a man was going to be someone’s fantasy, finding out he was a fantasy of safety wasn’t the biggest ego boost.”Before I go saying anything else, you have to tell me something.”
“Okay, what?”
“Are we going to do this again?”
Heat flooded his body, his cock getting hard just from the thought of it. “It wouldn’t be the best idea.”
“Who cares if it’s the best idea?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Are we going to do it again, or not?”
“You were a virgin.”
“Can we stop fixating on that? It’s not that big of a deal.”
His chest felt tight. “It’s a big deal to me.”
“Fine. It’s a big deal to you. But it’s too late to do anything about it, the damage is done. Here’s my proposition: we finish out the year with a bang, no pun intended, and once the new year rolls in, we stop. Clean slate, no damage done.”
“There’s never a guarantee of no damage.” He hated himself for saying it, hated himself for trying to make her change her mind. Because he wanted this. Needed this. She was going through some stuff, but he’d been through his share too. He could damn well use a little bit of physical relief.
But this was Holly. She was more than physical relief. She was important to him. That meant he had to be honest.
“Okay,” she said. “But I want you.” She met his eyes, the statement simple, direct, and more temptation than he could handle. He’d tried to be the good guy years ago. Hadn’t followed his instinct to kiss her on her eighteenth birthday as he’d known he would only add to her pain. Except now he apparently had less restraint than he’d had almost a decade ago.
He took a step toward her, reaching out and taking hold of her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Before he could think better of it, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Kissing her like he’d wanted to do all those years ago. Soft at first, gentle, a slow, measured tasting that gave respect to her inexperience. Then deeper still, a tribute to his hunger.
“I take it that means we’ll do it again?” she asked when they parted.
“Definitely,” he said. His good intentions had lost the war. “But first, we’d better finish decorating the living room.”
He didn’t actually want to decorate. He wanted to take her straight to bed. Wanted to go ahead and revel in this very bad, selfish decision he’d made. Now that he was committed to it, he was all in. But she’d been a virgin, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause her any pain. Any more than he already had.
Just then, the oven timer went off. “Oh yeah,” Holly said, sounding dazed. “I forgot about the pot pie.”
“Right about now pot pie seems anticlimactic.”
She laughed. “Definitely not the sexiest of foods. Hearty, certainly comforting, but not sexy.”
“Do you have champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Fresh out.”
“I guess we’ll have to make do with the pot pie and cider.”
She smiled at him, this kind of glowing, dreamy smile he’d never gotten from anyone before. A smile he was certain he didn’t deserve. “You know, I can’t think of anything better.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOLLY HAD NEVER had so much fun planning a party in her life. And planning parties was her passion. She loved weddings and the fact that they were a celebration of two people coming together for the rest of their lives. She loved holiday parties, full of family and friends gathering to enjoy not just the season, but each other’s company. Bachelorette parties that were all about female friendship, and the celebration of new stages of life.
But putting together the Christmas party to honor Dan and Margie was definitely the best. Of course, her enjoyment could have had more to do with the fact that she was burning up the sheets with Ryan every night.
If she’d known how good sex could be, she probably wouldn’t have waited.
Okay, that wasn’t true. Because Ryan was what made it so good. And if it wasn’t with Ryan, she doubted it would be even half as amazing.
Damn, she had it bad.
He’d made it a priority to get some standard protection at the grocery store the day after their first time, and he’d been sleeping at her house instead of on his boat. It probably shouldn’t flatter her since a full-size bed was going to be better than one of those bunks any day. But she chose to let it flatter her.
She also chose not to worry about the future. About the fact that in a week all of this was supposed to be over. That all she would have to look forward to after Christmas were nights in an empty bed, nights without Ryan.
It wouldn’t work. Not for either of them. She couldn’t need him. She couldn’t afford to need him. But that was a problem for later. Now, this week, they were together.
They were meeting up today after he got through with work, and she was planning o
n cooking him dinner. She didn’t have to cook all that often thanks to the steady stream of leftovers she took in from the various events, but she wanted to make something for him. Something special, which was why she was currently at the mercantile in Old Town that sold specialty foods.
She already had a few nice, flavored olive oils in her basket, some pasta that had been imported from Italy, and a tub of fresh, organic pesto made by some local women. She paused in front of a display that had a few types of bread all fresh from the oven.
A flash of movement outside caught her eye and she looked up in time to see a woman with bright red hair walking down the sidewalk. Her heart jolted.
The woman was definitely familiar. More than familiar. Before she’d made a conscious decision to do so, Holly found herself setting her shopping basket down on the red tile floor and walking out the door of the store, letting the door shut behind her. The woman was already passing by the cranberry-colored knickknack shop the next building up. Holly should let her go, she knew that. But she couldn’t.
God help her, she couldn’t.
“Mom?”
The woman paused for a second, and turned partly, her face white as snow, her eyes hollow. There was nothing there to read, no flash of recognition, no happiness. Holly found herself staring, drinking in her mother’s face with a surprising amount of hunger. She hadn’t known how much she’d missed her. Hadn’t realized she’d missed her at all. Not after all the pain she’d put her through.
Not after the horrible parting words. Not after her mother had called Child Services herself to say she couldn’t take care of her daughter anymore. Because Holly had betrayed her. Old guilt, crippling sadness and longing filled her chest until she could barely breathe. She wanted to yell. She wanted to apologize. She couldn’t do any of it, so she just stood and stared.
The other woman looked older, thinner. Holly looked at her left hand and saw that she didn’t have a ring on. Were her parents even married anymore? They’d moved years ago, and she hadn’t heard from them since. Running into her mother now was unexpected. Painful. And she should turn away. She shouldn’t have come out here. She shouldn’t be standing here like an idiot.
She shouldn’t say anything. But she couldn’t hold it in.
“Mom,” Holly said again, taking a step toward her.
The other woman shook her head and turned away, walking briskly across the street as though Holly hadn’t spoken at all. Holly could do nothing but stand there, staring after her, unable to believe what had just happened. She had seen her mother. Her mother hadn’t spoken to her at all.
All she could do was stand there, torn to shreds on the main street of Copper Ridge.
She felt like she’d been hollowed out, angry, stinging tears forming at the backs of her eyes, an intense pain resting at the base of her throat.
“Holly?”
She turned around and saw Ryan standing there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“I...”
He took a step toward her, closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms, his hold so tight she could barely breathe. And she was grateful for it. For the comfort she found there, for his strength. For the fierceness in his hold, because there was nothing tentative about it. Nothing temporary. It was real, sure, firm, overtaking everything. He held her so hard it almost hurt, canceling out the ache that had wound its way through her chest, wrapped itself around her heart.
“She’s wrong,” he said, finally speaking after holding her in absolute silence for a while. “Not you. Never you.”
“How?” It was the only word she could speak, the only word she could think of.
If her parents didn’t love her, surely something was wrong with her. If she’d managed to make her mother send her away then surely she must be a monster. She realized then the real reason she’d never gone after a relationship before, with Ryan or anyone else. She didn’t know who she could trust. Elizabeth was a wonderful friend, and had been for years. Dan and Margie cared for her; they had from the moment she’d been brought into their home. But...new people. How could she ever trust them? If her own parents could just stop caring one day...anyone else could, too.
Ryan made her feel like that wasn’t true. Like it couldn’t be true. She knew he didn’t love her, not like that. But he held her like she mattered. It felt true. It felt right. And so did the words he was speaking. Reassuring, fierce words that spoke of his protectiveness.
She could feel how much she mattered in each and every one of them. And if she mattered that much to him, a man who didn’t even want a relationship with her beyond next week, then surely she should matter to her parents. Surely she deserved more than a blank look on a public street.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. “I was going to make you dinner,” she said. “I left the basket in the store.”
“I have a better idea. I’m going to take you out.”
CHAPTER NINE
AFTER THE ENCOUNTER with Holly’s mother on the street last night Ryan had taken her to the nicest restaurant in town. He hadn’t cared who’d seen them, if people would draw conclusions. He sort of hoped her parents would see them. Anyone who had ever ignored her. Hoped that they would see her out with someone who knew she was worthy of attention. Most people would look at them and assume nothing much. After all, they’d been surrogate family for years. But there might be a few who wondered if things were romantic between them.
That didn’t bother him, either.
He’d just wanted people to see her being treated as she should be. With respect. Reverence.
Everyone who’d ever wronged her should know how wrong they were just by looking at her. Maybe they did. Maybe that was why her mother couldn’t bear to speak a word to her. He didn’t know.
All he knew was that when he’d witnessed that, the pain he felt had been a clear echo of her own. And not just pain. Anger. Rage. He’d always known they were terrible, that they’d neglected her, but he’d had no idea just how bad it was.
He wanted to do more, wanted to give her something, but he didn’t know what. He wasn’t exactly known for making situations better.
But after a stroke of genius, he’d come back to shore early today to get some supplies. He’d let himself into Holly’s house before she’d gotten home. All of the Christmas decorations were up, the outside of the house lined with white lights, the inside decked out from head to toe. He’d noticed that she liked to keep a pan of cinnamon sticks boiling on the stove with a few drops of vanilla to make the air smell good. Something Margie always did.
He put some in for her, so that everything would smell nice when she arrived. And then he’d taken out the bag of decorations he’d bought at the store on his way home. He knew that she probably had birthday party decorations. More than any other person, he imagined. But that wasn’t good enough. He’d wanted to choose them.
The memory of her eighteenth birthday, of how desolate she’d been, was stronger in his mind today than ever. He’d been thinking about that night a lot lately, because it was the moment when he’d almost kissed her. But now he was thinking about it because it was the first moment he’d really understood just how badly her parents failed her every day. That realization had been reinforced tenfold yesterday.
And today he wanted to do something to fix it. To begin to restore those years that had been eaten away by neglect.
He pulled the happy birthday banner he’d selected out of the bag. Pink and purple, for obvious reasons. He was sure that it was kind of cheesy, but he’d chosen it. For her. He set to work, blowing up balloons and hanging up the banner over one of the Christmas garlands. It was a mashup of holidays. Which gave him another idea. He walked to the hallway and opened the closet, looking at the vast array of labeled bins filled with decorations.
He took a sampling of each. Valentine’s, bachelorette, St. Patrick’s Day, Hanukkah, and put them in with all of the other decorations. It would be every party that she’d missed.
He stood back, surveying his work. It was...weird. The colors most definitely clashed. But he kind of liked it.
He realized suddenly that he was standing there smiling at the most cheerful sight he could have ever conceived of. It was a little bit out of character. But sometimes Holly made him feel out of character. Or like a new character entirely. It wasn’t just the sex, though that was great. It was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something he kind of didn’t want to.
He walked back to a side table and took the candles out of the bag to place them onto the cake he’d bought, the one that said her name. That was when the front door opened to reveal a very shocked-looking Holly, who was taking in her surroundings with wide eyes and an open mouth.
“What is this?” she asked.
His throat felt tight suddenly, and he couldn’t rightly say why. “Happy birthday. And Hanukkah, and St. Patrick’s Day, and Valentine’s Day. Christmas too.”
“It’s not...” She looked all around. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know. But I think you deserve some extras.” He nodded. “I know you do. You remember... Your eighteenth birthday.”
She smiled weakly. “I try not to.”
“I don’t blame you.” He walked from the kitchen over to where she was standing. “I almost kissed you then.” He took hold of her hand, drawing her close to him. “You were so pretty. And sad. But only eighteen. So I didn’t. I’ve always remembered. I should have done this then. I should have gotten you a cake then, and made you a party. Made sure you had something. I should have told you then how wrong your parents were.” He let go of her hand, bracketing her cheeks with his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. “And I should have kissed you.”
