Can't Let Go

by Gena Showalter

  "You're forgiven. And I promise you, Ryanne, I would never want your home or livelihood destroyed. If you can't trust me about anything else, at least trust me about that."

  The urge to jump into his arms, to hold on and never let go, bombarded her. The urge to use his chest as a punching bag followed. How light and free she'd felt last time. The urge to drop to her knees and cry--no laugh, no cry--came last, and lingered.

  What the heck was wrong with her?

  She'd never been this emotional. It was just, Jude was so sweet, so concerned for her.

  Well, she'd decided to resist him romantically, so, she had better freaking start resisting him. Not just when it was easy, but especially when it was hard...so wonderfully hard.

  Staring at his fly? Bad, Ryanne. Bad!

  Bad Jude. That fly grew...and grew...

  "I want your bar to succeed," he said, his voice smoke and gravel now, "and I think oil wrestling is a great idea. But you've been sick. You should be in bed, not planning a major event."

  "I was sick. As you can see, I'm feeling better." Without depression and defeat weighing her down, her energy returned and her stomach fully settled. "And I do have a lot of planning to oversee, so..."

  "I'll help. Tell me what you want done, and I'll take care of it. You'll rest." As he spoke, he carried the kittens to the bathroom, two at a time. He had a slight limp today, and it tugged at her heartstrings.

  "What are you doing?" Ryanne asked.

  "Giving us a little privacy."

  She gulped. "Because you're afraid the kittens will gossip about our conversation?" Alone or in a crowd, it didn't matter. Nothing was going to happen today. Probably.

  "Because I don't want to corrupt their innocent eyes."

  "Please tell me you're thinking about murdering me." That, she could fight. If he kissed her...

  "Some people do consider pleasure a weapon."

  Poo on a stick!

  "All you have to do is resist me," he said, "and I'll stop."

  That. That was the problem. Could she?

  "We want different things, Jude."

  "We want each other, Ryanne." When Belle joined her babies, he shut the bathroom door and approached Ryanne. She lost her breath and stepped back. The exit blocked her retreat. Her heart began to beat harder, faster, and the air crackled with awareness.

  Only a whisper away, he rasped, "My body craves yours every moment of every day. Does yours crave mine?"

  The hope and heartbreak in his tone tore her insides to shreds. Resist! "Cravings aren't always good for us."

  Unabashed, he forged ahead. "You always remind me of strawberry shortcake. You are the tastiest treat in town." His cheek nuzzled hers, his beard stubble tickling her sensitive skin. "In the world."

  Softening...

  Buck up. Stay strong. Ryanne reached out to push him away...but ended up curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. He was deliciously muscular, tough and hot, and she was weak and needy, tremors prancing along her spine.

  Panting, she met his gaze. To her delight, he was panting, too.

  "I need you, Ryanne, and you need me. Give me a chance to prove it."

  "We shouldn't..."

  "Oh, shortcake. We should."

  The endearment weakened her knees, as always, but the ragged tone he used...pure, unadulterated desire.

  Stay. Strong. "I wanted to... I mean, I should have... I expected... Argh!" Whatever. She'd tried, and failed. Now she would enjoy. "I can't resist you," she admitted, and triumph turned his navy blues into sapphires. "But this is the last time. This is goodbye." Closure for them both.

  Now his eyes darkened. "This isn't goodbye. I'll never tell you goodbye. This is hello." Before she could protest, his lips crashed against hers, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth.

  She melted against him, welcoming him, kissing him back as if her life depended on it. And in a way, it did. This was goodbye. As much as it pained her, they would be better off as friends.

  His sweet taste invaded her senses. No, not just invaded. Overtook. He was pure aggression, a conquering warrior, determined to have his woman. His prize.

  I'm not his woman or his prize. Constance is. Constance always will be.

  But here, now, for this brief, stolen moment, he would belong to Ryanne.

  "Don't stop," she rasped.

  He required no further encouragement, ripping at the waist of her pants, shoving the material down her legs, along with her soaked panties. On his knees, he devoured her, paying homage or supplication, or both, drawing moan after moan from her. Moans he answered in kind.

  Her legs trembled and her nails dug into his scalp as his tongue flicked, working her into a frenzied state, where only pleasure mattered. He reached up to play with her breasts, pluck at her nipples, and drive her far more insane. Just when she was about to break apart at the seams, he stopped, stood.

  Argh! "Jude!"

  "Not yet." He ripped open his jeans and pushed his underwear underneath his testicles, freeing his massive erection.

  A new flood of arousal pooled between her legs. He lifted her, forcing her to lock her ankles behind his waist...

  And then he kissed her again, letting her taste herself on his lips. Then, oh, then, he slammed inside her.

  Pleasure consumed her; the most intense orgasm of her life. It tore her down and built her back up. Moans and mewls flowed from her lips, practically a song. Something was different this time...something...what? Can't think. As he hammered in and out of her, harder, faster, she had to bite the cord between his neck and shoulder to contain a scream.

  The orgasm continued to build...and build...until a second exploded through her.

  As she clenched and unclenched on his length, Jude joined her, shouting her name, grunting, then shuddering against her while jetting inside her.

  His shoulders sagged, and he leaned into her, pressing her more firmly against the wall. His heart raced in sync with hers, the puffs of their breathing flowing together.

  For a long while, neither of them spoke. Too afraid to ruin the moment?

  Her legs trembled and eventually slid down, down. Waves of sadness washed over her as her feet rested on the floor. Was this truly the last time she would be with Jude?

  He straightened, pulling from her, severing contact, and she finally realized what had been different. He hadn't worn a condom. For the first time, he hadn't been hypervigilant about protection.

  Maybe he was ready to take their relationship to the next--

  What are you doing? Stop! That line of thought would only set her up for another failure.

  "You don't have to worry about your little swimmers, if any still happen to be active." Even though she'd thrown up her birth control this morning, she'd just had a period. It had been lighter than usual, and shorter to boot, but it had been a period all the same.

  He sucked in a breath, as if only just realizing he'd forgotten a latex barrier.

  See! He wasn't ready.

  "I want to stay here with you," he said as he righted his clothing, "but I'll leave if you tell me to go."

  Too vulnerable to deal. Trembling, she dressed. "I...yes. Go." Stay. "I want to be alone. Thank you for understanding."

  "Ryanne."

  "No." Unwelcome tears burned her eyes as she gave him a nudge into the hall. "Goodbye, Jude."

  As she shut the door, his gaze remained on hers until the last possible moment, his features pale, breaking what remained of her heart. There at the end, she thought she heard him whisper, "Hello, Ryanne."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHEERS ECHOED THROUGH the night. Three rival towns had come together to engage in the ultimate showdown. Strawberry Valley, Blueberry Hill and Grapevine. In three different plastic pools, citizens challenged each other to oil wars. Others watched.

  Jude had donned a special boot in order to protect his prosthesis from mud and oil. He stood off to the side, ready to spring into action if anyone got too rowdy--or Dushku struck. The
man had to be fuming about Savannah and Thomas, not to mention Ryanne's ingenious plan. A true lemons to lemonade story.

  To Jude's knowledge, the Scratching Post had never drawn such a large crowd. Even Glen Baker, the guy who'd almost given his number to Ryanne at Daniel's engagement party, had come.

  Jude had run a background check on him. As Glen had admitted to Ryanne, he'd recently lost his job. What he hadn't told her: he was being investigated for stealing from the company.

  If he put his sticky fingers anywhere near Ryanne, he would lose them.

  Sutter and the waitresses worked the crowd, while "snack specialist" Caroline Mills walked around with a basket in her arms, selling sandwiches wrapped in plastic.

  Jude was happy for Ryanne and her success. He just wasn't happy for himself.

  He'd had mind-blowing, unforgettable sex with her, like a junkie who'd needed another fix. He'd suffered so much for so long; she offered euphoria--then took euphoria away. Now he was twitchy. Desperate.

  Seeing her every day and not having the freedom to kiss, touch and hold her was worse than taking a knife to the chest.

  Hello.

  Goodbye.

  He'd only been fooling himself. Ryanne might want him, but she didn't want to want him. Their roles had reversed. She fought her attraction to him the way he'd once fought his attraction to her.

  He hated it, but what could he do? He'd damaged their relationship beyond repair.

  He would be better off returning to Midland. Strawberry Valley offered prolonged torment, nothing more. What would happen the day Ryanne decided to date another man? Jail time, that's what.

  So, decision made. As soon as he'd taken care of Dushku, Jude would move back to Texas. Carrie and Russ would be pleased.

  Daniel and Brock would be upset, but they would understand.

  "You should be in one of those rings, big boy." Selma sidled up to him and wiggled her perfectly plucked brows. "I'd love to see your dirtiest moves."

  Flirting with him? You've got to be kidding me. She was a beautiful woman, and he could see where Ryanne had gotten her innate sensuality, but the only thing he wanted to do to Selma was shake her. She should have taken better care of her only child.

  Like I have room to judge.

  "Please don't hit on me, ma'am. I'm kind of dating your daughter."

  She wagged a finger in his face. "Don't you dare ma'am me. I'm young. Vibrant."

  "And in denial."

  "Anyway. I know all about your sexual escapades with my girl. But tell me this, macho man. Has she forbidden you from having fun when the two of you aren't together?"

  Right on cue, someone in the ring called out, "I got mud on my boots and oil in my butt crack. Gonna need a rubber hose to get it all out."

  "Excuses, excuses," someone else shouted. "Admit it. You're just hoping for a little backdoor action."

  Snickers and guffaws blended, cutting through the night.

  "I gave your mom backdoor action last night," was the reply. "But there was nothing little about it."

  Hooting and hollering now.

  "I'm not interested in having fun," Jude finally told Selma. "I'm here to protect your daughter from very bad men."

  She hmphed. "Don't act like you care about Ryanne's well-being. I know your type, and I know better. You want her in your bed until you tire of her."

  His jaw ached as his teeth scraped together. "A man doesn't get tired of Ryanne Wade. A man gets addicted." And that was the truth.

  Selma gaped at him, as if she'd never heard more ludicrous words. "If that's true, why are you kind of dating my daughter and not actually dating her? Why haven't you put a ring on her finger? Why does she look miserable every time she glances in your direction?"

  "She has a plan for her life, and I'm not a part of it."

  Would he travel with her if she asked? He wasn't sure. The thought of seeing the world without his little girls shredded him. But so did the idea of life without Ryanne.

  Life? As in, a long-term commitment?

  Was he ready for that? It's what Ryanne wanted. At least, he suspected. Some of the things she'd said...

  We want different things. She'd mentioned this one twice. He'd wanted a temporary relationship. She'd wanted...a permanent one?

  Why bother? Time is running out. Again, he had to wonder if she wanted more time with him.

  The last time she'd mentioned their "short-term affair" her tone had been wistful.

  "Plans shmans." Selma moved in front of him to pat his cheek. "I've heard gossip about you. The grumpy widower with no family and no leg. Poor you. Boo-hoo. You waste a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, don't you?"

  Anger scalded him. How easily she spoke of traumas that had changed him spirit, soul and body. "I grieve," he snapped.

  "Please, boy-o. You fear."

  The anger gave way to rage, rushing through his veins, scorching everything in its path. Dark smoke seemed to fill his mind. "You don't know me. You don't know shit."

  "Please. Enlighten me, then."

  Refusing to engage her a moment longer, he pressed his lips together and remained silent, staring off in the distance. Him? Unable to overcome his fears? No. Hell, no.

  Maybe.

  Damn it, no. He grieved the loss of his family, something this woman couldn't possibly understand.

  "I married a man like you, you know," she said, having no idea the beast she provoked. Or simply not caring. "He broke my heart every day, and I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy. Well, maybe I'd wish him on Edna Mills. We were neighbors once, and she refused to let Caroline play with Ryanne, because she thought I'd try to steal her husband. As if I'd want anything to do with her ground sirloin. I had grade A filet."

  "You slept with Ryanne's boyfriends. I wouldn't exactly call you discriminating."

  "I most certainly did not sleep with those boys. I tested them by offering sex. There's a difference. I never had any intention of following through. I just wanted to make sure they'd remain faithful to my girl. And guess what? They wouldn't remain faithful. But I knew Ryanne wouldn't believe me unless she saw their betrayal with her own eyes. She was far too trusting."

  Now she trusted no one. "Is that what you're doing to me? Testing me?"

  Her next smile had bite. "Just so you know, if you hurt my little girl, I'll cut off your balls and wear them as earrings." Finally, she sauntered off.

  "Don't act as if you care about her," he called. "You didn't exactly protect her as a child. What makes you think you can protect her now, after ignoring her all these years?"

  Back stiff, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder. "Maybe I wasn't the best mother, but I'm determined to make up for the past. From everything I've heard, you've been good for Ryanne. From everything I've seen, she still wants you. But it's going to take more than physical desire if you two crazy kids are going to get a happily-ever-after."

  Happily-ever-after.

  Forever.

  Selma wasn't done. "She loved Earl with all her heart, and you remind me of him. Crankiest bastard ever born. While she stuck to him like glue, she runs away from you. I wonder why."

  For the next hour, Selma's words plagued Jude. Why had Ryanne loved Earl, the "crankiest bastard ever born"? Why had she stayed with him, but not with Jude?

  Earl offered safety, security, she'd once said.

  Safety. Security. Exactly what Jude offered, too. So why was he having so much trouble pinning her down?

  Although, if Jude had offered only a half-measure of safety and security, and only temporarily, he'd offered nothing more than platitudes. In a relationship like theirs, he had to offer all that he was, all that he would be, and he had to offer forever or he had better just walk away.

  Forever. Happily-ever-after.

  Life. A long-term commitment.

  Maybe Selma was bat shit crazy and knew nothing about her daughter. But then, Jude clearly didn't know anything, either.

  For a long while, he watched the couple
s around him. Some held hands. Others laughed together. A few shared passionate glances. Fewer argued about this or that, but all presented a united front. Two made one. Envy cuddled up to him, petting him like a long-lost lover. He'd had that kind of bond with Constance, missed it--her--every day. But the truth was, her loss no longer hurt as badly.

  As much as Ryanne had tormented him, she had helped ease him.

  Brock and Daniel noticed him, and approached warily, as if they were attempting to tame a wild animal.

  "Okay, enough," Brock said. "You can't go on like this. You want your girl, so go get her."

  "You have a chance to be happy," Daniel said. "Why embrace your misery when you can embrace your girl?"

  Razors seemed to tear through his insides. These guys meant well. They wanted the best for him, but they remembered the old Jude. The guy who smiled and cracked jokes, who used to stare up at the stars, comforted by the fact that the same stars stared down at his girls.

  He wished he could be the same man to Ryanne that he'd been to Constance. Any time he'd been home on leave, he'd prepared surprise meals for Constance. He'd given her gifts. Once she'd admired a beaded pillow on a TV show, and he'd had it re-created. Countless times, he'd cut flowers from her archenemy's garden, an old biddy who'd lived in their neighborhood.

  He'd never done anything kind or romantic for Ryanne, and the thought suddenly bothered him. She was a prize, and she deserved to be treated as one.

  Why had he stopped fighting for her? Because winning her would be hard, if not impossible? So the hell what. Because they wanted different things? Did he even know what he wanted?

  Stop trying and start failing.

  Actually, stop doing and start failing. Trying never did shit for anyone, except give the trier a thousand excuses to do a piss-poor job. If Jude continued doing--fighting--he risked getting hurt again. So. The hell. What. He was hurting regardless. What did he have to lose?

  He didn't have to move back to Midland any time soon, or at all. And Ryanne hadn't yet left for Rome. There was still time to romance her.

  A spark of excitement burned inside him. He thought about all the times Ryanne had texted him, asking him to do something with her. He thought about words she'd once rasped at him. Finally we had fun together.