On the Slopes of Tahoe (Love Along the Way #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Breck

W illow and I walk down Stateline Blvd with the late afternoon sunlight bouncing off the sleek pavement as we head toward the condo. We wrapped up school early and went to the ice rink for a quick skate. By the time we get back, Chinese food containers in tow, Rory should be home from work, and we can all enjoy a casual dinner together.

Her boss was out sick at the end of last week, so today she was supposed to ask him about taking time off. There’s only one mid-week elopement this month, but there are two scheduled for March and two for April, so I’m hoping it won’t be a problem. I could tell this morning that she was nervous. This is a lot for her. I remember how stressful it was in the early days of starting a business… Hell, I feel it now with how intrinsically invested I am in her success. It feels good though, to be doing something, to be helping.

“Daddy, can you take my picture sitting in the giant chair?” Willow gestures to the wooden monstrosity as we pass. The Adirondack chair is at least ten times the normal size and is painted in a myriad of colors.

“Sure, Bear,” I say, and she clambers onto it. She’s unable to even reach the armrests with her arms stretched out to both sides. Her smile is broad and warm, the setting sun behind me lighting her face with a golden glow. I wish Rory was here to take the picture, but I pull my phone from my pocket and do my best with what I’ve got. “Got it.”

“Perfect! Can you send it to Uncle Wes?” she asks, hopping down.

“Absolutely. Are you excited that we get to see him and Joss again soon?” I’ve started mixing in comments about our return home in two weeks whenever I can. One month of homeschooling was as much as Willow’s school would allow without forfeiting her spot, and we can’t avoid reality forever.

“Can’t they come see us again here?” She deflects the question, like she’s done every time I’ve brought it up. She talks a good bit about Wes and Joss, but the mentions of her friends have become few and far between. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m nervous she’ll be on the outside with them after three months away.

“Aren’t you missing your friends?” I want to kick myself for pushing this. It’s not like I’m desperate to go back either.

“Yeah, I guess. But I really like it here.”

“But you don’t have any other kids to play with.”

“I don’t mind just hanging out with you and Rory.” She shrugs her shoulders, her braids moving with them. “She’s more fun anyway.”

“More fun than me?” I ask with feigned offense, clapping my hand across my chest.

“Never, Dad, you’re the funnest. Thanks for taking me ice skating today. I’m finally getting the hang of it.”

I don’t correct her use of the word “funnest,” because what kind of fun dad would I be if I did?

“Yeah, you only fell about twenty times,” I say, needling her.

“Dad! I wasn’t that bad. And you fell too.”

I chuckle under my breath. She has a point. I did fall, but only after I saw a flash of strawberry-blonde hair. My eyes followed the woman, wondering if it was Rory, and the distraction cost me. I slipped and fell, landing hard on my ass. I’m going to have to take advantage of the hot tub later.

A mouth-watering aroma fills the space when we walk into the condo. “Mmm, smells like Rory might be baking.”

Willow takes off toward the kitchen, her wet boots sliding on the floors. “Hey, ankle-biter, boots off first. Then go change into your pajamas, please.”

She turns back and rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

I hold back the reprimand sitting on the tip of my tongue. I don’t want to ruin the fun day we’ve had by getting into it. Not today. I’m still learning which battles to pick, which hills to die on as a parent. Normally, attitude is one of them, but I don’t have it in me right now.

The scents of cinnamon, sugar, and butter meld into something heavenly, but it doesn’t compare to the sight of Rory bent over and pulling a tray from the oven. She has on tight black leggings that stretch over her ass in the most sinful way. I adjust myself in my jeans, itching to reach for her. The full view of her when she stands up—loose sweater draping low off one shoulder, the lace of her bra peeking out—has me stepping behind the counter to conceal the way she affects me.

Her eyes blaze a trail up my torso as she slides the tray onto the counter. There’s a dusting of flour on her nose, making the freckles on her cheeks stand out. Her hair is a wild mess of rose gold curls, and the turquoise of her eyes is bright, sparkling like the Caribbean Sea. She’s at ease, comfortable. I like this look on her.

“Hi,” she says, breathless, pushing a stray curl back from her face. Her flour-dusted fingers brush against her cheekbone, leaving more on her face, and my lips tilt up in a grin. Does she have any idea what she does to me?

Do I?

“Hey. We picked up dinner.” I lift the bag onto the counter next to the cookies. “Looks like you got started on dessert already.”

She licks her lip, clearing the flour with her tongue. It makes me want to spread some across mine so she can give them the same treatment. Damn . Ending our friends-with-benefits arrangement made sense at the time, but I’m struggling to remember why right now.

“I’ll share,” she says, pulling my gaze up her face to meet her eyes. There’s something heady in her tone, a tease, a promise.

I groan and let my head fall back. She just laughs, bright and melodic. She definitely knows what she’s doing to me.

She reaches for the bag of Chinese food and starts unpacking it. “What were you two up to today?” she asks.

“We went ice skating!” Willow says, joining us and hopping onto a stool.

“Nice! How’d you do?” Rory’s words are full of enthusiasm, like she truly cares.

“So good. I didn’t fall much. Dad did though.”

“Hey! I thought we were going to keep my one fall between us,” I say, indignant. “Little traitor.”

I ruffle her hair and she giggles. “Dad, stop, you’re messing it up.”

“Am I? Well, we can have Rory fix it.” Having Rory around all the time means she’s pretty well taken over doing Willow’s hair every day. There are far less tears and hardly any eye-rolling when she’s in charge.

“Or I could teach you how to do it properly. That way you can do it yourself,” Rory pipes up, her grin lifting her sweet, freckled cheeks.

“Am I teachable? I don’t know. I’ve tried. Plenty.”

“I have faith in you,” she says, and my heart swells at her words.

I know she only means them in reference to my hair-styling abilities, but there’s something that makes me believe she could mean them for so much more.

A couple of hours later, with a belly full of Chinese food and dessert, I’m ready for a quick soak in the hot tub and then bed. Willow is finally asleep. The sugary cookies right before bed weren’t my best idea, but I couldn’t deny her when they were so good. Not quite like a Tim Tam, but Rory’s snickerdoodles are a pretty close second.

I pull out a pair of boardshorts from my dresser. Rory and I have been taking turns with the jacuzzi at night. We never explicitly discussed it, but it’s been necessary for obvious reasons. I tie the drawstring and head downstairs. There are no lights on in Rory’s room so I expect to see her in the kitchen or the living room, but I don’t. Maybe she’s…

My brain trails off. Looking out the sliding glass door, the soft lights of the hot tub just barely illuminate her. Her arms are spread wide on the lip of the tub, head tipped back toward the sky, looking peaceful. I swallow. I guess our dancing around this moment is about to end because I am going out there.

I pull the door open and her head snaps up. “Mind if I join you? My tailbone is protesting after that fall earlier.”

I reach back and pull my T-shirt over my head with one hand. It’s her turn to swallow thickly, eyes trailing down my chest and abdomen then back up to my face. Her cheeks were already flushed, but the color’s deeper now.

“Y-yep, sure,” she stutters, and I step into the tub, my leg brushing hers under the water. Her eyes never leave my body as I slide in amongst the bubbles. “The tattoo? It’s for Willow?” she asks, her hands trailing over the surface of the water.

“It is.” She’s seen it before, touched it, kissed it, but we’ve never talked about it. The black ink that permanently lines my ribcage. The roots that reach down to my hip bone. The trunk that grows up my entire side. The branches that sway down around it. My very own willow to carry with me always. “I got it the week after she was born. I needed something that showed how wrapped up I was in her.”

“I like it. It suits you.” She sneaks a glance at it beneath the water.

“You think so?” I ask, and she nods. I stand and lift my arm, all but asking her to inspect it further.

She moves to the edge of her seat and the water sloshes around us. Her fingers dance over the dainty branches etched into my side. A shiver dances down my spine despite the hundred-and-four-degree water I’m standing in. Her touch holds reverence, her eyes hold desire.

This is why we’ve been playing trades with the hot tub. It’s too intense. The pull we have, my eyes burning into hers, is too much. I want so badly to touch her. I’ve missed the comfort of that touch, of her mouth, of her body. I’ve missed when it’s just her and me, no one else, nothing else. When we can just be .

Be what, I don’t know, but I miss it.

Her fingers trail lower down my side and I suck in a breath, the muscles tightening. When her fingers reach the waistband of my shorts, she looks up. The blazing heat in her irises matches the burn of her fingers where they skate across my lower abdomen to the tie on my shorts. I catch her hand, a tremble in my own, unsure of what I intend to do now that I’ve caught it.

She licks across her bottom lip before drawing it into her mouth, and I lose any semblance of restraint.

“Fuck it.”

I bend over her, pressing her back into the side of the tub, forcing water to slosh out onto the ground. I lace my hand into her hair and pull her head back until it rests against the top of the tub. I slant my lips over hers and don’t bother taking my time. My tongue seeks hers, sliding between her lips and tasting the sweet cinnamon and sugar of the cookies. I press forward, towering over her, one knee bent on the seat between her spread thighs. Her chest lifts on each inhale and brushes against my bare skin.

“Breck,” she pleads.

She doesn’t need to beg; I’ll give her anything she wants.

“Rory,” I murmur against her mouth, sliding my other arm behind her back. I shift us so she’s straddling me. She squeaks with surprise but quickly finds her way back to my mouth, letting her hands delve into my hair and pull me closer. She rocks against me and I groan against her lips. Her hand trails down and over my tattoo. Up and down, again and again, until I can’t take the soft touch any longer.

“ Rory .” She knows I’m unraveling. Every part of me is giving up the attempt to stay away, to keep my distance, to keep this platonic. I lift my hips, seeking friction—seeking her. She moans, teeth grazing my tongue, as she arches into me. “Yes. Fuck. Rory.”

“I’d like that.” She trails kisses down my neck before nipping at my collarbone and positioning herself so she’s closer, showing me exactly what she wants. I chuckle, but it’s dark and heavy, full of promise.

“Okay, baby.” I wrap my arms around her back and stand up. She squeezes her legs tighter around my waist like putting any space between us would be a tragedy.

I settle her on the edge of the tub, letting the cold air heighten the sensitivity of her skin, and trail my fingers up her arms. When my hands reach her neck, I look into her eyes and see the anticipation. She’s waiting for me to bury them in her hair again and take her mouth, but I don’t.

Instead, I trail my fingers lightly away along her shoulders then back again before I grip the strings of her bikini and pull. I slide my hands lower and repeat the motion at the tie on her back. We’re still pressed together, my body holding her top in place. I quickly glance around to ensure none of the neighbors are out and then I put an inch of space between us, feeling the fabric slip.

With a nip at her collarbone, I say, “You’re going to have to let me go so I can get us out of here without falling.”

Desire flames bright in her eyes and she slides her legs from around my waist. She whimpers in protest when I step back. I get it, I miss her body against mine too. The wet fabric slips the rest of the way off her and I catch it in one hand. My eyes rove over her, sitting like a goddess on the ledge of the tub. Need overtakes every other thought, and I guide her out. Our feet land on chilled wood boards, but the heat between us makes that unimportant.

Her hands slide across my slick torso, over each ridge of my abdomen and up to my pecs, the light brush of her thumb over my nipple making me jump. Our mouths fuse again, and with one lift, her legs are back around my waist. I stalk toward the house, the skin of her naked torso slipping against mine with every step. It’s glorious torture.

“Still want this?” I ask against her neck, kissing down the column and stopping just at the hollow of her throat.

“More than I should.”

“Same, baby. Same.”