Mac

I’m handling this all wrong, I know that. Rushing my girl out of the cottage this morning; not speaking on the drive. Shutting her up and acting like a grade A asshole. She took it well, but I wanted to punch myself in the face.

Been pulling out my hair all day since leaving her there. Messing up simple tasks in the marina, and reading over paperwork without taking in a single word. Clean forgot to eat lunch—and that’s never happened in my whole life. Not with my appetite.

Cocoa.

No—Yelena.

Well. Whatever her name, I miss her so fucking much.

Shouldn’t have chased her away like that. Should’ve told her sweet-nothings and coaxed her to stay in bed a while longer, then kissed her goodbye on the cliffs. Should’ve handled all this like a human being, but I couldn’t see past the red haze of hurt. The pain constricting my chest. The overriding need to keep her with me, to change her mind, hell, to break down and beg.

But that wouldn’t be fair to her. And that’s not the memory I want to leave her with.

So I guess I chose being a prick instead. Nicely done, McLaggen.

I’m nervous as a teenager as I pull up to the makeshift parking lot on the cliffs for the second time. Lines and lines of vehicles hunker on the grass—way more than Sweet Cherry Cove could muster alone—and bodies stream between bumpers, laughing and chatting on their way to the tent.

It’s still light out, but the sky’s tinted lilac. The moon’s watching, pearly and bright, and it smells like popcorn and wood smoke. The evening’s fine.

My hand shakes as I smooth down my shirt.

This is nuts. I shouldn’t have come here—I know that. Should leave Co—Yelena behind in a clean break. And I definitely shouldn’t have ironed my best shirt, or trimmed my beard, or brought a bouquet of red roses. That’s not helping anyone.

Still, I slam my truck closed and set off across the grass, the paper wrapping of my bouquet crinkling. Some of the faces around me are familiar from town; plenty aren’t. But they’re all stretched into excited grins, young and old.

The circus.

Figures my girl came from the circus. She’s so wild, so vibrant, so free. Figures that circus folk and cops don’t get on super well, too. Another mystery solved.

The crowd flows into the big top tent through the front entrance, and I let myself get swept along in that current. But as I reach the doorway, someone grabs my elbow and tugs me out of line.

It’s the redheaded guy from earlier. The flirty one. He’s bare chested now, dressed in leather pants with body glitter smeared over his pecs. His smile reminds me of a fox—cunning and cool.

“Yelena’s this way, Mr McLaggen.”

Well, what else is there to do except follow him? My steps are muffled by the thick grass, and my hand sweats where it grips the bouquet.

“Is she alright?”

The redhead laughs, tossing his hair. His hips sway as he leads me around the side of the tent, crossing to a much smaller tent, tucked away in the shadows. The canvas is plain white, held up by a tall central pole.

“We rehearse in here sometimes,” my guide explains, throwing the words over his shoulder. “Or use it for parties. But tonight, it’s all yours.”

All mine? “Where’s—”

When I reach the doorway, a strong hand shoves against my back. The canvas flaps fall shut behind me, and I’m left in darkness. My breaths are loud, and the air smells like damp soil.

“Yelena?”

A spotlight thunks on high above, cutting a single beam of light to the ground. In the center of the beam, a rickety old chair waits on the grass, and two strips of white silk dangle above.

“It’s Cocoa.” Her voice sends a shiver up my spine. I peer around, but the shadows are empty. “Sit down, Mac.”

Takes a second to make my limbs work, then I stumble forward, bouquet paper crinkling in my fist.

“Oh,” Cocoa says softly. Seriously, where is she? “You brought me roses.”

The chair creaks as I sit. “Should I put them somewhere?”

“Maybe tuck them under your chair. I don’t want to flatten them.”

Flatten them? What exactly have I got myself in for here?

But I do as she says, placing the flowers carefully on the long grass, then straighten up and grip the metal arms of the chair. The light is blinding, the heat of it tickling my cheeks, and my body’s going haywire knowing she’s near.

I’ve missed her so much. It’s only been a few hours apart, but it felt like years.

A speaker crackles to life somewhere on the beam high above. The music it plays is soft, throbbing. The whoops and cries of the main tent are muffled, and so far away.

When Cocoa walks out of the shadows, dressed only in a ruby red leotard, I have to pinch my thigh through my jeans.

Nope. Definitely real. Definitely here, walking toward me, so beautiful that it’s like someone took a boiling hot ice cream scoop to my chest. I squeeze the chair hard as Cocoa stops between my thighs, reaching up to twine the silks around her wrists. She still smells like my peppermint soap.

“Sweetheart—”

Then she’s gone, climbing the silks quicker than I thought possible, her movements lithe and graceful. I watch with my heart in my throat as she twirls and tumbles in mid air, then stretches her legs into the splits, her ankles wound with fabric. She climbs higher again, twining her body with the silks to the beat of the music, and I’m half spellbound, half sick with worry.

“Be careful,” I rasp. There’s a delighted laugh high above, but at least if she falls, she’ll land in my lap.

“I do this act in the big tent, Mac. Do you know how much higher that is?”

Christ. Don’t want to think about that. I scrub one hand over my face, and my neck’s aching from this angle, but I can’t blink. Can’t look away from the elfin girl spinning in the spotlight high above.

She’s so unreal. So untouchable. Like something from a dream. And did I ever seriously think I could keep her? It’d be like trapping a fairy in a jar.

The heel of my boot brushes the bouquet of roses, and I feel extra stupid for bringing those now.

“The chair is new, though,” Cocoa calls.

Good. Don’t like the idea of someone else getting this angle of her—though of course that’s nonsense. She’s a performer. She’s meant to be on display.

“Why’d you add it?”

There’s another pleased laugh, then Cocoa tumbles down the silks, her body spinning over and over, plummeting toward the ground. My pulse spikes, my stomach flips, and I’m lurching up from the chair when she stops with her stomach an inch above my lap.

“Jesus!” I fall back down, and my fingertips are digging grooves in the metal arms of this chair. I’m rigid, heart pounding, face seized with panic. The girl now dancing a mere breath above my lap isn’t helping matters. “What the hell, Cocoa!”

She winks, spinning slowly, and glitter sparkles on her cheekbones. “All part of the fun.”

Except… I’m not having fun. This is impressive, yes, and I want to see her act, I do, but feeling her this close to me and not being able to touch her is torture. Teasing’s only fun when it can go somewhere. When it doesn’t break your heart.

I clear my throat. “Let me up. I need to go.”

Cocoa stops moving, stunned. She’s twisted in the silks, sitting in them like a sling, so close her heat tickles my lap.

“Seriously?” she croaks. “You’re leaving now?” Tears shine in her eyes, and I feel like the world’s biggest jackass because I couldn’t hack it for a few minutes longer. “Wow, I really had no hope with you.” She sounds bitter, and it’s all wrong in her sweet voice. “I throw out all the stops and you still don’t want me.”

Wait. What?

She untangles herself with jerky movements. It’s ungraceful, unchoreographed, and Cocoa won’t meet my eye. She scowls at the ground, her eyes damp with unshed tears.

The second her feet hit the grass, I grab her wrist. “What are you talking about? Of course I want you.” Christ, if my heart beats any harder, it’s gonna drown out the drums in the big top tent. “You don’t need to put on a show to see that.”

Cocoa scoffs, tossing her choppy dark bob, but she doesn’t pull her arm away. She stands between my thighs, stealing hopeful glances out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, please. You couldn’t get rid of me fast enough this morning.”

I’m holding her hips now, her waist, her ribs. Touching and squeezing, and she lets me, her chest shuddering up and down beneath her leotard. “Because it broke me, Cocoa. I was trying to stay sane. Trying to make it to my next breath. You wanted to go, and I had to convince myself every minute to let you. And I know that’s no excuse, know I acted like a prick, but—”

She throws herself forward with a sob, crashing against my chest. Her kiss is damp with tears, and there’s no slick choreography to this moment, no polish, no poise. The chair’s creaking beneath us, and her knee is perilously near my family jewels, but it’s okay. More than okay.

It’s perfect.

“You brought me back here like I was nothing.” She’s really crying now, kissing me between sobs, and if she needs to get snot in my beard, so be it. Don’t care, so long as she’s back in my arms. “Like you’d been secretly sick of me all along.”

“No.” God, I messed up even worse than I realized. How could she ever think that? This girl is my heart walking around outside my body. Every moment away from her sickens me. “I just didn’t want to hold you back. Didn’t want you to feel like you owed me anything. And I’m—I’m too old for you, Cocoa. I’m forty years old, did you know that?”

A small fist pounds my chest. “I want to owe you, Mac. I want to be yours. And of course I knew. I checked your driver’s license on, like, day three.”

She did? Hope swells, but I press it down again, even as she kisses along my jaw, scorching a trail. There are other things keeping us apart.

“Well, I’m a loner. I’ll never be a party animal,” I say, ignoring her snort, “and though I love having you near, I’ll never be the chatty, wild type. Compared to here, your life with me would be boring.”

“Not boring.” Cocoa shakes her head, fingertips petting my beard. “Sweet and safe, yes. Romantic, definitely. And maybe I want that change of pace, okay? Maybe I’ve been longing for it for years.”

“You have?”

She hums, flicking my shirt buttons open one by one. Goosebumps prickle over my skin, everywhere she touches.

Could I really make her happy? Can’t I at least try?

“If you change your mind…” I slip one leotard strap off her shoulder, my throat tight. Her skin is golden under the spotlight, so smooth. There’s a mole in the hollow of her collarbone.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cocoa nips my chin, then peels my shirt open and spreads both palms over my stomach. “I’ll run away with the circus. Not gonna happen, but sure.”

Okay, then. It’s a deal.

This time when we kiss, heat smolders between us—but we’re both calm. Not agitated anymore, because this thing is settled between us. Could’ve been settled a long time ago, if I weren’t so bone-headed. And the spotlight is warm, the grass whispering around my boots, and the metal chair creaks with every tiny shift of our bodies.

Cocoa climbs onto my lap fully. Her nails rake down my chest, and she tugs my bottom lip between her teeth before reaching up to the white silks. Her wrists wind around the fabric.

When she lifts into the air, I follow, standing in the beam of light. Cocoa dances higher and higher, her body twisting in the silks, until her legs spread into the splits, her peachy ass level with my chin.

I raise an eyebrow. She grins.

Okay, I can take a hint.

The leotard is damp and warm when I hook one finger beneath the crotch. I slide it one side, and my gut twists at the sight of her—pink and slick and ready. She quivers beneath the brush of my thumb, strong thighs spreading wider, head tipping back toward the ground.

Christ.

I’ve tasted this girl before. Made her cry out with my mouth and hands, but it feels brand new again—and not because of the spotlight or the silks or the distant roar of the crowd. Because this time, she’s mine. Every stroke of my tongue feels me with vicious satisfaction; every squeeze of her ass makes my head pound.

“Mine,” I say against her clit.

Cocoa gasps. “Y-yours,” she agrees, so breathy and strained. “Oh my god.”

I lick and nibble and suck until she falls apart, body trembling in the silks. Then I coax her down, unwinding all that fabric until she’s swaying on the grass, bright-eyed and dazed.

“Don’t you want to—?”

“Yes,” I tell her. Obviously. “Come here.”

She’s heavier than expected when I lift her up, carrying her into the shadows. Must be all that taught muscle; those thick thighs. Either way, I love the heft of her, the undeniable weight in my arms, the sweet burn in my own muscles.

The central pole of the tent is smooth wood. I rest Cocoa’s back against it, hitching her legs higher around my waist. “Here?”

She’s already yanking at my belt. “Here. Oh my god, do me here. Don’t you dare stop now.”

Yes ma’am.

My belt clinks, and I suck in a deep breath, laced with popcorn and wood smoke and her. My peppermint soap; my shampoo. And when I notch at her entrance, Cocoa twists my hair until my scalp stings.

“No taking this back,” I say, rubbing my length up and down her slit. God, she’s soaked. The wet sounds are loud enough to hear over the music. “Once we do this, you’re mine.”

Another yank on my hair. “Good. Now fuck me, Mac McLaggen, you big tease.”

She goes still as I press the first inch inside her.

Face burning, I sink forward with a groan.

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