Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Willa
D anger. Danger .
Code Red.
Kissing.
Kissing Cole.
Kissing my husband .
Why did it feel so good? The moment was dreamy. A thrill.
Damn, he was tall. I was on my tiptoes, and he had his massive hands on my hips, and yes.
So.
Much.
Yes.
But also no.
With a hand to his chest, I pushed back, almost gasping for breath. The kiss had shocked me. It was full of so much more passion and desire than the drunken kisses we’d shared in Vegas. And my body had responded on instinct, essentially mounting him on the lakeshore.
Pressing my fingers to my swollen lips, I tipped my head back and assessed him. Like this, in the moonlight, he was so handsome, his wild hair escaping the hat that I now knew he’d knitted himself.
A slow grin spread across his face as he angled in and pulled me flush against his chest.
For a heartbeat, I melted against him. But then reality set in.
“Cole.” I gasped, my body going tense. “We can’t.”
Slowly, his grin faded, and his eyes turned a dull brown. “Sorry.” He slid his hands from my hips, and when he took a large step back, the cold air hit me like a punch. What was I doing?
Suddenly, all logic and reason left my body, and I felt like I was going to burst out of my skin. This was bad, so bad. I had to get as far away from this situation as possible.
So without a word, I turned and hurried up the path toward the house, over the rocky ledge and toward the woods, desperately trying to ignore the hurricane of feelings building inside me.
But his lips…
I shook my head. This was not the time to lose focus.
House.
Get back to the house. It was cold and late and—
The world spun around me, and my knee screamed. In my haste, I’d managed to trip over a loose rock on the path and had face-planted in the frozen dirt. Tears stung my eyes, and I wanted to curl up and forget the past hour had happened.
But before I could give up and become part of the forest floor, strong arms were picking me up.
“Willa, are you okay?”
Aw, crap. Now it wasn’t only my knee that was hurting, but my entire soul as embarrassment joined the party.
“Please put me down,” I said through gritted teeth as he scooped me into his arms, bridal style.
He grunted. “No way. You’re hurt and upset, and it’s dark out.”
“I weigh two hundred pounds. You can’t carry me.”
He stopped and glared at me, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “I’m a goddamn grown man, Willa. I’m more than capable of carrying my gorgeous wife.”
And he did, holding me effortlessly in his arms as he navigated back to the cottage. Under normal circumstances, this would be the kind of romantic moment songs were written about. But sadly, this entire situation was far from romantic.
Once we’d reached the house, I had surrendered to the truth of the moment. He’d carried me. My leggings were torn. And I’d never recover my dignity. I’d done so well these past weeks, but I supposed it was only a matter of time before I humiliated myself in front of my husband. Dramatically running away after he kissed me and sustaining an injury was textbook.
Inside the house, I hobbled to the couch. Yup, my leggings were torn, and my knee was bleeding. Wonderful.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Bathroom closet, top shelf.”
He returned a moment later with my doctor-grade first-aid kit. It was loaded with far more supplies than your average kit, but while this injury looked gnarly, it was nothing a little hydrogen peroxide and a few steri-strips couldn’t fix.
He knelt in front of me, untying my boots and easing them off my feet.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Expression dark, he peered up at me. “Yes I do.”
“Give me that.” I reached for the box of alcohol wipes he’d opened, but he pulled his arm back. “I can do it. I’m a doctor.” I winced at the way those words sounded coming out of my mouth. As if I were superior. But I wasn’t that type of person.
“And you’re in pain and shaken up.”
“I think I can swab at a cut with an antiseptic wipe.”
“Doctor Savard,” he said, his tone sharper than I’d ever heard. He was usually so soft-spoken.
I froze, my breath catching. He was upset too. I had been so busy wallowing in my own embarrassment that I hadn’t stopped to think about what he must be feeling.
I was the worst wife ever. So I shut up and let him clean the scrapes.
He was focused and careful, meticulously cleaning the injury, then applying ointment and bandages. His care was sweet, but it only served to make the boundaries between us fuzzier when what we needed was a clear, concise line. Nothing in my life had gone according to plan, so I needed this marriage to stay its course. We’d gone into this with good reasons. Now I had to resist making stupid mistakes that would compromise all we’d worked for.
“I’m sorry I overreacted,” I said as he packed up the first aid kit.
“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have done that. It was out of line.” He kept his gaze averted. His shoulders slumped, and waves of discomfort radiated from him.
Clear boundaries would be good for us both.
I sat back on the couch and inhaled, then let it out slowly, preparing myself for what I had to do. My knee throbbed, reminding me of why this was so necessary.
“We’ve been married for what?” I asked. “Six or seven weeks?”
He froze, pinning me with his dark stare. “Six weeks and four days.”
Okay, then. He wasn’t going to make this easy on me.
“I think it’s been going well. We set out to do something, and we’re doing it.”
“Agreed.” He nodded once. “I like being married to you.”
My cheeks heated at his straightforward answer and the determination in his eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest for fortification. “Okay, so. Um. When we first talked. About everything. Our plan—” I was rambling. Focus, Willa. “Well, I never thought to bring up physical stuff.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Intimacy,” I clarified, that single word leaving my mouth a bit too loudly. Okay, I was officially making a mess of this.
It had truly never occurred to me to discuss any of this in Vegas. It was laughable, really.
When we laid out the ground rules, I wouldn’t have dreamed of even mentioning sex. It was preposterous to even think about.
Him and me?
Please.
I was a realist.
“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to get this over with. “I never said anything about physical stuff because I figured you weren’t attracted to me, so it wasn’t an issue.”
He made a sound under his breath that could have been a growl. “Incorrect,” he said slowly, and I couldn’t but help stare at his mouth as it formed each syllable. “I’m very attracted to you.”
“Cole,” I hissed as my heart jumped in my chest. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why not? Didn’t we promise to be radically honest?”
He had me there. But this was not the time to interrogate levels of honesty. Not when my brain was reeling with the realization that he was attracted to me.
Me. I had to work to contain the inner awkward teenage girl who was positively screaming at this news. I’d learned the hard way not to throw myself at any guy who was interested. After a lifetime of never feeling like the first choice, this type of thing had the potential to send me into a full-blown romantic fantasy. And right now, I could not afford to lose focus.
“I realize I acted impulsively out there.” He nodded toward the door. “But I want to be clear. I meant to kiss you. I’ve thought about kissing you a lot. I regret being so drunk in Vegas because it means I don’t remember what it’s like to hold you, to kiss you, and to put my hands on you.”
My face was flaming now, along with the rest of my body. This was not how I had envisioned this conversation going.
Was I hallucinating? Did I hit my head on a rock when I fell? Maybe I’m unconscious and dreaming. Because the thought of me telling hockey God Cole Hebert he couldn’t have sex with me was preposterous. Girls like me did not reject guys like him.
I’d had sex with a fair number of guys.
I understood what they saw when they looked at me.
A lot of fun for a night.
But not a girlfriend. Not someone a man would claim publicly.
Trust me, guys were always all over me after a night of drinking, pawing at my chest and ass. They all wanted to fuck the curvy girl, but none of them ever wanted to keep me. I had a lot of growing and healing to do in the sex and relationships department, and I wasn’t about to start now with Cole.
I held up a hand. “If this is going to work, we’ve got to be just friends.”
He hung his head. “I know,” he said, his voice once again quiet. “I don’t like it, but I understand. We get along so well, and we’re actually making this work. We can’t complicate matters.”
“Exactly.” Relief flooded my bloodstream. He got it.
“Yes, we’re married, but we’re friends. And while I understand it’s probably hard for you to not be able to…” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “To date,” I whispered. “We shouldn’t become fuck buddies because it’s easy.”
I wouldn’t be an easy lay. I wouldn’t be the girl who begged for scraps and settled for affection brought on only by convenience, especially from him. Cole was a good person and a good friend, that I knew for a fact. But I’d seen the way he treated Lila. The man was a shitty boyfriend. So inviting anything more into this arrangement would only lead to disappointment.
“I’m not looking for a fuck buddy, Willa,” he said, his tone defensive, his expression pained. “And more importantly. You are not easy. In fact, you are the most complicated and challenging woman I’ve ever met.”
How he managed to make complicated and challenging sound like compliments, I will never know, but the lump in my throat continued to grow.
I needed to be alone. I stood, wincing slightly and making Cole reel back.
“You wanted radical honesty,” he said, standing as well.
“I did. I do.” As much as it could hurt or confuse, it was the only way for us to survive this marriage.
He took a step closer, towering over me, his hands on his hips. Yes, he could be intimidating, but I had ceased to notice. He was Cole.
He took another step and ducked his head. “Here’s some honesty for you. I’m really attracted to my wife. Kissing you was fucking epic, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
His words knocked the air from my lungs. Part of me was ready to jump into his arms and kiss him again. But I wasn’t that girl. That girl married him in Vegas, and she couldn’t be trusted.
I lifted my chin and forced myself to make eye contact. “Do you want to stop?”
“Fuck no. I made a commitment, and I’ll honor it.”
“Good.”
“But I don’t want to hear all this bullshit about me not being attracted to you. If you don’t want anything more, I respect that. But do not put that on me.”
With a nod, I took a step back, but just as I put distance between us, he closed it again. And the closer he got, the more potent the strong warmth of his body was. And the easier it would be to allow myself to give in to the feelings.
So without waiting another second, I turned and rushed toward my room. Space, I needed space. Nothing good would come of this conversation.
“Willa,” he said as I crossed the threshold.
I turned, pulling the door mostly closed, peeking out at him from the crack.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been as attracted to a person as I am to you.”
Without responding, I shut the door hard and slumped against it.
My heart was pounding, and I gasped for breath.
I was fucking this all up.
I was not supposed to be experiencing real lust for my fake husband.