Chapter 20
Wyatt
Margo asks, "Did you save room for dessert?"
I hand my card to her, saying, "Add dessert to go, please."
Willows's face shows her surprise, but it's quickly taken over by a flicker of anxiety.
I squeeze her hand and ask Margo, "Do you remember our favorite?"
Her gaze dances between Willow and me. "Bourbon pecan with a side container of extra whip?"
"Bring two containers, please," I state, grinning.
Willow stiffens next to me.
I slide my hand between her thighs under the table.
Don't worry. I remember what you love.
"Coming up," Margo replies.
Willow squeezes her legs together and smiles at Margo. "Thank you."
Margo nods and turns, but not before throwing me a wink over her shoulder.
"Careful, cowboy. That charm might get you in trouble tonight," Willow teases under her breath.
"Lucky for you, sugar, I brought enough charm and bad ideas to last well into the New Year," I boast, dragging my thumb slowly across the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse thumps hard.
Willow smirks. Another hit of nostalgia pummels me. It's the same look that used to drive me wild and make me do reckless things just so I could see more of it.
Margo sets a brown bag full of dessert on the table. She puts the check next to it.
I scribble my name on the receipt, slide my card back into my wallet, and stand. I place my hand on the small of Willow's back.
She doesn't fight me. Instead, she leans into me the same way she always did. The scent of her shampoo flares around us, eliminating any possibility of me staying a gentleman tonight.
I guide us through the cozy restaurant and out into the cold.
Fresh snow falls in lazy spirals under the glow of the streetlamps.
My boots crunch against the sidewalk, and the sound of her heels keeps pace with my heart.
Everything around us sparkles. Christmas lights adorn every building, wreaths hang in every window, and the holiday music plays in the bar next door.
It all makes me nervous as hell.
Christmas was always our special time. Willow gave herself to me for the first time at Christmas, and it was the best present I ever received. For years, it was the gift that kept giving, then it was gone without warning.
I want my gift back.
Emotions I haven't allowed myself to feel in years lodge in my throat. I glance at Willow and note how she's the same yet different.
She's prettier than I remember.
How is that possible?
Her dark hair spills over her shoulders like she just stepped out of a movie.
Pink flushes her cheeks, and she looks up at me like she's pretending she's not feeling what I am, but those eyes say everything her mouth won't. Her blues turn almost hazel, glowing under the streetlamps, seductive yet innocent, flickering with nerves.
After all these years, it still rattles me like it used to.
She has no idea how much power she holds over me.
She pulls her wrap tighter. It curves snugly around her waist, showcasing her ass, triggering my pulse several notches higher.
Her jeans mold to her hips, and I swear she wore them on purpose to torment me.
It's the kind of outfit that leaves just enough to the imagination, causing a man's blood to pump hotter.
Snippets of our history flash in my mind, one scene at a time. All involve intimate moments between us that I'm determined to experience again.
A gust of snow darts at us, making it harder to move forward.
Willow leans closer to me, and I do my best to shield her from the harsh flakes, holding her head against me.
My palms sweat despite the thick snowflakes falling everywhere.
I forge ahead, leading her toward the truck, my hand gripping the curve of her waist, our breaths visible in the chilly air.
Every step I take reminds me of a gamble I can't afford to lose.
She hasn't let me be this close without being angry since I got back.
But I'm not a stupid man. I know I haven't yet earned back a permanent spot in her life.
So I debate about how to get one. By the time I get to the truck, my heart's wildly thumping against my rib cage, and I'm running on instinct.
I open the passenger door but don't let her climb in. Instead, I turn her toward me, sliding my hand into her hair. My voice comes out low, "Willow. Wait a minute."
The holiday lights cause her features to glow, reminding me of the night she gave me her virginity. Her lips slightly part. The pink flush on her cheeks from the cold deepens. She arches her eyebrows, holding her breath.
God help me.
Before she can duck away from me, I lower my lips to hers. This kiss is different from yesterday's. This time, I take my time, slow and deliberate, reclaiming everything sacred I stupidly lost a long time ago.
To my surprise, she doesn't fight me. She leans into our kiss.
All the aches I've carried since I left resurface.
With each shot of pain, I continue to taste her, holding her tighter.
My tongue coaxes hers, hungry with all the words I never said and regrets I'll live with forever.
My hand curls in her hair, with just enough tension to keep her as close as possible.
She breathes in sharply, then her lips part wider, and I deepen our kiss.
Every whimper and flick of her tongue, I savor. She relaxes more and more until there's no resistance, just a sweet surrender she doesn't even realize she's offering.
Her breathy moan hits my ear. She shivers against my chest, and the cold disappears. She fists my shirt, clawing at my chest, pulling me closer. And I don't know who's been starving more. Me or her.
Her body melts against mine. Her hips shift subtly, as if her subconscious is already giving in to everything her mouth won't admit. Then she moans louder, and it shreds every bit of control I have left.
I move her over two steps so we're in front of the passenger door, then pin her to it.
My breath turns ragged. I nip her bottom lip, then soothe it with my tongue, tugging her hair tighter.
Her hands roam under my jacket, taunting me.
She gasps. "Wyatt—"
"No," I growl roughly against her mouth. "Not a goddamn word, Willow. Not yet."
Her knees wobble.
I grab her thigh, hooking it around my hip without asking, grinding into her, letting her feel exactly how hard I am. I drawl against her lips, my voice thick with need, "Damn, I missed the way you fit me, sugar."
She barely gets out between kisses, "How am I supposed to be smart when you kiss me like this?"
I chuckle, then say, "You're not. So stop trying."
She softly laughs, then kisses me back with a new ferocity, gripping my shirt tighter.
When I finally tear my lips from hers, I'm out of breath. I keep my face close, warning, "No matter what's happened in the past, you're mine. Deep down, you know it."
She blinks several times, her eyes glistening in the holiday lights.
With my pulse pounding between my ears, I move her to the passenger seat, peck her on the forehead, and order, "Get in, sugar."
She doesn't resist. She never could when I kissed her like that.
I shut her door, hurry around the truck, and get in. I start the engine and pull away from the curb.
Thick silence crackles with tension during the short ride to the motel. My fingers flex around the steering wheel, and I steal glances at her every few seconds.
She chews her bottom lip, staring out the window, but it's frosted over. The only thing visible is the blurred glow of the lights on the buildings.
Knots pull tighter in my gut. My pulse is louder than the rumbling engine. I squeeze her hand and assert, "Stop trying to figure out how to get rid of me tonight."
She slowly turns and meets my eyes.
I tease, "I know you don't want to have to beg me for a New Year's Eve kiss."
She breaks into a smile, and laughs. "You wish."
I kiss the back of her hand, then refocus on the white road. After several miles, the run-down motel finally comes into view. I park near the front office, and leave the engine on.
I clear my throat, forcing a grin to mask my fear. "Stay put. And don't go making a run for it. I ain't chasing you through snow in cowboy boots."
She smirks. "That might be fun to watch with your limp."
I warn, "Don't test me, sugar." I climb out and head into the office. My nerves gnaw my insides.
The same clerk from years ago is still behind the desk. He's greasier than a plate of fairground fries, but he doesn't ask questions. He never did.
I hand him cash, sign the form, and pocket the key to room number eight. It's the same room we used to sneak off to when neither of us wanted to be found.
I return to the truck, park farther down, and nod toward the row of doors. "Secured good old room number eight. The lobby still smells like smoke and bad decisions. Just like we left it." I wink.
Nerves stamp across her face, flaring hotter.
I lower my voice, coaxing, "Relax, sugar."
Her gaze darts to the room, then back to me. "Maybe we shouldn't relive bad decisions."
"We weren't a bad decision," I firmly state, my heart racing faster.
"Weren't we?" she questions.
"No," I assert.
Pressure swells in my chest, seizing my breath until it's sharp. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek, and declare, "I'm going inside. Nothing bad ever happened there. No matter what choices we made in the past, that room was always filled with love."
She blinks hard and scrunches her forehead.
The thud in my heart bangs against my rib cage with more force.
I take the biggest gamble of my life and add, "That's what I want, Willow.
I want to make love to you all night, ringing in the New Year and figuring out how to move forward.
So I'm leaving the keys in the truck. You can join me or leave me.
It's up to you, but I hope you come inside. "
She arches her eyebrows and holds her breath.