Chapter 20 #2
I hop out of the truck before I lose my nerve, grab the bag of dessert, and tease, "You don't get to keep the dessert or the whipped cream if you don't keep me."
A soft, barely audible laugh flies out of her mouth.
I wink. Adrenaline builds in every one of my cells. I shut the door and move toward the building, but every step I take away from her is a shot of dread.
My hand fumbles with the lock. I eventually shove the door open, and a brick of memories hits me.
The room has barely changed. The lilac paint and matching faded floral wallpaper are the same, but both are peeling now. The comforter is worn thinner. A groan from the heater makes me jump, and dry air pushes out of it.
Get a grip.
On the oak table, next to a coffee-stained armchair, sits a tiny plastic Christmas tree with blinking red and green lights. Gold tinsel wraps around its base, and a gold foil star sits on top, but it's bent.
A yellow glow from the decades-old lamps makes everything look dingier. But when we were kids, we didn't care. It was our safe haven where we didn't have to hide or keep our voices down.
I should have brought her to a nicer place.
Where is she?
I sit on the bed, my forearms on my knees, staring at the tan carpet. The original texture has long faded into a patchwork of threadbare spots and flattened fibers. Soil marks shade the high-traffic areas.
The loud tick of the clock echoes in my ears as the minute changes.
She's going to drive off.
What am I doing?
I can't let her leave without me.
I jump off the bed and reach for the door right as it opens. The wood bangs into my head. "Ooof! Hell's bells!"
"Oh my! I'm so sorry," Willow frets.
She came in!
Relief overshadows the pain.
I rub the spot. "Damn near knocked the cowboy outta me!"
"I'm sorry," she repeats, tossing me a sympathetic but semi-amused grin.
I blink through the throb in my forehead, and my grin explodes. "Hell, sugar. If it's for you, I'll take a concussion and call it foreplay."
She bursts out laughing, then puts her hand over her mouth.
It's all it takes to release the tension.
Her laughter trails off, and her gaze darts around the room. "It's…um…"
I chuckle. "Guess they still have their Christmas spirit."
Her smile gets bigger as she does a more thorough scan.
I offer, "I should have taken you to a nicer hotel. This is dingy, isn't it?"
She bites her lip, and her gaze does another lap around the room. She admits, "I don't remember it being this umm…"
"Beat up?"
"That's one way of putting it." She turns, grinning at me.
A spark of tension reignites, but it's the hottest it's been all night.
A lot of our best moments were in this room. Intimate, private, unforgettable memories, and they all come barreling at me. And the walls seem to come alive, as if they remember every kiss, every whispered promise, every time we swore this wouldn't be the last.
I glance at the bed, wondering if it'll rise and devour me whole. I take a few deep breaths and then blurt out, "Maybe we should go somewhere else?"
She arches her eyebrows, then closes the gap between us, putting her hand over my heart. In a sultry voice, she coos, "Wyatt Houston, I'd swear on my granddaddy's grave that you're more nervous than I am right now."
I take another pull of air and admit, "I guess I am. I don't want to mess everything up with you again."
Her pink tongue darts out of her mouth, slowly grazing her lip. She gives me a look that's always gone straight to my pants.
Tonight is no different. My belt buckle feels heavy, and my nerves shift into a state of desperate need.
I wrap one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulder, palming the back of her head.
I lock eyes with her, grazing her lips as I grit out, "You think we should go somewhere else, sugar? "
She doesn't say anything, just stares at me, her eyes wide and bright.
The need inside me builds, ready to explode. My thumb finds its way under the hem of her sweater, grazing the soft skin near her spine.
She shudders, and her breath hitches, but she doesn't step away.
I kiss her jaw, then murmur against her ear, "You remember this room and all the good times, don't you, sugar?"
Her body arches with the smallest shift, but it's the answer I need. Her hot breath sparks a tingle on my chest.
I sink my hand under her jeans. My lips brush the shell of her earlobe. "I used to spend nights dreaming about dragging you back here, laying you out on this creaky old bed, and reminding you why you love to beg me." I palm her ass cheek.
She whimpers, "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't talk about the way you used to cry out my name? Don't touch you like I already know where you're aching?" I ask, tone dark and husky.
"Wyatt," she warns, the sound barely a whisper, her fingers grasping my shirt.
I dip my head until our lips nearly touch, challenging, "Tell me I'm wrong. Lie to me, and I'll stop."
She doesn't answer. Just trembles in my arms. Her breath mingles with mine, and her gaze flicks down to my mouth.
It nearly kills me, but I've never been so ready to die.
This time, I'm not looking for a night of fun.
I'm looking for a second chance. I'm after a lifetime to prove to her I'm the only man for her, the only one who's ever counted.
And I'm going to make sure I'm the last one she ever has to bet on.