Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
KASEY
Iwake the next morning bleary-eyed, squinting at the bright stream of sunlight spilling through the window, and curse the fact that I’m late for barn chores again. And then I realize there’s an unfamiliar ball of heat pressed up against my ribs.
Looking down, I find a chaotic nest of dark curls fanning my chest as a wickedly bony and still-sleeping Ava snores softly on my right pec.
Her mouth is parted open so wide I wouldn’t be surprised if she caught a fly or two in there.
There’s even a steady stream of drool flowing out of the corner of her lips, right onto my nipple.
Christ, she’s gorgeous.
It takes a sincere level of effort not to dive my fingers into her hair, to rub against her scalp in hopes she makes that soft, satisfied grunt I used to try very hard to coax out of her but haven’t heard since before she left.
The realization slams into me that, even after years of dating, this is the first time I’ve woken up in the morning with her in my bed.
That she’s staying here, that I could theoretically be waking up like this every morning.
My eyes zero in on the ring finger of her left hand, the metal band shining in the morning light. I hold my own in front of my face to study it as the reality of what we’ve done prickles up my arm.
We’re married.
Ava Jones is my wife.
She shifts against me—lifting a bare leg out of the covers to slide over the tops of my thighs—and I freeze, sucking in a slow, tortured breath.
It seems my body is highly aware of the fact that Ava is in this bed with me.
And Ava’s not wearing any pants. I dare the briefest look down the length of both our bodies to catch the tiniest glimpse of the white cotton underwear she has on.
It’s enough to send all the air rushing out of my lungs and all my blood rushing straight for my dick.
I have to get out of this fucking bed.
Closing my eyes, I remember that—wife or not—Ava is not supposed to be in bed with me.
I’d made it perfectly clear when we discussed this arrangement that she would be sleeping in her room, and I would be sleeping in mine.
We may have had a little hiccup thanks to my stupid fucking nightmare, but now look.
I’m trying to maintain a semblance of control as my feelings for her keep slamming into me like a battering ram, but waking up with her half naked and draped over me like this, wearing my ring on her goddamn finger, is not helping.
I reach for my phone on my nightstand, finding a handful of texts from Rhett, telling me not to worry about work today and to enjoy my honeymoon.
“Fuck,” I whisper softly, looking back down at Ava.
She’s sleeping hard. The poor woman is exhausted.
I spend the next seven minutes carefully disentangling from her, replacing the form of my body with the softest pillow I have so that by the time I’m standing at the side of the bed, she’s clutching it with an affectionate death grip.
I gently pull the comforter up around her, tucking her in, and allow myself the reward of a quick kiss to her temple before tiptoeing out of the room.
I pull on my robe from the en suite and head for the kitchen, deciding the least I can do after dumping my most dangerous secret on her last night is cook her some breakfast. Making a mental note to go to the grocery store and stock up on more food since there’s two of us now—two and a half?
I think with a sudden pang of joy—I reach into the pantry for the pancake mix I haven’t touched since the boys spent the night camping out in my living room.
That was a handful of months ago, so I check the expiration date and give the box of batter mix a good whiff before deciding it’s fine enough.
I grab what I need around the kitchen and get started.
By the time a crumpled and sleepy Ava comes padding out of my bedroom, there’s a warm stack of pancakes on the table with all the fixings.
I even found a container of strawberries I took from the main house a few days ago and then swiftly forgot about.
“Wow,” she says, eyeing the table with the intensity of an apex predator as she pads out of my bedroom, a pair of my sweatpants rolled at the waistband and hanging loosely from her hips.
I pull a chair out. “Hungry?”
Her gaze swirls across my bare chest peeking out through my robe, that same hunger fastened tight. “Starving,” she says.
My mouth goes dry as I wait for her to sit. When she does, I can’t help my fingers from brushing a section of her hair back over her shoulder, watching as her skin erupts in goosebumps. “Milk?”
“Just water, please.”
I move to grab a cup from the cabinet near the sink. “I really should get out to the barn,” I say, hoping she can’t hear the want in my voice.
“Okay,” she responds lightly. “I think I’m going to go home—to my dad’s house, I mean—and grab all my things.”
“Surprised he didn’t show up yesterday.”
“Oh, he did.” Her tone is gruff.
I turn to look at her, arching a brow.
“He tried to walk me down the aisle,” she explains. “I basically told him to fuck off.”
“Yikes. Who told him?”
Her eyes go stormy. “Eleanor, that traitor.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, no that’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“What do you need to grab?” I frown. “Anything heavy?”
She smiles, staking four pancakes on the plate I laid out for her. “Nothing heavy. Just some clothes and my laptop. Some files for work. A few bags. I promise it’s not a big deal. I’ll probably only be an hour or two.”
“Okay.” I nod. “You up for dinner at my parents’ tonight?”
She accidentally squeezes out a huge glob of syrup, worry creasing between her brows. “Oh—um, yeah! Definitely. That sounds great.”
Liar, I think, amused. “No one’s gonna bite, I promise.”
She pushes her tongue into her cheek. “Right. Of course.” Turning her gaze to me, she asks, “Anything I can bring?”
I shake my head. “Why don’t you rest when you get back? Take the day to . . . settle in. There’s a tub in my bathroom I’ve never used. Plenty of movies to stream. Whatever you want.”
Ava gives me a long look before she tilts her head and smirks. “Are you trying to take care of me?”
“No.” I bristle. “But you’ve had a lot thrown at you the last few weeks. I’m sure all that stress isn’t good for . . .” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence. Stress isn’t good for her? For the baby? Who am I to say what’s good for either of them?
I need to get the fuck out of here.
“Look, just rest. The cabin is yours—take whatever you need.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond before I march back into my bedroom to shower and change. By the time I come back out, the table is cleared, the dishes rinsed and drying by the sink, and her Range Rover is already gone.
“Didn’t expect to see you this morning,” Rhett teases as soon as he sees me. “Surprised you’re not handcuffed to your headboard, or rubbing oil over your wife’s ti—”
“Knock it off, Rhett.” I shoot him a dark glare.
“I’m just saying, Liv and I are still in that have to spend every waking moment together phase and we aren’t even married.”
“Layla and I are still in that too,” Wells agrees. “Not sure it ever goes away.”
“Yeah.” I nod, smiling my sincerest I’m going to fuck you up smile. “Ava and I know what that’s like. Except in our version, it’s more of a legal requirement than a desire thing.”
Wells barks out a laugh. “Sure didn’t look like a legal requirement last night.”
“Should have seen it coming,” Rhett adds, shaking his head.
“Seen what coming?”
“You falling for your crazy-ex-girlfriend-turned-fraudulent-wife all over again.”
“She’s not crazy,” I argue, downright irritated at their continued use of that word. Rhett and Wells look at me with growing amusement, which does nothing to help. “And I’m not falling for her.”
Can’t fall for someone you never stopped being in love with, my sore ego unhelpfully adds.
“You start in the second barn yet?” I ask, grumbling.
“No,” Wells responds.
“Perfect.” I grab a rake, shovel, and wheelbarrow and take it all with me. “You know where I’ll be.”
My irritation only grows as the day goes on. I shouldn’t have told her about Maverick, shouldn’t have let her in so far with something that could easily destroy us both. I told myself I was going to keep a firm distance for my own sanity, and then I go and fuck it up her first night she’s here.
It becomes near impossible not to think about the way she dragged her hands across my back to soothe my terror, how she held my face and looked at me with those startling blue eyes. I think about the curve of her bare knee, the waterfall of hair cascading across flushed skin.
I spend hours mucking and raking and feeding and brushing and still don’t chase a single thought of her away. Her face burns behind my retinas, and every time I blink against the bright rays, she’s there, smiling at me like I mean something to her.
By the time I get back to the cabin, the late afternoon sun is leaning heavy toward the west, throwing the first traces of golden light across the porch.
Ava’s pulled out a kitchen chair and propped it against the house, where she now sits cross-legged in one of my old high school hoodies—one she didn’t steal from me ten years ago, which means she found it in the back of my closet.
Her hair is damp from a recent shower, her face clean of makeup. I don’t even make it to the stairs before the past snares me and I see her the way I once did. As the girl she once was.
So full of sunlight, of beauty that still knocks the wind out of me.
She used to bring me to my knees with nothing but a look. If she realizes the power she has over me, if she learns how easy it’d be to give her every part of me all over again, would she take it?
She clears her throat, observing me with a guarded curiosity. “What?” she asks.
I shake my head, focusing on the ground between us. “How was your day?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says, her expression neutral, giving nothing away. “How was yours?”
“Fine,” I echo. “Did you get what you needed from your dad’s?”
“Nice and easy, just like I said.”
I notice the open beer she’s holding in her hand, and frown. “What’s that?” I ask, nodding to it.
Ava smirks. “A beer.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning—the fucking brat.
She must notice because she starts fighting her own smile. Holding the bottle up, she says, “It’s for you.”
“For me? Why?”
She shrugs. “Figured you could use it.”
My eyes trace along her face, pleased to see she indeed looks rested.
I amble up the porch steps and reach for the beer, taking a long sip as I lean against the railing in front of her.
I note traces of her fucking soap in the air and fight the urge to lean in.
“You look good,” I tell her. “Very . . . clean.”
She laughs. “Well, that’s a relief. Though I can’t say the same for you.” Her eyes dip down to my stained shirt and dirty jeans, and she grimaces. “You stink,” she says evenly.
“Now I remember why I never wanted a wife,” I mutter, pushing off the railing toward the front door. “Still good with dinner?”
“Yep,” she calls out behind me.
I let the front door swing shut behind me and release a long, long breath.