Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wyatt
The feeling of having Emily Callahan wrapped around my bare body is indescribable.
Her hair is trailing down my shoulder, and I can feel her warm breath against my chest. I never thought I’d get this again. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever had this.
The moment I saw her standing on that porch in that pale blue silk robe, every single speech I had planned out on the drive here completely died in my throat.
She was a vision, and the need that took over my body right there and then was nothing short of primal.
No words felt strong enough in the moment.
I think she felt it too. The spark between us was so all-consuming that all we could do was let our bodies do the talking.
For as long as I can remember, there’s been this persistent, nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something was…missing. Even when life was good, there was an emptiness in the room. Like a space at my side that never quite felt filled, even through seven years of marriage.
I’d spent twenty-three years convincing myself that the hole in my heart was the price of being a Miller, the burden of the land, and the legacy.
But the last four years of being a widower have been the loneliest of my entire existence.
I had Alex, of course, and I had the ranch, but I was a man going through the motions, guarding a heart that I’d locked away so tight I’d forgotten where I put the key.
I should be exhausted right now, but the thought of missing a single moment of touching her, breathing her in, isn’t worth the sleep. She’s like a drug I don’t ever want to quit.
I pull an old woven blanket up over us, tucking it around her shoulders as I draw her closer. She fits against me like she was always meant to be there, the top of her head resting under my chin.
Her skin is soft and smells like that comforting summer scent and the heat we just made. Having her this close settles something that’s been burning in my chest for years.
I glance around the living room at the rows of neatly taped boxes she’s packed up all by herself. Every one of them is a reminder that while I was busy being a miserable fucker at the ranch, she was here, mourning her father and dismantling her life in total silence.
A sting of guilt twinges deep in my gut. I should have been here hours ago. I should have been the one lifting the heavy stuff, taping the boxes, and making sure she didn’t have to face those empty walls alone.
“I wish I’d gotten here sooner,” I murmur into the silk of her hair, my voice thick with regret. “I could have helped you pack up and move things. You shouldn’t have had to do this by yourself, Em.”
She shifts in my arms, propping herself up enough to look at me. Her breasts are pressed against my side, and the contact is making me hard again. Instead of the sadness I expect, there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. The same spark that used to get us into trouble when we were kids.
“Wyatt Miller,” she says, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “If you’d gotten here any sooner, we wouldn’t have gotten a damn thing done.”
I feel the rumble of a laugh start in my chest.
She’s right, of course she is. If I’d walked through that door any sooner, we’d have ended up exactly where we are right now, naked and thoroughly fucked on a mattress in the middle of the floor, and the boxes would still be empty.
“Probably not,” I admit, leaning down to catch that smile with my own.
I trail my thumb over her cheekbone, my gaze softening. “But I’m here now. And tomorrow, I’m loading every single one of these boxes onto that truck myself. You aren’t lifting a finger.”
“Is that a direct order, Cowboy?” she teases, sliding her hand down my chest, her touch reigniting the fire I thought I’d just put out.
“It’s a promise,” I rumble, pulling her back down against me. “From here on out, you don’t do a damn thing alone. Not the move, not the ranch…none of it.”
“Excuse me? Wyatt Miller, if you think I’m gonna be some barefoot and pregnant ranch maid, you really don’t know me at all.”
She says it with that sassy, defiant edge I’ve always admired, her chin tilted as if she’s daring me to argue.
But the thought of her pregnant with my baby hits me like a lightning bolt, sending a sudden, hot jolt of possessiveness through my veins.
The thought of her carrying my child, of her body changing because of me, of her being with me forever, is so damn appealing it’s almost primal.
I bite back the urge to tell her exactly how much I love that idea. I know full well that a firecracker like Emily Callahan will never be tamed, and I want my life with her to look however she wants it to.
Instead, I chuckle softly against her shoulder. I pull her closer, my hand splaying across the small of her back to tug her against me.
“I know, baby,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her temple. “I know you’ve got a mind of your own and enough fire to burn the whole state down. I’m not trying to cage you.”
I shift, pinning her gently beneath me again, my eyes searching hers. The playfulness is still there, but I want her to feel the weight of what I’m saying.
“Just let me have you to myself for a while,” I rumble, my thumb tracing lightly down her jaw. “Let me take care of you for a minute before you get back to all that independent woman shit. I’ve waited twenty-three years to be the man at your side, Em. Let me earn it.”
She softens, the defiance melting into something warm and vulnerable. She reaches up, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, before she draws me down for a slow, lingering kiss.
I’m downright addicted to these lips.
“Fine,” she whispers against my mouth. “You can take care of me for a little while. But don’t expect me to start churning butter and wearing floral aprons anytime soon.”
“Deal.” I grin, sliding my hand down to her hip. “Though I think you’d look pretty damn good in an apron. And nothing else.”
“Hmm, maybe we can work something out with that.”
My eyes widen with satisfaction as I pin her to the mattress again and stare into those blue eyes that I could get lost in. I lower my head, hovering my lips an inch above hers.
Being this close to her—finally—is so overwhelmingly surreal. She’s so goddamn beautiful. She’s mine. I can feel a strange, unfamiliar ache in my cheekbones, and I realize that I haven’t stopped smiling since I walked through that door.
She pushes her fingers into my hair, her gaze locked on mine until I feel like I’m drowning in a blue ocean. “You look so handsome when you smile, Wyatt. I’ve been waiting so long to see it from you.”
“Baby,” I rumble, the truth of it hitting me square in the chest. “This smile ain’t ever leaving my face if I get to do this with you from here on out.”
Her lips press against mine, and the sweetness of her tongue mingles with my own.
A strange sense of victory settles in my chest. I’ve spent the last month trying to pretend I wouldn’t drive through the night just to get to her.
What a goddamn liar I’ve been.