Chapter 8
Sunlight warms my cheek, slowly pulling me from the deep, hazy edge of sleep.
I squint one eye open, smiling at the golden glow. Cozy like this, burritoed in thick quilts and blankets, I never want to move again.
It takes a moment for my mind to come online and register that I’m up in the loft.
How the hell did Hank get me up here?
An image of a sexy cowboy fireman-carrying me up the ladder floats through my mind, making my cheeks heat. Damn if that doesn’t uproot the swoon in my heart.
Last night when Hank undressed me, I was so fixated on getting warm, staying alive that I didn’t consider what we were doing. I got naked. With my ex. Worse, we almost kissed.
I don’t know if that’s first or third base.
And yet. There’s no inevitable rise of regret.
Our closeness last night wasn’t out of desperation or fear. It was out of ease, familiarity. My body, my heart knew what I wanted, and I drifted for that. Chasing his touch. His comfort.
Because that’s what Hank’s always been. Safety.
Oh God. What does he think?
No. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.
He has his life. He’s moved on. He’s happy without me.
I have to be happy without him.
Swallowing around the tightness in my throat, I sit up in bed. The gray sweatpants and oversized flannel I wear are soft against my skin. My hair a wild, ferocious mane of madness.
Though I hate to leave the warmth of the bed, better things are waiting for me. The scent of bacon wafts over me. And coffee. The best scents known to man. Or a hungry almost-crushed-by-a-Christmas-tree woman.
My sore muscles protest as I make my way down the ladder. At the bottom rung, I hop off, my feet hitting the hardwood floor.
Hank’s bare chested and barefoot, standing at the stove with a dish towel slung over his broad shoulder. I smile at the crossword puzzle book resting beside his cup of coffee.
This is how it used to be. Hank in the kitchen. Slow, lazy mornings. Crossword puzzles and house projects. Tasks old people tend to, though we couldn’t be happier to putter all day.
I’m tempted to sketch him. All his hard angles. That shock of messy brown hair, the way it curls at the nape. The serious, loveable man. In my anger, my pain, I forgot about the best parts of him. Charming. Confident. Strong. How could I have ever made that mistake?
He turns, his blue eyes searching my face with laser focus. “How do you feel?”
I step deeper into the kitchen. “Like I got run over by a…huh.” I chuckle. “By a Christmas tree.”
“Bellamy.” He scowls like the reminder’s personally offended him.
The skitter of claws snags my attention. Then Zelda is at my side, tongue hanging out of her mouth. Before she can jump up on me, I drop into a crouch and wrap my arms around her neck.
“I hope you gave her all the treats,” I murmur as I bury my face in her scruff.
Brow arched in solidarity, he nods. “She woke up to the bacon-and-eggs fairy.”
“Good.” I steal a piece of bacon off the plate and toss it to the dog, getting in on the Zelda praise-fest. “Did you save Mama? Yes, you did. Yes, you did. Good job, sweet potato.” With one more nuzzle against Zelda’s scruff, I stand, evaluating Hank. “You look tired.”
He flips off the burner, his voice strained. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t exactly slip into a dreamless sleep after you almost died last night.”
He moves to one side, abruptly reaching above me for plates. His hip, that deep V in his side, presses against my stomach. As he rummages in the cabinet, I stare at his abs, the scruff on his sharp jaw. God, he is one finely honed specimen of man.
“I made breakfast.” He steps away. “You should eat.”
“Caffeine first,” I say, dazed, still inhaling his spiced scent.
Hank pours a cup and slides it toward me. “Here you go, sugar—” He flinches, catching himself.
My breath catches, my heart lurches. So that’s what last night did. Opened us up. Sent us back. Oh God.
Blushing, he clears his throat. “Sugar in your coffee?”
I smile. “Nice catch.” He knows it’s always been black coffee or bust.
“Been on my toes since last night.” He grins.
As he dishes a heaping plate of eggs and bacon for me, I stand at the counter and chew a nail.
How many little slips have I almost had over the last three years?
Picking up the phone, eager to tell him about my first art sale.
Almost giving in to the urge to send him a raccoon meme I knew he’d love.
Coming dangerously close to buying a beautiful old saddle at a thrift store for him.
He hands me the plate, but neither of us makes a move to sit. We eat standing up at the kitchen counter like heathens, staring at each other.
The silence grows, the only sound tree branches scratching at the exterior of the cabin. The sun shines brightly outside. The sky clear of snow and rain.
“Thanks, for, uh, you know.” I swallow, my chest tightening. “Doing the whole handsome cowboy rescue thing and saving me.”
“I was scared.” His voice is strangled, like the words stick in his throat. He tosses another piece of bacon to Zelda, who gleefully snaps it up. “I could have moved a fucking mountain last night,” he grits out. “To get to you.”
Breath hitching, I grip my fork tighter. “I was scared too. I was pretty certain there for a little while that I’d be crushed to death by a Christmas tree.”
“Nah.” He runs a hand through his hair, surveying me, then nods over my shoulder. “You both lived to fight another day.”
I turn, following his gaze. Everything inside me lights up at the sight. I don’t know how I missed it. Propped in the corner of the room, screwed into a tree stand, is the fluffy, fat Christmas tree of my dreams.
Delight and joy rush through me. Hand on my heart, I spin back around. “Hank. You got it.”
“For you.” He sets his plate in the sink, then leans back against the counter, considering me. “I acted like an asshole yesterday, Bell. I should have helped you.” The tenderness in his words steals my breath.
I nod, his apology sinking into me like sunlight, and avert my focus to my plate. I scrape the remains of the eggs from one side to the other, looking for a fitting response. Looking for a way out of the old feelings suddenly sparking inside me.
Not old feelings, my brain whispers. Because they were never really gone.
“Blizzard’s over,” Hank rumbles.
I blink back to the present.
“I dug out the truck this morning. I’ll pack up and head back to the ranch after I clean up the kitchen.”
My stomach’s a ball of nerves as he takes my plate, sets it in the sink beside his. He stands next to me, scraping eggs from the pan into the trash. This close, the heat from his body seeps into me. So does his scent. He smells like well-oiled leather and snow-drenched fir trees.
No. No. I don’t want him to go.
My brain scrabbles for a way out of this lunacy. My body, instead, twists into him.
It’s so easy to still think of him as mine.
So easy to wish he was.
“You should stay,” I blurt out.
One dark eyebrow arches.
Heart in my throat, I go on. “It doesn’t feel right to make you spend Christmas by yourself. Not after you expended all your body heat on me.”
His deep chuckle vibrates through me. I shiver.
I shift against the counter, gripping it with sweaty palms. “You’re here already, right? You might as well just spend Christmas at the cabin.”
He doesn’t respond, only searches my face.
“Please, Hank. Don’t make me have a blue Christmas without you.”
The pun doesn’t land.
“Bell.” He shakes his head slightly, his face drawn, agonized.
My hope plummets. It’s what I thought. He doesn’t want to be here. With me.
“You’re right.” I retreat a step, only to have the backs of my knees hit Zelda, who’s hoovering the floor for scraps. “It’s a dumb idea. You don’t want to be here with me. I get it. I’m your ex. Why would you—”
“Bell.” Hank’s moved closer now. “Stop talking.” There’s the soft, calloused scrape of his palm on my cheek. For a second, I think he might strangle me. Instead, when his hand flexes against my jaw, a strange dizziness sweeps me up. My belly swoops at careful and hopeful angles.
He leans in, leans low, a stern seriousness tightening the line of his brow. And then, and then, and then—
His mouth is on mine.
Pressing hard. Inhaling my gasp. The man kisses me like he’s starving. Maybe he is. Because I’m just as hungry.
My shaky hands wrap around his shoulders before sliding up his neck and into his hair. I burrow closer, almost a physical lunge of my lust.
We groan in unison. Our bodies two hot suns colliding, brilliant and burning.
We move together, frantically, hungrily. Like the last three years are a dam burst. Like we can reclaim the past. Like we remember each other’s bodies. What we like. What we don’t. What we need.
“Need you,” he murmurs, pressing closer, hands on the elastic waistband of my sweatpants. Desperate and panting, he drags his sharp whiskers up the curve of my throat. I feel his shudder in my ear. His warm breath on my temple a moment before his lips meet mine once more.
It’s a repeat of last night. Only this time, I don’t want it to stop.
“It’s been so long.” I sift my hands in his hair and arch my hips, relishing his heavy thickness against me, his harsh intake of breath.
I wish my voice wasn’t so desperate, so full of lust. But there’s no room for embarrassment. Not when Hank’s tone matches mine.
“I know, sugar.” His groan vibrates through me.
Hands on his shoulders, I bite at his lush lower lip. Can’t get enough of him. I want his body to melt into mine, to consume me. We kiss for an eternity, only breaking apart when we’re breathless.
“Goddamn, Bluebell,” he husks against my ear. “I missed you. Missed you so fucking much. Missed this.” A kiss pressed to my cheek. “Missed you.” His big hands inch my sweatpants down until they’re a puddle at my feet. “Missed this gorgeous fucking pussy.” One long finger dips inside me.
My heart rate skyrockets.
“Let’s see, sugar. See if you still like this.”
I whimper at how good it feels.
Hank grins. “That’s what I thought. Still fucking aching for me, aren’t you?”
Head lolling, I sigh. My dirty-talking cowboy with his hands of steel and velvet. I’ve never missed him more.
He steps into me, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, and scoops me up. His biceps flex as he places me on the counter. I wobble once, like a top, before steadying myself with my hands on his smooth shoulders.
I drink in his handsome face, the lust darkening his eyes. A brief slash of worry buzzes under my skin. “Hank, should we—”
“Yes,” he growls out, the possessiveness lighting me up inside. He straightens, arms braced on either side of me. “We should.”
“Okay,” I breathe, bracing my elbows on the counter, dazed.
He dips low, watchful, dragging my butt to the lip of the counter. Strong hands palm my knees, guiding them open. Goose bumps skitter across my skin when the cold air hits my thighs. But that chill’s quickly swallowed up by Hank’s warm mouth.
He buries his face between my legs and groans. “Tastes the same,” he rasps, pulling back slightly. “Tastes like mine.”
“Cowboy.” I arch into the lazy swirls of his tongue, eyes falling closed. Desire pulses in my core. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. So wanted. So desired.
Nothing has ever come close to Hank’s madness for me.
A hoarse moan erupts from his throat. Good lord, the man devours me like he’s starving.
He eats me until my limbs are limp and trembling, until I detonate, writhing against his mouth. I’m almost there. But Hank isn’t.
“Don’t come,” he orders.
Undone, I laugh, groaning at the kitchen ceiling. “You better make it up to me.”
“Damn straight.” He nips gently at the inside of my thigh and pulls back, one of my legs still draped over his arm, to meet my eyes. He’s looking for doubt, for regret.
But there is none.
I press myself up on my elbows and smile. “More, please,” I say like I’m asking for another helping of dessert. Because that’s exactly what this is. Delicious, sweet and endlessly enjoyable.
I’m greedy for him.
Adam’s apple bobbing, he runs his hands up my thighs. Then, clutching my waist, he pulls me off the counter, into him.
I surge upward on tiptoes, fusing my lips to his.
We’re fumbling and frantic. My shirt’s off, then his jeans. Hank turns me, bends me over the counter, his big body curled possessively around me. My blood thrums as his hot, thick cock presses against my legs.
He plants a knee between my thighs, parting them. As he sinks into me, a strangled kind of sound erupts from his mouth.
Hank Blue whimpering.
Now I’ve heard everything.
“Christ, sugar.” He snakes one big hand around me and cups my breast. Calloused fingertips pinching my nipple.
I nearly come undone at the sensation.
“Feel good, Bell? Just like that, right?” He plumps my breast in his palm, a rough grip I’ve always adored.
I gasp, one tiny mewl shamelessly slipping from my lips.
“That’s right.” A grunt, a thrust. “I remember what my girl likes. What you fucking need.”
“Yes, yes,” I whisper, lost in the healing sensation of him. Lost in us.
He drives deeper, one hand cupping the back of my neck gently. We moan together and thrust faster. He drops his mouth to my temple and whispers my name—Bellamy, Bluebell—as he moves in and out of my body.
I arch, head falling back against his sculpted chest. He cradles me to him, adjusting his position, sliding a hand over my belly. My body ignites into sparks.
Wanting more, I twist in his arms, kiss his scruffy cheek, the hard angle of his jaw. He locks me to him, his hand drifting to where we’re joined, stroking over my clit. Smooth strokes, then rough. A rhythm my body’s ravenous for.
“Hank,” I gasp. The telltale vibration starts in my core. It travels the length of me as I rock my hips, chasing that over-the-edge feeling.
Our breaths echo in the kitchen. He watches me, never once breaking eye contact.
“Come.” He rotates his finger and thrusts his hips. “Now.”
Electricity tears through my body. Hank and I come together, shockwaves rippling between us. I catch a glimpse of his face, those deep wells of sapphire, as he shudders his release. My heart swells. He’s so beautiful.
“So pretty,” he husks against the shell of my ear. “So damn pretty when you come.”
Gasping, I sag against the kitchen counter, hands splayed to steady myself.
With a groan, he drapes himself over me, languorously kissing up my spine, the curve of my shoulder, the shell of my ear. “Fuck,” he breathes. The deep rumble of his voice, his heartbeat pound into me. “Goddamn, Bellamy. I missed this.”
I missed it too.
I straighten, keeping that thought to myself, and shift in his arms to face him. But he keeps me trapped against his warm and heavy body.
With a sigh, I search his face. “Hank, this can’t—”
He cuts me off with a demanding kiss.
The last thought that goes through my mind before he scoops me up in his arms isn’t I should get the hell out of here; it’s finally, I’m back home with my cowboy.