Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
You Were Meant for Me – Jewel
I’m going to kill Fontana True, Gabi thought, striding up her cracked walkway, her leather briefcase banging against her hip.
She shouldn’t have told her friend that the weekend with Dallas was dangerously close to perfect.
About the homey cabin, the wildflowers in the stoneware pitcher, snuggling while watching E.T.
She’d been two glasses of wine in at that point, and she might have even tattled about how phenomenal he was in—
Groaning, Gabi halted on the top step and dropped her head to her hand. Chardonnay and sexual devastation were, evidently, a perilous combination.
She also wouldn’t mind throttling her old friend Justin. When she’d barreled into the Dispatch office, only to find Dallas had taken Sam home, he’d taken it upon himself to offer advice on the walk to her truck.
“He’s been known to run,” Justin had said. “Used to it being his story, his byline.”
“I understand him,” she’d simply said, wanting out of the conversation, unsure who he was trying to protect.
“I’m not sure he wants to be understood,” he’d added in full worry mode.
So that was it. Not Gabi’s heart on the chopping block. His kid brother’s.
Consequently, with a spiteful flame lighting her belly, very unlike her, she’d mentioned something about Dallas, no secrets shared, that his family didn’t know.
Enough to shock Justin into silence. Enough to make him recognize that she wasn’t playing with anyone’s head, she wasn’t playing games, and neither was Dallas.
It didn’t mean they wouldn’t mess this up, or that he wouldn’t run—she’d always known that was a possibility—but she didn’t need his family trying to fix him. Or her.
Or fix whatever this was they were doing.
Justin’s Bronco was out front. No one had answered when she called from the Dispatch office, but they were there. She trusted Dallas with Sam completely; that wasn’t it.
Her heart was the problem.
“Friends,” she whispered to herself as she turned the key in the lock.
She drew a tight breath as she hung her jacket next to Dallas’s on the hall rack, then smoothed the front of her brown corduroy skirt and cream ribbed turtleneck.
She’d dressed carefully for the fire marshal’s certificate-of-occupancy walkthrough at the mill, an effort to present her best self for the people who would decide whether Wilder Grounds was one step closer to opening or buried under six more weeks of paperwork.
It was a small mercy that she looked decent.
Not covered in flour, not streaked with frosting and in a ratty Promise Elementary field-day shirt with the hem coming loose.
Unlike the only time she’d seen Dallas since the cabin, when she’d almost melted into a puddle in the middle of the library.
Those bookish glasses and the hot gaze behind them just did it for her.
Then she walked into her living room and found controlled chaos—minus the controlled part—and every coherent thought abandoned her.
It was how a home might look with more boys inhabiting it. An open bag of Doritos on the coffee table, one of Sam’s socks by a TV blaring Blue’s Clues, a tent fashioned from two, no, three blankets they’d dragged from the hall closet. Pillows scattered across the floor, as if there’d been a battle.
She was afraid to peek inside the tent. A gut feeling, foolish but strong.
But of course she had to.
And, oh—
Her two darlings were fast asleep. Sam’s arm was flung over Dallas’s chest, his mouth open, his hair sticking up in sweaty tufts.
Dallas was folded awkwardly, his glasses crooked, one hand resting lightly on Sam’s back.
She reached in and quietly tested Sam’s forehead for temperature.
He was cool, which made her suspect he’d done exactly what she feared: faked sick for an afternoon with the man he was starting to love.
The man his mother was trying very hard not to.
She withdrew her hand before she could give in and touch Dallas, but she let herself look. At the dark shadows beneath his eyes, ones she’d noticed at the library, proof that whatever peace he’d found at the cabin hadn’t lasted. At the young, unguarded vulnerability on his face.
Hotshot, she thought, her throat tightening, what am I going to do with you?
The hem of his dark green henley had risen above his hip, showing a slice of muscled abdomen.
Lips parting, he made a soft, sleepy sound, one she now recognized.
The answering pulse between her legs was real, the memories rushing in hard and bright: his mouth on her thigh, fingers fisting in her hair, the wild way he fell apart after he stopped trying to be careful with her.
This exact moment was not the time, but she wanted him.
And nothing was going to change that. Not Cairo, not the fact he was leaving in twenty days, not his fear—or hers. He was full of secrets, and she longed to know every single one. It might take years to discover them, but she was willing to try.
As she gathered up her son to put him in bed, Gabi decided three things.
The friends agreement wasn’t working.
She wanted more love notes.
And she needed her pricey thong back.
Dallas woke up in a tent outside Sarajevo, the city under attack, rain ticking against the canvas, someone’s radio hissing in the dark. He jerked himself up onto one elbow, searching for his rucksack.
But…no.
The air smelled like vanilla, not cordite.
There was no grit between his teeth. He could hear crickets chirping.
He had a pillow under his head, a patchwork quilt over his legs.
Her mouth was at his neck, breath minty, teeth nipping, her hand rubbing his cock through his jeans with enough purpose to drag him the rest of the way awake.
The day came rushing back.
Sam faking sick. PB this promised to be quick.
Instead, it was glorious. Fun. Messy.
Fast, furious, hot.
In the span of a spent breath, she moved from amused to frenzied, braced one hand on his chest and took control, rising over him before sinking down with a speed he never would’ve asked for and instantly wanted more of.
He grasped her hip, but didn’t slow her.
Let her set the pace. Let her use him exactly the way she wanted.
Her nipples were pink-edged and hard beneath silk. He cupped one breast, rolling the tip beneath his thumb as he watched her arch and ride him harder. Her head fell back. Her golden hair draped over her shoulders, lips parted on a groan, and the sight nearly finished him.
When he was close—and her hoarse, nearly inaudible whimpers told him she was too—he rolled her beneath him, then onto her stomach. He came over her from behind, hand braced beside her shoulder, the other covering her mouth as he slid inside her. Her cry broke hot against his palm.
He couldn’t quite abandon his pattern, his preference, slowing his thrusts, then driving into her, working them both into a fury.
“King of foreplay,” he whispered on an agonizingly lengthy stroke.
His vision beginning to dim, he seized her clit between his fingers and gave it a tender pull, a harder push, her preference.
Her body tightening around him as he buried his face against her shoulder to smother the sound of his release riding on the heels of hers.
He kicked out, biting her neck, and the tent gave way, blankets collapsing over them.
They lay tangled beneath it, gasping. Gabi’s laughter came seconds later, her body loose and dazed against his.
“Shh,” Dallas whispered, though the warning had no force behind it.
He eased away, dealt with the condom, and reached for a blanket. Gabi had barely managed to roll onto her back before he wrapped her in it, tucking the edges around her as if she might otherwise come apart. At least if Sam found them, they could say they were merely enjoying his pretend fort.
She stared up at him with a crooked grin, looking as spent as he felt. His heart gave a hard quiver against his ribs, love trying to force its way out. He accepted the reality, his body still humming from the feel of her, that he was toast.
“Come on,” he murmured, taking her hand. It took both of them, another burst of muffled laughter, and one failed attempt before they made it to their feet. Bewildered was putting it kindly.
Only the porch lamp broke the darkness as they slipped through the door.
The town had gone quiet hours ago. A dog barked somewhere down the street, then stopped.
The night hummed with crickets, and dry leaves scraped along the curb with the gentle breeze.
They slid to a sit on the scuffed planks, legs stretched out.
Gabi had the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the ends fisted at her collarbone, her legs bare.
Dallas scooted closer, until the sides of their feet touched.
Neither of them said anything. Not yet. It was going to take a minute to recover from what had happened, the significance of breaking their agreement.