Chapter Fourteen
“I think it looks good.” Shelly smiled as she took a step back to admire her work. She’d covered all of the Christmas tree’s bald spots with ornaments, and she’d layered up the lights. “Just needs a star.” She turned, offering the golden star to John. “Want to do the honors?”
He stared down at the star in her hand as if he had absolutely no clue what he was supposed to do with it.
“John?” Shelly prompted softly. “Will you put the star on top?”
He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple bob. He’d helped her with the decorations, hanging them all ever so carefully, as if they were made of diamonds and not just gleaming, gold balls made of plastic.
“Maybe you should do it.” He hadn’t taken the star. “Seems important.”
A laugh slipped from Shelly. “The star is the most important part, but I want you to put it on the tree.” She winked at him, wanting to push away the tension that cloaked him. “Besides, you’re a lot taller than I am. That means you’re good for the job.”
He took the star, his fingers brushing against hers. As she watched, he reached up and put the star on the top. The star immediately began to slide to the left as it bent the branch, but John grabbed it, straightening the star—and its branch—quickly.
“Perfect,” Shelly announced as she backed up a bit more and stared not at the tree, but at him.
Only John didn’t see her gaze. He was busy staring at the tree. She’d hoped the tree would make him happy, but his features were still tense and far too guarded.
She knew why.
The men they’d met in town. The stories about test subjects being wrong.
She had to show John that there was nothing wrong with him. That he was absolutely perfect.
“What next?” John glanced her way. “Are you tired? Do you want—”
“You,” Shelly finished.
He blinked.
She let her smile widen. I’ll show him. He’ll believe me. “I said we’d make new memories, and that’s what we’re doing. New memories and new traditions.”
“I don’t understand.”
She glanced down at the rug that lay in front of the fireplace. “I think that we should do this every year. Put up our tree, and then make love by the fire.”
“Shelly…”
“Until we have kids,” she added, thinking this through. “Because then we’ll have to change things up a bit. We’ll put up the tree, and then after the kids go to sleep, we’ll—”
He grabbed her, lifting her into his arms and bringing them eye to eye. “You…can’t.”
“I can’t what?”
“You can’t want kids with me.” His words were so guttural. So painful to hear. And his eyes blazed with pain.
She wanted to take all of his pain away.
So she kept a soft smile on her face and said, “I can want that. Not today. Not tomorrow. Because I want time with you. Just us. Time for us to get to know each other. Time to make more memories.” His hold tightened on her.
“But one day, yes, I do want kids. And I think you’d be an incredible father. ”
“What if I’m—”
“Don’t.” Her smile was gone. She pulled out of his arms, making him put her back on the floor.
“Don’t say you’re wrong. Because you’re not.
The man I’m falling in love with—he isn’t wrong.
He’s good and he’s strong, and I can count on him to never let me down.
So don’t you dare say anything negative about him. ”
His face had gone slack with shock. “You’re…you think you could love me?”
Oh, John. I think I already do. “I know I could.” Then she was grabbing his shoulders, pulling him toward her, pushing her mouth against his. Kissing him with all of the need and desire she felt. Showing him how much she wanted him. How much she cared.
They slid down to the rug. Pulled off each other’s clothes. Kissed. Stroked. Laughed. Because this time, she just felt happy with him, and he finally seemed happy, too. Like her words had unlocked something inside of him.
Her hands went to his cock. His heavy, thick cock, and she leaned down to press a kiss to the head. John’s breath rushed out and his laughter died. “No, baby, if you do that…”
She just pushed him onto his back. She slid over his body, and she tasted him in front of the fire. With the Christmas lights shining on them, with the scent of fresh pine filling the air, she savored him. Showed him how much she cared.
But he took over, rolling her beneath him. John caged her beneath him on the rug, and when he stared down at her, his expression was so fierce.
His cock shoved at the entrance to her body, but he didn’t sink into her, not yet.
“Every Christmas,” John gritted out, “just like this?”
She swallowed. “Every one.”
He drove into her. Her back arched because he felt so good. So incredibly good. Her legs wrapped around him as he thrust, sliding in and out.
“Best…tradition…ever…” John’s deep voice rumbled.
Her nails raked down his back. The heels of her feet dug into his ass. His hand slid between them, stroked her clit, sent her careening right into her orgasm.
She gave a little scream as she came. His cock shoved deep into her once more, sliding over her clit and sending a wave of pleasure spiraling through her again.
“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was coming. She felt the burst of his release inside of her. Hot. Sexy.
Her heart thundered in her chest. So incredibly fast. She couldn’t quite catch her breath, and Shelly didn’t even care. John was on top of her, still in her, and she decided he was absolutely right. “Best…ever…” Shelly panted.
He laughed, and the sound warmed every single inch of her. She looked up and saw the star on the tree top.
A new memory had just been made.
***
“Someone’s coming.” John tensed when he heard the distant sound of the engine. He was in bed with Shelly, his body wrapped around her, and he’d planned to thrust in her again but…
Someone was coming to the cabin. It was after midnight. No one should be on that stretch of private road.
“What?” Her voice was drowsy. Sexy as all hell. She lifted her head, sending her hair trailing over the pillow. “Are you sure?”
Absolutely. “We need to get dressed.”
And they dressed in silence. His body was tense, adrenaline already pumping through him. The threats to Shelly should be gone. They should be safe.
“Do you think it’s the men we met in town?” Shelly asked, her expression turning thoughtful. “Sawyer and Jay? Are they trying to talk to you again?”
He hesitated and then…He gave a psychic push. Sawyer, that had damn well better not be you coming to my mountain. He used the same path that Sawyer had created in his mind earlier, and sending that message seemed as easy as breathing.
What in the hell are you talking about? Sawyer’s instant response. As clear as if the guy had just spoken from right beside him. I lingered a while at Sammy’s bar. Talked to the owner, a real character who seems to know your lady pretty well.
Sawyer could be lying but…
It didn’t feel like a lie.
And then the car was closer. He recognized the sound of that particular engine. Fuck. It’s the sheriff. Why the hell would Blane be there at that time of night?
Is something wrong? Now worry came clearly from Sawyer. I know where the cabin is. Actually, I’m not too far away. Jay and I can be there—
But John cut the link in his head. “It’s the sheriff,” he said to Shelly. “And he’s coming in fast.”
They dashed downstairs. He glanced outside the front window, watching as the sheriff brought his car to a fast halt. The sheriff rushed out of the vehicle and headed straight for the cabin. “He’s alone,” John added, frowning.
“Why didn’t he just call?” Shelly’s fingers slid over his back.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
John unlocked the front door, letting in a blast of cold air and snow. “Blane.” He motioned for the guy to come inside. Blane’s heartbeat was racing and the fellow was sweating like mad. The faint scent of alcohol clung to him. “What’s going on?”
Blane slammed the door shut behind him. Locked it. His fingers were shaking. “Those bastards in town. They’re grilling Sammy. Talking to everyone. Trying to learn as much as they can about you both.”
Shelly hurried toward him. “You don’t trust them.”
“Hell, no. I don’t. I don’t know them.” Blane’s fingers slid toward his gun, moving nervously. “After everything that’s happened lately, do you blame me?”
No, John didn’t blame him.
“Shouldn’t have gotten that last drink,” Blane mumbled. “Shelly, shit, I hate to ask, but do you have any coffee? I know it’s helluva late, but we’ve got to talk. There are things going on that you don’t understand.”
“I’ll put some coffee on.” She nodded briskly. “Go into the den, I’ll be right back.”
John turned, heading for the den. He could feel Blane behind him.
Shelly was hurrying for the kitchen, her steps light, but she paused and turned back around. “Blane, do you like straight black—Blane!”
John spun around, too. Blane had yanked out his gun. He was aiming it straight at John’s head.
“Shot to the head and you don’t come back,” Blane snarled. “You don’t come back.”
John leapt for the guy.
“That’s what Jay said, shot to the—”
John hit him. But Blane had already fired and the bullet exploded from the gun.