Chapter 7
Mallory
Two days of Zane Thompson, and I was completely, utterly ruined for any other man on the planet.
I’d lost track of time somewhere around Saturday afternoon, when he’d pulled me back into his bedroom.
The hours had dissolved into a warm blur of his hands and his mouth and the low rumble of his voice against my skin, whispering promises of decadence still to come.
Sunday had been more of the same, lust and hunger punctuated by meals we barely ate because we kept getting distracted by each other.
My body felt as if it had been thoroughly taken apart and put back together slightly differently.
Every muscle ached in the most delicious way.
My thighs were sore. My lips were swollen. My hair was a disaster. I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of it.
But then Monday morning arrived, soft and gray, thin light pressing through the curtains.
We had a quick shower and did the dishes that had been piling up in the sink during our lovefest.
Then we cobbled together a quick breakfast.
This is what it would feel like if we were a permanent thing. This slow, easy vibe.
Even though I knew he needed to leave for work, he took my hand and pulled me back upstairs.
Then we fell back into bed together, making love frantically at first, a fierceness pulling in my heart. And then again, each tender stroke bringing me to life.
Maybe Chicago had been a mistake.
And Wade.
And even leaving for college.
What would it have been like if Zane and I had gotten together before I ever left town?
Would our mornings together be like this one, lost in the haze of love?
The man made me want to forget about real life and everything I’d planned for myself. On this rainy spring morning, hidden deep in the Ozarks, I had everything I’d ever needed. And everything I’d ever want.
Zane was above me, with his weight pressing me down into the mattress in the best possible way.
He was moving slowly, each deliberate pulse of his hips sending a wave of warmth rolling through me that made my toes curl.
His dark hair fell forward, and I reached up and pushed it back from his face so I could see his eyes.
This was different from our first time. Or the next dozen times, which had all been fast and desperate and more than a little wild.
This was something else entirely. This was Zane taking his time with me, and it was devastating in a completely different way.
I was just starting to lose myself in it when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Zane’s rhythm slowed, and his jaw tightened slightly. “Do you need to get that?”
“No.”
It buzzed a third time, and I groaned in frustration and reached sideways for the phone without dislodging him from inside me.
He stayed exactly where he was, watching my face as I squinted at the screen.
It was a Chicago area code. I didn’t recognize the number, but somehow I knew instantly that it was important.
I’d applied to half a dozen companies before packing up my Chicago apartment and driving south. And ever since Zane had stuck his dick inside me, I’d mostly forgotten about all those applications.
I answered the call.
“Ms. Carpenter? This is Dana Reeves from Meridian Brand Group. I’m calling about your application for our Senior Marketing Director position.”
Zane went completely still inside me, his eyes locked on mine with an expression I couldn’t fully read.
I cleared my throat and put on my professional voice. “Yes, hi. Thank you for calling.”
The woman on the other end was warm and efficient and spoke for about three minutes straight, outlining a position that six weeks ago would have made me cry with relief. Senior director title. A team of eight. A salary that was frankly insulting in how good it was.
And a corner office in the prestigious River Point building.
It was the kind of position that would give me the kind of life I’d had with Wade, but without the crappy ex-husband involved.
Six weeks ago I would have said yes before she finished the sentence.
But now Zane was inside me, thick and present, his chest just inches from mine, watching my face like he was trying to read every flicker of emotion crossing it.
Excitement crashed through me, immediately replaced by confusion. Both emotions tangled together in an ugly knot.
Chicago felt like it was a lifetime away.
“That sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Would it be possible for me to review the written offer before giving you an answer?”
A brief pause. “Of course. We can hold the offer for forty-eight hours. I’ll send the details to the email on your resume.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be in touch.”
I set the phone back on the nightstand and looked up at Zane.
His face had changed. The warmth that had been there a minute ago had disappeared, like a shutter coming down over a window.
He looked remote and guarded.
How many times had I seen that expression on his face in my life? More than I wanted to count.
“Who was that?” His voice was flat.
“A company in Chicago. I applied before I left town.” I watched his expression, but his face had turned to stone, revealing nothing.
“They’re offering me a senior director position.”
He pulled out of me and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with one arm behind his head.
The space between us felt enormous.
“Congratulations,” he muttered quietly.
“I haven’t decided anything yet. I just got off the phone.”
“Mallory, you can be real with me. I just want to know how much time I’ve got left before you go back to your big-city life. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I wasn’t done making love to you yet,” I said, trying to lighten the weight of the moment, reaching for his arm.
He didn’t smile. “How much time?”
I sat up against the headboard and pulled the sheet up around me.
Then I looked at him, this beautiful, complicated man who had been wrecking me in the best possible way for two straight days and who was now staring at the ceiling like he was bracing for a blow he’d always known was coming.
My chest hurt.
My big-city life. He said it as if it were a foregone conclusion.
Like there was no version of life where I stayed here with him.
We hadn’t even talked about any future plans. We’d just been lost in the moment with each other.
I knew he liked me, maybe even loved me. But did that mean he wanted a life with me?
Men could be fickle, so I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t answer him right away because I wasn’t sure I knew the answer, and that surprised me more than anything.
When I’d driven back into Red Oak Mountain a few weeks ago I’d been determined to leave as fast as I could. It was hard to imagine staying in a place I’d spent so many years running from. But right now, nothing in me wanted to leave.
I was all mixed up. This wasn’t the right time to make a big decision.
“I don’t know,” I finally told him. It was the most truthful response I could have given him.
As soon as the words left my mouth, Zane got up, reaching for his jeans with the practiced efficiency of a man who had somewhere to be.
His flannel followed. Then his boots. He moved through the room with his jaw set and his shoulders squared, and something painful tightened in my chest.
“Zane, slow down. Talk to me.”
“Should have been out the door by six. I got a little caught up with you.” He didn’t look at me as he reached for his keys on the dresser. “Stay as long as you want.”
Fuck.
And then he walked out. He bounded down the stairs, then the front door opened and closed. A moment later, I heard his truck drive away.
I stayed in his bed for a long time, listening to the engine fade down the gravel road.
Everything in me was a chaotic swirl, but at the same time I felt completely numb.
Could there be life after Zane?
Right now all I wanted was him.
After a while, I got hungry. I wandered out of the bedroom without bothering to find my clothes, padding barefoot through the farmhouse in nothing but the sheet I’d dragged with me.
I headed to the kitchen and made a snack, then tried to imagine if this was my house.
The kitchen was worn and warm, with a cast-iron pan hanging on the wall and a window above the sink that looked out over the acreage. Everything in the house was solid and simple, and built to last.
It felt grounding in a way my high-rise condo with Wade never had.
I drifted into the narrow hallway beside the kitchen and stopped. The edge of the wall was marked up in pencil, a series of horizontal lines climbing well above my head, each one labeled with a different name. Tommy, age 4. Tommy, age 5. Tommy, age 6.
There were dates going back decades, the pencil faded in places, and I counted at least four different names there.
I could almost imagine where small shoulders had pressed back against the wall, standing as straight and tall as they possibly could, proud of every inch they gained.
Lena had been the shortie of the bunch, and Tommy had grown up tall. David and April came in the middle.
A family had lived here.
And suddenly I knew without any indecision.
I wanted this.
Not the Chicago job with the corner office. I wanted this. A house with pencil marks on the wall and the man who owned it.
I wanted Zane.
The realization settled into me.
But the question that had been tearing me apart all morning wasn’t whether I wanted to stay. It was whether Zane wanted me to.
He’d asked how much time he had left with me like a man counting down to something he’d already accepted. Not like a man who was asking me to choose him.
If I offered to stay, would he want me to? I had to find out.