Chapter 19
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe as every attempt at a “successful lift” fails spectacularly. But this time, when I start to swim away, Holden stops me.
My laughter fades as I meet his gaze, the intensity stealing my breath for a whole new reason. His hands slide up my arms, fingers tightening, thumbs tracing slow circles over my wet skin.
“Magnolia…”
He uses my given name, and it surprises me how much I love hearing it. It bounces across the water in a muted echo, like Blue Hole itself is whispering it back to me.
Magnolia…
My bra strap slips, and he eases it back into place, his hand lingering longer than necessary before sliding around my neck, settling at the back of my head.
This is it, I think suddenly. The before. The moment in a romance novel when everything changes. The hero makes his move, the plot takes a turn, and there’s no going back.
Holden closes his eyes, leans in, and presses his forehead to mine.
There’s a pause, the slightest hesitation, and then he’s on me, capturing my mouth with a hunger I’ve only ever read in books.
But something about it—the rawness, the realness—makes all those fictional kisses feel like a lie.
It’s in every teasing stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, every slow, intoxicating pull that sends me spiraling deeper.
But just as I begin to lose myself in it—in him—he tears his mouth from mine, his breath ragged, eyes unreadable.
“Maggie, shit.” He drags a hand through his wet hair, his gaze purposefully averted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. We can’t…” He exhales hard, shaking his head like he can’t find the words.
Is he seriously trying to protect my virtue right now?
I grab his face, the scrape of his stubble grounding me as I rise onto my toes and skim my lips over his. “Don’t apologize. Just…don’t stop.”
His breath shudders, lips stilling under mine just long enough to make me second-guess myself before his hand tightens at my waist.
“I don’t want to stop.” A raw, guttural sound breaks from his throat—then he’s kissing me again.
And heaven help me, I am gone.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, tangled in each other, the world narrowing to just us.
But in true Maggie fashion, I ruin the fragile perfection of it by laughing.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, trying to get it together. “I’m so sorry.” But more giggles escape before I can stop them.
“Jesus, Magnolia,” he says, head tipped back in amused exasperation. “Why’s that funny?”
Another, hopefully final, laugh slips out. “Maybe because, not even twenty-four hours ago, we were barely speaking.”
His lips twitch, mischief flickering in his eyes. But whatever he’s thinking, probably a sarcastic retort, he keeps to himself.
Because he’s not the jackass I thought he was.
He tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear. “Guess we’re making up for lost time.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Guess so.”
Except it doesn’t feel like lost time. It feels like the start of something—I just don’t know what.
His hand cups my cheek, thumb grazing my lip. I think he’s about to kiss me again, until a splash on the far side of the creek breaks the spell.
Holden grabs my wrist. “Okay, that sounded big.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, my voice a little too bright. I take a breath and try to rein it back in. “Head to the house? Maybe watch that movie?”
Maybe make out like teenagers. Maybe do more than make out.
The thought of more sends a flutter through me.
“Yeah, sure. We could do that,” Holden says after a split-second delay that stirs that seed of doubt.
Stop overthinking it, Maggie.
He takes my hand, his fingers lacing with mine as we wade to shore. The air feels cooler, the night alive with possibility.
Back at our clothes, we dress quickly and without a word. Then he reaches for my hand again as we set off for the truck.
“Your brother has a blanket in the back,” Holden says, opening the passenger door. He tilts the seat forward to grab it, then spreads it over my legs once I’ve gotten in.
A minute later, he’s behind the wheel, arm slung over the seat as he rifles through a duffel bag. He comes back with a vintage-looking UCLA sweatshirt and hands it to me.
I don’t need it, but good grief, it smells like him. I tug it on anyway, letting the warmth and scent of him settle around me. “Thanks.”
He starts the engine and cranks the heat, even though it’s in the high sixties outside and I’m dressed for a freeze. I push some of the blanket toward him but leave my hand beneath it on the console, hoping he’ll find it.
When we pull onto the dark road, he does.
I still can’t believe any of this is real. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone from my nemesis to…whatever this is. There’s no denying he’s sexy. That dang scruff is doing things to me. But I never thought I’d actually act on it. That I’d want to take him home with me and act on it some more.
There’s just one small hitch in my giddy-up, as Mama would say. I’m still a virgin. And while that little fact doesn’t carry any real weight in whatever decision I make in the heat of the moment, it might freak Holden out.
I steal a glance. His eyes are deadly focused on the road ahead, jaw working as he stews in thought.
Is he already freaked out?
“Chicken smells good,” I say.
“Yeah. I’m starving.”
“Me too. So hungry.”
And that’s it. Not another word is said the entire ride back to the B&B. We don’t even bother with the radio.
When we get to the gate, Holden drops my hand to press the button on the remote and doesn’t pick it back up. His jaw’s still tight, eyes distant.
Whatever changed in him back at Blue Hole, I can feel it slipping away.
My fingers tighten around the blanket. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower,” I say, hoping I’m wrong. “Meet you inside in twenty?”
The truck bounces over the cattle guard, the gate shutting behind us with a jarring clank.
“Yeah, uh, sounds good,” he says, but I don’t think it sounds good to him at all.
My heart sinks as what little hope I had drains out of me. Then the headlights catch Constance on the porch, and it downright plummets.
“Looks like you’ve got a visitor,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he shifts into park. He kills the engine and starts untangling himself from our blanket.
“She’s just an old friend from high school. You might’ve seen her sister, Loretta, at the dance hall? Artie hired her as sort of an intern.”
He tenses at the mention of Loretta. What’s that about?
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I’ll get rid of her.”
Then you can stop acting weird, and we can go back to the way things were.
But the plot’s already taken its turn, so there is no going back.
He gets out of the truck and comes around to open my door. “Everything cool with you and…?”
“Constance? Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
The windmill across the fence groans in the breeze. Even in Holden’s sweatshirt, my skin prickles.
“No reason.” He helps me out, then tilts the seat forward and grabs our dinner from the back. “Here,” he says, handing me both bags. “You guys eat this. I’m beat. Think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Now? I thought you were starving?”
“You wore me out today,” he says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before turning toward the carriage house. “Night, Magnolia.”
I force a breath past the knot in my throat. “Night, Holden.”
But by the time I get the words out, the door’s closed, and he’s gone.