Chapter 7
SEVEN
LONDON
No one has ever looked at me the way Troy does.
No one has ever made me feel… so much. The realization leaves me dizzy.
“Troy,” I whisper again, because his name feels different.
His gaze lifts from where he’s kissing slow paths along my stomach, dark eyes heavy with heat.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
My entire body melts.
I slide my fingers into his hair and tug him back up toward me, kissing him before I can overthink things.
Troy makes a rough sound low in his throat that sends warmth spiraling through me instantly. Then I push gently against his shoulders.
He stills immediately. Watching me carefully.
“You keep touching me,” I murmur against his mouth. “It seems unfair.”
One dark eyebrow lifts slightly. “Unfair?”
“Maybe I want to touch you too.”
“London,” he says slowly, like he’s trying very hard to hold onto the last scraps of his restraint, “you don’t have to—”
“I know.”
That’s the important part. I know I don’t have to. I know I get to choose.
I don’t feel pressured or cornered or managed. I feel wanted. Desired. Safe.
I reach for the buttons of his henley slowly, pushing the fabric open inch by inch beneath his watchful stare.
And wow.
Broad shoulders. Hard chest. Strong stomach. Scars scattered here and there beneath tan skin. Old injuries. Faded marks of a life lived.
“You’ve definitely been in at least three bar fights,” I murmur.
His mouth twitches. “Only three?”
I laugh softly before leaning down and kissing the scar instead.
Troy goes completely still beneath me. The bad boy mountain man likes being kissed.
Almost as much as I like kissing him.
I trail my mouth slowly across his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath my hands while his breathing roughens overhead.
“Jesus,” he mutters quietly.
Heat curls low in my stomach.
“You okay?”
His laugh sounds wrecked. “Not even a little.”
The answer sends a thrill through me.
Because this huge, intimidating man who everyone whispers about? He looks completely undone right now. By me.
I kiss another scar near his shoulder. Then some of the ink on his bicep.
Troy’s hands settle carefully on my hips .
“You keep doing that,” he says roughly, “and I’m gonna forget how to be a gentleman.”
I smile against his skin. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave.”
That breaks him.
He rolls us smoothly until I’m beneath him again, his mouth crashing back onto mine hard enough to steal my breath.
The kiss heats fast. His restraint frays more with every passing second while my hands move restlessly across warm skin and hard muscle.
Everywhere he touches me feels electric. Every kiss leaves me wanting more.
“Troy,” I whisper breathlessly as his hand slides along my inner thigh.
His forehead presses briefly against mine. “You sure?”
The question alone nearly wrecks me all over again. Not because he’s hesitant. Because he cares enough to ask.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
Then he kisses me again while his hand slowly, carefully explores lower. My entire body arches instantly.
“Oh God.”
“Yeah?” His voice sounds rough enough to make me shiver. “Tell me what you like.”
The words shouldn’t affect me as much as they do.
And when he finally slides inside me slowly, carefully, my entire body goes taut beneath him.
“Troy—”
His mouth finds mine instantly.
“I got you,” he murmurs against my lips. “I got you.”
The words wrap around me almost as tightly as his body does.
The stretch burns briefly before giving way to something overwhelming and full and impossibly intimate.
He stills immediately, breathing hard against my mouth like he’s fighting for control.
“Jesus,” he mutters quietly. “You feel…”
I kiss him before he can finish the sentence because I’m pretty sure my brain stopped functioning somewhere around the moment he said I got you.
Troy moves slowly at first.
Carefully. Giving me time to adjust to his size. Like he’s making sure I feel every inch of him.
Every thrust drags another helpless sound from my throat while the storm rages softly outside and the fire crackles low somewhere beyond the bedroom walls.
Nothing has ever felt like this. Not just physically.
I feel wanted. I feel protected. I feel seen.
Troy kisses me through all of it, rough hands gentle against my skin while pleasure builds hotter and tighter with every slow roll of his hips.
And when I finally fall apart beneath him, he follows seconds later with my name breaking from his mouth like a confession.
Afterward, we lie tangled together beneath the blankets while snow continues drifting softly outside.
Troy traces lazy patterns along my bare shoulder for several quiet minutes before finally speaking.
“You asked me before why I let people believe the rumors about me.”
I glance up at him sleepily. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I know.” He swallows hard. “I wasn’t in prison.”
“I figured.”
“It was nothing that cool.” He gives a short laugh. “I got recruited by a diplomat family after I left the military. Their regular security guy recommended me.”
My brows lift slightly. “Security?”
“And childcare apparently.” Another faint smile touches his mouth. “The girls were eight and eleven when I got there. Smart as hell. Bossy too.”
I grin slightly. “That explains Pride and Prejudice.”
That low laugh rumbles through his chest again. God, I love that sound already.
Troy’s expression softens slightly as he continues.
“I traveled with them for almost three years. Italy mostly. Some France. Switzerland.” His thumb brushes absently along my arm. “When I came back, people had already made up their minds about where I’d been.”
“And you just let them?”
His gaze drifts toward the window. “Sometimes it’s easier letting people believe the worst about you,” he says quietly. “Keeps them at a distance.”
My chest aches unexpectedly at the loneliness tucked beneath the words.
“And what if someone wants to get closer?”
His eyes meet mine again slowly.
Dark. Warm. Unguarded in a way I don’t think many people ever get to see.
“That’s always been hard for me in the past,” he says quietly. “But you make me want to let down my walls.”
By the time Troy drives me back into town two days later, the roads are finally clear enough to travel safely again.
The entire drive feels strangely bittersweet. For two days, there was nothing but him, me, and the bed.
Plus, the occasional venture out of it for sustenance. Including multiple cups of hot chocolate with a shocking amount of marshmallows on top.
“Who knew you’d have such a sweet tooth?” I’d teased.
“You got me,” he’d replied. “Speaking of my sweet tooth…”
Then, he’d set both of our mugs aside and preceded to devour me whole. A flashback of the resulting orgasm flutters through me.
I clench my thighs together, already growing damp. Again.
“I’ll come by after closing,” Troy says as he parks outside the library. “If you still want company.”
Warmth blooms instantly in my chest. “I definitely want company. As long as it’s yours.”
His gaze lingers on me for one long second before I climb out of the truck. My knees go weak again.
Being looked at by Troy Taylor in broad daylight should require a warning label.
Then he gives me parting kiss in front of everyone. I catch a wide-eyed Ethel and Bernice staring when I fumble with my keys to unlock the door.
No doubt, our resident detectives will be on the case—and have the gossip spread all over town—before dinner.
The entire afternoon crawls by painfully slowly.
By closing time, I’m reorganizing the romance shelves mostly to keep myself occupied.
Specifically, I’m trying to decide which Jane Austen novel to force Troy into reading next.
I know. It’s gotta be Northanger Abbey.
Mostly because the idea of terrifying outlaw Troy Taylor reading gothic satire for me is deeply entertaining.
Smiling to myself, I slide the book free from the shelf just as the bell above the front door jingles.
“I wondered how long it would take you to show—”
The words die instantly.
My stomach drops so hard to the ground, it physically hurts.
Caleb—not the one from the hardware shop, but the one I’ve been trying to avoid—stands framed in the doorway in an expensive wool coat dusted with snow, sharp blue eyes sweeping slowly across the room before landing on me.
Horror freezes me in place.
His mouth curves faintly.
Cold. Familiar. Controlling. My stomach churns and a wave of nausea washes over me.
“So,” he says smoothly, “this is where you’ve been hiding.”
I swallow hard. “I haven’t been hiding.”
“You and your words.” His lips curve into that twisted smirk of his. “Call it whatever you want. But the point is, I’ve found you.”