Texas Hope: Sweetgrass Springs Stories (Texas Heroes Book 16) (15 page)

With every ounce of the love that filled his heart to bursting.

Tom was awake. He would recover.

The relief of it took the strength right out of Laken’s bones.

Michael caught her around the waist. Held her as she wept for her friends who were so much in love. For second chances.

She wanted her own second chance with this man. Yes, she’d sent him away because she couldn’t see how they could ever work. None of that had changed, but—

But.

Wanting him had no place in her world, but she still wanted him desperately.

His expression was tender as he thumbed the tears from beneath her lashes and smiled.

That dimple, that one heartbreaking dimple, and the world’s kindest brown eyes. “Come home with me, Michael.” Then she held her breath to see how he would respond.

“If you think I’d be anywhere else tonight, you don’t know me at all.” He looked over and nodded at Wyatt, who held Ellie tight against his side as they rejoiced with Ava.

Wyatt nodded back, and Michael escorted her out. “Where is your car?”

She could barely remember.

“You’re too shaky to drive, sweetheart.”

His presumption and the endearment would have upset her once but now…she was so grateful he was here. “All right.”

He halted, eyes wide. “Who are you and what have you done with my Laken?” Then he grinned.

She was too blasted happy that he was here to quarrel, and he seemed to feel it. He gathered her closer, and they walked through the night. Once in his big pickup, the ride was silent, but he held her hand the entire way. As they mounted the steps, she wondered how her place looked to him now after an absence. This apartment above a noisy club had suited her down to the ground once upon a time. Fit for the casual hookup she might bring home, yes, but abruptly she was uncomfortable bringing him here when he was so much more.

Even if she didn’t have a clue what to do with him.

When she fumbled the key, he took it from her and quickly opened the door.

“I miss Ajax,” she said without thinking. “And sweet, patient Monroe.”

“They miss you, too,” Michael said, drawing her against him. “They’re not the only ones.”

Then, oh dear sweet heaven, he didn’t play coy, didn’t make her wait any longer.

He just kissed her. Poured himself into the kiss, strong arms banding her body, pressing hers all along the front of his. She rose to her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck.

And kissed him right back with a longing that had tears rising in her throat. As kisses went, it was one for the record books, starting out soft and full of comfort. Quickly it transformed into pure heat, blasting every thought from her mind but
more
. More and more and more. She scrabbled at his shirt and drew it off over his head, memorizing his broad chest and his acres of muscles with her hands.

Because if he stopped kissing her, she would surely die.

He hitched her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as his mouth cruised down the side of her neck and his long strides crossed to the hall and her bedroom.

His teeth captured the tendon on her throat, and she stifled a scream. Her nails scraped a path along his back, and she rocked her pelvis against him.

“Sweet mother Macree,” he gasped as he tossed her to the bed, then followed her down, his mouth and his hands working in concert to strip her and drive her out of her mind with tongue and teeth and lips. Soon she was naked, yanking at his belt buckle, unfastening his jeans and dragging them down over that fine, fine ass of his.

He was inside her in seconds.

She was climaxing seconds later, and he followed her over the edge. She thanked her lucky stars that they’d already settled the whole safe sex issue before. He felt beyond blissful, the only man she’d ever allowed into her body without a condom.

Because instinctively she’d known early on that she could trust him.

Honor and Michael Cavanaugh were synonymous. He would no more hurt her or risk her than he’d cut off his own arm. Matter of fact, he’d cut off his arm first.

He was a delicious dead weight on her, and she gathered him closer.

Until the vibrations began. He was laughing.

She loved the sound of his laugh. “What?” She couldn’t help smiling, too.

He lifted himself enough to look down at her, eyes sparkling. “I still have my boots on, for Pete’s sake. My jeans are around my ankles.” His grin flared. “I’ve missed the hell out of you, Laken, but I envisioned reunion sex being a little more…well, longer than ten seconds, for one, but man…” His face sobered. “Are you all right?”

“Oh yeah.” She smiled right back. “If I were any better, I might just float right off this bed.”

His eyebrows rose. “I promise you the next round will have you levitating.”

“Big talk,” she mocked and waggled her own brows. “Prove it.”

He rolled them over and grinned as she perched above him. He was already hard again.

She cocked her head. “So how are you planning to remove your boots when I’m not planning to let you move from this spot?” She swiveled her hips and had him groaning, eyes closing in bliss.

I love you
came perilously close to coming out of her mouth, and the urge shocked her so badly she launched herself from the bed and all but ran for the bathroom.

“Laken—”

She slammed the door shut and started the shower, stepped inside.

Seconds later, the curtain opened, and he joined her. Turned her to him and cradled her cheek. “Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay now that he’d carved himself into her life. She couldn’t see any way they could be together for the long term.

And the thought of letting him go again made her ache. Hot tears burned, and she retreated into the spray.

Strong arms came around her, and he spoke softly into her ear. “Laken, I love you. Let me show you how much.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Why couldn’t she be different? Why couldn’t he? She didn’t do normal, and she’d warned him from the first.

Gently but firmly he turned her, gathered her close. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll be okay.”

How?
She wanted to shriek.
How can we ever be okay?
She wasn’t normal, and he was too much so. He was meant for a cottage with a white picket fence and a woman who could live in one.

But he gentled her with long, smooth strokes until she relaxed against his broad chest, and though she could feel his body’s powerful response to her, he didn’t make a move on her.

Instead, he found her shampoo and tenderly washed her hair, careful to keep the suds from her eyes. He rinsed it and even found her conditioner, then moved to soaping her body, every touch of his hands both gentle and searing. He soaped himself with quick efficiency, then rinsed them both off, shut off the water and found her towel. With patient strokes, he dried her, then used fast, rough strokes for himself.

And all the while, those brown eyes caressed her.

When they were dry, he picked her up with easy strength and took her back to bed.

With slow, tantalizing caresses and torturing kisses, he began with her eyelids and worked his way down her body. He took his time, and not an inch of skin was neglected. She was putty in his hands by the time he reached her toes.

“Michael…” She reached for him.

He clasped her hands in his and squeezed. But he didn’t stop.

Instead he worked his way back up, every kiss bringing a sigh, every caress a moan of yearning. He stopped midway and sent her soaring to the skies, and though she could feel the fine tension in his muscles, he never rushed her. Sex had always been explosive between them, and she’d never wanted to change a thing. Crazy hot sex was plenty.

But this…this was making love.

And even as she reveled in its sweetness, grief was tearing at the edges because she still knew this could not last.

When at last he joined them, she moaned with the glory of it.

“Look at me, Laken.”

She opened her eyes to see his brimming with something so beautiful she couldn’t look away.

So they made love with eyes open, unspoken words flowing between them, borne on the currents of wishes and crazy dreams.

And she rose right with him until at last, his tenderness gave way to fierce demand and towering passion. He wouldn’t be denied, this man who seemed so gentle but could be as formidable as any warrior chieftain.

When he tried to speak, she placed her fingers over his lips, then levered up to take those lips with her own.

The sparks built, flames rising from all that they felt, all they didn’t voice, and as the inferno raced over them, all she could say over and over again was his name.

“Michael…”

“Oh, Michael…”

And the most forbidden name of all, one she’d never utter.

Mine
.

In the aftermath, he tucked her into him and smoothed her hair from her ears. “I’m going to marry you, Laken,” he said as if it were simple fact.

While she was still blinking her astonishment, he slipped into sleep.

And she soon followed.

Michael woke before Laken, smiling as he felt her curled beside him. She might be facing away, but she had her back and her sweet behind snugged right up against him.

She didn’t want to want him—that she’d made abundantly clear over and over.

But despite what her head told her, her body wanted his.

More importantly, he was pretty sure her heart was a traitor to what she perversely considered good sense. Still, she had a head like a rock, that much he was clear on. There was a war going on inside the totality that was Laken Foster, and he considered himself a man of honor. He tried his best to do right by people, to be fair and just.

But he would stretch the borders of his honor to have this woman in his life. For good.

He stacked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, tracing a lazy mote of sunlight across the room.

Laken was too blasted smart for her own good. His, too. He appreciated a woman with brains in the normal course of things. In this case, however, Laken had ideas in her head that he would be hard-pressed to dislodge.

Not that she’d ever come clean and share her fears with him, oh no. She was bound and determined to remain alone, and he’d give his eyeteeth to understand why.

She didn’t trust him enough to tell him, though.

But if she thought that put him off or would make him give up…she had another think coming. Yes, to ease her past her notions of who she was and what she could be would require guile and resolve—in spades.

To say nothing of boatloads of patience.

She would not go down easily, no sir. She would fight to the bitter end. He didn’t want to break that fierce spirit of hers or cause her a moment’s misery.

But he was in this to win and while most people found him easygoing—which he preferred to be—he had a lifetime of experience going his own way. His father had been a powerful man accustomed to subordinates hopping when he said
Jump
. He’d been an absolute ruler of his world, and Michael’s mother had been his cherished queen, content in most ways to go along.

Michael, too, had wanted to please his father, wanted to be loved by him and to make him proud.

But somewhere along the way, he’d realized that he’d have to be docile to achieve that—even as doing so would rob him of his father’s respect.

So Michael chose his own path and persevered. Becoming a vet was not the only battle he and his father had fought, however politely. He had been raised to fit perfectly in the world where Laken operated as a lawyer—refined, sophisticated, urbane. He’d grown up in a house where the right wines were served, where the silver on the table was antique and heavy and the linens were perfectly matched. He could operate there when he needed to—

But that wasn’t where he wanted to live. He’d been far more drawn to the earthy, to the real, to the plainspoken. Life with a constant parade of animals taught a person a lot about what was real and what was artifice. From a very young age, he’d taken in this stray and that, often keeping them in the playhouse he’d been given as a child. There, far from the disapproving eyes of his father, complicit with the gardener and the housekeeper, Michael had dealt with blood and sickness, with death and life. He’d delivered a litter of kittens when he was twelve and splinted a bird’s leg four years before that.