Untouched (24 page)

“Shit.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But she had the most perfect ass ever and it basically wiped out his vocabulary to see it on display like this.

She turned to face him. “It’s definitely worth it.”

“Stop . . . for a second, because . . . you want to be with me?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t giving me an ultimatum?”

“Quinn Parker, I wish that you could let it go. I wish you thought you were enough without the rodeo. I wish you didn’t feel like you needed this. But I’m choosing to stay with you, my choice.”

“Why? Because I can’t give you anything but . . . pain.”

“And multiple orgasms. And companionship. And the feeling that I can make choices and not be so afraid of every little thing. Not be so afraid to leave my room. Do you know why I didn’t ride horses anymore, Cade?”

“Why?” he asked, his throat hoarse.

“I’m allergic to them, for a start.” She cleared her throat. “And because my mom used to ride them with me. And I was afraid of it hurting. Doing it again. Couple with the fact that a part of me is always afraid something catastrophic will happen to me. She died in an accident on the ranch. She was the bravest, toughest woman I ever knew, and she died, Quinn. Part of me, I think, has always thought she wouldn’t have died if she just hadn’t had to do everything. If she could have lived a little more quietly. So I’ve lived quietly. I’ve lived inside. I’ve lived over the computer. When I took a chance with you, I said it was because I was tired of trying to be good. But it’s more than trying to be good. It’s trying to be safe. And I’m over it. I don’t want safe. I want you.”

She walked up to him and pressed her breasts against him. He put his hand on her lower back, held her to him. “Lark . . . I’m a bad bet.”

“I know,” she said.

“You should have gone.”

“Maybe.”

“But I’m glad you stayed.”

“Me too.” She put her hands, so soft, so warm, on his chest. She bent her head down and kissed him, just above his nipple. “I made a big choice when I stayed, Quinn. Not tonight, but when Cole and Cade first came. It’s possible I made a big sacrifice.”

That hurt. Having to see how his actions had injured her. To know that his stupid revenge had had a part in compromising her relationship with her brothers. It made it hard to even look at her.

But he couldn’t look away either.

“I’m not sure I deserved that.” He sifted his fingers through her hair. “I can’t promise you anything.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“Let’s just not talk about tomorrow then. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.” He wanted it. He wanted to freeze time on this moment. To keep things from moving to their inevitable conclusion. The conclusion had already been waylaid. He’d been given an extension on time with Lark that he didn’t deserve.

She was offering him something incredible, and he was offering her nothing. Nothing but more sex while he changed absolutely nothing about his plans.

He shut all that out. He shut everything out but Lark in her lingerie. Lingerie she’d ordered for him. She was his. That thought, it ran so far beneath the skin; created a feeling so bone deep he couldn’t deny it. It was so possessive, so proprietary, and it shocked him. Disgusted him. And yet it didn’t make it go away.

He didn’t deserve to have her. Didn’t deserve anything she’d given him. And yet he reveled in the fact that he
did
have her. That she was staying. That he was the only man who’d ever touched her.

The only man who’d ever been inside her.

That he was the man she’d chosen, even if she’d chosen him knowing he’d be a mistake.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice a growl as he pulled her more tightly against him. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” she said.

He lowered his head and traced the edge of her camisole with his tongue, before tugging the top down and revealing her breasts. “The best part about things like this is taking them off,” he said. He ran the flat of his tongue over her nipple, then blew lightly against her skin, watching it tighten, watching goose bumps break out over her pale skin. “You are so beautiful.”

“I never thought so,” she said.

“No?”

“Not before you. But you make me feel beautiful. You make me believe it.”

“Oh, you’d better believe it. You make me so hard. I haven’t felt so on edge . . . I was going to say since I was a teenager, but not even then. I’ve never wanted a woman more than I want you. You make me forget them.”

“Who?”

“The other women. I don’t even want to remember. Your skin is the only taste I want on my tongue.”

“Bringing up other women during sex is sort of dangerous there, Quinn.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her breast. “But as I said you were only mine, I wished that I was only yours.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “It’s good enough that you’re mine now.” She slid her hand down his chest, fingers skimming his abs, moving down lower and covering his erection, her touch burning him even through his jeans. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” he said, because he could say nothing else. It was true. She held him in the palm of her hand in every way.

She moved her hand slowly, squeezing him, her eyes intent on his. “I love this,” she said. “I could never get tired of it.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

She blinked, leaning in and burying her face against his neck, her lips warm on his skin. “I’m glad.”

She moved away from him and got into bed. He followed, kissing her, deep, long. Until they were lying together, her body half on top of his, her hands roaming over him. There was something perfect about it. About kissing her when they were both half naked, just kissing and touching, not in a hurry to take it further.

It was a step he’d skipped in his sexual discovery, and it was one she’d skipped in hers, thanks to him.

But it didn’t take long for the fire to burn too hot, the flames beneath his skin too intense. He needed release. He needed more. He needed her.

As if on cue, she put her hands on his belt and undid the buckle, working on his jeans next. He tugged them down while she took the rest of her naughty lingerie off. And then they were skin to skin.

She kissed his jaw, his neck, his chest, her tongue tracing a line down his stomach and to his shaft.

“Lark.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pleasure shooting through him, pushing him to the brink. “Too good,” he said.

“Mmm . . . good.”

“Not fair,” he said.

“Why no—whoa!” He gripped her hips and hauled her up, adjusting her so her thighs were on either side of his head and he had her right where he wanted.

“Equal opportunity,” he said, sliding his tongue along her slick flesh.

She moaned, sending a vibration from her lips over his shaft. It was all perfect. Lark’s mouth on him, and her, the taste of her, coating his tongue. And every time he pleasured her right, she made a little sound that added to his own pleasure.

He slipped a finger inside of her and she lifted her head, a shocked gasp on her lips. He didn’t even mind that she’d stopped. He was too focused on her now. On how tight and hot she was. On every sound she made. On the way she moved her hips, trying to show him her rhythm. On how perfect she was.

She stiffened, her muscles spasming around his finger. But the best part was when she said his name. A prayer and a curse all rolled into one.

He changed their positions, resting between her thighs, kissing her lips as he reached into the nightstand drawer for protection.

“I don’t think I have the energy to come again,” she said.

“You will.”

He rolled the condom on and slid inside her welcoming body, gritting his teeth as pleasure overwhelmed him. Raw, intense. He was already close to the edge, and this was almost too much to take.

But he’d promised her another orgasm, and he was going to deliver. Then she curled her fingers around his neck and whispered in his ear.

“Yes, Quinn. Like that. Oh, yes.”

And there was no more tactical thought. No more measured thrusts. It was nothing but a blind, furious race to the finish as he lost himself in her body. He was surrounded by her. Her scent, her warmth. Lark.

He had a dim moment of thankfulness when he felt her arch beneath him, felt her give in to another climax, as his own roared through his ears like a hurricane, consuming him completely.

When it was over, she was holding him, her hands moving over his hair, like she was soothing him.

And he rolled to the side, the condom necessitating his withdrawal from her body, but he didn’t get up. He just stayed with her, his arms wrapped around her, one leg tangled through hers.

She kissed his shoulder, fingers now tracing circles over his bicep. “Tell me about the horse.” He looked down and followed the line of her hands as she continued to move her hands over his skin.

“I told you. Because of the rodeo.”

“But he’s not just a rodeo horse. He’s like a war horse. He’s angry.”

He cleared his throat. He didn’t think much about the tattoo. It was just there. Another thing he’d done to his body, in a long list of things, that had either been stupid or a waste. He liked to pretend it hadn’t meant anything. But it had. Even then.

“I got it right after I went to find my dad. It was stupid.”

“You’re the horse.”

“Yeah, and no dick jokes please.”

“Because that’s where I was going with this very serious conversation.”

“Nah, I know. But I’m allergic to sincerity.” Especially when it was about him. About old wounds. Anger was easier. That was why the horse was angry. To remind him to be mad. Mad at his dad. Mad at the world. It was easier than feeling anything else.

“Did you ever think about letting the anger go?” she asked.

“How?”

“I don’t know, Quinn. But maybe someday . . . maybe someday you’ll be able to feel something else that will be big enough to push it all out.”

He looked down at Lark and he felt something bloom in his chest. Something warm, incredible. And terrifying. Really terrifying. Something that had the power to do just what she’d said.

Unless the anger won. With him, why would he ever think anything else could happen? Bad blood. And just like always, all that anger, everything that was wrong inside of him, would poison the people around him.

Would poison Lark.

The idea grabbed him around his heart and squeezed tight.

“Not me, baby,” he said, a response to her statement—and also a plea. That she would remember what he was capable of. That she wouldn’t want more. More than he could give.

“Probably not, while you’re hanging on to it so tight,” she said, her voice getting sleepy. “You’ll have to let go.”

He looked down and her eyes were closed. And he held tight to her.

Let go? The anger was his drive. It always had been. And it wasn’t that simple anymore.

It was a part of him now. Integral. It was the thing that fueled him. The thing that sustained him. No, nothing better would ever be able to grow inside of him. It would be choked out the minute it appeared.

He had to hold on to it. But for now, he would hold on to her too.

Chapter Fifteen

“Uh-oh,” Jill said, leaning back on the bed and looking at Sam. “He told her?”

“Yeah, he did. And she’s still here.”

“Really?”

“As far as I know he told her everything, and last I talked to him he said he told her to go home, and he expected her to have done it. But I saw her car parked over by the barn. She’s still here.”

“That’s because she loves him,” Jill said. “It’s harder to fall out of love than you think.”

“And it’s more work to stay in it than you think too,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her on the lips. “Not an insult.”

“I get that. I disagree though.”

“Really?”

“I was never out of love with you, Sam. I just forgot to take the time to feel it.”

“I forgot to take the time to show it.”

“You’ve been showing me admirably these last couple of weeks.”

He pulled her into his arms, against his body. It felt right. Only Sam had ever felt right like this. And she didn’t know why she’d let herself forget. Why she’d let herself take it for granted. She’d never been passive, not in the early days of their relationship. But somehow, she’d stopped telling him what she needed.

They’d both retreated to their own corners, little balls of hurt, and neither of them had bothered to communicate. Neither of them had even tried.

Thank God they were trying now.

“I love you,” he said, like he’d said every day since they’d first started reconciling.

“I love you too,” she said. “My heart kind of breaks for these boys. Especially Jake.”

“I know,” he said.

She bit her lip. “He doesn’t have anyone.”

“I don’t know if I like where this is going.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just found you again. I just stopped being consumed with other things. I don’t really want to add a high-maintenance kid to the mix.”

She didn’t like what he’d just said, but at least he’d said it. A few weeks ago she would have gotten a grunt. A non-response that told her nothing and left her feeling ignored at best.

“I don’t either. But I don’t want to leave him alone. And he . . . he calls to me.”

“Jill . . . he’s not a puppy. He’s a teenage boy who’s had brushes with the law.”

“I know,” she said. “But you could handle him.”

“Colton and Callie were good. I never had to deal with teenage rebellion.”

“That we knew of.”

“What I don’t know won’t make me go after a boy with a shotgun,” Sam said.

“True.”

“Just tell me, are you wanting to take him on as a project because you don’t like only having me?”

Her heart squeezed tight. “No. And I know I kind of earned that. I know I spent too long pouring it all into the kids, and none into you . . .”

“No,” he said. “I mean, maybe sometimes I felt that way. But you’re a good mom. And you can’t take all the blame for what happened with us.”

“No worries,” she said. “I wasn’t going to. Okay, the timing isn’t great. But he’s sixteen. No one else is going to take him. And think how much support Colton and Callie still need. He’s going to need that too. He isn’t going to have it, he’s never really had it and that kills me.”

Sam sighed, heavy, defeated. “This is what I love about you,” he said.

“What is?”

“Your heart. I mean, and your body.”

“Oh . . . Sam, please. I’m not exactly a spring chicken.”

“Don’t care. I don’t have any use for spring chickens. Give me a woman who knows what she’s doing and is comfortable in her skin. That’s real sex appeal. That and the way you care about people.”

“But you don’t like the way I want to care.”

“Not really. But it’s hard for me to imagine right now, babe.”

“I like that,” she said, letting her hand drift across his chest.

“What?”

“Babe. It’s hot.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked.

“Would it work?”

“Yes.”

She laughed, warmth blooming in her stomach. She felt like a teenager with a crush. Or a forty-three year old woman with a crush on her husband. Even disagreeing, she felt that way.

“It’s a big thing, I know,” she said. “And I don’t expect you to just be able to give me an answer immediately.”

“I know,” he said. “But the thing is, I don’t want to think about it, because I have a feeling you’re right. That he needs to be taken care of. That he needs someone. And right now, I feel too selfish. I don’t want it to be me because I just want to spend my days wrapped in your arms.”

“Yeah, but at some point we go back to real life, right?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And we have jobs and friends, and we can’t spend all day wrapped in each other. But that’s the challenge, Sam. To remember to want all that even with all of these other things going on. To not repeat the same mistakes.”

He cupped her face and kissed her lips. “I don’t ever want to work you around my life again. Life has to work itself around you. You’re my priority. In fact”—Sam released his hold on her and got out of bed, then went over to the chair his jacket was sitting on—“I wrote some stuff down.”

“Sam, what did you do?”

“You’ll see.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket. “I’ve failed you a lot, Jill, these last few years. There are things I didn’t say, and I should have just said them. But I took for granted that you knew. That somehow you could read how much I cared, even when I wasn’t saying it. Or showing it.”

“I wasn’t either . . . I—”

“No. This is my time to eat dirt and grovel,” he said. “And to make some new vows. I vowed to love you on our wedding day, and I do. To stay with you through sickness and in health, and I have. Richer and poorer, we’ve done that too. But there are a lot of little things that I never thought to promise. Things I should have promised, because maybe if I had, I would have been a better husband for all these years.”

Jill sat up, her heart pounding hard, tears stinging her eyes. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“I might make me cry,” he said, clearing his throat, “but I’ll try not to.” He unfolded the paper, his hands shaking. “Jill, I promise not just to love you, but to tell you I love you. I promise to give you romance, not just sex. I promise to tell you how beautiful I think you are, every time the thought comes into my head, which is a lot. I promise to remember that you come first. That nothing is as important as you. To remember that if you weren’t in my life, there would be no meaning. I promise to stop taking you for granted. To cherish your every smile, and hurt whenever you shed a tear. I promise to make the next twenty-three years better than the first twenty-three.”

She launched herself off of the bed and into his arms, not even bothering to fight the tears. “Sam,” she whispered, her face buried in his neck, “these past twenty-three years have been wonderful, and I let myself grow resentment when I should have just told you what I needed. You don’t shoulder the blame. I have a share in it. And I have a share in making this better going forward.” She stepped back and looked into his eyes. “I promise to tell you I love you. I promise to give you good sex, and not just a cranky afterthought with the lights off. I promise to tell you what I need, instead of making you guess. I promise to wear sexy underwear sometimes.”

“I like where this is going,” he said, his voice rough.

“I don’t want to forget again.”

“I won’t let you.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her. “I won’t let me either. And . . . I promise, I will think about Jake. I feel possessive and selfish right now.”

“Which is hot, by the way.”

“You think I’m hot?”

“Oh, baby.”

“Anyway, I feel possessive, but the thing is, you’re right. There will always be real life, and the key isn’t pushing it away, it’s learning how to prioritize us even when it’s trying to intrude.”

“Listen to us having reasonable discourse.”

“Nice, right?” He scooped her up in his arms, walked them back to the bed and deposited them both in the center of it. “Now, if these walls are thin, people might be hearing us having something else.”

“Promises, promises.”

“I’ll make good on all of my promises,” he kissed her, deep and long. “You can count on that.”