Under a Firefly Moon Read online

  His admission got a surprised look from her and he chuckled. “Well, yes, we were both quite ready earlier today.” His expression sobered. “I’m not talking about sex, Chey. Clearly our bodies are past ready.”

  “It’s our heads that have to get wrapped around it.”

  And some other parts of us, too, he thought. He nodded. “I can’t have one without the other. Even if I wanted to. Not with you. It won’t just be one part of me getting involved.”

  He saw her throat work. “If only it were as simple as letting our bodies dictate things.” She met his gaze. “It would be so easy if that was all we really needed.”

  Her smile was wistful this time, and maybe a little sad, and he felt a tiny fissure start somewhere inside his heart. “Maybe it would be better if I just head on out then. Back to Wales. Before we do . . . anything more.” He didn’t say “back home” because it wasn’t truly one now, was it? He had nothing waiting for him there. No one keeping him there, calling him back. It was just an empty croft, on an exceptionally beautiful piece of land. Standing where he was right now, looking at Cheyenne, everything about his place in Wales felt empty.

  The moment he’d suggested leaving, he felt her fingers instinctively tighten their hold on his, and for a moment, he felt profound relief.

  “If you can help the town—” She broke off, shook her head. “I’m saying this the wrong way. What I mean is, if that’s something you still want to do, for whatever reason, don’t not do it on account of me, or . . . or this.”

  Not what I wanted to hear her say. Not, “Please stay. Stay for me.”

  Which, of course, he couldn’t do anyway. Not long term. She knew that. And hadn’t he just gotten done telling her that anything other than that wouldn’t be enough?

  “I’m going to head into town,” he said, knowing it was the inevitable conclusion, so there was no point drawing the discussion out, causing either of them any more pain. They’d hurt each other enough. Those few wild kisses had already ignited their mutual desire like a freshly struck match. Chey was right. If they spent any time together, they were going to end up in bed, no matter what their heads and hearts thought they wanted. In bed, up against the nearest wall, in the flatbed of her big, dual-wheeled truck, looking up at that big Blue Hollow moon.

  His body responded to all of those possibilities like . . . like it responded to all things that had to do with Cheyenne McCafferty.

  They stood there for several long, silent moments, as the pool of moonlight grew around them.

  He heard her take what sounded like a shuddering breath; then she looked up at him, and he was stunned by the sheen he saw glinting in her eyes. “Will you be back out?” she asked, and he could hear the thick edge of emotion being held in check. “Or is this good-bye?” she said, and her voice broke just a little, when she added, “Again.”

  It was that little crack in her composure, the way she allowed him, unflinchingly, to see sides of her that he knew damn well she didn’t show to anyone else, trust to anyone else, that did in his resolve to do the hard thing, the better thing. The safe thing.

  “Aw, Chey,” he said, and he wasn’t sure who reached for whom first.

  They were both all in, from the moment their mouths met, the moment their breath mingled. Lips parted, tongues dueled, there was ferocity, and not a small amount of fear. Fear that it might be the last time. Desperation, need, and want was a potent mix, and he wasn’t immune to it, nor strong enough to fight it.

  Her fingers were in his hair, gripping him, when she dragged her mouth from his. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “If you’re leaving anyway—and you have to, I know that—then I’m already going to have regrets.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I want a night with you. I want to know you, all of you. I want so much more than that, but if I’m going to have regrets anyway, I know one of them is going to be that we didn’t at least share all we could, when we could. That much, at least, I can quite selfishly do something about. So can you, if that’s what you want. We can do something about that together.”

  Every part of him knew that he should turn her down. Knew that they were already well past playing with fire, playing with pain, already wielding far too much power to hurt, even though it was the last thing they wanted to do.

  He could tell her all of that, and she’d know he was right.

  He should tell her that. Tell her he was sorry, but he couldn’t do something that would hurt them both more in the end. Then walk right out that door, grab Tory’s truck, and drive away. Without looking back.

  He did walk out the door. In fact, he might have turned the knob and all but kicked it open. But he picked her up first, wrapped her legs around his waist, and buried his fingers in her hair, taking her mouth again, and again as he headed out. There was no pain-free way to end this, and he wanted her more than his next breath, more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.

  He walked right out the door, not even glancing at the truck. Instead he headed toward the lavender fields, and the stone and log house bathed in moonlight.

  Chapter Seven

  Chey surprised herself by not having a single second thought as Wyatt carried her—carried her—across the moonlit lawn off the side of the main house, all the way out to her place, her home. It was sweepingly romantic and deeply thrilling, all at the same time. She wanted to swoon, and she wanted to tear his clothes off, in equal measure.

  “It’s unlocked,” she said against the warm skin of his neck, the same neck she was presently kissing and biting her way along, as he climbed the steps to the porch. Her lips, tongue, and teeth made their way back to his jaw as he shifted around to open her front door, then carried her inside, closed it, and pressed her back against it a breath later.

  Her legs were still wrapped around his waist and she groaned as he pressed fully against her. She’d never known she could ache to the point of physical pain for want of something. Feeling him there, so close, yet not nearly close enough, only stoked the need, deepened the ache. She gasped as he kissed his way along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She tightened her thighs around him, wishing their clothes would just magically disappear so he could push all the way inside her and turn that pain into a rocket burst of pleasure.

  “Bedroom,” she managed, as he dragged the collar of her shirt wide. With his teeth.

  He took full advantage of the access he now had to the exquisitely sensitive skin at the base of her neck. This was raw, and thrilling, and utterly swamping her with need, but it wasn’t mindless. She knew exactly what she was doing, exactly what she wanted, and where she wanted it. She wanted to feel his weight on top of her, wanted to feel every slow, controlled inch of him entering her for the first time.

  She wanted it to be in her bed, where she knew she’d remember him for every single day she lived here going forward. The reality of that was beautiful and awful all at the same time, and she didn’t care. She’d had beautiful and awful plenty in her life; she’d become an expert at learning how to champion the beautiful as a way to vanquish the awful. She had no idea what that would take in this case, or if she had it in her to even try. She did know she wanted more than old memories of Wyatt Reed to keep her company when she was alone at night.

  And this felt like a pretty spectacular new memory to hold inside her heart.

  “Across the room,” she managed. “Behind you.”

  He straightened and slid his arms around her to hold her against him as he turned in the darkened house, with only the light of the moon to guide his way. He was big, his body hard and sinewy, and he carried her easily, confidently . . . and though she was perfectly capable of walking, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tightened her legs around his waist, buried her face in his neck, and let him.

  For all the ravenous ways they’d gone after each other from that moment standing on the veranda, all the way across the yard, and up against the front door of her house, when he made it to
the side of her bed, he lowered her to it, gently, with great care, and followed her down slowly. Deliberately.

  Everything changed then, slowed down. Went from feeding frenzy to exquisitely deliberate and drawn-out discovery. As if he, too, wanted to be able to imprint every single second of this on his memory, to hold it as dear as she already did.

  She opened her eyes to find him looking into hers, the silver light casting his face in shadows, his eyes too dark to read clearly.

  “Chey,” he said on a hoarse whisper, making the single word sound like both promise and plea.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, feeling a momentary clutch of panic that he would change his mind, followed instantly by a stab of shame that she’d even consider putting her needs and desires ahead of his own. Just because she was willing to invite the echoes of this night into her home, to live with and recall forever and ever, amen, did not mean he was. He’d told her as much. She knew what she was doing, had from the moment she’d grabbed hold of him on the veranda. Maybe he was just now swimming back to the surface and realizing he couldn’t risk drowning.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he told her, brushing strands of hair from her forehead, looking at her, searching her features as if trying to memorize every detail. “That’s just it,” he said, leaning down to brush his lips against hers, drawing a soft, keening moan from her as she arched up against him. “I don’t ever want to stop,” he murmured against her lips.

  He shifted his weight more fully on top of her, and he felt so very, very good. All of him, every part, filled her aching, rampaging, seemingly unfulfillable need. He touched her how she wanted to be touched, kissed her like he had known and understood the contours of her mouth forever, and knew just how to take it with his own. He was deliberate, assertive, and invited the same from her as they unbuttoned, unzipped, pulled off, peeled off, every last stitch of clothing.

  She almost screamed with pleasure when he pulled her back under him and she felt the warmth of his bare skin touching all of hers. Just that alone was exquisite relief. He took her mouth like a man starved, accepting her equal hunger with deep growls of approval. Then, turning on a dime, he was gentle, and unbearably sweet, and made her throat tighten with unshed tears as he slowly made love to every single part of her like it was both a promise, and a benediction.

  He was old Wyatt and new Wyatt, kissing his way down her body and settling between her thighs like a man on a very determined mission, confident he knew exactly what he planned to do when he got there. Then just before his tongue found her sweetest of spots, he slid one hand up, found hers and wove their fingers together, holding on as he took her, shuddering, shattering, over the edge.

  No other words were spoken. They did all their communicating with touch, taste, and long, lingering, soul deep gazes. He took his time, rolling on a condom, inviting her to watch, then pulled her across his lap, to straddle him as he slid his hands into her hair, cupped her face and brought her mouth to his once more, somehow managing to take her, even while she was the one who slowly, deliberately, sank down onto him. Her head instantly dropped back, a low moan keening deep from inside her as he filled her, so utterly, and she couldn’t keep from moving on him. He held her hips and took full advantage of the position, and her breasts, right there, at tongue level.

  She wanted to slow it down, wanted to catalogue all the moments, everything he was making her feel, but it was too much, so much, all at once, and she gave in and let herself simply slide under the tidal wave of sensations.

  He shifted so he could lie back, only he brought her down with him, then slowly rolled over, so he was exactly where she’d dreamed of having him, only the reality was so very, very much better. She wrapped her legs around his hips and they found their rhythm easily, keeping them both close to the edge, so close, as they kissed and nuzzled, but in no hurry to get there.

  She wanted this reality to go on as long as possible, staving off the one that would come far too soon afterward.

  Perhaps this had been a monumental mistake on her part after all. She couldn’t have known how truly all-encompassing their lovemaking would be.

  She knew now.

  And she had no idea how she’d move on from this. Even as her body started that sweet climb to salvation once more, some part of her mind was already spinning off on a swirl of wild plans and possibilities about what she could do, how she could rearrange her entire life to go be with him. But then she felt him, saw him, heard him reaching his peak, too, and let herself be swept along with him. Mindfully and mindlessly, she let it all go, and simply let him and everything she was feeling fill her.

  They didn’t say anything afterward. Words seemed inadequate at that moment. Wyatt cleaned up; then they climbed under the covers, pulling up all the thick, weighty layers she kept on the bed year-round. Only this was so much more delicious, with his warm body and bare skin next to hers. He rolled to his back and gathered her to him. She tucked her knee between his legs and let her head rest on his chest, one arm around his waist. She felt his arms settle around her, strong, and heavy and perfect, and her eyes drifted closed. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she smiled as sleep claimed her. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the consequences of their actions to come crashing in. For now, she wanted all the bliss she could get.

  * * *

  She woke up alone. There wasn’t even a muddled moment of thinking that was normal. She knew instantly what she was missing. Whom she was missing. Her heart clutched so hard at the thought that he was gone, she pressed her hand over it as she sat up and pushed her hair from her face. His shirt was on the floor, and his watch was on her nightstand. The relief was so immediate and profound, she slumped back against the pillows.

  He wouldn’t have done that, wouldn’t have slipped away without a good-bye. Intellectually she knew that, but the moment of instinctive panic she’d felt did not bode well for when that inevitable good-bye came.

  She’d slept soundly, the night through. No dreams, and better, no nightmares. They came very infrequently now, dreams of her brother on the last day of his life. But they did come. And just knowing that it was possible made dropping off to sleep a bit of a process for her. She’d long since mastered the mental list of things she went through, the deliberate thoughts she had, and didn’t have, all as a means of prepping her subconscious for a dreamless night. It wasn’t even something she did deliberately now; it was simply habit.

  She’d done none of those things last night. It had been a very long time since she’d slept beside someone, and never in her own bed. The few times over the years when she’d been with someone long enough for sex to become part of the equation, sleeping together was rarely part of it. She preferred sleeping in her own bed. Alone. The possibility of the nightmares was part of it, but they were also a handy excuse. She always kept part of herself separate, disengaged, observing rather than fully participating. Sleeping alone was part of that. She didn’t give away all of herself easily. Or ever.

  Until now.

  Ignoring that hard truth while she still could, she realized the gray skies outside had likely made it seem much earlier than it was. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand to see how badly she’d overslept. Her four-legged charges were not going to be happy with her. She was surprised she couldn’t hear Foster kicking at his stable door.

  The first thing she saw was a text from Tory, letting her know that she’d taken care of the horses that morning, along with her own.

  Seeing as your lazy posterior couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed. Not that any red-blooded woman on Reed Planet or any other planet would blame you.

  Chey smiled at that last part. Tory was getting what she wanted, so of course she didn’t mind a few extra chores. For once, Chey didn’t think she’d mind Tory being the smug Victor. That didn’t stop a bit of warmth from rising to Chey’s cheeks as she realized that everyone on the farm likely knew exactly how she and Wyatt had spent the night. Of course, they’d all but shoved them i
nto bed together, so they’d be a little smug, too. And anyone with eyes could have looked across the property and noticed that there hadn’t been a single light turned on in her house from the time they’d left the main house until now. So telling her friends the two had sat up and talked all night probably wouldn’t fly. She grinned. That and the stupid grin she’d have plastered over her face all day. That might be a clue.

  The scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted into the bedroom from the great room beyond the open door, which was living area, kitchen, and dining room, and she immediately shouted, “Marry me!”

  Wyatt had his phone pinned between his ear and shoulder as he came walking in a moment later, carrying a tray with a steaming mug of coffee and something else she couldn’t make out. She was still sitting in bed, covers up to her hips, wearing nothing more than his rumpled shirt and quite probably an epic case of bedhead.

  His hair wasn’t sexily tousled but instead stuck out every which way, too. Totally old Wyatt—thank God—because the rest of him was drop-dead gorgeous new Wyatt. His jeans rode low on his hips and his skin was indeed a golden brown. Everywhere. As she now knew. He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble shadowing his jaw added the perfect amount of sex appeal to the wire-rimmed glasses he was sporting. He looked like the hottest history professor on the planet. Reed Planet, indeed. She wanted to be a permanent resident.

  He had been listening to whoever was on the other end of the call when he walked in and leaned down to place the tray on the bed, then casually shifted the phone away so he could pin her to the headboard with a hot, fast, and very deep soul kiss. He straightened, flashed her a grin and a wink as he started talking about file uploads and transportation budgets while walking back out to the great room. Leaving her to stare at his broad, muscled back and his very fine ass. She was dazed senseless by the combination of the scent of coffee and the taste of Wyatt Reed. And she was okay with that.