How to Knit a Heart Back Home (25 page)

“Is there seriously such a thing?”

“I’ve even seen a gun cozy.”

Owen took a sip of his tea. “That’s a joke, right?”

“I think the pattern was meant to be ironic, yeah, but it exists. I can make you one for your Glock, if you’d like.”

“Keep my hands warm and the bullets cold?”

“Something like that,” she said.

Her eyes dropped to her work as she turned it, tucking a trailing piece of yarn out of the way, flipping the long, oddly flexible needle around and starting to knit back the other way. He didn’t understand anything she was doing, but it was nice to watch. Soothing, somehow.

Owen said, “I remember my mother knitting.”

Lucy didn’t look up at him, just kept her hands in motion, and he felt mesmerized by her.

He went on. “The click of the needles is nice.”

Lucy shook her head a little and then said, “I’d really like to help her remember how to do it. It’ll come back to her as soon as she touches the yarn, I know it.”

“Will you teach her again sometime?”

“Really?” She sounded eager, like she really meant it.

“I’d love it if you would. Anytime. Don’t even ask me first. I’ll put you on the list of approved visitors, and you can go see her.”

“I will, then.”

“They should have told me about her fake diamonds.” He knew it was apropos of nothing, but Miss Verna’s words nagged at him. “Think about the health violations. Digging around in a toilet bowl? For the love of Christ. I can’t even wrap my head around it. And then to not tell me.”

Lucy changed the subject as fast as he had. “Jake Keller’s a good guy, huh?”

Owen frowned. “Well, it’s not like she was hanging from a ledge or anything. . . .”

“But if she had been, Jake and his crew would have been there. Just like they were at the fire, taking care of Abigail. That’s why I love working with them. . . .”

Lucy was forgetting something important, though. “
We
were there,” said Owen. “We saved Abigail. And if my mom had been hanging from a ledge,
I
would have saved her. They’re just firefighters, and volunteers at that. They’re not gods.” He thought of something. Something he didn’t like at all. “Are you dating him or something?”

“God, no! He’s my boss when I’m on call. He’s full-time, one of three firefighter/paramedics. The rest are volunteers. They’re combined, both firefighters and EMTs. It’s just that . . . tonight reminded me of—” Lucy stopped talking and picked up her mug, looking into it as if it held the answers to life’s most important questions.

“Reminded you of what?”

“Damn, I need more honey in my tea,” she said, and it sounded like a tragedy.

“Is it in the kitchen?” Owen asked. “Let me get it for you.” He wanted to take care of her.

“No, I’ll get it.”

He followed her into the kitchen.

She added the honey and leaned both arms on the countertop. “Hell,” she said.

“Tell me.”

Lucy stared at the tile backsplash behind the sink. “It reminded me of being on the beach with my grandmother. When she collapsed in front of me, under the lighthouse.”

In Lucy’s voice, Owen heard the same caliber pain he’d felt as Rob had fallen to the ground, the gunshots still ringing through the cold San Francisco fog.

She went on, “I called 911, and the medics came. They worked on her. I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t even know CPR, had never taken a course. Turns out, they couldn’t save her. But I couldn’t even try, didn’t know what to do except hold her hand and cry.”

“Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do.” His words were hollow, he knew it. He took the bear-shaped pot from her hands and added a long stream of golden honey to her tea.

“I was just scared.” Lucy looked up at Owen, and her eyes sparked, making his heart beat so hard it almost hurt. “That’s why I joined the department. I was always scared. Quiet little bookstore Lucy.” Her eyes darted downward again.

Owen used the spoon to swirl the honey. “So, pulling people out of burning cars? Holding people back while others have seizures? That’s not brave?”

“That’s different. That’s just helping.”

“You know what?”

“What?” she whispered.

“I’ve always known you were brave. Since the moment I saw you in high school. Quiet, smart, and daring. Since I kissed you that first time. Since you knocked me over with the way you kissed me back.”

“Oh.” The word was a breath.

He didn’t plan it, didn’t think about it, didn’t wonder if it was going to be the right thing or the wrong thing to do. But in the space of a sigh, she was in his arms.

She wrapped her arms around him so tightly he could barely get air, but he didn’t care. Her mouth met his, and he didn’t know who was kissing harder, deeper, but it didn’t matter.

He wanted her like he’d wanted no other woman, ever.

But she needed to make the decision. He wouldn’t make it for her.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss. Looked into her eyes. Waited. Hoped.

And she said one word.

“Now.”

Then she gasped and pushed her mouth to his, her breath sweet against his tongue. She pulled up on his shirt, ripping it up and over his head. His holster, the gun still in it, hit the floor with a metallic crash. Owen opened the fly of her pants and tugged the zipper. She broke the kiss to lift her shirt up and over, and then flung off her bra, dropping it to the tile.

His pants next, and the condom came out of his wallet, and they were naked against each other in the dim room. Putting his hands to either side of her face, Owen kissed her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, back to her mouth.

The backlight from the living room lit her brown hair to flames of russet and gold and her eyes sparked bright.

“You are so beautiful,” he gasped. She pressed harder against him, her hands pulling him against her.

“Just . . . I just need . . .” Lucy bit his bottom lip and lifted her naked leg to wrap around his hips. He could feel her heat, her wetness.

Owen groaned. He couldn’t take much more of this. He had to be inside her.

“Hang on,” he growled in her ear. Putting his hands under her buttocks, he lifted her, turning them so that her back was against the wall. He held her up so that her other leg could wrap around him, and she shifted in just the right way, tilted his hips, and he was suddenly inside her, all the way, as far as he could go.

Lucy made a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat. As they kissed, he felt the keening sound inside his mouth. Her tongue was hot silk, demanding and brazen.

Her fingers curled into the small of his back, holding on as he lifted and thrust into her again and again. She ground her hips against him hard, harder, every time he pushed. He’d never been this far, this deep before. He’d never felt like this.

The coil of heat inside him spiraled higher as he watched her face. Her eyes were screwed shut, and she seemed to be climbing. He could watch her forever. But he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

Lucy’s eyes flew open, and she stared into his with an intensity that went beyond passion, beyond lust.

“I’m right here,” Owen said. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.” Her legs wrapped tighter, her fingers pulled him against her. “I’m right here.”

Now,
she mouthed, and he felt her contract around him as she came. “Now,” she whispered against his mouth. “Now, now, now.”

He thrust into her again, hard, harder, and joined her, his face pressed into the soft place at her neck, in front of her ear.

“God, oh,
God
.”

For a moment, he stood there, trying to slow his heart rate. He still held her up against the wall, her arms around his neck.

He took a deep breath.

“You want to put me down now?” Her voice gave her away, and as he carefully slid her off him and down, she gave in to the laughter that he’d felt building up against his chest. Bringing him with her, she collapsed onto the large green rug that lay in front of the washer and dryer. His hip felt like it was on fire, but it was worth it.

“Oh, Lord.” She laughed.

Owen managed to say, “Wow.” Her hands were perfect, soft and strong, fit perfectly into his.

“You’re really here,” Lucy said. “Back home.”

“I am,” he said.

Her laughter was the happiest sound he’d ever heard.

Chapter Twenty-three

When in doubt, you’ll never go wrong with a knit-two-together. Simple and attractive. Easy. Fun.

—
E. C.

L
ucy woke purring. Warm, lying on Owen’s shoulder, splayed out, smack-dab in the middle of her huge bed, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

And Owen was with her.

Good Christ on a pogo stick, how had she managed this one? She’d dealt out all the cards at once. In the kitchen. And then again, an hour later, in the bed. Maybe a few more cards had been played at dawn, as well, slower that time.

Lucy was exhausted. And better than that, she was happy. She’d made a decision not to be scared. And he’d met her there.

She rolled off Owen with a sleepy, contented groan. Lying on her back, she looked out the window. Lazy wisps of fog curled past the window. A perfect, cool spring morning. Her favorite kind. And soon, coffee would make everything even better.

She wasn’t going to think about Jonas and Molly—that was for later. She must have gotten some of that wrong, right? They could have been flirting, but Molly had always flirted a little with her brothers, just like she did with everyone. Harmless. That’s all it was. Lucy shook the thought from her mind.

From behind her, Owen’s arm went around her waist. He pulled her in against him, and moved so that she was flush against his long lines. Was he even awake? For one long moment, Lucy lay still, waiting to see what he would do next.

God, she wanted him so badly she felt dizzy with it.

What if he touched her? What if he wasn’t sleeping, and he was just waiting to see what
she
would do, and if she encouraged him, he’d take her, just like that. First, his arm would move from her waist up to her breast, then he’d press against her from behind, and she’d feel just how much he wanted her. . . .

No, he was asleep. Lucy felt his long exhalation against her neck. She’d go make coffee, instead. She sighed and lifted his arm so she could slide out of bed without waking him.

Without a word, Owen pushed himself up. With one hand on her hip, he turned her to face him. In the early morning light, she stared.

His eyes were as dark blue as the water at the end of the pier, and even as Lucy felt herself sinking into them, he moved, fast, just like he had in her brief fantasy. His lips came down on hers, hard, hot, and ready. His tongue slipped against hers, gentle only for a moment, and then insistent.

Owen made it perfectly clear what he wanted. Pushing Lucy down onto her back, the kiss intensified, and his hands moved to her breasts.

Arching her back, Lucy pressed up against him. She couldn’t think. Wouldn’t think. He had to . . . oh, God, yes. He caressed her nipple while she moaned and bit his lip. His hips ground against hers, and she could feel how much he wanted her.

Damn all of it, she wanted him the same way.

Fast.

Hard.

Now
.

Her hands pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss, even though moving away from him was the last thing she wanted.

“What?” Owen said. “Is this okay?”

Her daring was back—that rush she’d felt, right before she’d run out into the lightning storm, right before she’d told him last night she wanted him, damn the consequences. Lucy didn’t know if it was smart or not, but she didn’t care. “Shut up and
hurry.
”

Owen’s answer was a laugh that turned into a growl as she bit his ear. He held her wrists against the bed and kissed her again.

“Owen?” she murmured against his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“What did the note say?” Lucy dragged her tongue along his jaw.

“What note?”

“The one you left in my mailbox when you left.”

“Secret. Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” Owen said, and his smile was wicked.

He was even more perfect by the light of day than Lucy could have imagined, with definition where normal people were soft, tautness where most were slack. As he turned to throw his pillow onto the floor, muscles rippled between his shoulder blades.

The scars, though. They caught her eye, even though she willed herself not to look at his left knee. A long rippled mark. And the one above it, on his hip . . .

But it was what was next to the scars, just between them, that caught Lucy’s attention. Owen was huge, and ready. Again.

Thank God she had that box of rainbow-colored condoms in her nightstand. Lucy’d been so embarrassed when her mother had put them in her Christmas stocking that she’d almost thrown them out, but then she’d stuck them in the drawer on an impulse fueled by irrational hope.

It had been a really long time.

“Red? Blue? Green?” Lucy held out a selection.

He laughed. “I’d like yellow, please.”

Lucy frowned. “I don’t think . . .”

“I’m kidding. Pick whatever you want, Lucy.” Owen knelt on the bed next to her, his mouth against her neck. He nibbled the skin below her ear, across her clavicle, and started trailing down. “You’re amazing.” He pulled back his head and looked at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

Lucy felt even more naked than she’d been even a few seconds ago, but it was a wonderful feeling. It felt like what she imagined jumping out of an airplane would feel like, with none of the fear of dying and all the excitement. She smiled up at him. “So are you.”

Owen grinned and picked the red one.

He couldn’t breathe right when his lips were touching her, and it didn’t matter where—if his mouth was against her breast, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, and if his lips were against her neck, there wasn’t enough oxygen in the whole wide world, and there probably never would be.