True-Blue Cowboy Christmas (13 page)

For a second, he thought she might take the bottle and smash it. For a second, he thought she might spill her guts. Eagerness and regret twined themselves inside him. He wanted to know. Wanted to figure her out and unlock the mystery that was Summer.

“There are other ways to relieve stress that aren't so…messy,” she said, eyeing the shards of glass that littered the concrete pad below the target. She was uncomfortable, linking her fingers together tightly, keeping her distance.

“Name one.”

Her gaze slowly rose from the shattered glass to him. He'd been keeping his distance for these few days, had been overly disengaged from all his interactions with her, and her gaze still hit him like a horse kick.

“Yoga?” she offered, sounding oddly hopeful.

He snorted. Right. He was going to turn himself into a pretzel and magically feel better.

“All right. What about…” She stepped to him, in front of him. Close enough that he could feel her breath and smell the scent that had come to mean only
Summer
to him. Something herby and floral mixed together. The faintest hint of…sugar?

He shouldn't look down. He should keep his eyes on the target, but with Summer so close, so pretty, and so very much here when no one else ever was, how did he focus on anything but her?

Her top teeth were pillowed in her bottom lip in that uncertain nibble that all too often caused an unfortunate stirring in his body. Then, in a move he knew he should sidestep—somewhere in the recess of his brain he knew he should step away—her fingertips trailed across the line of his jaw, and it felt as though she was brushing away half his stress. He all but slumped without the weight of everything resting on his shoulders.

All this from a simple touch, just the graze of her fingertips. But she didn't stop there. No, she took an infinitesimal step closer, then slowly wrapped her arms around his waist, resting the side of her head against his chest.

She was hugging him.

It wasn't a particularly romantic hug. Though her breasts were pressed against his chest, she kept distance between her bottom half and his. Her arms remained still around him.

Comfort. She was offering physical comfort that held no promises, no questions, no added pressure. She was just…giving.

He had no means of fighting selfless giving, no way to push back against someone wrapping their arms around him. He couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't Kate had offered him a hug. The first few weeks after Michaela's death, people had simply scattered. Her parents had moved, and townspeople had their own tragedies to deal with. Then Kate had gotten old enough to hug him, and she held on so tight. But while those hugs offered him purpose and hope and love, they were weighted down with all the responsibility that Kate represented.

Summer's hug was simply an offer of safety, a respite from all he'd dealt with this week. As much as he knew he shouldn't take advantage, he couldn't resist resting his cheek on top of her head or loosely wrapping his arms around her in return.

Her hair was soft, her body warm and comforting against his. Her arms were loose around him, and yet he had no doubt that if he leaned, she would find whatever strength she needed to hold him up.

He didn't have a clue how long the hug lasted, and he didn't want to think about time. This single moment could last all night, and he was positive it would never be enough. Her comfort was a salve, but the minute she stepped away, reality would crash back.

After who knew how long, she did. Summer stepped away and into the shadows. She hugged her own arms around herself, her expression half hidden in the dark.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, his voice not nearly as strong or demanding as he might have wanted.

“You constantly look like someone in desperate need of a hug.”

He wanted to do more than hug her. As platonic as that had been, the absence of her—her arms, her warmth, her smell—all clamored inside him, leaving him desperate for more.

He didn't know what prompted him to say it, to think it, but the words tumbled out. “There are plenty of things I avoid doing, not because I don't want to do them, but because I can't.”
Why can't you? What would be the harm?

She took an incremental step into the dim light. Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips and making him even more uncomfortably hard. In that restaurant the other day, he'd wanted a friend, and he'd been punished for that want.

But after handling the aftermath of Dad's hospital visit, his defenses were demolished. He had feelings and reactions, but he didn't have the sense to be careful or even awkward.

It had been his sign, that call about Dad, a reminder he didn't
get
things or people. Not like Summer. He couldn't find the energy to accept that sign anymore, not here with her looking so intently at him.

“What…what kind of things?” she asked, her voice soft and breathless. As if she knew. As if she knew exactly what he'd been avoiding.

He swallowed, closing the distance she'd created between them. “Maybe you should go home,” he forced himself to say. Before he did something he couldn't take back. Before he did something he'd regret when he had to remember everything he had to do, all his responsibilities, all his stress.

“Maybe,” she returned, not making a move to leave or distance herself again. She dropped her arms and took a step toward him, until the toes of their boots were touching. “But then again, maybe I should stay.”

Summer's heart was pounding so hard in her chest, in her ears, she had no idea how Thack didn't hear it. How could either of them hear anything beyond the furious thumping?

This wasn't right. Obviously he was breaking down, and she had no right to push herself into all the cracks that were snaking through his distance and control.

But, oh, how she wanted to fill those cracks. When her fingers moved over his jaw, his shoulders had simply
slumped
, a distinct and visible relaxation. She'd hugged him and felt that hard wall of muscle, strength, and determination losing an ounce of tension.

Surely a hug was better than bashing glass bottles against a wall. Surely understanding was a better salve than violence, no matter how harmless that violence might be.

She wanted to do it again. Her hand on his jaw, a simple hug. She wanted to feel the way it affected him. She couldn't stop herself from wanting something far more complicated.

She wanted to feel his mouth on hers, for one thing. Would it have the same effect on him? Could she help him
and
find out what he tasted like, all at once?

She was trying to find an altruistic reason to force herself to close the distance between their mouths, and that was ridiculous. If he wasn't going to do it, she should. They couldn't stand this close forever, or her heart might actually burst.

Something had happened to him, inside him, after that phone call about his father in the restaurant, and if he couldn't get past it, well, she could.

She could say something. She could grab him by the shoulders and pull him down to meet her mouth. She could get up on her tiptoes and kiss his neck. There were nearly a million things she
could
do. She'd been not-so-subtly fantasizing about exactly this, about the moment when the spark between them would catch and lick to life.

If only one of them would move.

As if he heard the inner workings of her mind, his arm moved. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand rose to her face and hovered just next to her temple.

She didn't breathe. She was afraid if she inhaled or exhaled, it would break the spell. This had to be a spell, after all, a remnant of that fairy magic Kate was so enamored with. But if Summer really had fairy magic, his mouth would already be on hers, and she would know what it was like to get something she wanted.

The very tips of his fingers touched her forehead, gently brushing some stray strand of hair away. She tried to keep her eyes open, to soak up the moment. It probably wouldn't be much more than a moment, after all, and she wanted to relish it forever.

But his fingers trailed down her cheek, and she couldn't keep her eyes open or her breath held. It came out in a whoosh as the pads of his rough fingers trailed across the soft skin of her jaw, just as she'd done to him.

He didn't stop. The backs of his fingers trailed down her neck, and she had the terrible realization that she'd actually groaned. All he'd done was barely touch her in the most innocent of places, and her chest was tight and jittery, her stomach was doing rolling flips, and a kind of aching need she'd never experienced before was building low in her stomach.

No one had ever made her feel quite this…valued. It was an odd word, an odd feeling, and yet the fact he was being so careful and controlled was the opposite of everything she'd known before.

His hand went around the back of her neck under her hair, so she could feel each finger pressed firmly against her skin. He was
holding
her there, as if he needed her not to move.

She would gladly never move if he'd keep looking at her like she might have all the answers. As if she might
mean
something. So few people looked at her like that. Okay, no one looked at her like that. Even though her family had come to accept her, they still regarded her with an ounce of…
what do we do about Summer
?

Thack seemed to know exactly what to do about her. She needed him to…to… She didn't know. His face was still so close, and she didn't know
what
she needed, only that she wanted his hands. His mouth. Things she'd never allowed anyone to do to her. She wanted to grant him access to all the parts of her she kept hidden. His mouth still hadn't touched hers. He hadn't moved past putting his hand on her neck, holding her there, holding her. It felt as if her heart beat in every place his fingers pressed, as though her entire existence was centered in those five points.

Her breath was uneven at best, everything inside her waiting and wanting and
wishing
. She couldn't take it anymore. “What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice shaky, her breathing too shallow and quick.

“That I should go. I should be in my home taking care of my daughter, my father, and every other damn responsibility that's on my shoulders.” His grip seemed to tighten on her neck, and her head fell back farther, meeting his stark gaze more head-on. Because for all his
shoulds
, he wasn't letting her go.

“So why aren't you going?” She had to know. What was keeping him here? She needed to hear that he felt some inkling of that same energy that had thrummed between them from the beginning. Not just
friendship
, but
this
.

All the potential of this.

“Because…” His voice was rough, and his eyebrows drew together, only visible in the dark because they were so close. “Because I don't fucking want to go.”

And then his mouth was finally on hers, soft and hot, demanding. She had to hold on to his jacket to keep her balance, to keep her mouth fused to his, because now that the flame had finally licked to life, she never wanted it to go out.

She never wanted this to end.

There had been so few kisses in her life, and they all paled in comparison to this. To Thack and the way his fingers tangled in her hair, and his palm cradled the back of her head, and the way he held her with a certainty, a sturdiness, that left no room for fear.

He was solid, every part of his body so hard, except his mouth. That was soft, as was his tongue, softer as it trailed across the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. She gave it. Willingly, perhaps emphatically.

Yes, emphatic, as she loosened her grip on his shirt and wrapped her arms around his neck instead, bringing him closer. They were pressed together, her chest crushed to his, her thighs pressed to his, every part of her touching him hot, so hot, and every part of her
not
touching him dying for the pleasure.

His free arm came around her waist, but more, his fingers trailed under the hem of her coat and shirt, so that his bare palm rested against her bare back, pulling her more firmly to him.

There wasn't space between them, nor air, just the hardness of his muscles, like a wall. A wonderful, delicious wall, whose mouth was everything she'd hoped for.

“Summer,” he murmured against her lips, his tongue stopping its lovely exploration.

“Don't stop.” Because she could tell that terrible idea was floating somewhere in him, muttering her name, and she wanted nothing to do with stopping.

Nothing.

* * *

This was out of control. Completely and utterly out of his control, and Thack couldn't care. Where were the pieces that had made up his life for the past seven years? All that control and caution and choices made for everyone but himself.

He wanted something for himself. He wanted Summer for himself. A kiss wasn't enough. Touching, being all tangled together, none of this could possibly be enough. She'd said, “Don't stop,” and she was right. Why should he stop? The air had changed when his lips had touched hers. All that heat and pent-up frustration, all that need he'd been trying so desperately to ignore. This
thing
she unlocked in him that he didn't understand. Surely, it was just a symptom of the isolation of the past few years, not…her.

He slid his hand down her back until it met the one under her shirt, and then—because every sensible, respectful, responsible thought in his head had combusted—he inched both hands under the waistband of her skirt and underwear and cupped her gorgeous ass, holding that soft expanse of skin with his rough hands.

She didn't unwind her arms from his neck, didn't stop exploring his mouth with her tongue. Instead she pushed even more flush against him.

He was hard. So damn hard. She was all soft fabric and jangling jewelry and complex scents, and he wanted to bury himself in everything she was, everything she exuded.

Don't stop
. No, he didn't want to stop. He wanted her naked. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted what he had denied himself so long, not just because it had been
so damn long
, but because she was the first person,
real
person, to unlock anything like this surge of feeling inside him.

Her fingers trailed off his neck, and he held tighter onto her ass, like his palms belonged on her always.
Belonged
.

But she didn't let go as he'd feared she would, and her mouth never left his. Instead she trailed her hands down his chest until they rested on his belt.

Touch me. Touch me. Touch me
. He'd say it if he could stand to be separated from the sweetness of her mouth for one second. But she tasted like heaven, far better than any liquor he could drink. She smelled better than any spring field of flowers, and she felt softer and more perfect than any blanket straight from the dryer.

Summer was this magic thing—better than any other experience he could think to name. Because she enveloped him like he belonged exactly here, as if there was no question.

She traced the outline of him through the rough denim of his jeans, and he'd forgotten. Forgotten that it could be like this, like his blood had turned into molten lava, like he'd never be okay, never be able to breathe again if he didn't get to sink into her, come inside her.

And,
oh shit
, that thought right there. He stepped away from her, pulling his hands so quickly out of her skirt that he might have ripped something. He took a stumbling step back, away, gulping air. He gulped at sanity.

Fuck.
Actual full-fledged
fucking damn it
. Because he…

He shoved fingers through his hair, trying to find some center, some ability to breathe. The last time he'd had the thought
Oh, who needs a condom
, it had ended in a daughter.

He'd made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he tried very hard not to
repeat
mistakes. This would be a repeat mistake. Something born of his desperation that would only end with someone hurt or dead.

“Sorry! Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. I just…” Something about the worry on her face, the uncertainty in her voice made him remember how young she was. Not
that
young, but…

Because the only way to make this worse—the thoughts in his head, the desire in his gut—the only way to make this worse would be if she… “You've done this before, right?”

“This?” Her voice was high. Too high. “Oh. Sure.”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” He took a deep breath. He was reading this wrong. His fears wouldn't be confirmed because this couldn't be any more complicated than it already was. He didn't deserve any more complications. “The where this was leading to part. You've done
that
before, right?”

“Where was it leading?”

Only, she didn't ask as though she didn't know. She asked as though he was being ridiculous. He
was
being ridiculous. In every possible way. But that didn't mean he appreciated her giving him a hard time. Even if he deserved it.

“Maybe that proves my point,” he grumbled.

“Are you asking if I'm a virgin?”

It was a little unmanning to realize he was being a complete wuss about actually saying the words, when he'd had his tongue jammed down her throat little more than a few seconds ago. When his bare hand had cupped her bare skin like he had
any
right to lead from a first kiss to an ass grab in five seconds flat.

He'd wanted her so bad, wanted something just for himself. But there was a problem with that. A problem in all of this. As much as he might want Summer, as much as he might be perfectly happy to relieve the tension in his life for a few minutes by screwing her against his father's woodshed, Summer was…well, a person too. With her own wants and problems and tensions to unwind.

She might be just as eager to find some kind of sexual release together, but she was a woman with her own stresses and baggage, and the two of them didn't get to just walk away and never see each other again. Their lives were intertwined.

He didn't have any space left for more entanglements. He didn't have any extra time in his day for another person who would come to expect certain things. Hadn't the last few days been a glaring reminder of that?

Especially if she had honestly never done this before. “Yes, I am asking if you're a virgin.”

“I don't see why it matters.”

“See, if you answer with
It doesn't matter
, rather than an actual answer, I think it might matter.”

He could sense her frown more than he could see it.

“I have to go.”

He almost asked her not to. He
almost
grabbed her arm and kissed her again. There were a million almosts running through his mind, all the things
he
wanted, but…

Hadn't he learned? He didn't get what he wanted. He had Kate, and that meant he didn't have leave to take things for himself. His daughter was everything. If he ever let that slip, he would lose her too.

His chest contracted so painfully at the thought that he almost stumbled. The thought of losing Kate, coupled with all it would mean, nearly brought him to his knees. He had to get inside and check on her, make sure everything was okay, but Summer was walking away into the deeper dark.