Winning Back His Wife (Camp Firefly Falls Book 1) (2 page)

A
ll day
, Michael had thought about this moment. He'd dumped the box of stuff on his desk this morning and stood there in his coffee-drenched suit, wondering where the hell his marriage had gone wrong.

Then his assistant had knocked and entered his office, oblivious to the turmoil inside her boss. He'd felt the moment that work and responsibility had swirled around him, and for the first time in his life, resented the hell out of it.

He'd held up his hand, not even looking over his shoulder. All of his attention was still on that box of stuff, and the envelope still on top. "I need to cancel my appointments for the day," he'd said gruffly. "I've had a family emergency. I need to clear as much time as possible. A few days at least."

They weren't going to get divorced. He was going to chase her down and make her talk to him in a way that was probably long overdue.

Maybe she'd tried. He couldn't really remember. But this time, he'd listen.

Once he was alone again, he opened the envelope. It killed him that she'd gone to a lawyer already. So much for a separation just being a cooling down period.

He'd forced his hand to relax before he turned the envelope into a matching crumple to the ruined coffee cup he'd left in the café. But before he dropped the envelope, he felt something other than paper in it.

The hemp bracelet.

He'd gone to the board meeting, but his mind was already a few hours ahead of him on the highway. Not that it had helped him any.

Now he was standing here on her doorstop, that bracelet in his pocket, and he still wasn't quite sure what to say or do to get his wife back. The unexpected gift had given him even more motivation to get up here and get some answers, but now that he'd found her, he found himself shaking with emotions more complicated than he'd ever expected.

Maybe she hadn't meant for the bracelet to mean anything other than,
here's this old thing you made me. I don't want it anymore.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Heather looked at him like he'd gone mad. Maybe that was true.

“No.”

“You’re dripping. Are you going to come in?” Something about her tone—too rehearsed, too cool—gave her away.

He narrowed his eyes at her, not giving a damn about the rain, not when she was looking at him like… “You knew I’d come,” he said, the truth of it sinking in. “You set this up.”

Her eyes sparked bright. “I’d
hoped
you would.”

His wife was fearless. Fearless and beautiful and so totally infuriating, it made him see red. He was furious.

"That's a dangerous game to play," he rasped. He took a step inside and she moved around him to close the door. "What if I hadn't found the bracelet?"

She shrugged, and he realized she was wearing his sweatshirt. The sight of it on her sent another flame of regret shooting through his core. He loomed over her, still wearing his dripping jacket, and she let him crowd right into her space.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Tell her you were going to chase her anyway. Tell her you'll always chase her.
But it wasn't true. If she really wanted to be done with him, he'd find a way to live with that. But he wasn't ready to admit defeat.

"Why did you go to a lawyer?" His voice cracked, and he swore under his breath. "I brought the papers, you know. If you're serious about wanting out, I'll sign them. But not until we've talked."

"No." She shook her head. "You're not going to tell me I'm wrong again. That's not why I gave you the bracelet."

He unzipped his rain jacket, because as wild as he looked, of course he would still have checked the weather report before driving up, and tossed it aside. Shoving one hand through his wet hair, he tried not to let his frustration get the better of him. They needed to undo months of damage. Maybe years, if he was being honest. And it wasn't going to happen in one rain-soaked, emotion-laden moment.

“You couldn’t just ask me? Instead of giving me divorce papers, you couldn’t have just asked me here?”

"Would you have come?" She twisted her hands into the front of his shirt and tugged him toward her.

It was the closest she'd come to being in his arms in six months and at the first whiff of her familiar scent, he knew it wasn't going to be enough to just be close. His arms shook with the need to haul her against him and never let her go. "You made it crystal clear that I wasn't welcome."

"Because you kept trying to convince me to sell this place!"

"Because it's a money pit," he growled back, unable to resist the now familiar fight. He couldn't understand why she'd walked away from their life for a complete disaster. Why she'd chosen a total mess over her husband. "Because if you want to do something different with your life, fine, but why choose certain failure?"

She gasped and shoved at his chest, but no—she'd pulled him close. Now he was
right there
, and he wasn't backing down. "Take that back," she whispered.

"It's the truth," he said roughly. "I'm never going to lie to you."

"It's your opinion. I don't share it. I have a plan, which is sound, if you'd ever deigned to listen to it."

That pulled him up short. "If I agree to listen to it, will you agree to hold off on the divorce?"

"You think that's a fair trade?" She huffed into his chest. But she wasn't shoving him away.

He bowed his head and breathed in the scent of her. His Heather had always been fresh and sweet. Always would be. He'd missed her like this, in his arms, all curled up. "No. I probably owe you a hell of a lot more. But it's a starting point."

"You'll understand if I'm doubtful," she said, her words muffled now as her mouth found his neck.

Painful longing punched him in the gut. God, yes, he wanted her kisses. Wanted all of her, immediately and constantly, but that wasn't talking.

"I understand completely." His words were rougher now, shaking with restraint that he hated. He didn't want to hold back. He stroked one hand into her hair, letting himself have that slightly more intimate touch. The silky strands slid around his fingers as he held her tight. "But I can prove to you that I'm interested in every last detail of your plan."

She nodded, and when she spoke, her tone surprised him. It sounded like she believed him. "You can"

Holy hell, did that give him hope. He tightened his grip on her hair, just enough to tug her head back. He gave her a hard look. "Yes."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She slowly exhaled, then smiled. "You came."

"I did." He curved over her, his mouth aching to cover hers.

"We'll talk?" Her breath puffed against his lips, shaky and warm.

"A lot," he murmured, knowing they needed it. But they needed this even more.

"When?"

"Later."

She pushed up on her toes, closing the last quarter inch between their bodies, and he opened for her, because he wanted to, hell yes, but the need was deeper than that.

He'd never been able to say no to her.

Not for kisses, or dreams, or even a separation when things got so bad she couldn't see another way to deal with their impasse.

If she'd just asked him about the camp, he'd have found a way to support that, too. But she'd done it all without him, then served it up as an angry ultimatum.

The bitter memory needed to be wiped away. He deepened the kiss, demanding more from her, but the more she gave, the hungrier he got.

She tasted like tea and sweetness. Her tongue was quick and warm and teasing as it tangled with his—so familiar and yet new, too. She'd always been confident when making love, but this was daring and willful. A new taste, and he wanted more of it.

He tugged her hair again, angling her head back so he could taste the skin of her neck. The delicate muscles worked beneath his mouth as she clung to him, letting him explore for a minute, but then she tugged back.

"More kisses," she whispered. "I've missed that so much."

It wasn't quite "I've missed you," but it was a start. And it wasn't that he doubted that fact. He was just a bit needy to
hear
it. To know that her heart had been broken just as much as his, and she was just as fragile now…

Not that she felt fragile as she sank her teeth into his lower lip.

"Ahhhh," he groaned and she laughed a little.

"Is that okay?"

"More than okay."

Her fingertips dug into his shoulders as she slid her body against his, winding a heavy fog of lust around them both. His lips were wet now, and swollen, and each kiss got sloppier than the last.

Hotter, too, until they were both gasping and tugging at clothes.

Those definitely needed to stay on until after talking.

He tightened one arm around her waist, so she couldn't get offended and run away, and stroked his other hand along her jaw. It took all his willpower to avoid the temptation of her clever tongue swiping for his thumb. He cleared his throat and gave her a stern look. "It’s late. Dare I ask what kind of bed you've got in this cabin?"

She laughed. "Afraid I'll make you sleep in a bunk?"

"I always did have a fantasy that we'd done more than just kiss. Me sneaking into your cabin…trying not to squeak those metal springs too much"

"If…" She trailed off and her eyes darkened. "I don't want to get ahead of ourselves here."

He swallowed hard. He knew the feeling. They had a chance here, maybe, to right all that had gone wrong between them. "If we talk,
and
we end up on the same page, maybe we can celebrate by finding a bunk to violate?"

She nodded. It should have been dirty, but it wasn't. Not the feel-bad kind, anyway. They'd met here. Fallen in love here. If they had any chance in hell of finding their way back to each other, it was at Camp Firefly Falls. And maybe in a bunkbed. In a canoe. On the dock and in that arts and crafts building…

"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered.

"Bed," he whispered back.

She twined her fingers with his and tugged him to the bed in the corner.

"Nice quilt," he murmured as she toed off her boots and peeled off the sweatshirt. Underneath she wore a snug tee and black leggings. Compared to that, his jeans and buttoned-down shirt would make lousy pajamas.

She crawled into bed and pushed back the covers. Even here, she slept on "her" side of the bed. That made his chest hurt.

She gave him a small smile and held out her hand. "Come here." Then she shook her head. "I'll stay clothed, but the jeans and shirt have to go unless you're commando."

He laughed. "I could be."

She arched one eyebrow. "That would be different for you."

He wasn't that different, not yet. But after he stripped down to his boxer-briefs, he stopped at the side of the bed. "I’m going to try, babe. I'm going to try as hard as I can to be as different as you need me to be."

He wasn't talking about underwear, and the way her eyes got bright, he knew she knew it.

"Come to bed, Michael."

So he did, wrapping his wife in his arms for the first time in what felt like forever. They kissed until it hurt, and then she buried her face in his bare chest and he stroked her hair.

Long after she fell asleep, he held her tight, wondering how the hell he'd been so stupid for so long. This was all that mattered. His wife. Their shared dreams. The only future he'd ever wanted.

T
he light
on her closed eyelids told her it was morning, but Heather didn’t want to move. Or breathe. Or anything that would break the spell. He was here. He was with her. He smelled impossibly wonderful.

She dared to blink, the small cabin coming in to focus while she memorized the feel of being surrounded by Michael once again. They’d fallen asleep spooned together last night, and he hadn’t turned away.

Would he turn away from her today?

“You’re not sleeping,” he said, his voice a dark rasp in the room painted by dawn. “I can tell by your breathing.”

“Neither are you,” she pointed out, settling deeper into the curve of him when his arms tightened around her.

He pushed back enough to let her know he wasn’t unaffected by their closeness either. “I’m regretting not making love to you last night. I’m considering rectifying that situation right now.”

She smiled as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Nothing’s changed since we went to sleep. We shouldn’t…not yet.”

In his sigh, she heard a thousand words. A thousand grumpy Michael words, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he nipped her shoulder. “There had better be coffee. I need coffee and a shower and then…and then we’ll see.”

She had coffee. He was going to be disappointed about the shower.

The power was back on, surprisingly, so she didn’t have to resort to using the woodstove to make a pot. Which was good because he was going to grouse at her when he came out of the bathroom, and he groused less with caffeine. She made him a quick cup on the K-machine while she boiled water for an actual pot of French press, her preference. By the time he came out of the bathroom, she handed him a mug and smiled brightly.

“You don’t have a shower,” he complained, but then looked at the coffee and begrudgingly added, “thank you.”

Such a bear he was in the morning. “You’re welcome. And no. I don’t have a shower. I do have a natural hot spring five minutes away.”

He blinked at her. His mouth opened, then shut again. She almost laughed at the restraint he was so desperately trying to hold on to. Finally, he cleared his throat and said relatively blandly, “You’re bathing in a hot spring.”

“I’m conserving water.” Heather chose to ignore the insinuation that it was somehow abnormal or not practical. She also didn’t tell him that the main house had a shower that she sometimes used.

Because she wanted to get him in that hot spring. Naked.

Sex, they’d decided last night, would not
fix
their marriage. But as she’d drifted off to sleep, she realized she didn’t see the harm in at least using her Mother Nature-given charms to give the
fix
a helping hand. And her charms were never more charming than when skinny-dipping in a hot spring.

“I thought I’d give you a tour of the camp, show you what I have in mind, and then I’ll show you the hot spring.”

He grunted. He’d be better in a few minutes. After his coffee kicked in.

When they’d been to camp as kids, the hot spring was an urban legend. The counselors always teased that there was one—for senior counselors only—but the kids were never allowed to use it or even know where it was. She’d assumed it was a fable until she bought the place and found it by accident.

After coffee and a quick breakfast, they set off. Suddenly nervous, Heather stopped abruptly on the trail outside of her cabin. What if this didn’t work? What if he thought her ideas were stupid or impossible? What if she couldn’t get him behind her dreams?

Was she strong enough to stand firm? Was she willing to trade one dream for another? Her marriage for a summer camp? A summer camp for her marriage?

Michael palmed her shoulders. “You okay? Why are we stopping here?”

His presence steadied her, even though it was his presence here at camp that had her nervous. She turned slowly in his arms. “I’ll put in a shower, you know. At the cabin. It’s on my list.”

“Okay…”

“I just wanted you to know.” If he could read into her subtext, he’d know what she was trying to say was that she would do the things that made him comfortable here. But Michael hadn’t been very good at reading the subtext in her words in a long while.

Why couldn’t she just tell him her thoughts outright? Why was she always waiting for him to figure things out between the lines? God, she needed to take her fair share of their communication breakdown didn’t she?

“I wanted you to know because I am not completely impractical. I do want to be able to shower in my own cabin. And I also want you to be comfortable here. If you come to camp. I want you to have your coffee and your shower and your internet. I’m working on that, too. Getting internet. Wi-Fi will suck. But there’s no reason we can’t have access at the main house.” She took a deep breath because all the rambling took it out of her. “So, anyway, I just want you to know that it’s important to me that you are comfortable.”

“I don’t think you are impractical.”

“Yes you do. But that’s okay. I don’t mind being impractical most of the time.”

He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Show me your camp.”

There. That wasn’t so hard.

But it wasn’t going to be all smooth going. The camp wasn’t in great shape. She could tell he was holding back a lot of comments when she showed him the sleeping cabins.

“You’re going to wire them all?” he asked. He was probably doing math. That would account for the dubious tone.

“Yes. A lot of adults aren’t really ready to go all the way back to nature. The cabins will be like hotel rooms. With indoor plumbing and electricity. And maid service. They just need to
feel
rustic, not be rustic.”

“I see,” he answered, deep in Michael-thought. In her experience
, I see
didn’t usually mean good things.

She’d worked in hospitality long enough to know she was right. But being right currently wasn’t going to fix anything in her marriage.

They went to the main house next. She already had an office set up in there. And there were some rooms she’d designated as VIP, though they didn’t look it yet. There was also a great room filled with comfortable furniture, books, puzzles and board games for rainy days; a reception desk, and a kitchen that would someday be state of the art.

“Why do you want a chef? Why not just a head cook? It would be a lot cheaper.” He was still doing math.

“A chef will be important to foodies. I’m marketing Camp Firefly Falls to professionals, not campers. Corporate retreats, possibly weddings, certainly singles and overworked white collars.”

Michael paused in his inspection of the stove, as if he had any idea about wiring in general or stoves specifically. “Corporate retreats?”

A frisson of excitement zinged through Heather. That was the first look of real interest she’d gotten from him.

“I was thinking team building, leadership training, and communication. That kind of thing. I’ve been looking at a couple different companies that can come in and do that here.”

“You don’t want to do that in-house?”

“I don’t think I’m especially qualified for that. I’d need a facilitator. Someone who better understands corporate culture and who knows the ins and outs.”

Michael nodded but his forehead crunched into deep thought. “It’s good for companies to bring their teams out of the office. It can fortify bonds and open up new ideas…especially now that so many employees are telecommuting.”

Pleased that he finally found something to agree with her about, she took him to the boathouse.

“Dances?” he repeated when she told him her ideas.

“Yes, dances. With an open bar. And live music sometimes. And the longer camp sessions could have a talent show on the stage.” She pointed to the rafters. “I want to hang thousands of white lights in here to echo the fireflies outside.”

He was thoughtful for a few minutes, standing in the middle of what would be the dance floor. “We didn’t have a dance when we came to camp.”

“I know. We had to make due with stolen kisses in the woods.” She took his hand. “C’mon. I promised you a hot spring.”

T
he hike was a gentle one
, but her heart pounded the whole way. Being there with Michael was surreal in so many ways. The familiar suddenly new, different.

When they arrived at the pool, he chuckled. “There was a hot spring here the whole time?”

It wasn’t that far from the main campus, not even that well-hidden. But the counselors had made it sound like you had to go through middle Earth to find it.

“Right?”

And then his expression darkened. “And you bathe in it. Alone. Naked?”

“Well I’m not bathing with anyone else if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair. When had he started doing that? He didn’t like to be mussed. But he just gave her a hard look, like he didn't care at all that his hair was now standing adorably on end. Like the only thing he cared about was figuring out his wife. This stranger in front of him. “What if someone sees you?”

“It’s my land. If I want to be naked on it, it’s nobody’s business but mine. It feels good, Michael. Natural." All of that was true, but she pushed it a little further. Yes, maybe she was testing him. He needed to be tested. "I like being one with the earth.”

He clenched his jaw, but kept his voice even. “It’s not safe. You living out here alone. I know you like your chakras balanced or whatever, but don’t you think it’s dangerous?”

Heather unzipped her jacket. “Nope.”

One brow arched high, the only indication he was interested in what she was doing next. “You just run around naked whenever you want.”

She toed off one shoe. “Yep.”

He bit back whatever he was going to say. She could see him counting in his head. Then, in a very mild tone, he asked, “When your campers are here, using the spring, will you still come out here naked?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

She dealt with her other shoe, her socks, and her jacket while she spoke. “I’m not telling anyone about it. It’s my secret. You’re the only one who knows it’s here besides me.” She smiled and pulled her shirt over her head.

Michael no longer hid his interest, openly appraising her bare breasts as she paused on the button of her jeans. His voice got a little deeper, a little less questioning.
Gotcha, mister
. He licked his lips. “I guess that makes it our secret then.”

“Michael? I have another secret.”

“What’s that, babe?”

“I went commando this morning.”

She shimmied out of her jeans feeling every bit the goddess he seemed to be entranced by. Michael didn’t look like the same man she’d shared coffee with yesterday. Gone was the put-together business man who lived by the dictates of his watch and the expectations of a corporate master she’d never understood. In front of her stood a complicated man with very uncomplicated instincts.

He wanted to devour her alive.

As if she didn’t understand what she was doing to him, she turned away, dipping her foot to test the water. The temperature was perfect. Just perfect. Because while this seducing business was exciting and all, she was really fucking cold.

He was behind her instantly, grabbing her around the waist, his nose buried in her neck. “Minx,” he said roughly as he pressed against her. He was fully clothed against her nakedness, and she felt deliciously naughty.

The cold air in front of her, the heat of him behind her, the contrast of his jeans and her bare ass, the scrape of his morning scruff against the delicate skin under her ear all combined, making her sensitive beyond reason. If he touched her now, where she was wet and aching, she’d come with no fanfare or preamble.

As if he sensed how close she was, he snickered in her ear and backed off. The rustle of his clothes got her stepping into the water and turning so she didn’t miss the show.

Was he really going to do it? Her Michael, who could probably tell her the number of the state regulation code she was violating by taking off her clothes, was really going to skinny dip with her?

God the sound of his zipper was the most erotic sound she’d ever heard.

She didn’t have time to admire him, though she wanted to. He was in the water too fast, pulling her to him in a slippery kiss. She ran her hands over his shoulders and toned back, the minerals making his skin slick.

Her foot slipped on the bottom of the pool and she almost took them both down, but Michael’s arms banded around her middle and there was nothing to do but laugh at the ridiculous situation.

So much for a sophisticated seduction on her part.

“God, I love your laugh.” The raw honesty in his tone sucker punched her right in the gut, sobering her immediately.

She reached up and traced the lines around his mouth and he rested his cheek in her hand. She loved those brackets around his lips, a testament to the time she’d invested in their relationship making sure he had laugh lines and didn’t grow stodgy and unsmiling like his father. Like his parents seemed to want him to be.

His parents. She hadn’t missed them the last six months that was for sure.

Except that right now, maybe it was time to be serious. To discuss where things stopped working in their marriage. How they got to the place where she felt justified in making huge life changes without his input and he didn’t notice her absence from their home for three days.

Talking, the idea of it, scared her to death. And that was wrong. It shouldn’t. But she was still worried. What if they talked and it fixed nothing? What if a real conversation about what was going on was actually the last light left to be turned out at closing time?

“Hey, where’d you just go?” he asked, pulling her with him to a sitting ledge. He sat her between his legs, his chest against her back, his arms holding her firmly.

“I’m afraid of talking now. Things have been so great today. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and ruin it.”

Michael’s hand flexed on her stomach. “Don’t be afraid.”

She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, letting the soothing pattern his hand traced on her skin relax her. Yes, sometimes he was too serious for his own good, but then again, she’d always needed the extra grounding that his logical, rule following mind provided.