Page 38 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

I freeze, my mouth working uselessly. “I—I didn’t mean to … I wasn’t … they … left—I was left …” I babble as I point toward the road.

Her smile is gentle but amused. “Isn’t it a little cold for that dress, sweetheart?”

I nod, mortification coursing through my body as I grab the hem and tug at it, trying to cover all the important parts. “Yes. Yes, ma’am. My sister picked it out. We went out, and they thought it would be funny to … drop me off here. As a joke.”

“Ah,” she says, stepping onto the porch. “Sisters.”

She says it like she has a few of her own and knows.

“Do you want to come in?” she offers. “Before you start growing icicles.”

I glance at the cabin door behind her—the warm glow. The faint scent of firewood drifting out. My pride screams at me to turn and run as fast as I can, but my toes are already going numb, and my bladder is about to explode.

“Okay,” I whisper.

She steps aside, and I walk up the steps and past her into the cabin, my eyes scanning for him.

The television is on. There’s a half-empty glass of wine on the side table. The fire pops in the wrought iron stove, casting its light across the room.

I stand there, pressing my thighs together, doing a little dance as she shuts the door behind us.

There’s rustling in the bedroom as she calls out, “Case, we have company. ”

The bedroom door swings open, and he’s standing there in nothing but a towel, his hair wet and droplets of water clinging to his bare chest.

“Matty?” he breathes.

I take off racing toward him. His eyes are wide as I slip past him and sprint into the bathroom and slam the door.

I pull down my panties and fall to the toilet.

Oh, sweet relief.

I spend an impolite amount of time hiding in the bathroom. If there had been a window, I would have climbed out of it and walked all the way home. Finally, I manage to calm myself down enough to walk back out and face them. The freak-out sobered me considerably.

Caison is standing in the middle of the living room, barefoot, in jeans and a black T-shirt, when I emerge. His eyes widen the moment he sees me—like he doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or happy.

Probably both.

“Matty,” he says slowly, like saying my name helps confirm I’m real. “What are you—”

“I didn’t come here on purpose,” I snap, cutting him off. “I was kidnapped.”

That earns me a slow blink.

“Your sisters?” he guesses.

“Yes.”

His mother nods. “Made quite a ruckus out in the driveway. They sound like a good time.”

“They’re menaces,” I say.

“Can’t believe you let them bully you,” he says, one brow rising.

“I was outnumbered, and they fed me shots.”

“Ah.”

He’s smiling now. That infuriating half smirk that looks way too good on him.

“Well, the guys shooting pool fed us the shots, but you know what I mean.”

His eyes narrow at that as they do a slow perusal of me from head to toe. Taking in the short, skintight dress and heels.

I cross my arms and try to look composed, even though I’m swaying slightly and feel very much like I might burst into tears at any moment .

His mother sets her hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’m Marcia, Case’s mother. It’s nice to meet you, Matty, but I think we’d be better served with a proper introduction later. I’m going to head back to the main house. Let you two talk.”

Caison’s eyes flick to her as she grabs a wool-lined jacket and pulls it on. “Mom, it’s late and cold. You don’t need to go.”

She smiles at him indulgently. “Priscilla has that room with that big ol’ bed waiting for me.”

“I’ll take you,” he says. He turns back to me. “You don’t go anywhere.” It’s a command. One that has my spine going straight. “I mean it.”

I nod curtly, cheeks blazing.

“Oh, no. I’ve already got a ride,” Marcia says as she wraps a scarf around her neck and tugs on a pair of gloves.

His head snaps to her just as the rumble of an engine rolls up outside. “I texted Holland.” She walks over and gives him a peck on the cheek, then slides her eyes to me. “You two play nice and have a good night.”

And with that, she walks out. Caison stands motionless, his eyes fixed on the door as it closes behind her.

His hands are planted on his hips, and I watch his back as it rises and falls with each deep breath he takes.

One beat. Two beats …

When he finally turns around, his eyes are like liquid fire. He takes two giant steps, and he’s in front of me. His hands cup my face as I lift my chin to look up at him. His jaw tics, and for a moment, I think he’s going to scream in my face, but he lowers his forehead to mine.

“Hey, baby,” he says, his voice low and shaky.

A sob escapes me.

He lifts his lips and places a kiss just above my brows.

“I’m sorry.” Then a kiss on the bridge of my nose.

“I’m sorry.” A kiss pressed to my right cheek.

“I’m sorry.” One to my left cheek. “I’m sorry.

” Finally, his lips meet mine. The salty taste of the tears that have leaked down my face mingle with our breaths. “I’m sorry.”

And I believe him.

This apology isn’t self-serving. He’s not demanding I forgive. He’s not making excuses or blaming me for my pain, like Carl. He’s simply kissing it away because he never intentionally hurt me .

I twine my arms around his shoulders, and our mouths collide. All the indecision melts away as he clutches my waist and lifts me from my feet, carrying me to his room.

He drops me to the bed and goes to a knee, gently removing my heeled booties. His hands come to my thighs.

“I don’t know if I want you to burn this dress or wear it every damn day,” he says as he slides the silky material up while I lift my hips so he can peel it off.

He urges me onto my back, and he quickly strips and sheathes himself with a condom before coming over top of me.

I watch his throat contract as his eyes roam my body with nothing but a tiny slip of satin covering me.

Neither of us is in any rush. His hand tickles down my side and whispers over the soft fabric reverently. Before yanking once, and the delicate material snaps in his fist.

I lift a leg and wrap it around his hip as I bear up and kiss him greedily.

He finds my entrance, and I’m wet and ready for him.

He enters me slowly, and my flesh expands to accommodate him.

And it feels so damn good to be filled by him.

I groan and roll my hips, bringing him fully inside.

The stretch is a wonderful burn, and I want so badly for him to pound into me. To ease the ache deep within me.

He peppers my neck with kisses as he deepens his thrusts, and my senses go into overdrive as I commit to memory the smell of his skin, the rhythm of his breaths as he holds tight to control, the way the scruff on his face scrapes against my cheek, the feel of his weight against me, the way the muscles in his back flex and constrict as he moves inside of me, the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip, and the way his eyes dilate as he gets close to orgasm.

I pour all of myself into this moment. Surrendering body and soul.

He continues to rock into me as he slips a hand between us.

His finger begins to massage my clit. He already knows my body so well.

It’s exactly what I need to uncoil the tension wrapped around my spine.

It’s exquisite torture. I dig my nails into his ass as my climax hits quick and hard.

I cry out his name as he milks every drop of pleasure from me.

He continues to pump in and out, slowing the pace as my cries turn to hiccups. He arches his back and growls as his release follows mine, and he empties himself into me before his body collapses on mine, completely spent.

His raspy voice speaks low against my throat. “I love you, Maitland Storm.”

I start to run my fingers through his damp hair. “I love you too, cowboy.”