Page 19 of Love and Forgiveness (Rough & Ready Country #6)

Chapter Thirteen

IZZIE

Repeating the pattern of a week ago, Wolfe orders, “Izzie, I need to see you outside. Pronto.” He grabs my red wool peacoat.

Standing up unceremoniously, he seizes my hand, leading me out to the same alley where he wanted me to punch him seven days ago.

Only this time, his strong, thick fingers tangle with mine, and he looks back over his shoulder, concern etched on his face.

I should stop him, say I don’t want to go outside.

But every physical part of me does—easily overriding the mental side of me.

We walk down the dark, cold alley, our percussive footsteps echoing off the brick.

When we get to the end, I put on my coat while he paces back and forth in front of me, his thumb pressed pensively to his lips.

I lean against the wall, watching his to-and-fro movements, confusion tangling my insides.

Finally, he stops in front of me. “Something’s wrong. You’re mad at me again. Tell me what it is.”

I clear my throat, feeling dangerously close to tears. “Your security company. It’s really a cover for something else, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrow, and his face tightens. I have my answer.

“You’re still a mercenary, or whatever it is you do that you can’t tell me about.” I’m waving my hands in the air, even though I keep my voice low.

He stands back on his heels, looking sexier than ever in his khaki pants, combat boots, and tight-fitting white thermal. He left his cowboy hat at the table back in the bar. It’s totally out of character for him. Obviously, he senses how pressing this moment is to everything going on between us.

Licking his lips, he replies, “I do own a security company, and I mean it when I say I’m committed to staying in Hollister and making a go of it.

Especially now.” His eyes trail down to my left hand for emphasis.

“You’ve got to understand something about me, though.

I don’t want to go all Liam Neeson on you, but I’ve got a certain set of skills that a lot of people need.

Good people who need help taking down bad guys.

Sometimes really bad guys that can’t be allowed to wander the streets.

So, yeah, I still do work on the side. I do it to protect my country, and more importantly, I do it to protect my family and you. ”

I let my head recline back against the brick wall as I let out the breath I’ve been unconsciously holding. “That explains Rutger and McGregor. I couldn’t imagine any of you boys being happy as small-town security guards.”

“I would do it for you,” he ventures, moving a step closer to me, and I’m stuck between a flash of anger and the need to run into his arms.

“But there will always be secrets between us,” I counter, my heart sinking.

“Professionally speaking, yes. But I’ve never been anything but truthful with you when it comes to our private life. Even though I know you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I reply, fighting a sob.

“I’ve never stopped being loyal to you. It’s made my life miserable as you basically figured out the other night in the parking lot.

” His cheeks darken as he moves a step closer to me.

My breath catches in my throat. “I think you know better than anybody that me coming in my own fucking underwear is … well, very out of character for me. You remember what kind of self-control I normally have. Especially when it comes to things of a sexual nature.”

I want him so badly. Yet, I try to harden my face, fearful of falling back into an unhealthy series of patterns and a tired ending I know too well. Maybe he didn’t cheat on me. But I can’t revert to the life we lived before.

Him constantly overseas… Me raising the kids alone…

I moved to Hollister to be with Wolfe, to be his wife—not to keep the home fires burning indefinitely based on a hope and a dream. I held on as long as I could. There’s nothing worse than feeling that lonely while married, though.

“I hate to fucking admit this, Izzie, ‘cause it makes me sound like a pussy-whipped fool. But even if you did cheat on me, I’ll still take you back. If infidelity is part of what’s holding you back now, please let it go.

Just don’t tell me about it, or I’ll end up in prison on murder charges. His, not yours, of course.”

Coming from a man as possessive as Wolfe, the words floor me. My voice sounds far away as I admit begrudgingly. “I haven’t been with anyone since you, Wolfe. How can you not know that? I mean, what man could hold a candle to you?”

His face relaxes before growing hard and unreadable again. He says quietly, “I signed the divorce papers today and gave them to Flynn. He told me he’ll file them first thing Monday morning.” Wolfe’s eyes rove over my face, searching for a reaction.

I’ve waited for this news for so long. Dreamed about the day I had my freedom back, finally feeling a sense of closure.

Visualized returning to my maiden name. So, why do waves of devastation rock me to my core?

And why do tears pour down my cheeks and my brows knit in anguish?

That feeling like I’m panicking and having a heart attack simultaneously takes hold, and I stifle a sob, trying to breathe.

He closes the distance between us, his face awash in emotions. “Why are you crying, Izzie? I thought this is what you wanted? I thought this news would make you happy?”

I shake my head, looking down, unable to explain myself. Even worse, now I’m ugly crying, something he doesn’t need to see. He tips my chin up with his hand, looking into my contorted face. I manage, “No, Wolfe, please don’t look at me like this. I’m a hot mess.”

He stares at me long and hard, his eyes overflowing with tenderness. “You’re my hot mess, and I think you look gorgeous, red-faced, sobbing, snotting, all of it.” The brute of a man swipes my runny nose with his hand and sleeve as if it’s nothing.

Suddenly, it hits me. There’s nothing—literally nothing—I could do to make him stop loving me. I barely have time to contemplate this realization before another one hits me even harder. There’s nothing he could ever do to make me stop loving him. It’s not possible.

Sure, he could get me to leave him. He could anger me so much I never want to see him again. But beneath the pain, anger, disappointment, and hatred would still flow unending currents of love. Ferocious waves no amount of distance, time, or circumstance could tame or deplete.

Wolfe restlessly pins me against the brick wall.

His hands palm my cheeks, and his thumbs wipe more tears from my face.

I feel so embarrassed and mad at myself.

After all, isn’t signing the papers what I’ve begged him to do for months?

Only to realize divorcing Wolfe is the last thing I want to do. Ever.

Confusion swims in his eyes, and I sputter, “I’m crying because I’m the worst ex-wife ever. I’m a total failure at this. I’m terrible. The worst.”

His eyes look fierce, and there’s a realization behind them.

With a boyish grin and quiet laugh, he says, “I couldn’t agree with you more, Izzie.

You make a fucking lousy ex-wife.” The hulkish man leans down, covering my mouth with his tenderly, and he’s still chuckling against my lips.

He draws his head back slightly, adding, “You should stick to what you’re good at. ”

Between sobs, I ask, “And what’s that?”

He cups my cheeks in his hands, staring down at me adoringly. Emphasizing each word, he answers, “Being my wife.”

Tilting my head up, I drown myself in his passionate kiss.

Tendrils of desire curl through my veins, awakening feelings inside so long buried I didn’t know they existed anymore.

Yes, I still feel the mind-numbing desire to give my body to him in every naughty way imaginable.

But a newfound tenderness infuses our embrace as the salt from both our tears mingle.

My hands come down to his ass, pulling his lower half frantically against me. This is not the time or place. I get it. But I’m desperate to be filled with my husband’s love. Ravenous to be one with him again.

The heat and force behind his zipper takes my breath away as his large hands urgently explore me in return, cupping my breasts as his thumbs rub over my nipples. I arch against him in ecstasy, and then his hands drop to my ass, squeezing and pulling me into his hard arousal.

Looking up for a quick moment, he scans the alley, making sure it’s clear, and no one can see us.

Between the darkness of the spot where we stand and a waist-high brick wall surrounding utilities, any view of what we’re doing is obstructed.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he growls against the spot where my neck joins my shoulder, already hard at work on another hickey.

“And you shouldn’t be covering me in love bites, but I don’t want to stop. Do you?” His eyes grow two shades darker at my question, and he leans into me, pinning me more tightly against the brick wall.

“I won’t take you here, wife,” he says pausing over the last word, and my heart jumps.

Registering the smile that captures my lips, he continues with a naughty grin, “But I will give you a teaser you won’t soon forget.

And just for the record, I haven’t even started covering you in love bites, yet.

You’re going to need a burqa by the time I’m done with you.

” I sigh breathlessly against the promise as his voice vibrates through me.

Unbuttoning the front of my jeans, he takes his time unzipping the fly.

Sticking his massive hand down the front of my jeans, he moans at what he finds.

“You’re fucking soaked. It’s about time you let me help you with that. ”