Page 48

“How was your date?” Hayes asks me, his voice even, but there’s something underneath it that tells me he doesn’t really want the answer.?

Not that I was planning on having ‘ girl chat ’ with him the second Declan dropped me off at our house. On the contrary. I need answers from him. I got some from Molly, and more from Declan. Now I need to fill in the rest of the gaps with him.

“It was fine.”

He nods, his long fingers flexing and unflexing around a bottle of water.

The controlled motion takes me back to that night seven years ago.

The night he took me to his hotel room in Charlotte and ruined me with his sinful fingers.

The way those strong, capable hands worked my body, pulling orgasms out of me so fast that they took the breath from my lungs and had me sore the next day.

It might be seven years, but the memory of just how big he is, how passionately he moved inside me, hasn’t faded in the least.

“Do you… do you mind if we talk for a minute?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

He watches me for a beat, then nods as I move toward the couch, settling in and tucking my feet underneath me. I try to relax my racing heart as I glance over at where he’s still lingering in the kitchen.

“Can you answer a few questions for me?” I ask.

He finally follows, sinking into the couch next to me, one arm falling easily behind my head, like it belongs there, his legs stretching out in front of him.

“Sure.” His voice is steady and more serious. His eyes lock onto mine, unwavering. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Regan.”

I nod, wetting my lips as I glance toward the small fire he built. “First, did you chop that wood?”

The edge of his lips tips up like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Yeah. I did. It was from a dead tree Mrs. Mayberry hadn’t gotten around to clearing. Figured we’d have a late spring fire. Make it nice and cozy in here. Are you okay with that?”

I nod. “Yeah. It reminds me of my childhood. Cash, Colt, Lawson and I used to build these massive bonfires in our backyard after the storms knocked down all the dead limbs. We’d roast marshmallows and make shepherd pies for dinner so my dad wouldn’t have to cook.”

His smile comes a little easier this time.

“So… explain to me exactly how this,” I gesture with my hands between both of us, “happened?”

“Our joint ownership of the Mayberry Manor?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. I mean, I got the highlights from Molly. I know we both made offers on the land, and Mrs. Mayberry accepted them at the same time so that we’d have to marry… each other, but why did you do it exactly?”

He exhales slowly, leaning back further, his eyes shifting to the fire.

“This is a one-of-a-kind property. There’s nothing else like it in Whitewood Creek.

Since retiring from bull riding, I’ve been missing something.

Turns out, it’s this. Animals and riding.

Residency sucked the life out of me, and my first job in Charlotte took away most of my free time.

I moved here with a purpose, to be a big doctor in a little town, to slow down, and to own a horse farm with some stables.

To get into riding and giving lessons but also to keep the thrill of being a doctor with a little less chance of dying each day I go to work. ”

I nod because that makes sense. He saw a great opportunity and didn’t want to give it up. Just like me. Though this place has always held a lot of personal meaning to me given my relationship to Mr. and Mrs. Mayberry.

“And you were okay with marriage?”

He shakes his head, eyes meeting mine again. “No, not really. Not at first.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never thought I’d get married. But you… you were different. I didn’t understand it at the time, but you were… safe. I was okay with it, with it being you. I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.”

“I… I see.” I wet my lips again, breaking his gaze because it’s too much. There’s something behind the words that he’s saying, something that makes my chest feel too tight. “So, you grew to be okay with our living arrangements?”

He nods, his fingers reaching for a strand of my hair that’s spread over the back of the couch, twisting it easily like it’s something he’s done a thousand times. “I was more than okay with it.”

Okay… what does that mean?

“The first time we got married at the courthouse, I was nervous. Terrified. And then the second time... I wasn’t nervous at all. I was sure.” He says it so confidently it shocks me.

Sure... sure about what? About us?

“Did we…” I pause, swallowing hard as I meet his gaze.

I already know the answer. He doesn’t have to say it—I can see it in the way he’s looking at me, like he remembers every second of whatever it is that I’ve forgotten.

It’s in the way that he looked at me when I saw him out by the barn earlier today.

His hazel eyes darken slightly but he doesn’t break our gaze and though the amount of eye contact we’re making right now should be overwhelming since we’re practically strangers, something tells me that we weren’t.

Aren’t.

But I need to hear him say it.

“Go on,” he says, his voice lower now, rougher. “Ask the question, Regan. I know you want to know, and I’ll tell you.”

I force the words out, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Did we have… a moment?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “We did.”

“More than one moment?”

His fingers tighten in my hair, tugging gently as if he’s holding himself back from touching me and this is the most he’ll allow. “Mhm.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes now, like looking at me might be too much. And I don’t blame him, because looking at him is too much.

The sharp cut of his jaw, the strength behind it.

The firelight flickering against his skin.

His chest, broad and solid against a tight, black t-shirt, rising and falling with each breath.

His hand is still tangled in my hair, and my body is warm—warm from the fire, warm from something else entirely.

He’s sitting close, way closer than friends would sit and if I shift just slightly, our bodies would be pressed against each other.

And despite the fact that I just got home from a date with Declan—my ex-boyfriend who I don’t remember ending things with—I can’t remember a single reason why what we’re doing right now is wrong.

Because Declan isn’t my boyfriend. I broke up with him.

I turned down his engagement. Put him in the past and I told him tonight there would be no do over.

Hayes is my husband .

A thrill shoots through me. The weight of it settles deep in my bones, in the pit of my stomach. My husband. The man sitting inches away, looking at me like I hold every answer he’s ever needed. Like I’m the only thing in the world he sees. The man whose body I remember like a good story.

I don’t remember anything about our time living in this house together. And God, I want to. I want to know everything. Every whispered word. Every touch. Every sin we committed under this roof, but at least I remember that night seven years ago and for now, that’s enough.

“Where?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His brows knit together. “Where, what?”

“Where were the moments ?”

His grip on my hair loosens, his fingers slipping away as his gaze flickers to the door. His jaw ticks.

“Outside. In the barn and on the grass.”

I draw in a sharp breath. My mind fills in the blanks my memory won’t.

The heat of the summer air. The rough scratch of hay against my back.

His body pressing me down, strong and unrelenting.

God. No wonder I feel this pull to him even when I don’t remember why.

My body remembers. Isn’t that what they say?

Your mind might forget but your body keeps the score.

My nipples rub against my dress, and I know they’re hard without looking. Hayes must notice too because his gaze drops there and his brows pinch together again like it pains him to see me. My whole body is flooded with the overwhelming sensation of need.

“Where else?” I whisper.

His eyes darken, a slow, consuming fire before they drag up to meet my gaze again. “In my bed. Upstairs.”

Fuck.

My thighs clench. My pulse pounds at the base of my throat. We were in his bed. What the hell were we thinking? What were we doing? Did we both want more?

“The night before our second wedding,” he finishes. His voice is gravel, and it hits me low, winding through my veins like a drug.

I chew my lip, trying to tamp down the flush that’s rising over my skin. But the damage is already done. I’m warm, too warm, turned on in a way that I’m not sure I know how to handle.

Hayes notices. Of course, he does.

“What did we do?” I ask because I want to know everything now. Every dirty detail like I’m watching a movie of my life that I’ve never seen before.

His arms fold across his chest, muscles flexing, stretching the fabric of his shirt. He smirks, slow and knowing. “Regan,” his voice drops, deep and rough, “are you getting turned on by this conversation?”

I shake my head, a pathetic attempt at denial, because the answer is a resounding hell yes, I am . If reading romance is a turn on for me, well hearing about my past sexcapades that I don’t remember is the same thing.

He chuckles, watching me squirm. “Do you remember the night we spent together seven years ago?”

My stomach tightens. “Um…” Yes. So clearly it feels like yesterday. “Yeah, I do.”

He nods, gaze never wavering. “We did that. And more .”

My eyes widen as I look at him.

“I licked your pussy in my bed, felt you come against my tongue, and then pinned you down outside in the wet grass and took you. Raw .”

I inhale too sharply, the breath catching wrong, and suddenly, I’m choking. Hayes’ lips twitch, fighting back a smile. When I finally manage to recover, I push out a breathless, “I should… probably go to bed.”

His head tilts. “Is that what you want?”

No. I want him to pin me to this couch and remind me exactly what we did in that bed. I want to relive every moment my mind won’t give back to me. I want to know if what he just said is true, but I can’t say that.

“Yeah, I think so.”

I move to stand, but he’s already up, already stepping into my space, the firelight casting golden shadows over his sharp jaw, the determined set of his mouth. He lifts a hand, cups my chin, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles along my cheek.

My breath stutters.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Regan?

You sure you’re not thinking about me doing something else to you right now?

” His other hand finds my hip, a steady, grounding weight but I can’t think straight.

“Regan,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel, rough and smooth all at once.

His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, the softest graze, before he pushes just past the seam, slipping inside, pressing against my tongue.

Instinct kicks in, and I suck, slow and hard, flicking the tip with my tongue before releasing him with a pop.

His pupils blow wide.

My knees feel unsteady.

Maybe that was too much.

Then, his voice drops, a low, rough whisper. “Did Declan kiss you tonight?”

The question throws me, yanks me back into reality. Declan. A name I haven’t thought about in minutes since Hayes started pulling me under, drowning me in everything I can’t remember but desperately want to.

I don’t feel guilty. Not even a little. I know now—deep in my gut—that whatever happened between Hayes and me is the reason I never looked back at Declan after ending our engagement. The reason I didn’t want him anymore. Even if I don’t remember it.

“He tried,” I admit. “But I turned my head.”

“Fuck.” The word is sharp, almost pained as it releases from his lips. “It looked like you guys were making out from the kitchen window.”

My mouth parts in shock. “You were watching us?”

His grip tightens, not painfully, just enough to keep me there, to hold me in this moment with him. “I’m always watching you.”

Then, before I can respond, before I can process the heat in his eyes, he leans in and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

And he’s gone.

Turning away without another word, without another glance, like he’s reached his breaking point. Like one more second in my presence will ruin him completely.

And God, I wish he’d let it.