Page 112 of Hero for the Holidays

Salty, masculine. And most of all, him.

There had never been anyone like him.

There never would be.

Landry King was her forever. And that was difficult. Because even if that was true, it didn’t mean she could have him. Even if that was true, it didn’t mean they could be together.

But they could have now. Now. And then they would move in together. And they would make a perfect life. They would be perfect parents, and they would orient themselves around Lila. Not around each other. Not around their own pain. Not around their own passion.

She sucked him until he was groaning, until he was pulling her hair. And she liked that. That pain counterbalanced the pleasure. Did something to ground her. Rooted her in the moment. Did something to remind her that pleasure had a cost.

That these feelings had a cost.

And there was no amount of wishing that would make that not true.

But not here. Not tonight. Tonight was just for them.

He lifted her up and held her against him, kissing her deeply. Then he pushed her onto the bed, stepping out of his jeans, his boots. His socks.

He looked like a predator, staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Like he was going to devour her. And he did.

Landry King made a feast of her, and she reveled in it. She clung to his shoulders, her thighs up over them, and let him carry her away.

And then when he returned to her mouth, she kissed him deep, as he thrust home, joining them.

She wanted to cry. She always did. Because every time felt like it might be the last time. And that made her feel like she might die. She reached her peak as he thrust into her, over and over again. He held back, teasing them both. Tortured them.

In the aftermath, he held her, shaking and shuddering.

He held her beneath those soft sheets. In a bed they’d get to sleep in together all night. They’d never done that before.

They’d never been able to.

And that made her want to weep too, but she couldn’t do that. This was right. This was the proper send-off for what they were. A real, grown-up night together. In a bed. When one of them didn’t have to leave in the morning. She lay there, holding on to his forearm, which he had wrapped around her, rested over her breasts. Her head was leaning against his chest.

“It’s always too good,” he said. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back to not having you.”

His words terrified her. Because the stakes were just too high. Didn’t he understand that?

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she said. “Tonight is just ours. Tonight it’s just us. I don’t want to think about anything else.”

“Okay.”

They lay there for a long moment. “What are your dreams?”

She closed her eyes. “That’s not a less painful subject.”

“I don’t mean those dreams. Yeah. My dream was to marry you. That was all I wanted when I was sixteen. I was going to marry Fia Sullivan. There. I said it. You don’t have to. But before that. What was your dream?”

She felt torn up. It didn’t help that he’d been the one to say it. Not when it was the clearest dream she could recall.

“I guess... I wanted to be a pastry chef. I loved watching baking shows on TV. And I wanted to do something like that. Or maybe have my own cooking show. You know, those really reasonable dreams that you have when you’re a kid. My mom said that people from nowhere don’t get to do things like that. She’s right. I was just a girl from nowhere. It was never going to happen. Having a store where I sell my baked goods is close enough. I get to do what I love. And I found a way to make the family business sustainable for all of my sisters. So...that’s living the dream, isn’t it?”

And there were other things unspoken there too. They might not be married, but they had their child now. They had a family, in a fashion. What was that if not a version of a dream. The same as that TV chef dream. You grew up, and you realized you couldn’t have everything. You realized that there was a practical version of the thing, and it was probably better anyway.

“I wanted to be just like my dad,” he said. “A cowboy. Who ran the ranch. I wanted to be so cool, like him. Smoke Marlboros and rope calves. It’s all I ever wanted. And I never could measure up to him. I couldn’t measure up to my brothers. And I quit having dreams. Until you.”

“What a shit,” said Fia. “Really. Your dad deserves to rot in the seventh circle of hell.”

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