Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek, #2)

by Melanie Harlow

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this.” He laughed. “Stressful day?” I shrugged. “My mom is a little extra these days, with Thanksgiving this week, and my brother’s wedding in two weeks, and then Christmas not long after that. But with Griffin well on his way to giving her the grandchildren she’s always wanted, you’d think she’d let up on me a little, but no.” “No?” I shook my head. “Yesterday she left this pamphlet on the kitchen table called ‘Beating the Biological Clock.’” Cole winced. “Ouch.” “Tell me about it. I was so furious, I crumpled it up and threw it away right in front of her. And then late last night, of course, I got out of bed, dug it out of the trash, and read the whole damn thing front to back. And it turns out she’s sort of right! Women lose, like, a thousand eggs a month, and peak fertility occurs when girls are between the ages of eighteen and thirty.” I tossed back the rest of my wine—so much for taking it slow—then set the glass on the table with a plunk. “And you know what else? Men continue to make sperm and testosterone at virtually the same rates throughout their entire lives. So not only is the asshole biological clock a real thing, it’s a real thing only women have to deal with.” “Sorry,” he said. I looked at him, and his expression was so contrite I had to laugh. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t think my body is shriveling up and wasting away that quickly. I have at least a few good years left.” “Your body is fucking perfect, Cheyenne.”

I swear to God, those words came out of his mouth. My jaw fell open. His face went red. “Fuck. Sorry.” “For what? It was a compliment.” “Men shouldn’t comment on women’s bodies.” “But did you mean it—what you said?” “Yes.” “Then say it again,” I demanded, my pulse racing. He looked me in the eye. “Your body is fucking perfect, Cheyenne.”

My fingers moved frantically over the letters. I can’t sleep, because I can’t stop thinking about you. This might come as a surprise, but it happens a lot. And it’s been going on for years. When I was a teenager, I used to dream about kissing you. Touching you. Feeling your body on mine in the dark. I used to lie awake and picture you in your bed next door, and I’d fantasize about sneaking into your house and up to your room. I’d have let you do anything you wanted to me. I still would. I could never, ever say these things out loud to you, so I’m hiding behind this text I will never send, but it’s the truth. I lie in bed at night and crave you. Your body. Your mouth. Your hands. I fantasize about them on me. I fantasize about a lot of things. You arrest me. Put me in handcuffs. Force me into the back of your car. Take me somewhere no one could find us.

You’re angry with me for being bad. You say I need to be punished. You take that baton off your belt and rub it between my legs until I beg you to fuck me. You’d take off your— And it happened. I don’t know how it happened, but it happened. I hit send.

Choking back tears of shame, I typed OMG I AM SO SORRY! PLEASE FORGET YOU EVER— But before I finished what I wanted to say, my phone buzzed in my hand. Cole: My belt. Huh? For a second, I just stared at his text in confusion. Then he wrote again. Cole: My gun belt. That’s what I’d take off next. Oh. My. God. Cole: If I’m in uniform and I had the baton, I must be wearing it. My pulse roared like a freight train. My fingers trembled. Cole: Keep going. I took a deep breath and began to type. Me: OMG. You were not supposed to see that. Cole: Too late now. Are you going to tell me the rest? Me: Do you really want to hear it? Cole: Yes.

I tapped the blank text box, my fingers poised, my breath coming fast. But I was terrified to dive in. I had to sit next to him at the Thanksgiving dinner table tomorrow! Cole: Did you forget where you left off? Me: No. I have stage fright. Cole: You were begging me to fuck you. What happens after that? Okay. Okay. We were doing this. I made up my mind right then to just let go. Me: You take off your belt. Unzip your pants. You take your cock in your hand. Cole: I’m so fucking hard. I dropped the phone and fanned my face. Did he mean right now? Or in the story? Either way, my entire body flushed with heat. My nipples grew stiff and tingled with pleasure. I picked up the phone again. I’d never sexted anyone before, but I knew this story front to back. I’d imagined every little detail. Me: You tease me, stroking yourself and making me watch. I want you inside me. Cole: I want your clothes off. Me: I’m only wearing a T-shirt and panties. It’s the middle of the night, remember? Cole: Take them off. I smiled as I typed. Me: I can’t. You cuffed me, Officer Mitchell. Cole: Take them off. Right now. The smile faded from my lips. I’d never heard him be so demanding before. I did what he asked and lay back.

Me: Now what? Cole: Keep going. I bit my lip. Me: First tell me something. Are you really hard? Cole: Yes. Me: You’ve got me so hot, Officer. Hot and wet and desperate for you. Cole: Spread your legs. I did, imagining it was him pushing my knees apart. Me: What are you going to do to me? Cole: First I’m going to taste you. Then I’m going to fuck you. My jaw dropped. This wasn’t the path my fantasy usually took. Somehow Cole was controlling it like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Cole: Put your hand between your legs. Me: I won’t be able to type. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. He was calling me. Oh my God, he was calling me. “Hello?” I whispered, pulling the covers over my head. “Do what I say.” His voice was so low I could barely hear it. “Okay.” Licking my fingers first, I reached between my thighs. “Can you feel my mouth on you?” I rubbed my wet fingertips over my clit in soft, slow circles, imagining it was his tongue. “Yes.” “I can taste you. I swear, I can fucking taste you.” He sounded different, and not just because he had to be so quiet. There was something in his voice I’d never heard before—an urgency, a quiet intensity that had me burning up from the inside out.

“Cole,” I whispered, the flames licking higher inside me. “It feels so good.” “I want to make you come.” “Yes,” I whimpered, unable to believe what I was hearing, unable to stop my hips from rocking beneath my hand to the soundtrack of his heavy, ragged breath in my ear. In no time at all, I was hovering on the brink. “I’m so close.” “Me too.” His voice wa...

“Fuck. Do you want it?” he growled with quiet intensity. “Yes, I want it,” I whispered as the tension in me coiled so tight I couldn’t breathe. “I want everything.” He exhaled—one final, drawn-out rush right as my own climax hit, and I imagined his cock pulsing inside me as my body tightened rhythmically around him. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygoddddddd. I don’t know how much time passed before he spoke.

“Jesus. I don’t know what to say.” It was his regular voice again. As if something had clicked back into place between us. “Don’t say anything,” I said quietly, terrified he was going to apologize. “I need a minute, okay?” “Okay.” My mind raced as I yanked my panties and T-shirt back on. What were we going to say to each other? Had we just ruined our friendship? How would we get past this? A moment later, he was back. “Hey.” “Hey.” “So . . . that was a surprise.” “Um. Yes. It was.” Silence stretched out between us. “I’ve never done that before,” he said. I relaxed a little. “Me neither.” “I feel like I should apologize, but . . . I’m not sorry.” Relief rushed through me. “I’m not sorry either. Embarrassed, but not sorry.” “Why are you embarrassed?” “Because you were not supposed to see that text,” I whispered as fiercely as I could. “I was never really going to send it.” He laughed gently. “I’m glad you did.” “You are?” “Yes. I was lying here thinking about you in all sorts of inappropriate ways, and feeling terrible about it, and then I saw your message. It made me feel better.”

“You were thinking about me?” I snuggled down beneath the covers again, happy right down to my toes. “Yes.” He paused. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” “Well, as you now know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot since I was thirteen.” He laughed again. “Stop.” “I’m serious. I’m going to take it as a compliment that I hid it so well you never knew.” “I promise you, I never knew. But I wasn’t all that observant back then.” “Neither was Griffin, and I think even he knew.” “Speaking of your brother . . .” “What about him?” “I don’t know. I feel weird about—what just happened. Because he’s my best friend. And you’re his sister.” “Well, don’t. It’s none of his business.” “But back in high school, he made us all promise we’d never touch you.” He must have realized how ridiculous that sounded, because he laughed after he said it. “Oh my God.” Shaking my head, I laughed too. “I’m a big girl, Cole. I don’t need Griffin to protect me. And frankly, you were just as protective of me growing up as he was. You were nicer, too.” “I don’t know about that,” Cole said, loyal to his best friend....

“Same,” I said. “I can’t say Griffin was physically abusive, but he did used to do that thing where he’d pin me down and let drool hang from his mouth over my face and then suck it back in again at the last second. He made armpit noises while I’d practice piano. And he’d leave dead bugs where I’d find them in the bathroom we shared—in the sink, the shower, on the counter by my toothbrush.” “What an asshole.” “I know. It’s amazing he turned into a decent human being. And for what it’s worth, I don’t really think he’d care about . . . what just happened. It’s not like he’d think you were taking advantage of me or something. For heaven’s sake, I started it.” He laughed a little. “You did. But I took it to the next level.” “True. But Cole . . .” I took a deep breath and said what needed to be said. “This doesn’t have to change anything. I know we’re just friends.” He exhaled. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.” “It’s the truth. Teenage crush aside, I think what happened tonight was just . . . letting off steam or something.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough. “We just got carried away.” “Yeah.” “Maybe ...

There it was again—that low, sexy laugh I wanted to wrap around me like a thick, cozy robe. “It was fun, though.” “It was,” I agreed. “So we’re ok...

“Then what are you worried about?” “I’m not worried about anything,” I said, annoyed that she was ruining my good mood. I grabbed the whisk attachment from a drawer and shut it angrily with my hip. “Then I don’t understand why you’re not even giving him a chance.” Inhaling and exhaling, I felt my nostrils flare as I turned to face her. Maybe the stark truth would shut her up. “If he wanted a chance with me, Mom, I’d give it to him. He doesn’t.”

“I thought it might be weird today,” she said, her voice a little quieter. A confession. “Seeing you.” “I worried about that too.” “But . . . it wasn’t.” She handed me another plate. “I mean, maybe it was a little weird sitting next to you at the table with our families right there, because I kept thinking about it, even though I was trying not to—” “Same,” I confessed. She stopped what she was doing and looked over at me. “Really? You were thinking about it too?” “Every fucking minute.” The tension between us pulled taut, and I knew I had to say something to diffuse it or I’d end up kissing her. I cleared my throat. “But you were right.”

“About what?” I focused on drying the plate in my hand, even though it was already dry. “About staying friends.” “Oh. Of course,” she said, starting to wash the same dish again. “Absolutely. Friends.” “Which is why we can’t—shouldn’t—mess around.” “No. Definitely not.” She handed me the plate without looking at me. “It would only confuse things.” “Right,” I said, and I should have been glad that she agreed so easily, but somehow I wasn’t. Had I been expecting, or hoping, that she would argue? “I mean, we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, with the wedding and the holidays and all,” she went on. “The last thing we need is to create an awkward situation. And our mothers are already driving us crazy. Why throw fuel on that fire, right?” But the only fire I could feel was the one burning inside me. I set the plate down without drying it. “Cheyenne.” “And like we said last night, what happened was just a momentary lapse in sanity,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard me. “Letting off steam. A one-time thing.” She reached for another plate, but I grabbed her wrist. “Cheyenne.” Her eyes met mine. Her lower lip trembled. “It won’t happen again.” But it was too late—in an instant my mouth was on hers. If there were words of protest on her lips, I didn’t want to hear them. If making out with her in the kitchen was the worst idea I’d ever had, I

didn’t want to know it. If I was going to be sorry on the other side of this kiss, I didn’t fucking care. I wanted this. I needed this. I needed her. I let go of her wrist and took her head in my hands as my tongue searched for hers. Her wet hands found their way up my chest, and she clutched my shirt, her fists curling inside the material. I moved my fingers into her hair and kneaded them against her scalp, loosening the bun so that pins clattered to the kitchen’s wood floor. I changed the angle of my head, deepening the kiss, a sound of frustration tearing from somewhere in my chest. I ran my palms down her shoulder blades and lower back, pulling her in tighter against me. She looped her arms around my neck until her chest was crushed to mine, and I couldn’t resist sliding my hands lower, grabbing her ass. Now our lower bodies were pressed together as well, my erection trapped between us, pushing against her pelvic bone. Without thinking, I turned her back to the counter and rocked my hips, grinding against her. My mouth moved down her throat, eliciting a tiny moan from her that ratcheted my blood pressure up even higher. She reached for my belt. I yanked up her dress. She ju...

I went down next to her, but all we could do was gaze mournfully at the broken wedding china. “It was my fault,” I said. “I’ll take the blame.” “It wasn’t your fault, Cole.” “I started it,” I argued. “I wanted it.” “I pushed you against the counter.” “I jumped onto the counter.” I shook my head at the mess. “Your mom is going to kill you.” “She’ll get over it.” But her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she gathered up the bigger pieces. “It’s just a plate.” “I don’t think it was just a plate to her.” “Well, it was supposed to be my plate eventually,” she said, ...

She watched me dump the mess into the trash, leaning back against the counter. “You think it’s bad luck?” “That the first time I kiss you, we destroy a piece of your mother’s wedding china? Yes, that is some bad luck.” I replaced the broom and dustpan in the pantry and shut the door. “Not that. I mean, maybe that too, but do you think it’s bad luck that I broke what was supposed to be my wedding china? Is it a sign I’m doomed to be single forever?” I turned to see her biting one thumbnail. “No. I don’t think that at all.” “But what if the universe is telling me something?” “Like what?” She shrugged helplessly. “I can’t have nice things?” Her face was so despondent, I couldn’t resist tugging her hand, pulling her into a hug. “Hey. Come here.” She moved forward into my embrace, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her cheek pressed against my chest, and I kissed her head before resting my chin on top of it. It felt so fucking good to hold someone like that—protectively, a little possessively, almost as if she was mine. “You deserve all the nice things,” I told her. “What the universe was telling us tonight is that maybe going at each other while we were supposed to be washing your mother’s most fragile dishes wasn’t the best idea we’ve ever had.” She laughed a little, the sound muffled against my shirt. “Maybe not.”

“And maybe what we should do is just . . . slow down. Make sure we know what we’re doing. Mistakes—and accidents—happen when people get careless and move too fast.” She looked up at me. “So the universe was giving us a speeding ticket?” “More like letting us off with a warning.” She sighed, replacing her cheek against my chest. “You’re probably right.” I didn’t want to let her go, so I didn’t. I kept talking, stroking her back. “I just don’t want to do something that . . . can’t be undone,” I told her. “Something that seems like a good idea in the moment, but turns out to be wrong for everyone.” “I know. I don’t want that either.” “I love having you in our lives, Chey. That makes this complicated. If I only had to think about what I want right this second, believe me—it would be so easy.” She laughed a little, although it was a sad kind of laugh, tinged with regret for what couldn’t be. “Yeah.” I stopped moving my hand and pulled her even closer. Her body was soft and warm, and I’d never wanted anyone so badly. “So fucking easy.” In my arms, her body stilled, and she inhaled, like she needed to breathe in enough of me to last her a while. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice was quiet. “Anything.” Another deep breath. “Do you ever see things being different for you? I mean, do you ever see a juncture in your life where you might feel differently about . . . about letting someone in?”

“When Mariah was about five, I made her a promise. She asked me if I was ever going to get married again and leave her behind, and I said no. Apparently, someone at school whose parents were divorced had been talking about their dad getting remarried and moving away to have a new family—it scared her.” “Poor thing.” “Anyway, I promised her that was never going to happen to us. That’s when she told me she likes that I wear my wedding ring. I think it reassures her.” “Of course.” “I thought she’d forgotten all about that conversation we had back then, but last year—this was when I asked you for a recommendation for a therapist—my mom was cleaning her room and found this letter she’d written to me but never showed me.” Cheyenne tilted her head back and met my eyes. “What was in it?” “A lot of things—questions about Trisha, about her death, wondering if she was to blame, wondering if somehow there had been a mistake and her mom wasn’t really gone.” I shook my head, my heart breaking all over again. “Again, she expressed her fear that she

was going to lose me—either to an accident or another family. She described this nightmare that she has often, in which she wakes up one morning and I’m just gone. She’s alone in the house, and she realizes that everything I’ve said has been a lie—I did leave her.” “Oh, Cole.” Her eyes grew shiny. “I’m so sorry. Did the therapist help?” “Yes. Eventually, the therapist got Mariah talking about her fears, even about the letters she wrote but never sent. Apparently it’s healthy and normal, functioning sort of like a diary. A safe place to express her feelings.” “That makes sense. Did she ever talk to you about what was in the letters?” “No. And I didn’t want to confront her with what I knew because it felt wrong—like a violation of her privacy. But it also tore me up inside. I want her to know she’ll never lose me.” My chest grew tight. “When I brought her home from the hospital, I set my feelings aside and made a promise to her and to myself that I’d give her all I had. I’d be the best father I could. I’d go above and beyond to protect her, even if it continued to mean setting my feelings aside.” Cheyenne smiled sadly. “You can’t get involved in anything that would hurt or scare your child. I understand.” Knowing I had to let her go, I kissed her forehead and released her. “You’re one in a million, Cheyenne. And you deserve the guy who can put you first, give you all the nice things, and never let you down.” She sniffed. “Ha. Does that guy exist?” “Yes. And someday I will pr...

I dropped my arms, feeling like the biggest dick on the planet. How had I fucked this up? A few minutes ago, we’d been laughing. “You don’t have to stay,” she said, adjusting her dress and then her hair. “I can finish up on my own.” “Are you sure?” “I’m positive. I should probably just get it done without any distractions.” “I understand. I’ll let myself out.” “Okay, thanks.” She offered me a half-smile and turned toward the sink, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to wrap my arms around her again. I was walking away from her when she called out to me. “Cole, wait.” I turned. “Yeah?” “Your ring. You forgot it.” She came toward me, holding my wedding band in soapy fingers. “Oh.” Shocked, I took it from her and slipped it on. “Thanks.” Her smile was forced. “No problem. ‘Night.” She faced the sink again. I walked out of the kitchen, wishing I could flip the dining room table on my way to the front door.

Because the way he was looking at me was making it hard to breathe. “Well, goodnight,” I said, opening the door to my room. “Goodnight.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. I entered my room and shut the door. At least, I tried to shut the door—Cole’s hand shot out and stopped it. “Cheyenne, wait.” My breath caught. “Yes?” “I just want to say that I’m really glad to see you made it up here safely. I was worried about you making that drive.” “I’m fine.” I glanced down at my outfit. “A little grungy and disheveled, but fine.” “You’re always beautiful.” Our eyes met. I wanted to thank him, but I couldn’t speak.

“Also . . .” He struggled for words. “I want you to know that I thought about you all week. And I wish . . .” He paused. “I keep wishing things were different.” I smiled and lifted my shoulders. “I wish things were different too, but I appreciate your honesty.” “So we’re okay?” The tightness in my throat made it hard to get the words out. “We’re okay.” He nodded. “‘Night.” “‘Night.” I closed the door and leaned back against it, trying not to cry. We might be okay, but I was not.

“No. You look perfect, Cheyenne.” “Thanks.” I laughed. “This is not the outfit I planned on wearing, but given the blizzard, I decided against the sexy black dress and heels.” “You were wearing that sweater the night we had dinner at DiFiore’s,” he said. “Was I?” I slipped in the snow, and he caught me before I went down on my ass. “Whoa. You okay?” he asked. “Fine,” I said, recovering my balance and laughing a little. “You know how I love getting tipsy when it snows.” He laughed too, keeping his grip on my arm. “Right. I walked you home that night so you wouldn’t fall.” I giggled. “I fell years ago.” “What?” “Nothing.” Jiminy Cricket, did I say that out loud? We reached the door to the barn, which Griffin was holding open for everyone. “You know what? I just need a minute,” I told Cole. “Some fresh air before I go in.”

The moment I walked into the bar, Cole turned around like he knew I was there. His eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. He grabbed the knot on his tie and pulled it loose. Smiling, I moved closer, slipping in next to him at the bar. “Hi.”

“Holy shit.” His eyes ran over my skin, head to toe. “You’re stunning.” “Thank you. You look good too.”

“I’m beginning to regret telling you to wear the dress. I’m not going to be able to keep my eyes off you tonight.” “Good,” I said, perching on the edge of the bar stool and crossing my legs just so. Again, his eyes did the thing I’d been waiting for them to do since I was twelve years old—see me. And only me.

Cheyenne faced me as they retreated, giving me a smile. “Hey, you.” “Hey.” I knew what I was supposed to say, but somehow my tongue was tied in knots and I couldn’t get the words out. “Having a good time?” “No. I mean, yes—I was—but now I’m not.” Her expression was confused. “Okayyy.” I exhaled, my shoulders slumping in defeat, my eyes slamming shut. Then I straightened up and looked at her again—and what came tumbling out of my mouth was the bourbon-infused truth.

“That did not come out right. What I was supposed to say was some bullshit about the room being crowded. Then I was going to ask you if you wanted to get out of here and go up to my room.” “You were?” “Yes. But not because the bar is crowded.” I took a step closer to her. Reached for her hand. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you’re killing me in that dress. Because I don’t want to lie awake tonight wishing I’d had the courage to tell you how much I want you.” Her plush bottom lip had fallen open. Her brown eyes were wide. “Cole,” she whispered, her hand tightening around mine. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste you.” His mouth moved down my neck, and I threaded my fingers into his hair. Every nerve ending in my body was tingling, every inch of my skin on fire. One question echoed inside my head. “Is this real?” I whispered. “God, I hope so.” He kissed my shoulder, my collarbone, my breast through the clingy black material of my dress, before bringing his lips back up to mine. “You’re making me crazy tonight.”

“I want you so fucking badly tonight,” he growled, his other hand fisting in my hair. There it was again. That word—tonight. “Cole, wait.” I pushed against his chest slightly, just so I could look up at him. “What about tomorrow?” I asked breathlessly. “Huh?” His hand went still.

But I couldn’t help it. “What about tomorrow? Will you want me then? And what about yesterday?” “I . . . I don’t understand.” He took his hand from my underwear. “I don’t either. And I’m probably going to hate myself for this, but something doesn’t feel right.” “It doesn’t?” I took a deep breath, willing myself to have the strength to say what needed to be said. “The first night you walked me home, you told me why you don’t date, and I understood. Last week, you explained to me in heart-wrenching detail why you and I should probably just be friends, and I agreed. Last night you said you wished things were different, and I did too . . . so are they?” “I . . . I don’t know.” He sounded genuinely confused, and then he rolled onto his back. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just trying to let go and have some fun.” I sat up, pushing my dress down and bringing my legs together. “I was too.” “And I really do want you. Everything I said tonight is true.” I pressed my lips together, knowing a but was coming. “But you’re right. Nothing has changed. I’m still the same guy I was last week, with the same issues.” He flung his arm over his eyes, and I caught the shine of his wedding ring in the lamplight. “I can’t make you any promises. And I can’t lie to you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “No need for apology, Cole.” I took another deep breath. “I came up here willingly, and part of me is still desperately hoping tonight ends with me in your arms, because I can’t tell you how badly I’ve always wanted to be there.” He looked over at me. “I want you there too.” “But not enough,” I said, hearing the catch in my voice, even as I smiled. “And it’s okay. The truth is, Cole, I don’t want it enough either—not enough to invite the heartbreak that would follow. Because I won’t be able to just walk away from this and be okay. It will mean too much to me.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “You can’t read my mind, and I’ve never been entirely honest about my feelings for you. So I’m sorry too, for leading you to believe I could be that girl who’s up for anything. It wasn’t fair.” “Cheyenne.” He reached over and put a hand on my leg. “I really thought I could be her tonight. I wanted to be her tonight. God knows I’ve been her every other night of my life.” My eyes blurred with tears. “The truth is, Cole, I’ve loved you hopelessly for so long that I don’t know any other way to do it. But being with you like that would give me hope, and that’s something I can’t afford right now.” “Cheyenne, I—” “No, don’t,” I said, sliding off the bed, away from his touch, his scent, his blue eyes looking at me with despair. I couldn’t bear to hear him explain why he couldn’t love me back. I’d always known.

“Don’t say anything. Let’s just leave it be and do what we said, okay? Let’s be friends. My feelings will fade again.” Slipping my feet into my shoes, I heard myself laugh nervously. “They always do.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t want you to go.” I turned to him with a tearful smile. “I have to, Cole. I have to go to my room alone, where I will put myself in a timeout, curse myself for blowing my chance to sleep with you, and wallow in the humiliation of everything I’ve just confessed. But once I get over all that, I’m hoping to feel good about this.” It took him a moment to reply. “I understand.” “Thank you. Goodnight.” Aiming for a dignified exit, I headed for the door, but then turned around again. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you could just forget everything I said to you tonight and pretend like this never happened?” He shook his head slowly. “I’ll never forget the things you said to me tonight.” So much for dignity. Cheeks burning, I moved for the door again. “Cheyenne, wait!”

“Yes?” I held my breath. “I want you to know . . .” He ran a hand over his jaw. “I want you to know that I understand how you feel. And I hope you know how much I care about you. There hasn’t been anyone since Trisha that I—that I want this way.”

“I’m sorry if I messed up our friendship by saying one thing and doing another,” he went on. “I won’t do it again.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, wondering how the hell I was going to get through tomorrow. “Okay.” He opened the door for me, and I held my head high as I walked through it. At the sound of it closing behind me, I burst into tears.

Without looking in Cole’s direction, I went to the coat room and asked the attendant for my faux fur stole, which all the women in the wedding party had worn. Wrapping it around my shoulders, I slipped outside. The snow had finally stopped falling, and the night was clear, a few stars visible in the sky. I tipped my face up and out of habit, wished on the first one I saw. I wish Cole could be mine. Then I shook my head, blinking away tears. I really needed to stop doing that—wishing

“Cheyenne?” At the sound of his voice, I turned. “Cole. Hey.” “What are you doing out here? You’re going to freeze.” “Nah.” I looked up at the sky again, at the traitorous stars. “I’m just getting some air.” “Blair said you were out here—I said I’d come get you. It’s about time for the dance.” “Oh. Okay.” Glancing at him, I tried a joke. “Ready to bust a move?” He laughed a little. “I’m just hoping I don’t bust your toes.” “Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep them out of your way.” I moved for the door, but he reached for my arm. “Cheyenne, wait. I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk.”

“Maybe later, okay?” I said, gently shaking his hand off me. “We’d better get inside. I can hardly feel my feet, which won’t help us on the dance floor.” Nodding, he pulled the door open for me without another word.

“You should dance with Mariah,” I said. “Yeah, I promised her I would, at some point.” “No, I mean during this song. Like, trade me for her, so she can be part of this. After all, she’s in the wedding party too.” Cole was silent a moment. And then, “I don’t want to dance with Mariah right now. I want to dance with you.” “I really don’t mind,” I said, suddenly desperate to make an escape before I broke down. “In fact, I insist.” “Cheyenne.” “Let’s move that way.” I took the lead, maneuvering us over to the side where Mariah stood. “Hey sweetie,” I said, smiling at her. “Want to dance with your dad?” Her eyes lit up. “Can I?” “Of course,” I said, letting him go. “He’s all yours.” “Yay!” She spread her arms, and Cole embraced her the way he’d held me, dancing her back out onto the floor without another glance in my direction.

“Was today tough for you?” “Yes.” Even though I’d suspected as much, his words still caused a sharp twinge in my chest. “But not in the way you think.” I pulled back slightly to look at him. “What?” “Today was mostly tough for me because I felt bad about last night.” I stiffened. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not. The way it ended was all wrong.” “But it had to end that way, Cole. I know it’s hard to understand, because I can’t make you feel what I feel, but believe me when I say that we’re better off today having stopped things last night.” The song ended, so I let him go and stepped back just as Griffin and Blair approached.

While I was pondering it, someone knocked on my door—three hard, staccato beats. I groaned in annoyance. “Go away, Griffin. I’m not coming down.” Three more knocks. Exasperated, I hauled my ass off the bed and shuffled to the door in my bare feet, my velvet gown dragging behind me. “Stop it, Griffin! You’re going to wake the entire inn. And I’m not coming—” I opened the door. Then I stopped talking.

“You don’t have to come down, but goddammit, you need to listen to me.” She looked taken aback for a moment, then shook her head. “No.” “Why not?” “Because we don’t want the same thing, Cole. I mean, yes, tonight we probably want the same thing,” she said, her eyes traveling over my shoulders and chest and down to my crotch before she quickly flicked them up again. “And there was a time in my life when I’d have done it in a heartbeat, just to be with you like that. But I’m—” “Stop talking,” I said, putting a finger over her perfect lips. The door slammed shut behind me. “Stop talking and listen. All night I’ve been trying to tell you you’re wrong, and I can’t fucking get the words out, because you keep cutting me off.” Her eyes flashed with fire as she pushed my hand away. “I’m protecting myself, Cole.” “You don’t need protecting, Cheyenne. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” I took her head in my hands and looked her in the eye. “You’re safe with me.”

“But last night you said—” “Last night, I was still confused. I couldn’t think straight. I haven’t been able to think straight for months where you’re concerned. And then when you told me how you’d felt all that time, it was like being hit by a train. There were all these things I wanted to say to you but couldn’t.” “Sorry,” she said. “I know that was a lot—what I told you.” I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. I needed to hear it. I needed to be pushed into facing the truth.” “What’s the truth?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “That I have feelings for you. And they’re not going to go away just because I ignore them.” Cheyenne’s mouth had fallen open, and I traced her bottom lip with my thumb. “Believe me, I’ve tried to ignore them. I’ve tried to talk myself out of them. I’ve denied them to anyone who asked.” She blinked. “People have asked?” “Yes. Apparently I am not an expert at hiding the way I feel about you.” “You hid it from me.” “Well, I don’t want to hide it anymore,” I told her, loving the way it made her expression melt from surprise into bliss. “Not from you, not from myself, not from anyone. That’s why today was tough—because I realized that even though I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, I don’t want to lose you.” “You don’t?” “No.” I kissed her lips, then whispered against them. “When you have something precious in your hands, you need to hold on tight.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I managed to say instead, running my hands up the sides of her thighs, pausing to grip her hips. Her lips curved into the kind of smile I hoped she’d never given to any other man. “Thank you.”

“Cole,” she panted, reaching down as if to pull me to my feet. “I want you.” “You’ve got me.” I stood up just long enough to tip her backward onto the bed, then I knelt at her feet again and pushed her knees apart. “So be patient. I’ve waited for this a long time.” “You have!” She sounded shocked as she propped herself up on her elbows.

As soon as I felt her body relax slightly, I jumped to my feet, and ditched the rest of my clothes, pausing only to pull my wallet from my pants pocket. She lifted herself up onto her elbows and watched as I took out the condom and tore the wrapper open. “Am I dreaming?” she asked breathlessly, scooting up toward the headboard. “Want me to pinch you?” I rolled the condom on and stretched out above her. “Yes, please.” She opened her legs for me and put her hands on my chest. “I want you to do everything to me.” I braced myself over her and eased into her body slowly, even though my heart raced ahead and my instinct was to chase it. Below me, I watched Cheyenne’s face change, her eyes closing as she took me in, heard her breathing become more labored as she struggled to relax and get used to my size.