Unstable (30 page)

“WHAT ARE YOU CHARGED
, or gonna be charged, with?” I ask after we’re in his truck, headed home.

“Hell if I know. Assault, battery, Merrick’s a pussy? I didn’t really listen. Who gives a shit, won’t stick.
So
, you’re quite the lil’ puzzle solver,” he quickly changes the subject on a laugh. “Can’t believe how quick you got there. Any thoughts, comments?” He gives me a sidelong, clever smirk.

“Yeah, about the huge problem we have. Keaton, you’re only out on bail. If Merrick’s really hurt and presses charges, you’ll go back to jail,” I whimper with worry. “Maybe for a long time. I don’t want that to happen, do you? Why aren’t you seeming at all concerned?”

“Shit, with all the dirt we have on him? He’ll be in the cell right beside me if that’s the choice he makes. Mark my words, I’m not going anywhere and with one call from Boles, Merrick will be swearing he fell. Don’t worry, baby. First rule of taking someone to court—you gotta walk in with clean hands. Merrick’s are as slimy as they come.”

That does makes sense and immediately eases some of my apprehension, so I sit back and try to relax. The day’s non-stop vast tension, confrontations, and
arrests
have my shoulders and neck bound so tight they physically ache.

So I lighten the mood. Not much else I can do except wait and see how it all plays out. And if he’s wrong, and Keaton does go to jail…I can’t waste a single second I have left with him.

“Before I forget, here’s your phone.” I slide it across the seat to him.

“Thanks.”

Then I sneak out my own and press call, eyes drilled in on him, not willing to miss one nuance of his reaction.

“It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill starts playing and it takes him a second, then it registers. I’d say his expression changes, but that wouldn’t do it justice. It’s a
movement
, a total shift in Keaton Cash—mind, body, soul and heart—of sheer completion.

And he does the most adorable thing. He answers his phone. “Baby, is that you?”

“It’s me,” I giggle,
from my seat right beside him
…while we have a phone conversation.

“You picked your ringtone, huh?” He still hasn’t looked at me, eyes on the road.

“Nothing gets past you, Cash. Why won’t you look at me? You don’t like my choice?” Loaded question—I
know
he does, but I want to hear what words he chooses to tell me so.

He pulls into the driveway, stops immediately, and hangs up.

Then he turns his head slowly, showing me what he was hiding before—a moist sheen to his eyes. “That song,” he speaks softly, “I know the words. Are you saying my love for you changes you?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Changes you
how
, Hen?”

I squirm and feel a blush climb my cheeks. “You tell me, how have I changed?”

“Nope, not how this is going down. You know what I’m asking. Tell me, Henny,” his voice is filled with hopeful awe.

“Your love,” I inhale and raise my eyes to his, “showed me that it’s okay, safe, and will be wonderful, to love you back.”

“Do you?” he growls, tugging me against him.

I nod.

“Say it.”

“I love you, Keaton Fucking Cash.”

My admission earns me a thorough, heated kiss, but then he ends it abruptly and flies into superhero mode.

I’ve never seen
a man
formulate and organize a complex plan so fast in my life. I don’t think
anyone
has. Not even the brilliant characters on T.V. show half the determination that’s oozing off of Keaton right now.

Within minutes we’re parked and I’m being carried inside my house, given a list of instructions. Take care of Bourbon when he sends him out, get him settled for the night somewhere other than the bedroom and wait twenty minutes before coming in there myself.

And then he disappears…to put his plans in place.

I know what’s about to happen—Keaton is going to take me, make love to me, finally connecting the past to the present, and the present to forever.

I’m an excited kind of nervous, bobbling my way through seeing to Bourbon. My mind’s reeling with anticipation, possibilities and…finality.

Keaton was right, as always, when he surmised what sex means to me. And love. And a lifetime.

It’s all the same and interweaved to me—one complete commitment.

“Alright boy, you sleep in here tonight. Mama’s gotta,” I pause, searching for the right words, “go start the life she was always supposed to have.”

The life where I cherish the love and special moments I’m given
in
the moments they’re given. And return them.

The life where I forgive, forge on and…live.

I HAVE NO IDEA
if it’s been twenty minutes or not, but I can’t wait any longer. I walk to the bedroom and slowly open the door, then shut it behind me.

There he stands, my jailbird, in the middle of the room.
The room he made for me.
His gaze roams over me gradually, so tender and affectionate it feels like he’s actually caressing my skin. I fight the urgent need to rush to him, touch him, taste his kiss. He must be struggling just as hard because he’s breathing heavy and sweat dots his forehead.

But he’s running this show, so I stay still and let him. Wait for his next move.

I take quick glances around, because I admit, I was expecting some elaborate, seductive scene.

There isn’t one.

Kind of have to wonder what he needed twenty minutes for exactly. As far as I can tell, all he did was turn down the covers on the bed and flip on both lamps…

And well, we just wouldn’t be Keaton and Henley if I didn’t come right out and ask.

“Um, not to spoil ‘the mood’ you’ve got going here or anything, but what the heck have you been doing with all that time you made me wait?”

“Couple things, and if you laugh about either, I
will
spank that ass red,” he grates.

“I won’t laugh.” I hope I meant that.

“I assume you’re not on birth control?”

Okay, wasn’t expecting him to say that…but definitely a valid question,
considering.

“No.” I shake my head.

“I figured. I also figured there was a horrible, awful, ball-busting chance you’re not gonna let me take you bare?” His face pouts with knowing, but his eyes shine with the hope he’s still holding onto.

“Uh,” I shuffle from foot to foot.

Is it hot in here? It suddenly feels like a furnace.

I speak directly to the carpet, mumbling at best. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, health wise or whatever, but there’s a lot we—”

“Look at me,” he sternly interrupts, saving me from further embarrassing jibberish. “Baby, you always forget how well I know you. We need to be married before you have my baby. I understand. Not a problem.” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “On board with both.”

My head is spinning, but oddly, my heart is fluttering at the same time.
Married? Baby?
Keaton is moving at warp speed and I understand why—he’s known what he wants for years. But I’ve only just accepted that I want the same…someday. He’s
got
to give me time to catch up.

“Henny,” he slowly approaches me, taking both my hands in his. “I’m not rushing you, and I probably said it wrong, I’m sorry. I was
trying
to tell you that I know you need time to get to where I’m at, not the opposite. Which is why I crawled out the window and ran to my house for condoms.”

He
does
understand how I feel. I shouldn’t have doubted him.

I also shouldn’t have just snickered, picturing him hauling ass across the field, dumping drawers in his house like a mad man, desperately seeking that one little package he knew was his only ticket into the promise land.

‘Cause now he’s gonna swat my ass.

Which I used to find an offensive suggestion. Which apparently, I no longer do, if judging by the sudden heat between my legs.

And his jaunt might explain his earlier heavy breathing and sweat.

Maybe.

Can’t be positive though, so I’m sticking with my original theory that both were the result of his overwhelming desire to have me.

“You know that’s one, right?” He grabs a handful of my ass and squeezes. “You laughed.”

“Uh huh,” I moan.

“Ah,” he murmurs, moving his other hand down to grope as well. “Warming up to the idea, huh? Like that,” he licks a slow trail up my neck and rumbles his praise deep and gravelly in my ear, “like that a helluva lot.”

I tilt my head, giving him full access to lave his tongue all over my neck, but he backs away.

I must make a sound of protest because he chuckles slightly. “Almost, baby girl, got one more surprise first. And feel free to laugh again, I
dare
ya.”

He pulls out his phone, pressing at the screen while I watch in throbbing, aching wonder.

“Made a playlist,” he answers my unspoken question.

To laugh or not to laugh? It’s a toss-up.

“You made a playlist?” I slowly clarify.

“Yep, just like a teenage girl would do. Wanna laugh?” He quirks a brow.

“Sorta, yeah.”

“Go right ahead, I’ll keep that ass up in the air and pink all God damn night if ya want. It’d be my pleasure.” He winks and hits play, then sets his phone on the nightstand.

The first song starts, “Young Love” by The Judds. He had to dig
way
back in the archives for this one, and I’m so glad he did—it’s perfect.

“Come ‘ere.” He holds out his hands and I go to him, but not for what I expected. He wraps one arm low around my waist, pulling me flush to his body, and takes my other hand and holds it between our chests.

And begins to dance with me.

I lay my head against his chest and sigh. “I thought you didn’t know how to dance?”

He bends his head so his lips touch my hair as he answers. “Never said I didn’t know
how
, my mom taught me. Just said I
didn’t
.”

“Why not? You’re very good at it.”

“Just keep in mind, while I’m making ya playlists and telling sappy stories, that later, I’m gonna give you my dick and remind you I’m a man. Multiple times. Okay?”

“Okay.” I shiver.

“Valentine’s Day dance, you were in ninth grade and I was a junior. I overheard what’s his vagina telling his friend he was going out of town, so I knew you’d be at the dance without him. Went home that day and asked my mom to teach me how to dance.”

Shit
, I know where this is leading and my chest starts to twinge. I bury my face deeper in his shirt to hide the tears starting to swim in my eyes.

“You looked so beautiful that night, Henny. You had your hair up, only a few curls hanging around your face and your dress matched your soft, pink mouth perfectly. You remember?”

I only nod, wishing more than anything I could re-write the ending that’s coming.

Oh my God, he’d timed it perfectly—heartbreakingly so. “Making Memories of Us” by Keith Urban starts to play now…just like it had that night.

“I should’ve known better,” he lets out a long, heavy breath. “Hadley was there, you had a boyfriend, it was stupid of me. But I had to try. So I asked you to dance, to this song. When you said no, I decided right then and there, I wasn’t meant to dance. So I never did. Until now.”

I lift my head, tears falling, and reach up to cup his cheek. “Keaton, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just, didn’t want to hurt her either. Please forgive me, I’m sorry,” I sob.

“Hey now,” he kisses away my tears, “I wasn’t trying to give you some guilt trip. And damn baby, it guts me when you cry, so please don’t. I just wanted you to know why I made a girly playlist. I wanted to finally have my dance, Hen. Only…ever…with you.”

“I promise, I will
never
turn you down again, ever. Anytime you ask me to dance, whether it be in the middle of the night or in the middle of the street, my answer will
always
be yes.”

“My girl gives, she gives so damn good,” he grunts and lifts me off my feet, kissing me senseless.

He carries me to the bed and lays me softly on my back then stands fully, looking down at me, his mouth curved with suggestive tenderness, eyes smoldering with insatiable desire. Two sides of one man—the lover and the hunter.

“Undo your pants, baby. Show me you’re ready, you want this,” his order gravelly.

With the dexterity of a woman who’s sure, I have my button and zipper both undone in seconds, without even looking. Because I cannot tear my eyes away from his face. I want to memorize everything about the way he’s watching me.

He reaches for my waist. “Lift,” he grunts, and when I raise my hips, my pants are gone in a single, swift tug.

Had I have known what tonight would hold, I would’ve worn better panties. Something lace, a racy thong. But no, only simple, pink cotton bikini briefs here.

He traces a fingertip along the edges, smiling. “My girl, so sweet. Innocent. I love it.”

He takes his time with my panties, sliding them off very slowly, as if unwrapping a present. His smoky eyes don’t move with their descent though, staying honed in directly between my legs. His tongue glides across his bottom lip and a carnal growl thunders in his chest.