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“I don’t know a bad version of you, Dakota,” he says in that soft whiskey-soaked Georgia twang of his.
Angling for a better position, I cross in front of him. His knuckles graze my bare thighs. Just one brush and my entire body sparks.
Lust ignites under my skin like an ember.
I hate myself for how badly I want him. How long I have loved him.
“Did you ever tell Charlie your secret?” I ask, my finger lingering over his scar. “About why you really came home?” I’ve always wondered. It was such a selfless thing he did for his brother.
“No. That’s for me to reckon with. Not Charlie.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, his expression wary. Determined. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
“Maybe.” Once again, I skim a hand over his arm. Restlessness claws beneath my skin. What would happen if I kissed him? Would he push me away with that stubborn heart of his? Would we go back to wishing on stars?
Stay strong. Don’t you kiss him, Dakota. He let you go, he let you leave. There is nothing there.
Still, hormones and adrenaline have my body shaking.
After everything I’ve been through with Aiden, I still want Davis. All these years and the feeling hasn’t faded. The men are as separate in my mind as apples and oranges. Good touch, bad touch. And it’s been a damn long time since I’ve had good touch.
I wish Davis knew how long I’ve been all alone, missing him.
Tonight, I want to be kissed by a man who feels like home. I want comfort. I want Davis Montgomery.
Forcing away my restless thoughts, I rub in the remainder of the lotion, then flip the cap closed. “Still got it,” I say with a wry smile. “Even one-handed.”
“Your secrets.” Davis’s sudden growl eats up the dark. “I want them, Koty.”
Secrets.
That was our game. How I got him to open up all those years ago when he stomped into Resurrection shot up and scowling. A game I borrowed from when Fallon and I were kids. Late at night, we’d lie in bed and tell each other secrets. Mostly lies, some truths, but we’d come up with the craziest stories. Sometimes I still don’t know fact from fiction.
“It’s too late for secrets,” I whisper.
He grabs my hand before I can step away. Wide-eyed, I watch as he rises to his feet like some massive sentry. This time, helooks at me dead on. His brown eyes blaze. “Tell me his name, Dakota.”
“No,” I refuse.
Never.
The muscle jerking in his jaw tells me he’s pissed as hell. Still, I dig in my heels.
“He’s a ghost. The day I left town, I forgot his name.”
“Tell me his name,” he demands again.
“No. The memory of him burned up in my bakery.”
Just like my past. I have to salvage what I can from this wrecked life. It’s the only way to explain it. I want to forget and never look back. Never speak his name again so I can shake the hold he has on me. Because it still hurts too much to confess everything.
The shame, the loathing I feel… I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
I flatten a hand over my stomach, stiffening at the foreign gesture. “My baby will never know him. And neither will anyone else. Let’s keep it like that.”
His face darkens.
It’s not what this take-charge cowboy wants, but it’s what he gets.
“Tell me,” he says firmer this time, an order. My hand still in his, he draws me forward. “It’s important. To keep you safe.”
