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“I forgave you a long time ago,” I say as I pull her back. “It didn’t take long to realize why you got scared after I enlisted.”
She trembles. “I wasn’t fair to you.”
“No. You weren’t. But I forgive you. I’d planned on winning you back during our first leave.”
“But you thought I was dead,” her voice trails off.
We stand in silence until I can’t take anymore. Dropping to my knees in the dirt, I wrap my arms around her waist. “Losing you broke me, Grace. I never moved on.”
With her hands in my hair, she bends down and kisses the top of my head. “Neither did I.”
Standing, I lift her into my arms, ready to carry her inside the house and to my bed. Harley chooses that moment to bark and remind us of his presence.
We both laugh as I put her on her feet and give her a hard kiss. “We’re not done,” I warn, but she only laughs harder. Unlocking the pup from his compartment, I gather him in one arm, take Grace’s with the other, and lead them inside my home.
Chapter Six
Grace
He’d never moved on. Does that mean he still loves me?
That kiss was incredible. I’d thought he was going to take me right there in the front yard, and he’d barely touched me.
As we step inside, a gigantic English Bulldog races to meet us. I laugh and crouch down to greet him. “This must be Hank.” I glance up at Ink. “You always wanted a bulldog.”
“Yep.” He grins, reaching down to scratch Hank’s head. “Are you okay with me putting Harley down so they can get acquainted? Hank loves other dogs.”
Harley squirms in Ink’s arms, trying to get down. “I think they’d both like that,” I say, laughing.
I’m still laughing at Harley and Hank playing tug of war when Ink offers me his hand.
The butterflies are instantly back.
He leads me into the kitchen and heads to the fridge. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.” I stand awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure where to go. “I’m proud of you. You’ve done well for yourself.”
He shrugs as he swigs his beer. “It’s a life, but it’s missing something.” He sits the beer on the counter and walks toward me.
Hands shaky, I sit my drink down as he comes closer. “What do you mean?”
“You.”
I stare at him, eyes wide. “You could have anyone you want.”
He cups my chin, lifting my face. “They’re not you.”
His body pins me against the kitchen island as his mouth returns to mine, his hand slipping beneath my shirt to cup my breast.
Somehow, my shirt disappears, and my bra follows. Hand around my ass, he lifts me onto the counter, fingers making quick work of my jeans and tugging them down my hips until all I have left is a scrap of lace between my legs.
“You’re so fucking hot. I’ve missed you.”
I grab his shirt and pull him to me, sliding a hand beneath the fabric to scrape my nails along his hard abs. Shrugging out of his shirt, he tosses it to the floor. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and pull him against me.
This time, his kiss is possessive, borderline frantic, as he holds my neck to pull me deeper into our embrace. My need for him has never lessened. It’s always been this overpowering hunger that is impossible to quench.
I know this is a bad idea. We need to talk first—sort things out—but I don’t care. I need this, need him, to finally feel alive after all these years of running. I’m not above using him to get the comfort that I need.
