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She hadn’t because she needed to be sure.
She hadn’t because she needed him to be absolutely sure.
But not reaching out wasn’t fair to him. She knew that.
Still... she waited.
Because she needed to know beyond all doubt. She took that time and space he gave her to figure out just what that doubt was. What she needed.
From him. From herself.
They were so different.
He’d never been in a serious relationship. And hers had failed.
He lived his life loose and easy, while hers was so rigid and structured.
Her home used to be her solace. Now it only felt empty.
Lonely.
A tomb that housed a life she no longer was sure she wanted to live.
Her life of living to work, working to live.
A vicious, endless cycle.
Still... she waited.
Every night she came home, she hoped he’d be there. Forcing her to face her fears. Her insecurities.
He wasn’t.
Still... she waited.
Days turned into weeks which turned into a month.
Every night she’d come home to a dark house, an empty driveway. She’d open the door and head directly out to the deck.
Disappointment tugged at her when she’d find his chair empty and she was only greeted by the quiet night.
Still... she waited.
It was silly, really. A woman like her allowing those fears and insecurities—some she hadn’t even realized she had—to override something she wanted so desperately.
But she needed to be sure. For him to be sure.
For them not to make a mistake.
She couldn’t simply hand over her hope and her heart to someone who could crush it.
To someone who could disappoint her.
Her mother. Her father. Allen.
Each had contributed bricks to the wall she’d erected.
A wall someone she least expected had scaled.
Deacon.
A biker. A bail bondsman. A bounty hunter.
A simple man. But also, a not-so-simple man.
But would he be enough? Or would he be too much?
Would he try to control her? Change her?
She needed someone who would accept her as she was. How she’d always be.
And Deacon needed the same.
Someone who’d accept him as he was. How he’d always be.
They were so different.
Different wasn’t always good. Different wasn’t always easy.
But sometimes it felt right to embrace the difference.
And sometimes different just fit.
Like yin and yang. Two opposites creating a whole.
Still... she waited.
This time with her hand on the doorknob.
She took one last glance over her shoulder at the Harley in her driveway.
The house was dark. Quiet.
The knob turned easily.
She had never given him the key. He would’ve had to pick the lock.
Also not surprising, the alarm was disarmed since he had known the code and, since she’d been back, she hadn’t changed it.
Instead, she had waited...
The recessed lighting was dimmed low, just bright enough so the kitchen wasn’t completely pitch black.
Just bright enough to see the glass of wine waiting for her on the counter.
She toed off her heels and set her leather tote on the floor next to them.
Even though her heart was racing, she took her time lifting the glass to her lips and taking a sip.
He had picked her favorite.
With trembling fingers, she worked the tiny buttons on her blouse free. When she was done, she shrugged it off and tossed it over her tote.
The late May night was warm, so the lace camisole would be all she needed.
Well, it wasn’t everything she needed.
She needed what waited for her on the deck.
Grabbing the wine, she moved slowly through the great room and hesitated at the French doors.
Once she opened that door, life would change.
For better. For worse. For whatever that life would bring.
She had wanted to wait until she was ready.
She still wasn’t sure she was, but she could no longer wait.
Deacon deserved better than that.
So did she.
Reilly had told her she should stop denying herself.
The sister she raised was right. The sister she had always worried about was now worried about her.
The sister she only wanted the best for, wanted the same for her.
Was it Deacon?
She never expected to care so much about a man like him. It surprised her when it changed from only sex to something deeper. But would it be enough?
She wasn’t sure.
However, Reilly was also right about not knowing until she tried.
Until they tried.
She closed her eyes for a second, took a long, slow breath and opened that door.
It had been difficult to remain in his seat. To wait.
While she drove up the driveway. While she discovered his sled.
While she found the glass of wine.
While she decided whether or not to join him outside on the deck.
He didn’t bother to turn. He didn’t need to look at her, he could feel her there.
Unsure.
But then, so was he.
“You never said goodbye.”
“Because I couldn’t say it.”
He had missed the voice that swirled around him. The voice that could be hard and powerful when it needed to be, soft and caring when it came to who she worried about. Who she loved.
Her sister.
He also hoped him.
