Page 72 of Holden’s Resurrection

“Holden?”

The uncertainty in Charleigh’s voice spurred Holden into action, and before he knew it, he stood in front of a wide-eyed beauty.

“Is it true?”

“Huh?”

“Has it really been eight years?”

A pretty pink tinted her cheeks and he knew the truth.

Jesus. How was that possible?

“How?” he blurted out.

“How?”

“How is it possible you haven’t had a man in eight fucking years?”

“Are you mad?”

Am I mad? It sure felt like he was.

“Hell, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Baby, we’re gonna start with the obvious—you are outrageously sexy. That alone is enough to make a man approach. Once you open your mouth and all that wit and attitude comes out, you go from outrageously sexy, to a woman a man would betray his own brother to have.”

“That’s not true.”

“I don’t know how you can deny that, considering it happened.”

If Holden could pull the words back, he would. He had to stop thinking about Paul and the past. He needed to move them into the future.

“I was pregnant,” she spat. “Then I was busy with a newborn. After that, I was working hard to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. I hardly had time for men.”

He hated she’d been all alone. Another regret. He should’ve manned up and taken care of her. Even if it was from afar. Even after she denied the financial contribution he and the others tried to make. Actually, Charleigh hadn’t denied it—she’d flat-out refused it and told Nixon never to send money again. Still, Holden should’ve pushed the issue. Instead, his feelings had been hurt like a baby’s and he’d slithered off to lick his wounds.

God, he’d been a pussy.

Holden crowded her, one hand going to her hip, the other around the nape of her neck, and he tugged Charleigh forward, eliminating the space between them. “I never should’ve—”

“No more talking about the past. It’s done and over.”

Charleigh was right, but he was certain the nagging guilt would never go away.

“No more talking,” he agreed.

The two of them stood silent. Charleigh’s familiar scent surrounded him, a smell he’d always associated with home. With peace and calm and love. Desire sizzled and sparked to life. A live wire of craving that had always arced between them.

Then Charleigh attacked.

Her hands dove into his hair, fisting two large handfuls. Pain radiated over his scalp as she yanked his head down and slammed her lips onto his.

Christ. He had to be dreaming.

Charleigh’s head slanted and she took what she wanted. Holden gave her a moment to control their kiss, enjoying the way her body leaned into his as she dipped her tongue into his mouth and plundered. The kiss was sloppy, it was fierce, it was full of years’ worth of pent-up aggression and longing.