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He carried her to the sofa, tucked a blanket around her legs, then kissed her softly on the lips. He turned and started a fire in the fireplace, which was a sight she'd love to see every day. His broad shoulders and the muscles in his back straining and pulling as he reached for the wood, stacked it just right in the fireplace and set the flames ablaze with a simple click of the long lighter he used. He put the coffeepot back on its warming plate and sat back at his desk, with a wink in her direction—enough to make a girl swoon.
She watched the fire dance and flicker in its home, so comforting and mesmerizing. The oven timer began beeping, and she realized she'd nodded off. She sat upright, but Ford stood from the desk. "I'll get it; just relax, hon."
She enjoyed watching his backside as he bent to pull the pie from the oven.
"Damn, that smells delicious," he said as he inhaled the delicious aroma.
He set it on top of the stove, and she cocked her head as she watched him stare at it for some time. When he turned, his eyes were glassy as if he were beginning to cry. He brusquely walked to his bedroom and returned a few moments later—composed—as if nothing had happened.
She watched him for a moment, tucking that memory away for another day. Then she noticed a book on the coffee table, a bookmark peeking from the top, which made her smile. She hated when people bent the corners of a book over. The book was a legal thriller, and it seemed he was half way into it by the position of the bookmark. She picked it up and ran her hands over the smooth cover he'd had his hands on too. She should have guessed from the den downstairs that he was a reader. For some reason, this made her immensely happy. She loved reading, though she read a variety of things, romance novels were her go to genre, but legal thrillers, paranormal romance, historical, she loved them all; but a man who reads, now that's sexy.
Her feet raised and then lowered onto his firm thighs as he pulled the blanket back a bit and examined her bandages. He frowned slightly then gently massaged the tops of her feet, at least the parts that weren't covered in medical tape.
His eyes met hers, and he huffed out a deep breath. "I'm going to leave in the morning, I have some good leads on them, and I think I can make this quick. Just one quick question. What was Waylon's mother's name?"
Her heart just broke in two. She knew he'd be going, but it was too soon. They were just beginning to get to know each other.
"Let me go with you." She hated sounding needy. Hated that she just said those words to him.
His perfect lips turned down slightly. "It's not safe, and I don't want you used as a pawn in any way."
"I won't be used that way. I may even be able to help you find Waylon. I can try and touch base with him and flush him out."
"No." His jaw clenched, and she saw his back grow rigid.
Stupid tears flooded her eyes. She cast her eyes down, looking at anything but his handsome face. It was just too good to be true.
"Hey. I'll be back in a few days. Maybe three tops."
His hand tightened on her leg still stretched across his lap. She tried pulling her legs back only to be held in place, his grip not bruising, but firm. "Look at me."
She couldn't. She didn't even know why this was hitting her so hard; it was like the daydreaming she'd had today felt so real and now it wasn't. None of it.
She felt herself being pulled into his lap, his strong firm hands, cupping her face. "What's going on here, Meg?"
Swallowing the knot in her throat—and her embarrassment—she shrugged her shoulders. Afraid she wouldn't be able to say the words correctly. It felt stupid to think she'd fallen or began to fall for him so quickly, but in truth, he was everything she'd ever dreamed of. When he found Bobby Ray and Waylon, she'd be free to go back home, to her burned out, empty house and continue on with her lonely life and that made her so sad. She'd never actually felt lonely before, but she knew she would now. Her dreams of black-haired, black-eyed babies now floating away.
"Hey." He tilted her face up, so she had to look into his eyes—see him. The tenderness she saw there made the tears flow down her cheeks.
"It's stupid, really. I'm just feeling sorry for myself."
He tucked her head under his chin and pulled her tight to his body, the smell of wood and leather seeped into her, and she vowed to remember that smell for the rest of her life.
"Hey there, you knew I was going to be leaving for a while to do my job, right?"
She nodded her head against his chest, and he held her there, his strong arms wrapped around her as if he'd never let her go, but of course, he would.
After a long while, he pulled back to look at her and asked, "Why are you having a pity party?"
Breathing in and letting her breath out, she whispered, "I've never had a man not leave me. I'd allowed myself to believe maybe it would be different with you."
His mouth claimed hers in a hungry kiss. He turned her so she straddled him, his hands now free to roam over her entire body. He kissed her as if he were marking her, leaving an imprint, an impression that would never leave. She kissed him back with the same fervor; she tasted every inch of his hot mouth. Her hands roamed his hair, shoulders, his chest, his abs. She felt the thickness of his cock as it grew against her pussy, and she instinctively rocked against it, eliciting a gasp from him and a thrust of his hips up into her.
Pulling his T-shirt up and over his head, he caught her wrists in his hands, slowly pulled them behind her back and held them tightly with one hand while catching her chin in the other.
"I'm not leaving you forever—just for a few days. Just to do my job."
"Then what?"
