Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) Page 8

  Harlan made her feel alive. He made her feel like a woman. He gave her hope that her heart could start beating again someday. He could offer her so little, only one night and then he would be gone forever, but that was exactly what she needed: a gift of life with none of the terrifying repercussions of a long-term connection.

  She counted his steps and knew the moment he'd crossed the threshold into her bedroom, into her world that had never been invaded by a man, and she'd thought never would be. But there was no fear as he crossed the small room, as he eased her onto the double bed that was barely bigger than a twin.

  Emma propped herself up on her elbows as Harlan stripped off his shirt. His body was chiseled with muscle, but there were also dark bruises, as if someone had beaten him badly.

  A cold chill ripped across her and she sat up, palming one of the large ones on his left side. "What happened?"

  But Harlan didn't answer. He just went still and closed his eyes, setting his hand over hers. He breathed deeply, as if inhaling the moment into his very soul. "Kiss it," he said quietly.

  Her heart tightened at the request, and she bent her head, lightly pressing her lips to the darkened flesh. His hand eased over her back as she did it, a touch so light it was as if he were trying to memorize the curve of her body. "So beautiful," he whispered.

  She looked up as he knelt before her, taking her face into his hands. "You are my angel," he said.

  "I'm not an angel. I'm a mess." She didn't want to pretend to be something she wasn't. She didn't want to be the beautiful woman who looked good in an expensive dress. She wanted Harlan to see her as flawed, imperfect, and grungy. If he saw her that way and still wanted to make love to her, then she would know that the connection she felt to him wasn't one-sided.

  "I know you're a mess. It makes you real and compelling." Suddenly, his kiss grew more heated, igniting an answering desire inside her. He shoved her back on the bed as he moved over her, ripping at his belt and tearing his jeans over his hips. His boots hit the floor with a thud, and then he was on top of her, more than six feet of male, pinning her to the bed as he consumed her with kisses more dangerous than she could even conceive of.

  "I need you naked." His words sent a shiver of anticipation through Emma, but when he gripped her shirt and pulled it over her head, it became more than anticipation. It became wild, desperate desire. She fumbled with her bra straps, frantic to get it off as Harlan unfastened her shorts and tugged them over her hips, sliding her embarrassingly white granny panties off at the same time. As he stripped her bare, he followed the path of her shorts with searing kisses from her navel downwards, blazing a trail of rippling passion that seemed to burn right through her flesh.

  She barely heard the sound of her shorts landing against the far wall as his mouth descended upon her core, showering kisses that made her body twist and writhe. His hands palmed her hips, holding her at his mercy while he bit, licked, and teased her. Intense desire rippled down her legs and up her spine, pooled in her belly, and burned in her veins. Her fingers tangled in his thick hair as she tugged at him, desperate for more. "Make love to me, Harlan."

  He looked up, his whiskered face lit by the first rays of dawn. His dark eyes were blazing with desire, with lust so intense that it made her tremble. There was no soft man looking at her. He was a warrior, a man borne of such primal instincts that her whole body clenched in response. "Oh, I will, sweetheart. I will." Then he slipped his finger inside her, and she gasped, her body almost melting down at the invasion. Everything he did felt so right, as if he knew her body intimately and had spent a lifetime memorizing her.

  It had never been like that before. Not once. Never had her body come to life at a man's hands. Never had she wanted to surrender to anyone. But she did now. She wanted to be at Harlan's mercy, to have him show her what it was like to turn herself over to him and entrust him with everything.

  His fingers still igniting new fires within her, he kissed his way back up her body, nibbling along her ribs, laving her nipples, kissing her collarbone, and then invading her mouth. His kiss was raw sex now, deep, pulsating ownership that exploded through her as he moved over her, his knee thrust between hers to make space for him.

  "Now," he said against her mouth, his erection pressing against her body, the tip of it already demanding her body accommodate him. "Now, I will make love to my bride." Then he thrust, sliding deep inside her with one effortless move.

  She gasped as he filled her, stunned by how right it felt, how easily they fit together. "It didn't hurt," she whispered, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  Harlan swore under his breath, as he broke the kiss, pulling back enough to look at her. "I wish I could have been your first," he said. "You don't deserve your past." Then he thrust again, holding her gaze as he slid into her.

  Again and again he drove deep, binding them more closely with each stroke. She clung to him, riveted by the intensity of his stare, unwilling to close her eyes and cut herself off from him. She needed to see his face, to know the man she was with, that she had given herself to.

  He seemed to feel the same, his eyes darkening as the intensity of their lovemaking rose, as their bodies bucked and twisted, screaming for completion as he drove them to the edge of pleasure and pain and need—

  The orgasm exploded through her and she screamed as it took her. Harlan caught her scream with a kiss, his body bucking against hers as he gave himself over to her, their bodies arching and glistening as the climax thrust them over that precipice and tumbled them mercilessly into the roiling sea below.

  ***

  Emma awoke to the sound of a Jet Ski spraying past her cabin. Groaning, she pulled the pillow over her head, so exhausted she could barely surface from sleep. "Go away," she muttered, rolling onto her side. Something sharp jabbed her side, and she yelped, sitting up.

  In her bed, tangled in the sheets, was a sprig from a rose bush, with three small buds on it. She recognized the pale yellow instantly. It was from the bush outside her bedroom. For a moment, she stared at it in confusion, trying to figure out how a rose got into her bed. Then, the memories of the night came back to her, and she turned around, scanning her room.

  Harlan wasn't there. "Harlan?" She leapt out of bed and hurried out into the main part of the house. He wasn't in the living room and kitchen area. With a sinking feeling, she looked out her living room window and saw that her driveway was empty. His truck was gone.

  The clock on her oven said it was ten fifteen. Harlan had left town more than two hours ago.

  At first, the most agonizing sense of loss assailed her, so powerful that she sank down on the couch, her arms wrapped around her stomach. He was gone. She would never see him again. Ever.

  Tears bit at her, and she lifted her chin, steeling herself against them. No tears. No tears. No tears. She didn't want to cry. She was tired of crying. The deal with Harlan wasn't supposed to bring tears. It was supposed to bring empowerment and liberation, right? But even as she thought it, Chloe's words echoed through her mind, that a heart could break only so many times before there was nothing left.

  Caring hurt. Caring was dangerous.

  Resolutely, she stood up, forcing her shoulders back as she walked across the old pine floors to her bedroom. But when she reached the door and saw the roses nestled in the off-white sheets, she almost wanted to cry again. Her roses were in full bloom, with plenty of beautiful blossoms to select. But he hadn't given her those roses. Instead, he'd chosen buds for her.

  Rose buds, complete with thorns.

  Emma padded softly across the beautiful hand-woven carpet she'd found at a garage sale and sank down on the bed. Propped up on the nightstand beside her birch tree lamp was their marriage certificate. Harlan Roger Shea and Emma Elizabeth Larson. She had herself a husband now.

  She picked up the sprig of flowers, and as she did, a slow smile began to build in her heart. Preston had married her with a five hundred dollar bouquet. Harlan had married her with a dog-e
aten veil, tissues in her bra, and a hair scrunchie around her leg. He'd given her rose buds, a night of unbelievable passion, and a husband. And then, he had left her so she could live her life.

  Harlan had given her a chance for what she wanted most of all: safety. Now that she was married, no other man could touch her. He gave her protection at the same time he gave her space. And...he gave her the chance to fight for Mattie. Her heart resonating with hope for the first time in a very long while, Emma grabbed her phone off the nightstand and dialed. Chloe answered on the third ring. "Hi, Emma. What's up?"

  "I got married."

  There was silence. "What? To who?"

  "A man from my hometown that I've known for years." Emma looked at the marriage certificate, and knew that she had to make it sound good enough for the court. The deception of true love and a solid marriage began with Chloe. "He's a good man. He accepts me as I am." She couldn't say he loved her, and she wouldn't even want to, but it felt good to know that he'd seen her crying and it hadn't fazed him.

  More silence. "I thought you were never going to get married again."

  "He's different." And he was. Darker. Haunted. And gone. "I've known him for a long time."

  "You got divorced two days ago, Emma. First, you want to adopt Mattie, and then you get married? Aren't you at all worried that you're overreacting?"

  "No." Emma gripped the phone. "You know how scared I am of marriage, men, and dating, all of it. The fact that I married him even though I'm terrified should tell you something about how I feel about him."

  Chloe was quiet for another minute, and then she sighed. "Okay, Emma, you have a point, but I think it's a little weird that you're married to some guy I've never heard of. Have I heard of him? What's his name?"

  "Harlan Shea. He's the brother of my friend Astrid."

  "The one who has been gone for a year?"

  "Yes."

  Understanding filled Chloe's voice. "That's why he's safe. Because he'd never be around. How long until he leaves for his next trip?"

  Emma decided it was time to change the subject. Apparently, having a social worker for a friend meant it was too hard to keep secrets. "You said yesterday that I had no chance to adopt Mattie as a single woman. What about as a married couple?"

  Chloe made a choking sound. "You got married to adopt Mattie? Tell me I'm wrong. For God's sake, Emma, tell me you didn't do something that foolish—"

  "I got married to a man who makes me feel safe," she snapped. "I'm not afraid when I'm with him, and that is such a huge gift! Stop judging me! Marrying Harlan was the right thing for me to do, so can you try and be happy for me?"

  There was a long silence. "You're right," Chloe said softly. "Sorry, Em. I just get protective of you. The first time I met you was the day you moved back to town when you had just left Preston. I'll never forget the dark circles under your eyes, or how thin you were. I don't want you to go back there."

  Emma's anger faded, and she sagged back onto the bed. "I know, and I appreciate it. But Harlan is different. He has as much baggage as I do. We understand each other, but there's no pressure. It's good."

  Chloe took a deep breath. "Okay, I accept that, but I want to meet him. Soon."

  Yeah, that would happen... A tinge of fear echoed through her at the thought of Harlan on his way to the mission that he was so sure would kill him, but she pushed it aside. She hadn't agreed to love him, just to notice when he died. "I am serious, though, Chloe. I'm married now, and I want to adopt Mattie."

  Chloe let out a small groan. "Emma—"

  "What do I need to do to be considered?"

  "You're not family—"

  "Do you think she should be with me, or with one of her relatives?"

  For a long moment, Chloe didn't speak, and Emma started to tense. She needed Chloe's support to have any chance at all of making it happen. After an agonizing delay, Chloe finally answered. "If you convince me that you really love Mattie and you're willing to commit to her for the rest of your life...well...I think you'd be a wonderful mom for her."

  Emma's throat tightened. "Thank you."

  "But I'll be honest. I'm not convinced of that, and the judge will be even tougher to win over. You're not exactly stable these days in terms of your personal situation."

  Emma's fingers tightened around the stem of the roses. "Chloe—"

  "But," Chloe interrupted. "I will make some phone calls and get back to you. Okay?"

  Emma bit her lip, and she forced her hand to relax its death grip on her flower. "Okay. Thanks."

  "You're welcome. And, Emma?"

  She stared at the roses, a dull ache beginning to pulse in her chest as the enormity of last night began to settle upon her. What had she done?

  "If you're really happy with Harlan, and it's the right choice, then congratulations."

  "Thanks." But her words felt empty.

  "I'll be in touch. Take it day by day. You'll get there."

  "Get where?"

  "Wherever it is you're going." Chloe disconnected without another word, and Emma sat on the bed for another minute, the rose sprig still clutched numbly in her hand. Chloe's reaction had been like a cold blanket dropping over her head and suffocating her. Last night, marrying Harlan had seemed like the perfect solution for both of them. Unconventional, yes, but conventional had already betrayed her.

  By marrying Harlan, she'd get his protection, a husband who wouldn't be there to hurt her, and a chance to change Mattie's life. But in reality, what did she have? She was shackled to a man she didn't know, and maybe no closer to rescuing Mattie from a life that was too similar to her own...and if Harlan chose to come back and claim her, she could be in for another round of hell.

  What had she done?

  With a groan, she flopped back on the bed, staring at the rough wooden beams spanning her ceiling. The sheets were tousled beneath her, and his scent drifted up from the covers. Her cheeks burned at the memory of their lovemaking, how she'd given herself completely to him on every level. She hadn't even given herself to Preston that completely. Was Chloe right? Was she just losing her mind because of the divorce? No, she wasn't. Her heart ached for Mattie, and that wasn't only because she was finally liberated from Preston. She loved Mattie just because of who she was.

  And Harlan...the lovemaking...the marriage...her fear of those things ran too deep. Loneliness would never have gotten her to trust him enough to do that if there wasn't a reason, if there wasn't something about him worth trusting, if there wasn't a connection between them that was deeper than fear.

  Harlan Shea was almost a stranger, a man who had intrigued her for years, and yet he'd changed her life. The truth was, Harlan wouldn't be back. He'd made his decision, and he would continue his rescue missions until they took his life. She didn't need to worry about him returning. And it would make a difference with getting approval to adopt Mattie, regardless of Chloe's claims. She'd made the right choice, even if others wouldn't understand that.

  And even aside from Mattie, it had been the right decision to give Harlan the gift of having someone care. She knew what it was like to not matter, just like she'd told Mattie, and she'd seen that same aching loneliness in Harlan's eyes. She, Harlan, and Mattie were the same. No one had been there to help her as a child, and it had been agonizingly lonely to be fighting all alone. But if she could help Harlan and Mattie avoid the same fate, then she would do it a thousand times over.

  Harlan was gone physically, but she would remember him and honor him, just as he'd wanted. She raised the rose to her lips and pressed a kiss to the tender buds. Harlan, I promise to cry for you, and I promise to notice when you don't come back.

  And she knew she would.

  For one night, their lives had crossed paths, and they'd both gotten something they wanted, something they needed, something they burned for.

  One night, and then two lives split again. Forever.

  But as she stood up to retrieve a vase from her kitchen for the flowers, she couldn't help the
brief wave of sadness for what might have been. Then she thought of Preston and a cold chill rippled through her. Never again would she make the mistake of entrusting her life to a man.

  Never, ever again.

  She would cry for Harlan. She would notice when he didn't come back. She would always remember the night of passion that they'd shared.

  But she was glad, so glad, that he was never going to come back for her.

  ***

  The cigarette smoke was swirling around Harlan as he sat at the bar. Despite the hot sun outside, it was dark and ominous inside. The heat was thick and oppressive, and the place was too crowded. Too many tourists in gaudy colors, and too many locals with shifty eyes, dangerous auras and guns strapped under their arms. It was a bad place to be, which was the reason he and Blue had been called down there. Lots of shit went down in this part of South America.

  He glanced at the door, but Blue wasn't there yet. He still had time.

  He pulled out his phone and typed a quick email to the woman he'd never met, the one who called the shots for him and Blue, and for all the others.

  Renée. I got married. Emma Larson. List her as my emergency contact and next of kin. Her contact info is below.

  He jotted down Emma's info, satisfaction growing with each letter he typed. When he finished, he stared at the email for a long time, reading and rereading it. It felt good. Really good. He knew that she'd keep her end of the bargain. She would care. His father's past would not be repeated.

  Finally, he hit send. The whoosh as his email was delivered was awesome, absolutely fucking awesome...but at the same time, he felt a slight wash of guilt. Was he a bastard for marrying her just so that someone would notice when he died? Then he thought of the determined gleam in her eyes. No, it hadn't been one-sided. She'd had a reason for getting married, too. Why had she done it? What had been so important to her that she'd been willing to overcome her fear of marriage to shackle herself to some guy who was going to come back to her only in a wooden box, if at all?