Page 9 of Bringing Home the Bad Boy

She grimaces and wraps her arms around herself. “He said he threatened to call ICE on your uncles. Have them deported back to Mexico.” Her voice cracks, but she doesn't stop. I know her. Know she's determined to own up to all of her father's shit. “You were a citizen, but not all the Arroyos were. He knew exactly where to hit to make you run.”

The old anger rises in my chest, but I push it down. This isn’t about me anymore. It's about her, about the way her world has shifted on its axis.

“I couldn’t believe it at first,” she continues, her voice stronger now, edged with anger. “But then he tried to justify it. He said he was protecting me and that he didn’t want me to make a mistake and end up hurt.” She gives a hollow-sounding laugh. “As if he ever cared about my feelings before.”

She stands and paces the small space. “You know what’s worse? I finally understand. His hatred for my mother… extends to me. He sees me as the same ‘whore’ she was.” She spits the poisoned word out. “He didn’t say it explicitly, but the implication was there. It’s always been there.”

“Noel—”

She whips up her hand, stopping me. “I’m sorry, Trace. I’m so sorry for what he did to you, to your family.” Her eyes met mine, full of bone-deep pain. For the first few years, I imagined all the ways I'd make her father suffer. This is the first time I'm ready to strike. Ready to strike a blow for the way he's hurt this beautiful blessing he should have treasured. “I don’t understand why you’d want anything to do with me now. Unless…” She hesitates. “Unless this is about revenge.” Her eyes water, but she keeps her tears at bay. "If you want to make him pay for what he did, I get it. But please believe me. I had nothing to do with it. I would never have stood for it if I'd known."

The suggestion slaps me. “You think that’s what this is? That I'd ever hurt you? After everything we had?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” She sinks back into her chair. “Things don’t just fall back into place like some fairy tale. People grow and change. We’re not those people anymore, Trace. ”

“Then let me get to know this Noel.” The words come out before I can stop them, raw and honest. “That’s the price of my forgiveness. Show me who you’ve become.”

She stares at me, weighing my words, testing them for truth. Finally, something in her expression shifts, softens.

“That’s all you want?”

“For now.” I give her a half-smile. “One step at a time.”

It's dark, but she lights up. I see the old sparkle in her eyes for the first time since I returned.

“Tomorrow,” she says, like she was testing the word. “We could meet tomorrow?”

I nod, fighting the urge to reach for her. To touch her. To claim her mouth the way I had in my office. But I can’t rush this. Not when there was so much at stake. Not when there is still so much she doesn’t know. Jelena’s face flashes in my mind, reminding me that things are more complicated than Noel knows. “Tomorrow sounds good.”

She stands, nervously smoothing down her skirt, making my mouth dry when I see what she's wearing. It's a simple black skirt with a red pin-striped sweate. Professional. Casual. But it clings to her curves in all the ways that I want to. “I’ll walk you out,” she says, completely unaware of how she's arrested me.

The Old Barn is silent except for the soft click of her heels against the wooden floor and my thundering heart. Every step beside her is torture—the gentle sway of her hips, the soft scent of her perfume, the way her fingers brush against mine. She pauses at the door, looking up. A small smile playing coyly at the corners of her mouth. “Mistletoe.”

I drag my eyes away from the question on her face to the sprig of green and white berries hanging above us. The same mistletoe that has probably witnessed countless kisses between happy couples at her wedding venues. “Noel…”

“It’s tradition,” she whispers, her voice carrying a hint of challenge. Of desire.

I know I should leave. Know that taking things slow means not giving in to every urge that screams through my body. But when she looks at me, with those eyes that graced my dreams for ten years, all my good intentions go up in smoke.Damn waiting and damn getting to know each other again. We know everything we need to know right here in this moment.

I back her against a wooden pillar. Bracing one hand beside her head, using the other to tilt her chin up. “You sure about this, sunshine?” The old nickname slips out before I can stop it.

Instead of answering, she grabs my shirt, pulling me down to her. The kiss starts soft and tentative, nothing like our angry clash in my office—as if our tongues are concerned with reconnecting. But then she makes this little sound in the back of her throat, and my control snaps. We may not know how minds and hearts have matured, but our bodies haven't changed one bit. She's still the one I want. The woman who drives me crazy with her taste. One nip of her lip, and I'm as desperate for her as ever. Shit. She tastes so fucking good. I press her harder against the wood, deepening the kiss until she melts against me. Her hands slide up my chest, around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. She tastes like coffee and promises, and kissing her is more of a homecoming than I've ever had.

I work my hands under her skirt. Kissing down the side of her throat while she moans. Leaving love bites that will mark her as mine. Marks I could never leave before. "Are you wet for me?" My hands search out her core, desperate to know the answer before she can give it.

She moans yes, at the moment my fingers reach her dampness. I'm not sure if she's encouraging me to continue or answering my question. "Do you still taste as good?"

I don't need her answer—she moans again when I bring my fingers to my mouth to find out. Her body convulses when I lick my fingers clean and then drive them back into her pussy for another sweet taste. I want to taste every part of her. Fill my mouth with her breasts and tease her berry-colored nipples. The damn sweater is slowing me down. I can't pull it up and work my hands inside her at the same time. She gasps and grips my fingers like she never wants me to pull them out. So I give her what she wants. Scissoring inside of her with one hand and rotating her clit with the other. All while my mouth feasts on her lips and tongue. I catch her scream when she comes. Swallowing it with my harsh pants as she rides my hand to the wrist.

She's never looked more beautiful.

When we finally break apart, we were both breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dark with want. It takes everything I have not to kiss her again.But I can't take her like this. Not when she doesn't know everything. I have a family. She deserves to know that before I claim her. Because once I do, I won't relinquish my claim again.

“Tomorrow,” I remind myself as much as her, stepping back before I can change my mind. “We’ll take this slow.”

She nods, touching her lips like she can still feel my kiss. “Slow,” she agrees, but her voice is shaky.

I wave when I close the door to my truck, and she closes the door. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. But first, I need to figure out how to tell her about Jelena. About the life I’d built while we were apart. About all the ways I'm not the same man who left ten years ago.

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