Page 82 of River Wild

Nor had she been sure how she felt about Holden adopting her. But after the adoption had gone through, she found herself excited about it. She was now legally Holly Jo McKenna. She and Holden had agreed that she could still call him HH, even though sometimes she liked the idea of calling him Dad, since she’d never had one before. Maybe one day she would. She didn’t think he would mind.

STUARTANDBAILEYhad said that they loved each other sitting in his patrol SUV at the barbecue, but that now seemed like a very long time ago. Stuart knew that people often did things they later regretted when they were under duress. His declaration had been heartfelt. He couldn’t swear that Bailey’s had.

As they sat on the porch, quietly letting darkness settle around them, they sipped their beers without talking. He thought of this woman he’d fallen in love with. She’d been wild in her youth, too pretty for her own good, and too smart. While she seemed to have curbed that wildness, there was still an intensity about her, a drive, as well as a wounded part of her that often came out as anger against the world. He’d seen it all up close and doubted finding her attacker had instantly changed that. It would take time, especially after twelve years.

Now at least he thought he understood the dark side of her. He knew what she had to be angry about. From the outside, Bailey had seemed to have it all. Her father was a wealthy, powerful man who owned a huge ranch in the Powder River Basin. Bailey was his only daughter. Growing up, he doubted she had wanted for anything.

Stuart, on the other hand, had lived a very modest existence and still did. He’d envied ranch kids born to land, money, prestige. It made him wonder what had been so awful about growing up on the McKenna Ranch that had made Bailey angry about her life. If anyone should be angry, it was him, raised by a hard, uninvolved father and a dangerous mother.

Just the thought of his mother reminded him of the book Bailey said she’d written. Now she would have her ending. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d become a writer. All those years of devouring books, her interest in what made people tick from the time she was small, her need to dig deeper. It had always been there. It was a huge part of the woman he’d fallen in love with.

A breeze stirred the nearby trees, scattering dried leaves across the yard. Bailey put down her beer. He felt her gaze on him even before she stood and took his hand. He could feel her trembling. From the cold fall night? Or from fear?

She drew him up from the porch until they stood only a breath apart. He saw her swallow, felt the push-pull of her emotions as he had for longer than he could remember.

“Would you want to make love with me?” Her voice broke.

“I never thought you’d ask,” he said, grinning as he dragged her to him, squeezing her tight, and winced as he felt his cracked ribs complain.

“Oh, I forgot. Maybe we should wait until—”

“They’ll be fine.” He smiled at her and saw her fear. “We’ll both be fine.”

“I want this so badly, but—”

She didn’t have to tell him that she felt damaged. He planned to do his damnedest to make her never feel like that again. “Bailey, you trust me?” She nodded and forced a smile, and he kissed her. “We have all night.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

BAILEYFEAREDTHATeven though she loved Stuart, she couldn’t do this. Just the thought brought back the horror of the masked man standing over her, the pain of being violated and scarred forever, and worst, a fear he would come for her again.

But Stuart didn’t lead her to his bedroom as she’d anticipated. Once inside the house, he stopped in the kitchen to turn on the radio. Then he pulled her into a slow dance. They’d never danced together. The thought made her laugh to herself. They’d never even had a real date. She would have said that she hardly knew the sheriff, but that would have been a lie.

Surprisingly, they danced well together—as if they’d been doing it for years. As they moved to the music, he bent his head to the side of her neck. His breath against her sensitive skin behind her ear sent a shiver of desire through her. He pulled her closer, her breasts pressing against his hard chest. She could tell he was in pain. What had she been thinking even suggesting that they make love with him hurt?

She’d just wanted to get it over with. Just do it, even if it was trauma, telling herself it would be better the next time. If there was a next time.

The song ended, but another came on. Stuart didn’t seem to be in any hurry as he kissed her softly on the mouth, tracing his tongue across her lips. She found herself beginning to relax a little. The kiss became more passionate as they danced.

Her breasts felt heavy, the nipples hard and aching for his touch. Breaking off the kiss, he began to trail kisses slowly down her throat, releasing button after button as he went. She felt her desire for this man burn hotter along with her fear.

He reached her bra and drew down the right side to lathe her nipple with his tongue before nipping at the hard point. She groaned his name and pressed against his mouth, heat rushing to her center.

But as he started to do the same with her left breast, she grabbed his hand to stop him. Their gazes locked, hers filling with tears. The brand on her breast was faint.Hehadn’t been able to hold the iron to it long enough to go through the second or third layer of skin.

But it was still scarred. A constant reminder and why she hadn’t been with a man in all this time. She hadn’t wanted Stuart to see her like this.

He took her hand, pressed it to his lips, his gaze never breaking with hers. When he released it, he opened his shirt. She hadn’t really ever seen how scarred his chest and torso were before that moment. He’d always hurried to cover up—just as she did. Emotion weakened her knees and made her eyes fill as she leaned toward him and began to kiss his scars. He let out a soft moan as the music played and she kissed her way across his broad chest, lathing his nipple as he’d done to hers.

After a moment, she drew back and, heart pounding, let him remove her shirt and bra. She couldn’t look at him at first, but then he cupped her left breast and kissed her scar as she had his. Tears filled her eyes.

When he lifted his head, he smiled and said, “You’re beautiful, Bailey McKenna, scars and all.”

She laughed. “You too, Stuart Layton, scars and all.”

Then he kissed her, drawing her to him, into his strong arms. His body felt warm against hers. Hadn’t she dreamed of this on all those nights when she’d come to him and he’d waited patiently, knowing she needed him, but unsure why?

Bailey barely remembered them taking off the rest of their clothes, leaving a trail of garments through the house as they fell into his bed. But she would always remember the gentle way he touched her, finding those sensitive spots that made her moan and writhe, wanting him like she’d never thought possible.

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