Page 160 of The Wrong Heart

Parker gives me another kiss before straightening. “You’re good to drive home?”

My heart skips.

I flinch as I take a step back, not expecting the direction of his query. My skin prickles with dismissal as a brisk wave of queasiness causes my belly to swirl. “You don’t want me to stay?”

He stiffens. A beat passes while he processes the mood, tousling his fingers through unruly hair. Parker studies me, his gaze taking in my startled expression through incandescent moonlight. “Shit, you want to?”

“Of course, I want to,” I say, an earnest plea. “You almost died, Parker. I-I watched you almost die… only a few hours ago. You dropped fifty feet right before my eyes.” A surge of panic bubbles to the surface, snuffing out my words and stealing my breath. “Please, don’t make me leave. I need to hold you, wake up with you beside me, breathing and warm…”

“Fuck, Melody, I’m sorry.” Parker collects me in his arms, gliding his hands up to my face, cupping my cheeks. His green eyes shimmer with anguish. “Jesus… please stay. I want you to.”

My breathing is unhinged, bordering on manic. All I can muster is a nod.

“I figured you were still pissed at me,” he explains, worry laced into his words and his touch. He dusts his thumbs along my flushed cheekbones. “I wasn’t sure if we were okay. I didn’t want to assume all was forgiven, just because I launched myself into the fuckin’ bay.”

“We’re okay.” I say it quickly, confidently, and then I repeat it. “We’re okay, Parker. It’s over. I forgive you.”

Pulling our foreheads back together, he sucks in a hard breath through gritted teeth. A sound escapes him, one I’ve never heard before. Ragged, strained, almost painful.

Heart-rending relief.

“Fuck…” Parker’s fingers coil around to the base of my neck, clamping hard, his desperation sinking into me. I feel his need. “Are you still mine?”

My favorite song echoes in my mind, and I keep nodding, my tears spilling free. “Yes,” I murmur, watching his eyes snap shut, like he’s soaking up my assent and carving it into his bones. “I’m yours. I’m only yours.”

“Goddamn, I don’t deserve you.”

Leaning up, I place a kiss to his bottom lip, lingering as I mutter, “You deserve more than you know.”

Another kiss follows, just as light, but then the tip of my tongue flicks out for a quick taste along his lip. Salt and sweetness. Sensuality stirs between us, pulling our emotions in a new direction, and I melt into him with a sigh of longing.

Parker’s hands vanish beneath the hem of my sundress until he’s gripping my bare waist, his heated stare locked on my mouth. Our pelvises grind together as I lean in closer, and his fingers inch behind me, sneaking underneath the trim of my underwear. He groans when his palms slide inside, cupping my backside. “Christ, Melody, get in the fucking house. I need to be inside you.”

A whimper escapes me. “Wait… wait, you should rest. Recover,” I urge, despite the way my body buzzes with disagreement.

“I don’t need rest.” Parker squeezes my ass, tugging me flush against his erection. “I’ve been asleep for nearly thirty years. All I need is you.”

Our lips crash together, tongues tangling instantly. My head falls back when he raises a hand to my head, tugging on my hair, angling my mouth to taste me deeper through a frenzied growl.

I pull back to breathe. Grazing my hands up his chest, I rest them on his shoulders as we collect our bearings, and I force myself to say, “Shower. Rest.” His body hums and sways with both exhaustion and lust. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Parker’s resolve wanes, his long sigh kissing the hairs on my head. A small nod of concession follows. “Okay.”

We make our way inside, giving Walden a few minutes of attention before Parker slips into the shower and I retreat to his bedroom. Sifting through his drawer of t-shirts, unfolded and in disarray, I pluck one out and decide to use it as a nightshirt.

Butterflies scatter low in my belly as my bare feet traipse to his unmade bedside, and I slink beneath the cool sheets. I mold into the covers, inhaling his familiar scent.

Earthy woods and musky raindrops. Hints of cedar and pine. It’s not cologne—Parker isn’t one for appearances—so, it must be his soap or fabric softener.

A smile lifts with warmth.

Will our baby be a boy, smelling of a Colorado mountainside?

Or a girl? Citrus and sunshine?

Will he build and carve, or will she bake and smile?

Enchanting thoughts skip across my brain, dousing me in daydreams.A baby. I’ve wanted children since I was a child myself, from little toy dolls to babysitting the neighborhood kids. Charlie and I had a life plan, a plan that was cut short, cruelly severing my visions of ever becoming a mother. Months went by where I was plagued with vivid memories of that water running red in the shower, blood trickling down my thighs, my body purging all final remnants of hope.

---