Page 92 of Can't Get Over You
In that drowsystate before fully waking, Finlay lingered in the memories of Jude’s hands on her.
There was nothing tentative about that man. He took what he wanted, and what he wanted washer. His size and strength made her feel—well, if not exactly petite, then at least just right. His hunger for her drowned all the whispers of insecurity.
He kissed like he couldn’t get enough, touched like she drove him wild, and snuggled like he couldn’t bear to be apart from her.
Mmm. So good. He’d clung to her all night, making her feel so…wanted. So desirable.
They were so good together. For the past few days, she’d been truly, deeply happy. She had everything she’d ever dreamed of.
Just last night, with the living room lit by a roaring fire and blinking lights, the three of them had snuggled on the couch, reading books before bed. The way she and Jude had looked at each other over the boy’s head and smiled, the connection…
It was everything she’d ever dreamed of…
Unease slid under her skin. Because it wasn’t real. Cody wasn’t her son, and Jude?—
A heady mix of desire, affection, lust, and happiness collided in her chest.
Being with him was better than any fantasy she’d ever had, but it was one thing to believe he wasn’t built for domesticity, and another thing entirely to understand he’d never recovered from the loss of his mom.
She wasn’t sure hecouldrecover from that. And that meant he might never be able to give her the kind of relationship she needed. And now that she knew what it could be like with him, she knew she’d never accept less. Not from him, not from anyone.
He’d warned her about this. He’d said it was dangerous, that playing happy family would end badly.
But you know what? I don’t have a Magic 8 Ball. I can’t see the future.
I sure don’t have to sabotage it, either.She’d just have to see how it played out, and if he pulled a runner or started shutting down…well, she’d know it was time to leave.
She supposed it was time to get up. Since Jude and Cody had gone to the park for the stomp, she’d slept in for the first time in ages. Her body was deliciously sore, and she stretched before stacking some pillows and sitting up.
Unplugging her phone from the charger, she checked for messages, happy to see Jude had texted pictures. The first was one of Cody leaning over a table, examining a series of sketches. She smiled at his look of concentration and loved seeing him surrounded by all those big men.
The next was the professional photo of all the teams gathered in the town square. And the third was of the six guys standing on top of the wooden mold the town provided for each team, jumping on the snow, making it so compact they couldn’t dig a finger into it to make a tunnel.
Seeing Cody laugh so hard filled her with joy. She’d wanted to go with them, wanted to be part of the fun, but Jude needed to bond with the boy on his own. Not with her as the safety blanket.
It was the right thing to do, but she did feel a little left out.
A truck engine rumbled in the distance. It could be anyone, of course, but she threw off the covers, grabbed a fresh pair of panties out of her dresser, and quickly dressed.
Her heart pounded, and she nearly toppled down the stairs in her eagerness to greet him. She wanted to launch herself into his arms the moment he walked in the door, but she knew he wouldn’t be alone. As she crossed the living room, she noticed boxes on the dining room table. Her body recognized them before her mind did because awareness burst under her skin. Quickly, she detoured to open one, just to be sure. And yep—Pyrex measuring cup, a whisk, and boxes of melt-and-pour mixtures.
Jude had gone into the attic and brought down her soap-making boxes. That man was terrible for her central nervous system. Smiling at his thoughtfulness, she quickly put the boxes on top of the washing machine in the mudroom. She didn’t want Cody getting into the essential oils.
Truck doors slammed, and by the time she’d safely stored both boxes, boots were hitting the wood foyer.
“Miss O’Neill.” Cody came racing into the kitchen. He was breathless with excitement, and, from the way he ran with his fists and arms rotating from side to side, he’d clearly adopted the McKenna swagger. “We’re gonna make gingerbread cookies.”
She laughed, her heart so full. “Okay, sweet boy.” She pulled him in close for a hug, breathing in the scents of baby shampoo and cold air. “You had fun?”
“Yeah.” He pulled away. “We’re gonna go with my idea and make a gingerbread house with windows. Inside, I said there should be a family opening presents, and Uncle Wyatt said,‘What kinda family?’ and I said, ‘Guys like us,’ and he said, ‘But if we want to win, we’ve got to do something different,’ so we’re gonna do some other stuff to make it special.”
“That sounds fantastic.” Hope burned brightly inside her. He might always be damaged by the neglect in his formative years, but he had the spirit to overcome and embrace the gifts the McKenna family would give him. “Okay, let me check and see if we have the ingredients for gingerbread.” She opened the cabinet and checked the top shelf. Flour, brown sugar, molasses. “Yep, we can do it.”
“Good, ’cause Grampa says we’re gonna try gingerbread cocoa, and I said I never had gingerbread before, and he said, ‘Well, we’re gonna make some cookies’ so I can try it.”
The men stopped talking, and Finlay’s gaze shot to them. Who did he mean? Carlo was in Idaho, and Jude’s dad was the one who had a thing for hot chocolate.
Was he calling Gunnar Grampa?Already?
