Chapter Eight
Holt followed Mayson along the narrow trail that led up to the barn. Neither of them had been up to getting back on their horses, so they’d walked from the far side of the property. Even now, over an hour later, he couldn’t stop the incessant need to look at her, reassuring himself that she was okay. The horses had long since calmed, their gait even and controlled as they brought them back to the barn.
So why couldn’t he calm down?
No matter how many times he told himself she was fine, the image of what could have been flashed in his mind as if on an endless, gruesome loop. Add on the fight, and he hadn’t found his equilibrium.
“Mayson!”
The happy shout from the direction of the big yard between the main house and the barn echoed toward them both as Mayson let up a large wave. A young woman, he guessed in her late teens, stood proudly waving back. “Who is that?”
“That’s Annette.”
“She seems excited to see you.”
“She’s one of my favorite people here. We have a special bond.”
Although he’d done his research and knew a key goal of the facility was to help prepare children with intellectual challenges for adulthood, he’d still expected the majority of the residents to be small children. “How old is she?”
“According to her, she’s eighteen and three-quarters. A number she proudly updates each time I’m here.”
“That’s awfully specific.”
“And 100 percent Annette.” For the first time since the incident at the property line, he heard signs of normalcy in her voice. “I don’t know the full extent of her challenges, but she’s very deliberate and rational in her communication.”
Holt opened the gate to a small grazing area and got the horses situated. “How long has she been here?”
“I think about three years now. Her mother was able to get her in on a scholarship, and the time has done wonders for her.”
“Why don’t you go on and let me get the horses situated so they can graze a bit.”
Mayson handed him the reins before she walked over to embrace the young woman. The hug was natural and easy, and it stopped him in his tracks. Could any other women of his acquaintance give of themselves so willingly to someone who faced more challenges in the world than most would ever understand?
He made quick work of getting the horses settled and followed in her footsteps. He’d have had to be blind to miss the speculation he saw on Annette’s face, and thought the combination of protectiveness and curiosity was particularly telling.
“Annette, I’d like you to meet my friend, Holt.”
Holt took the immediately proffered hand and couldn’t hold back his smile at the girl’s eager expression.
“I think you mean boy friend, Mayson,” Annette said.
“You could call me that.”
Holt got a giggle from the girl, before she pointed toward the grazing horses. “Did you have a good ride?”
“It was a beautiful morning.” Holt saw Mayson’s gaze relax as he side-stepped the question. “Do you enjoy the horses?”
“Not so much. They smell. I like painting. And bikes. And swimming. And going to the movies.”
Mayson patted the girl’s shoulder. “Last time I was here, Annette showed me a painting she was working on. Did you finish it?”
Annette’s vivid green gaze lit up with excitement. “I finished it and two more. Want to see them?”
At two sets of expectant eyes, Holt knew his cue. “I’d love to see your work, too. Why don’t you two go in, and I’ll follow after removing the horses’ saddles and getting them back in their stalls.”
“I can help you with that.”
Holt waved Mayson off, the irrational desire to keep her away from the horses still pounding strong in his veins. “It won’t take me long at all.”
“Okay.”
As he watched them walk away, he marveled at the easy camaraderie and simple warmth Mayson seemed to hold for everyone. Here was a woman at the very top of her game professionally, a member of one of New York’s most well-respected families, yet she innately understood how to give of herself to others.
Her smiles were easy and sincere, and he could see how happy she was here.
Once again, the whisper of his past tugged at him, making him feel as if his feet were encased in cement. His young life was so ugly. He’d done everything in his power to push it down deep, to pretend as if it had never existed. Hell, he’d even used his business to try and erase past crimes. But no matter what he did, it had existed, shaping him into the man he was, molding him into the businessman he was. Except for Keira and Nathan’s house party, when was the last time he’d spent a weekend off? Or spent time outside in the sun? And had he ever spent the afternoon with a child?
Never…
His weekends were simply another part of the work week. Time spent outside was to advance a business goal, like a round of golf, not leisurely walks over lush acres of farm. And children? The reality was he had absolutely no experience. But he would. Soon he’d be a father. And every metric he’d used to evaluate his life needed to change.
…
Holt found the art classroom easily enough, the building that housed the student’s activities a small structure about a hundred yards from the barn. He made mental notes as he moved through the hallway. Simple ways they could make quick improvements, even if they did ultimately get their funding.
He followed a small corridor, the sound of voices growing louder as he reached the last classroom. At the opportunity to watch unobserved, he deliberately eavesdropped on the conversation.
“I met him at my sister’s wedding.”
The mention of the wedding had Annette going off in gales of girlish smiles as she asked about the dresses and the party, and Mayson indulged her, pulling up some pictures on her phone for them to ooh and aah over.
“The groom is handsome, but not as much as Holt.”
“I agree he’s very handsome. But enough boy talk. I want to see your paintings.”
Annette danced over to a row of canvasses leaning against the wall. “These are my old ones. The new ones are hidden. Turn around.”
Mayson first admired the canvasses that were face up. Holt didn’t miss the wink she shot him as she turned around and he knew the jig was up. “Do I have to turn around, too?”
Annette was delighted by his arrival, gesturing him into the room and pointing toward a seat near the front. “Here. You sit next to Mayson. And you have to hide your eyes, too.”
Holt took a minute to look at the same canvasses Mayson had deliberated over. Bright, vivid slashes of color filled each and every one, and while the technique often needed work, the enthusiasm was more than evident in each and every stroke. He thought about that while Annette positioned her canvasses for the big reveal. There was a vibrancy and a joy in the young girl he couldn’t help admiring.
For individuals the world thought of as “challenged,” she had a wonderful view of herself and the world around her. She continued to hem and haw behind them, and Holt could hear the sound of the wooden frame of the canvas as it touched the floor, then the wall, then was shifted once more.
“Okay! Turn around!”
The order was layered with excitement, and Holt and Mayson turned to admire Annette’s paintings at the same time. He thought he might need Mayson’s support as he reviewed the child’s work, but the reaction that welled up was absolutely genuine. “Annette. They’re beautiful.”
Hands went to her slim hips. “You can’t just say that. You have to mean it.”
“I do mean it.” He walked forward, standing before each canvas to review the work before moving to the next. “You’ve done a beautiful job.”
The paintings centered on a common theme. Each showed a girl, her face turned toward the sun with her arms outstretched. In every painting, the color of the subject’s dress was different and the backgrounds changed, but all were well-done and showed Annette’s development of thought and ability to work around a theme.
“I meant them to be the same but different.”
“You’ve done a great job. Tell me about them.”
The girl turned her focus toward the canvasses and chattered happily about each of the paintings. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his arm that he turned to look at Mayson, his attention finally broken from the work. “She’s amazing.”
Annette turned, her smile even broader than the one she’d worn earlier. “You like them?”
“I love them.”
“Which is your favorite?”
“The woman in the blue dress.” He got up from the desk and stood next to the painting, his gaze focused on the canvas. He lifted his hands to his hips in a gesture that matched Annette’s.
“Why do you like the blue one?”
“Because Mayson was wearing a blue dress the first time I saw her.”
Proudly, Annette reached for the painting and turned toward Holt. “Then you need to have it.”
“I can’t take your painting.”
“I want you to.”
She held it out until Holt reached for it. He grasped the wooden edges of the canvas with both hands. “I know just where I’m going to hang this.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss against Annette’s cheek. “Thank you.”
A light giggle erupted from the girl’s lips as she pressed her hand to her cheek. “Do I get another kiss if I give you another painting?”
Mayson reached forward and pulled the girl into a tight hug. “I think we need to teach you some more subtle flirting techniques.”
“I thought a girl needed to ask for what she wanted.” Annette leaned back and put her hands on her hips once again. “Isn’t that what you’re always saying?”
Holt shot her a sideways glance. “Is that what you’re always saying?”
Mayson couldn’t hold back the quick smile as she pulled Annette into another hug, this time from the side. “How is it you listened to that lesson and not the others I’ve tried to pass on?”
“Because I don’t want to eat my vegetables, and it’s boring to get all my homework done every night.”
Holt leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the other cheek. “Well, who can argue with that?”
…
Although they were only about forty miles from Manhattan, the small, upstate town that Hands, Hearts and Hugs called home didn’t boast a lot of dining establishments. They’d found a small diner on the way to their hotel, and Holt had figured it was their best bet.
He laid down his menu. “You were really good with the kids.”
“Right back at you. They loved you. And I think Annette has a little crush.”
He took a moment to weigh his words, before simply opting to say what was on his mind. “They weren’t what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Children who didn’t have any hope.”
Her curiosity was evident in the tilt of her head. “And what do you think now?”
“I think the time you spend up here must refresh your soul and renew your belief in the goodness of others.”
“That’s rather poetic.”
“It’s not poetic if it’s true.”
She laid a hand over his and the warmth that simply defined her zinged up his arm at the contact. “Can’t it be both?”
“Mayson—” Her name caught in his throat as they stared at each other across the old, scarred Formica table. The need for her—at times so blindingly urgent he could barely take a breath—rose up to swamp him. How had she become so necessary? And in such a short period of time.
“What is it?”
“It’s not just for the business deal. And it’s not just about my mother.”
Understanding dawned deep in her eyes. “What’s it about, then?”
“Us. It’s about us.”
Long moments stretched out between them, an ocean of calm and quiet amidst the noise of the diner.
…
Mayson stepped into the hotel lobby, her hand linked with Holt’s. The need to touch him was constant, a living, breathing fire under her skin.
Us. It’s about us.
His words played on a loop in her mind, over and over again like a lullaby.
She’d seen a new side to him today. His gentleness with the horses, and his innate kindness to the children, Annette especially. He’d given her a special gift—the gift of his attention and his respect—and another piece of her heart had crumbled.
In that moment, when Holt had stood admiring Annette’s paintings, she caught a glimpse of the father he’d be. While the two of them might need work, if she had any concerns about his ability to parent, they had vanished in that moment.
“Here you go, Ms. McBride.” She’d volunteered to book the room since she stayed in town so frequently, and had suspected Holt would be all right with the arrangements she’d planned. Even with the expectation he’d be fine with it, she still didn’t miss the subtle widening of his eyes as the desk manager handed her one set of room keys.
Holt came to a stop before their assigned room, shifting his overnight bag to deal with the lock. “You’re sure this is okay?”
“More than okay. You?”
“No, Mayson.” With a broad smile, he pushed one foot against the door to prop it open before leaning back and pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. “I’d rather sleep down the hall.”
Lifting up onto tiptoes, she nipped a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “You’re such a stickler for propriety.”
Strong arms came around her as he dragged them both into the room. “That’s me.”
His lips came down on hers and all the pent up need and longing from the last few weeks came crashing through both of them with the strength of gale-force winds. Mayson did the only thing she could think of, the only thing that felt right: she clung to him and held on.
Heavy knots of lust tightened her muscles, pushing her body on as each of them shed the items they carried. His overnight bag fell to the floor near their feet with a heavy thud, and her small suitcase lay on its side, fallen where they’d both knocked against it.
As they moved further inside, mouths fused and hands roaming, their clothing fell in piles, like a trail of breadcrumbs toward the bedroom. When Holt finally came down on top of her on the bed, his heavy weight a lush reward for the journey, Mayson could only giggle. “That was a pretty impressive feat, Mr. Turner. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten out of my clothes that fast.”
“It’s a rare skill.”
“And a dangerous one.” She shifted her hand between their bodies, her fingers closing over the hard length of him.
His eyes glittered in the dim light of the room. “You’re a temptress.”
“With you.” She pressed her lips to his, trying to say with her body where words failed her. “Only with you.”
When he responded, his mouth a carnal feast on hers and his body pressed intimately against her, Mayson knew the words she spoke were truth. There was something about this man. He was the only one who’d ever made her feel this way. The only one who had ever made her lose control, even as she discovered herself.
She’d never been one to consider her world ordered, like Camryn, or full of pure ambition, like Keira. Instead, she’d drifted, like a ship at sea. There’d been some destination in mind—some endpoint—but she’d let life’s waves carry her along. Until Holt. He’d climbed aboard and taken the reins, and she knew she would never been the same.
“Make love to me.” The words floated from her lips, lazy yet strong.
Demanding.
The desire that drove both of them ratcheted up once more as the moment changed, grew more urgent.
He reached for her hand, stilled it with his own, then shifted so he could move down her body, his mouth flying over her with the intent to possess. Hot, liquid kisses branded her throat before scorching a path to her breasts. The same heat turned liquid between her thighs as his mouth closed over one nipple, his fingers plying the hard peak of the other.
The sly curl of need that rode low in the belly punched up and became greedy, her legs writhing against his body as the sensations became more urgent. And as the pleasure built, now familiar yet so deeply exciting, she slid underneath him, memories of the previous week still fresh in her mind. He’d played the hunter long enough.
It was time to turn the tables.
…
Holt felt himself drowning in the glorious woman beneath him. Her lush curves and long, artful limbs were a feast for the senses, and he intended to savor every morsel. He sensed the shift in her body, and reacted by pressing lightly with his weight to keep her moaning beneath him, before she slid craftily over him.
“My turn.” The whispered words were like an accelerant to flame, especially when matched with the movements of her body as she quickly straddled him. The light weight of her, pressed intimately over his hips, pushed his already aroused body another step toward the edge. When he reached up to cup her full breasts in his hands, her eyes grew darker, their depths so deep and rich he could drown in them.
Her delicate fingers gripped the hard length of his penis once more while her long hair fell against his torso, the thick strands tickling the muscles of his stomach. The warm, giving woman in his arms teased and tantalized, tortured and tormented. And she was his.
“Mayson.”
Before he could utter anything else, her mouth closed over him and he was lost. Heat, so much heat, consumed him. It battled with the intense pleasure that radiated from the core of his body, tightening his muscles and pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
He knew he was spellbound as she continued to work his flesh with her tongue. She managed his physical cues, movements he wasn’t even conscious of making, and adjusted so that each stroke of her tongue pushed him harder, drew him further on toward that place where nothing existed but the magic between the two of them.
“Mayson—” Her name ripped from his throat as he caught himself, nearly over the edge and well on his way to taking the moment. He dragged at her slender shoulder, tugging her toward his chest. “Together. We’ll go together.”
A wanton smile spread across her mouth, but she said nothing as she continued to weave her magic. With deft movements, she straddled his hips, taking him deep into her body. He was nearly blinded by the pleasure, but still forced himself to watch her, to keep his gaze on her face so he could look at her as she took her pleasure.
Movements generous, she lifted her body over him before coming back down, the sinuous flow of motion igniting another shockwave within him. He gripped her hips, desperate to manage the pace—desperate to gain some of the control he’d lost to her generous ministrations. He reminded himself to hold on as she rode him through another hard crest of pleasure, tried to tell himself to make the moment last, but as his gaze caught on hers, Holt saw the haze of her own pleasure reflected there.
And in that moment he was lost.