Later that night—much later—I shut the door connecting the two hotel rooms and locked it. “The younger kids are asleep and despite Tammy saying otherwise I’m pretty sure her and Kitty aren’t too far behind them.”

“You can tell Tammy my mother is handling the cheerleading thing.” Abraham didn’t glance up from his laptop, his fingers continue to fly over the keys. “Both through the school and personally.”

“Do I want to know what you mean by that last bit?”

“I told you on Sunday, I’m related in some way, shape, or form to Tina Anne although I can’t pin down the specifics.” Now he did look up, his face solemn. “Are you ready to talk?”

“No, I’m ready to sleep.” I pulled my shirt off, dropping it on the floor before dragging off my jeans, leaving them in a puddle of fabric next to the crumpled shirt. Unfastening my bra, I tossed it toward the overstuffed chair every hotel room in America seemed to have, sighing when it missed, landing on the floor with a dull thud. Throwing back the duvet, I sprawled on the bed, my face pressed against the mattress. “Do you need all the lights on or can you manage with just the one on the desk?”

“If you think you being naked is going to distract me, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not trying to distract you, I’m trying to settle down and go to sleep.” I rolled to my side, pillowing my cheek on one arm, shoving my hair behind my shoulders with my free hand. “I’m assuming you’re doing paperwork or something for the bar and I don’t mind but I can’t sleep with all the lights on.”

“No, I was ordering books for you to help with your nephew.” He didn’t quite slam the laptop shut but it was close. Standing, he started pulling off his own clothes, the jerky quality of his movements doing a better job of telegraphing his emotions than all the shouting in the world. Shouting I could tune out. Hurt deep enough it made such a graceful person clumsy wasn’t something I could ignore. “I know he’s only five but I think it’s safe to say Conway is what people like to call gender-fluid.”

“Or maybe he just likes dresses.” I shrugged. “Like you said, he’s five. Maybe when he’s older, he’ll decide he doesn’t like dresses but he’s a big fan of makeup. Or maybe he won’t like any of it and he’ll spend an entire year wearing nothing but hunting gear.” I watched as he moved around the room, shutting off each light in turn before stretching out on his back next to me, the space separating us feeling more like miles than inches. “You’re not mad about Conway.”

“And here I thought you weren’t paying attention.” He flicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room in to darkness. For a moment, we were both silent. Finally, he said, “Marcus was in a car wreck about ten years ago. He lived but it paralyzed him from the waist down.”

Not knowing what else to say, I simply said, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He reached over and took my hand, squeezing my fingers to the point just before pain. “He beat the hell out of me all through middle school and high school. Every time I threw a ball that wasn’t caught, every time the team lost, every time I was less than perfect because perfection is the only thing Hansoms are allowed to be.”

“What about your mother?” I’d never met Mary Hansom but I had a hard time believing a woman who was the closest thing to a saint the town of Cotton Creek had would be okay with anybody, even her husband, abusing her child. “She had to have done something.”

“She left discipline up to my father because that was the way she’d been raised. The way Marcus was raised.”

I didn’t ask why he refused to address Marcus as his father. If I was in his position, I would probably feel the same way. Instead, I said, “So I take it I don’t need to worry about blocking out Sunday afternoons for dinner with your parents.”

He barked out a laugh and some part of me I hadn’t even realized was tense relaxed as he pulled me against him. “Not every Sunday. Once a month, I subject myself to an afternoon with them. You’d think Marcus would be less of a bastard—like maybe he’d realize this is some sick, twisted version of karma coming to call—but if anything he’s worse than when I was younger.” He stroked his hand down my back, his touch soothing more than arousing. “And Mary... well, she still just sits there and lets it happen.”

“My parents... well, you know about them.” Everybody in Cotton Creek knew about them. Rich people could afford to keep their scandals quiet. Poor people couldn’t. “And even though I loved them, I’d be the first to say they weren’t great parents. But they never lifted a hand to me or Loretta.”

“I wanted to leave. To take the money from my inheritance and go... anywhere, really. But after the wreck, Mary begged me to stay. She convinced Marcus to give me the land but I paid for it because I didn’t want him to ever say I owed him anything.” He cuddled me closer and I draped my arm over his torso, twining my leg with his. “I make sure all their finances are in order and that they don’t want for anything. I do my duty as their child. But I don’t have anything to do with them otherwise.”

“That’s your choice.” And one I could understand to some extent. After all, I’d uprooted my entire life and moved back to the last place on the planet I wanted to live because my sister’s kids needed me. “But if it makes you this unhappy, maybe you shouldn’t do it.”

“I’ve been unhappy in some way, shape, or form since I was twelve years old, Jeannie Jackson. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t know what to do if I wasn’t unhappy.”

“Now that’s just depressing.” I sat up, shaking my hair out of my face and frowning at him. “You’re seriously going to lay there and tell me there’s never been a moment in the past twenty-odd years where you weren’t anything but happy?”

“I think the closest I’ve come is when we’re in bed together.” Even in the dark, I could see that whiplash quick grin. “Or in a car. Or in a hotel room.”

“Very funny.” I straddled him, leaning down and brushing my lips over his, laughing and trying to wiggle away when he anchored his hands in my hair, holding me in place. “Not tonight, mister. I’ve been up since five and I’m exhausted and tomorrow is going to be just as tiring.”

“I bet I could change your mind in three minutes or less.” He streaked his free hand down my torso, easing his fingers between my thighs, not quite touching where we both wanted him to touch. “Set the timer on your phone.”

“And if you lose, we’ll both just go to sleep frustrated.”

“We’re going to go to sleep frustrated as it is unless you let me change your mind.” He sat up, never loosening his grip as he scooted backward until he was braced against the headboard. “There are a lot of things I’m fond of, Jeannie Jackson.”

“Like?” I sighed as those annoyingly clever fingers stroked the soft skin of my inner thighs, so close to where I wanted him to be and yet still far too far away. “Abraham?”

“Waffles.” He slid one finger over my cunt, pressing firmly against my clit. “Tequila.” He dragged the finger down, easing inside me, exhaling through clenched teeth when my inner muscles clamped down on the digit. “I’d say I even have a fondness for pain.”

“Uh-huh.” It wasn’t going to take three minutes to change my mind. It probably hadn’t even been two and I was already on board with whatever he had planned. “I think I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“There’s that college education.” He pulled his hand back only to wrap his fingers around his cock, stroking once before shifting me up and over, lowering me on to his shaft with almost excruciating slowness. His next words were hoarse, raspy, and I didn’t know if my own throat ached in sympathy or because it was suddenly bone dry, too. “But I think, Jeannie Jackson, I’m fonder of you than of any of those things. I think I always have been. And fuck if it doesn’t scare the absolute shit out of me.”

“Shut up.” To make sure he did, I took his mouth with mine, deliberately making the kiss harsh, brutal. I told myself it wasn’t to distract him but because I needed the edge—something I hadn’t realized until he’d acted on some of that so-called fondness for pain—because I wanted the orgasm I knew was just over the horizon. When he tightened his grip in my hair, tugging until it was either break the kiss or lose a few strands of hair, I whimpered his name. “Abraham, please.”

“No. I should have said something all those years ago and I didn’t because I was young and stupid and didn’t know there are worse things in life than disappointing your parents.” He pressed his face against my shoulder, his body going still as his breathing slowed. “I’m fond of you, Jeannie Jackson, and I get you don’t have the same feeling, whatever this feeling is, but I’m asking you to maybe try.”

“That’s not fair.” I propped my chin on his shoulder, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out when he twisted his hips, his piercing scraping over my G-spot with uncanny precision. Swallowing hard, I said, “You can’t ask me that right now.”

“Why?” He twisted his hips again, sharper this time, and I squeezed his cock tighter with my cunt. “Because you can’t hide? Because there aren’t any walls left?” He dragged my head back until the only thing touching was our noses, his gaze fierce as it locked with mine. “This is the only time you give me anything so I’ll be damned if I don’t push for more when I have the chance.”

“Stop.” I blinked back tears and turned my face away, even though the pulling in my hair was none too gentle. “It’s too soon. It’s too much.”

“Which means there’s something.” He relaxed his grip, massaging away the pain he’d caused. “I can settle for that for now.” He pressed a soft kiss to my pulse and sighed. “It feels like I’ve waited my whole life for you. I can wait a little longer.”

Instead of telling him the truth, I wrapped my arms around him and let him rock both of us up and over the edge of release.

It was a helluva lot easier than telling him there was a good chance he was going to get what he wanted sooner rather than later.