Ninety-eight…ninety-nine…one hundred.
Wyatt collapsed onto the rug in his bedroom and rolled to his back. His arms and shoulders stung, his abs ached, and his heart was thumping soundly while his lungs expanded.
Nope.
Hadn’t worked.
He could still see the intrigued interest in Skye’s emerald eyes. His brain kept replaying the way she’d licked her lips while they stood there in the kitchen last night, that pink tongue swiping her upper lip while her breathing had gone shallow, then the way she’d bitten her lower lip while her gaze asked him to touch her. To taste her. To strip her bare and show her that she was a sexy, desirable woman.
And he was still hard as a lead pipe.
He went into a series of sit-ups, ordering himself to think about his physical fitness test coming in a few months. About the pile of paperwork he needed to tackle before his move. About his neighbor’s incontinent dog. About Nicholas tossing his cookies on the zip line ladder.
There.
That was working.
Should’ve tried that when he couldn’t get to sleep last night.
His door opened. He stopped and peered out into the hallway, dimly lit with the light of the rising sun, looking for Skye.
Nicholas poked his head in. “I’m hungry. Can we have pancakes again? You make good pancakes. Miss Skye thought so too.”
He sucked in a frustrated breath. “Let me get a shower and we’ll see.”
At least one good thing had come of this week.
He was becoming an expert in living with torture.
* * *
“Is Miss Skye coming?” Nicholas asked for the fourth time in three minutes a little later.
Wyatt sucked a breath through his nose. “I don’t think so, Nicholas,” he said more tightly than he had the last three times he’d answered.
Patience, he told himself.
Yes, he was tired. Yes, he was cranky. But it wasn’t the kid’s fault.
Nope, that honor landed squarely on his own shoulders.
He should’ve let Skye leave when she first offered.
“But she needs to eat breakfast too,” Nicholas said.
“She knows how to find breakfast in the kitchen.” Wyatt ushered him into the rental SUV. “You want a cinnamon roll at Sue Ann’s?”
“With bacon?”
With anything he wanted if it meant they could drive down this mountain without another mention of the woman who had haunted his dreams for years. “Absolutely.”
“Do you think Miss Skye likes bacon?”
“Not since she read Charlotte’s Web.”
She might’ve changed over the years, but given how much of her had stayed the same, she probably still refused to touch pork.
And he could add that to the list of things he wished he didn’t remember about her.
He settled into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.
“Can we have another game tournament with Miss Skye today?” Nicholas asked.
It was going to be a long, long day.
* * *
Skye reached into the bag of Nilla Wafers and kept reaching. She tore her gaze from the sunrise photo she’d been editing in Photoshop to peer into the cookie box.
Empty.
Dang it.
She tossed the box onto the stack of magazines beside her on the couch and went back to the picture, mindlessly playing with filters and special effects.
Not that the image needed any improvement. The combination of deep green pines, the mountain ridges, and the brilliant blue sky were perfection matched only by her beloved, albeit shorter, Blue Ridge Mountains back home.
But since her other option for messing around with photos this morning involved looking at the pictures she’d taken of Wyatt and Nicholas on the hike, before the bee sting, she’d stick to the scenery. An old friend loved to post inspirational quote memes all over social media, so Skye usually sent her a few pictures whenever she had a chance.
Her fingers twitched on the keyboard, and a new image filled the screen, this one of Wyatt bent over on the trail, saying something to Nicholas at the start of their hike. As usual, Wyatt’s face was intense, his brows furrowed, but while all of Skye’s childhood memories would’ve insisted he would be frowning while he pointed at the green aspen leaf on the ground, his mouth wasn’t tipped down in disapproval or frustration.
He wasn’t smiling either, but he didn’t seem unhappy.
Simply focused.
As though he were entirely, completely lost in the moment.
She rubbed at the hollow spot in her chest.
She’d misread him all these years.
She’d misunderstood him all these years.
And now that she was seeing the layers to the man, she couldn’t act on them. Not without jeopardizing their friendship, his friendship with Beck, the entire dynamics of home.
Since last night, all she’d wanted was to kiss him again.
No, that wasn’t all she wanted.
That wasn’t nearly all she wanted.
Wyatt and Nicholas would be leaving here in just a few days. She’d be leaving too, to go home.
Wyatt had been right. She’d forgotten herself. But he believed in her.
The man who had always pushed her to be better believed in her.
How could she not want more of him in her life?
The door banged open, and feet pounded on the stone entryway. “Miss Skye! You’re here!”
She slid the laptop onto the cushion on her other side and smiled at him. “Hey, Nicholas. You’re looking handsome today. Is that a new shirt?”
He puffed up his chest, proudly showing off his Mountain Ridge Outdoor Adventures shirt. “We went hunting for souvenirs. Uncle Wyatt said I had more adventures there than most people, so I deserve this shirt.”
She barely suppressed a smile.
Four days ago, she wouldn’t have believed the man had a sense of humor.
Now, she realized she’d been the one with a stick up her butt all these years.
She owed him an apology.
And so much more.
“You absolutely deserve it,” she said to Nicholas.
Wyatt stepped into the house and shut the door. He was quiet grace in a sculpted package, and simply knowing he was back in the house made her body flush and a primitive need tug deep between her legs.
She didn’t look at him, but she felt his approach, felt his gaze, felt his hesitation.
Or was that her hesitation?
What if she wasn’t good enough for him? What if she failed him? What if he got to know her better and realized he’d wasted all that time putting her on a ridiculous pedestal?
Nicholas leaned into the arm of the couch and reached for the empty box of Nilla Wafers, but stopped himself before he touched it. “Is that dessert?”
More heat prickled her skin. “Ah, that’s empty. Did you eat lunch?”
“Everything but the plate,” he said proudly.
She swallowed. “If your Uncle Wyatt agrees, you can have some banana pudding.”
Nicholas’s nose wrinkled. “What’s banana pudding?”
“What’s—” Wyatt’s startled gaze met hers, asking a few questions she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—answer, and one she could guess at.
“Your mom’s never made you banana pudding?” she asked Nicholas.
He shook his head.
“At least she taught him manners,” Wyatt muttered.
“It’s a special dessert from back where we all grew up,” she told Nicholas. “Bananas, vanilla pudding, and Nilla Wafers, all layered with meringue on top. You’re going to love it.”
“I’m not allowed to have bananas,” Nicholas said.
Oh, jeez. Were banana allergies a thing too? “Why not?”
“I eat one bite and throw the rest of it away.”
Wyatt glanced between Nicholas and the kitchen. “Still? I thought that was just when you were little.”
Nicholas lifted one shoulder.
“You don’t like bananas?” she asked.
“Bananas and my mouth don’t get along.”
“Oh. Well, I think your Uncle Wyatt will happily take one for the team here. Let’s go see if there’s another box of cookies hiding in a cabinet somewhere.”
Nicholas skipped ahead with all the grace of a gangly giraffe, but Wyatt tugged on her wrist when she passed him. Her pulse ricocheted through her veins at the heat in his touch.
“You didn’t have to make my favorite dessert,” he said quietly.
“I wanted to.”
He studied her with those deep blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved since he’d gotten here, and the stubble on his cheeks and chin tempted her fingers. Had those dark smudges been under his eyes yesterday?
Or had he spent the night tossing and turning, just as aware of her two floors below him as she was of him two floors above her?
She wasn’t prone to obsessing, but she seemed to have come down with a big ol’ case of it.
Wondering if he was thinking about her. If he never wanted to see her again. What he’d do if she tried to kiss him. If he found her naked in the tub again.
If she’d get over this when they all finally left Hope Falls, or if she’d continue to think about this man whom she felt as though she’d just met.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She blinked, realizing her breathing was too shallow and afraid he’d been able to read every last one of her thoughts. “Sure,” she stammered.
His chest was rising and falling rapidly too. His gaze dipped to her lips.
That ache deep between her legs pulsed. She licked her lips. He visibly swallowed and shifted his gaze over her shoulder.
And his lips parted. He squinted.
She glanced behind her.
His picture glowed on her laptop screen. “Oh! I just—I’ll get you a copy. If you want. There are a few better pictures too, but I—”
His deep blue gaze connected with hers again, and her words died on her tongue.
“Thank you,” he said again.
He let her go and turned to follow Nicholas into the kitchen.
Leaving her with one amazing, sexy, untouchable view.
She couldn’t remember his faults at the moment, but the site of his rear end in a pair of blue jeans was rapidly rising on her list of reasons she couldn’t get Wyatt Owens out of her mind.
* * *
While Wyatt grilled burgers for dinner, Skye and Nicholas giggled over a card game in the dining room. Not that he minded—their laughter was better than any music.
But not better than the sounds Skye made half an hour later when they were eating dinner. “I haven’t had a burger this good in months,” she told him. She bit into her burger again, and one of those moans came from low in her throat, making his groin twitch.
Warmth swelled in his chest and crept up his face.
A guy could get used to being appreciated.
After dinner, she chased him out of the kitchen and insisted she and Nicholas would do the dishes while he enjoyed a bowl of banana pudding.
He found the Nighthawks game on TV—the Copper Valley team was playing the Giants tonight—but he couldn’t concentrate on baseball.
Not with Skye and Nicholas chatting in the kitchen, talking just low enough for him to not hear what they were saying.
Or while he was eating the best banana pudding he’d ever tasted in his life. And his mom’s banana pudding had been damn good. But there was something special about Skye’s recipe. The ratio of bananas to Nilla Wafers to pudding, or the sweet fluffiness of the meringue on top, or maybe it was special simply because she’d remembered it was his favorite dessert.
After an eternity—which was really only an inning and a half—the two amigos emerged from the kitchen. “Go get your pajamas on,” she told Nicholas.
The boy dashed for the stairs while she plopped onto the opposite end of the couch. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” she declared. “Oh, dang it. Is that another dirty bowl?”
“Not yet.”
She leaned toward him and peered at the bowl, bringing the scent of lemon dish soap and flowery Skye shampoo. “Did you lick that clean?”
“I’m highly skilled with a spoon.”
Her pretty green eyes bulged for a split second before she covered her face and laughed. “Oh, jeez. That is not what I thought you were going to say.”
Considering he had licked the bowl clean, he could imagine her thoughts and gone to his tongue. The pink in her cheeks made his groin stir.
“Talented with that too,” he murmured.
Her gaze snagged on his and held.
His heart leapt into a jog.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” she said softly.
“That a good thing?”
“It’s not a bad thing.”
It probably shouldn’t be a thing at all.
Would Beck kick his ass for making a pass at his sister? Probably not.
But he didn’t know if his heart would make it if she gave him a chance and found him lacking.
She’d found him lacking all his life.
Could a few days in Hope Falls honestly change her perception of him? Could he be enough for her? Right for her?
He flicked his attention back to the game as the Nighthawks struck out. “Losing again.”
“But we love them anyway,” she said.
She was watching the TV now too, but she was still leaning toward him, her slender arm propped on a throw pillow with Beck’s face on it, a soft smile tipping her rosy lips.
“Should get tickets for tomorrow,” Wyatt said. “They’re in San Francisco. We could make the drive and back in a day.”
“Wouldn’t be the same.”
“As being home?”
She paused before giving a single nod.
“Miss it?” he asked.
“It’s home.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what it used to be. When we were kids.” The freedom. The lack of responsibility. Having his best friends, the friends he’d desperately needed, at his back every day. He’d made plenty of good friends in the Air Force, but none of them were the same as his neighborhood brothers. “When we were all there, together, all the time.”
“Why the military?”
“To pay for school.” Partly, anyway.
Her head tilted, and her thick brown hair slipped over her shoulder. “Oh. I guess I never thought about that.”
He pointed the remote at the TV and flipped a few channels while the commercials were playing. “Mom stretched her budget when we moved into the neighborhood, but she wanted me—wanted us somewhere safe.”
He could feel her peering at him, knew if he looked at her, he’d see that single wrinkle creasing her forehead, lips pursed. Soft fingers landed on his forearm and squeezed, shooting white hot sparks over his skin.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” she whispered.
“Long time ago.” He covered her hand with his, and he didn’t know if he was touching her soft skin for her sake, or for his.
He just knew he couldn’t not touch her.
“No, I’m sorry I ever thought you were an asshole,” she said.
“Nobody’s perfect.” He tried to cover the huskiness in his voice with a smile.
“You try though.”
He would barely have to move to wrap a lock of her hair around his finger. To brush his thumb over her cheek. To taste her lips.
Years.
He’d dreamed of kissing Skye for years.
And that taste the other night hadn’t been enough.
They both knew this was a bad idea—she had to know it too—but she was here, touching him, leaning into him, eyes dark, lips parted, breath shallow while her gaze dipped to his mouth.
“Skye—”
“Uncle Wyatt, can I read more Phoebe Moon tonight?” Nicholas bounded down the stairs, and Skye jerked back.
Her breasts rose and fell beneath her fitted white tank top. She tucked her knees up to her chin and hugged her shins.
Wyatt shifted on the couch and nodded to Nicholas on the stairs. “Sure. But if there are any more inept generals in that one, I’m having a talk with your mom about your reading material.”
“This one has firemen, not military people.”
“Ah, great.”
“Miss Skye, you’ve read it, right?”
“Loved them all, kiddo,” she said. “You like baseball? The Nighthawks are playing.”
Nicholas crept into the room and glanced at the screen. “Oooh, the Giants! Are the Giants winning? Dad loves the Giants.”
Wyatt groaned.
And only partially because his brother-in-law had given up on their home team.
The other part was that Skye was scooting off the couch. She grabbed Wyatt’s bowl. “Seconds? Or are you done?”
“Seconds.”
Of banana pudding. Of her touching him. Of getting close enough to kiss her.
He definitely wanted seconds.