The House On The Creek by Sarah Remy

around his mouth eased, and she caught a glimpse of pain in the clenching of his fists. “You know it wasn’t.”
     
    He took a deep breathe and blew it out through his nose. “It was the best thing, you knew that. I thought you knew it.”
     
    Abby looked out to the Creek so she wouldn’t witness the slump of his shoulders. “Anyway. I made a mistake. I got pregnant. And the football hero grew up and went to college on a scholarship, and became an investment banker, and married an Amazon-tall blonde with long legs, and decided it would be best to forget he’d ever had a son or a past.”
     
    She swallowed the lump in her throat, and dug for humor. “He had very blue eyes, by the way. Chris’s father. And muscles you wouldn’t believe. Everyone knew he could press his own weight.”
     
    “Must have been an arrogant sucker. And stupid to boot.”
     
    Surprised, Abby drew her gaze from the trees. Her heart turned over. He was smiling and it was the old self deprecating smile she remembered, promising mischief, half a dare.
     
    “Stupid?”
     
    He reached along the railing, and smoothed her ruffled hair with the palm of his hand. His touch and the perfume of the honeysuckle made Abby pleasantly dizzy.
     
    “For leaving you behind.” His hand lingered on the crown of her head.
     
    He muddled her brain but Abby retained sense enough to try and explain. “It wasn’t like that, not really.”
     
    “How was it, then?”
     
    “It was just sex in the back of Mom’s car. It felt good, and I enjoyed it. I never bothered to wonder what he thought of me, or even what he thought of anything.”
     
    “Sex in the back of your ma’s car.” Exasperation made his drawl long and dry. “Abigail, you have any idea what I would have given to get you in the back seat of any car?”
     
    His hand drifted down to cup her chin. Abby couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth on a snappy reply, but managed only a wordless murmur.
     
    His eyes were wide and green as the Creek. His breath tickled her ear. He smelled of sweat and summer, and he made Abby remember lust.
     
    “I’m going to kiss you,” Everett said, calm and matter of fact as you please, but Abby felt the shuddering rise and fall of his rib cage.
     
    “No.” She lifted her hands in protest but it was too late.
     
    This time his kiss was long and slow. He took her mouth gently, tasting, exploring. Teasing until she opened to his tongue.
     
    She felt longing burrow low in her stomach and spread through her veins, blossoming into blatant want. A sharp, sweet stab of need took her behind the knees, and she nearly pitched forward.
     
    He shored her up, held her beneath the honeysuckle, and let her taste the flavor of his desire. His hands drifted beneath her the thin cotton of her t shirt - stroking, teasing. She felt the flick of his finger across one taunt nipple, and groaned into his mouth.
     
    “Jesus Christ.” He broke away, breathing quickly, and drew her up against his body until her bare feet nearly left the deck. “Christ, Abby. Come inside.”
     
    She knew where that would lead. To the big antique bed she’d installed in the master bedroom, to the linen sheets and the soft, stuffed duvet. She saw the intent in his fierce expression and in the trembling of his hands where they gripped her shoulders, and she felt it in the length of his body pressed against her own, in the corded tension that threatened to snap.
     
    “No,” she said again, although her insides had gone liquid at the thought of what he might do to her in the embrace of that antique bed.
     
    But he was already pulling her across the porch, his lips burning across her brow, his fingers stroking the curve of her arm. “Abby.”
     
    She squirmed away and set her feet firmly on the deck.
     
    “Everett. I said no.” Although her body throbbed in protest.
     
    She watched as his eyes began to clear. He rubbed a shaking hand across his face, and took a deep breath. He