“You don’t come once with me,” he said. “It’s too good watching you lose that pretty head.”

“I’ve never—”

“No past. No future, remember?” He pumped his hips harder. “Just you, feeling what I give you until I say you come again.”

“So bossy.” Her head lolled and it started to happen, impossibly, her body so spent with pleasure began to fill again, like a bucket in the well. The friction and his filthy words bringing her back as if she hadn’t just come her brains out.

“But this—if I—it might kill me.”

“Nah, I’m going to take you to heaven.” He grabbed her ass, bracing her in place as he rolled against her.

She studied the place where they were joined, the slick glide of their flesh, then turned toward his face where he stared back with an elusive smile and a heavily lidded gaze. Amazed that this brutal man possessed her and yet she didn’t feel threatened or frightened; if anything she was free.

He let out a grunt as she inwardly gasped. If she did this again, she might implode or explode, hard to know if coming with Wilder was a burst out, or an inward push.

“Quinn.” He was strong, big, and suddenly vulnerable here at the end, ragged in his need. “Are you with me? Are you with me, Quinn?”

And she was. Her body was responding, except this time, it was more—more intense, more powerful, more consuming, more everything.

“This still a mistake?” he gasped.

“The best.”

“Am I the best you’ve ever had?”

Had there been others? Of course there had, but they seemed like nothing now, far away and out of focus, a memory that she never lived but was only told about.

“Best ever.”

“Goddamn right.” His mouth slanted over hers, sucking in her gasp. There was a last flurry of thrusts and the world shrank away until all that was left was her blood pulsing in her ears and his hard body.

“Now, now, baby, please.”

It was the please that put her over, that pulled from her what she didn’t know she could offer. If the last orgasm cracked her in two, this one shattered her into pieces that would never fit back together. Everything she had thought and planned for these last few months was gone and there was only Wilder, holding her close as he pulsed against her, teeth set as if he were in pain, contrasting with the fierce triumph in his gaze.

The world began to return but she was anchored here, to his shaft still half thick and buried within her.

He rested his cheek against hers with a heavy sigh. “So this is what it feels like.” His tone was soft, reverent even.

“What it feels like?”

“Living.”

And as their hearts pounded against each other she grinned. “Yeah. I think so.”

“It’s good.”

“Perfect.” She glanced up and there beside the moon was a small star. At least she thought it was. Please don’t be a satellite. She wanted to make a wish. A simple wish really. All she wanted was for everything to work out. For her brain not to fall apart, for Dad not to run away again, and for Wilder to choose peace.

Let us have a shot, she wished. Please give us the chance.

Maybe it was a mistake to have hopes and dreams given everything she was up against, but this guy in her arms was worth the risk.

Chapter Fifteen

FOR THE NEXT week and a half, it seemed like Quinn had gotten her wish. Dad stayed calm and even smiled a few times while watching Ghostbusters. Wilder accompanied her on visits to Mountain View Village, sitting beside her in Dad’s room, holding her hand, barely watching the movie because all he did was stare at her.

It was good. Perfect really.

And if sometimes she woke in the night, fear squeezing her heart and uncertainty sucking away the room’s oxygen until she could barely breathe, with Wilder’s arm heavy over her waist and the pesky old idea “this is a mistake” ringing through her skull, it was gone by morning light.

Mostly.

So far her phone didn’t ring, at least not with a call from the doctor. Each day without news was another to kick the can of worms further down the road.

It turned out that Edie’s bakery sustained minimal damage, to the relief of the townsfolk who had come to depend on her baked goods as a normal part of their daily routine. The shop had been closed for a few days while a thorough check was done to determine everything was safe.

As it was Wednesday again, the Chicklits were meeting at the big table in the back of A Novel Experience arguing over next month’s selection. They’d decided it was time for a romance and there was a strenuous debate over whether a billionaire BDSM should trump a sweet friends-to-lovers contemporary romance. Quinn took a sip of water from her bottle and accidentally splashed some down her “Reading Is Sexy” t-shirt. Wiping at it, she called out, “Maybe you guys can just split the difference? The half of you rooting for whips and canes can choose that book and the other half that wants movie dates and walks in the rain can go that route.”

“That’s not how this works,” a woman in a pair of faded overalls piped up. “This is about consensus.”

“We’re the thirteen musketeers,” interjected another woman with painted eyebrows. “We’re all in. One for all. However it goes.”

“By all means, carry on—only making a suggestion,” Quinn said in a fake hoity tone.

“Is that the pretty one who’s dating your grandson?” Painted Eyebrows’ stage whisper was impossible to ignore. “That still working out? If not, mind if I try to set her up with my Roger?”

Grandma Kane held court at the end of the table like a dowager countess. Annie had dropped her off for book club before ducking in the Brightwater Bugle offices to finish an article.

“I don’t pretend to know what, or whom, my grandson is doing.” Grandma’s frosty tone didn’t inspire much in the way of confidence.

“I’ve heard his truck has been parked in front of her house most every night.”

“I heard that they were spotted in the grocery store together buying hot fudge.”

“I heard that they were seen kissing in the town square and that tongue was most definitely involved.”

Quinn’s cheeks flamed. She knew small towns had a reputation for busybody behavior, but had someone followed her around the last two weeks with a handheld camera?

Finally she glanced up from her stack of inventory. “Um, ladies. I can hear you.”

They all burst out laughing.

“Course you can,” Grandma Kane said. “They’re trying to get a rise.”

“Just trying to have some sorely needed fun, Dorothy. This weather has been giving me a bad case of the grumps,” the woman in overalls said.

“Have your fun with someone else’s family, Beryl. Not mine. Meeting is adjourned.” Grandma rapped her knuckles on the table.

“But we haven’t decided on a title,” Painted Eyebrows protested.

Grandma furrowed her brow. “We’re doing the contemporary. The hero on the cover reminds me of Chris Pratt.”

“Chris Brat?” Another piped up. “Who’s that?”

“Pratt,” Grandma snapped. “P like phenomenal.”

“But that sounds like an F.”

“Sounds like but isn’t.”

“What’s a Pratt?” another member asked, turning up her hearing aid, the high-pitched squeak making everyone jump.

“He’s an actor. Guardians of the Galaxy?” Quinn interjected. “Jurassic World?”

Twenty-four eyes stared blankly at her.

“Good taste, Mrs. Kane.” Quinn gave a thumbs-up.

Grandma ignored her.

P also stands for poleaxe. Grandma Kane had quite the hatchet face. Imagine having been raised by her—no wonder Wilder ran out of town. But then, Sawyer and Archer seemed to regard her with real affection, and she returned it.

What had happened between her and her oldest grandson?

The contemporary romance winners moved on from bickering over phonetic pronunciations and began high-fiving each other over their victory while the BDSM fans marched out grumbling under their breath. It looked like Grandma had the final say even outside of Hidden Rock Ranch.