Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

Please forgive me.

* * *

Warm sunlight urged Hannah’s eyes open. She smiled and stretched her arm out, her fingers trailing over the bumps in the bedding, seeking the smooth, hard contours of Travis’s chest and shoulders.

Cool, empty sheets met her fingertips.

She sat up and pushed her long hair back. Travis’s masculine scent was released with each of her movements and a delicious ache moved through her muscles. Smiling, she touched her lips, still tingling from his tender kisses, and savored the faint throb of pleasure that lingered deep inside her from his passionate movements.

A gentle giant—that’s what Zeke and Liz had called Travis. And his touch had been gentle last night. Gentle, protective, passionate, and full of love.

A shadow blocked the bright sunlight streaming between the open blinds of the window and she turned her head, her smile widening as her eyes traced the familiar line of Travis’s wide shoulders and muscular back.

He stood outside on the deck, his back to the window, facing the slow rise of the sun above the mountain range. Vibrant shades of gold, pink, and lavender spread across the brightening sky above him, casting his muscular frame into a dark outline that stood in sharp relief against the light projecting from above.

Hannah slipped out of bed, padded to her closet, and dressed quickly, a soft laugh escaping her as she tripped over her jeans twice in her haste.

Joy she’d never felt before spiraled inside her and she presse

d a hand to her belly, recalling the light rasp of Travis’s stubble-lined jaw against her skin, his big hands cupping her breasts and hips, his thick thighs parting hers and his hard body settling warmly between.

“A perfect fit,” she whispered, pleasure unfurling within her as she envisioned the years ahead, full of love, laughter, and life with Travis.

A great man. One she felt as though she’d waited for forever.

Stealing one last glance at his broad back through the window, she left the room and half jogged to the front door and out onto the deck, drawing to a stop a few feet away from him. Desire stirred within her at the sight of his tall frame clad in jeans and a T-shirt, his strong jaw shadowed with stubble and his black hair rumpled from her touch.

He turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers, the brown depths warm and loving as they roved over her, just as they had last night.

She smiled again, words leaving her lips in a giddy rush. “You love me.”

His sensual mouth curved upward, but there was something lacking in his smile, and in his expression. “Yes. I love you.” He faced her, his throat moving on a hard swallow as he held out a folded piece of paper. “Which is why I need to give you this.”

Smile faltering at his tone, Hannah moved closer and hesitantly took the paper, her fingers brushing his. “What is it?”

Regret moved through his expression as he said quietly, “Something I should’ve told you a long time ago. I was going to wait until after I told—” Voice breaking, he grimaced and looked away, his gaze returning to the sunrise. “Please read it.”

She studied his profile, then the grim set of his mouth, silently urging him to speak. To ease the fear stirring inside her. Instead, he remained silent and continued staring stoically at the sunrise.

Hands trembling, she unfolded the paper.

Dear Margaret,

“You’ve written to Margaret?” Frowning, she lifted her head, her gaze returning to him as she tried to sort through her confusion.

He didn’t answer.

She looked down at the paper in her hands.

I found you today: twenty years, seven months, and three days after we last saw each other. You looked me in the eyes, shook my hand, and smiled. You didn’t recognize the reckless boy I once was in the man I’ve become. But I recognized you.

A chill swept through Hannah, racking her limbs and stealing her breath.

That same look you had in your eyes twenty years ago—the only time during the trial that you faced me—was still there. The look that said the world is cruel, and God is more cruel.

Her hands tightened, crushing the edges of the letter between her fingers. “When did you write this?”

His chin trembled. “The day I met you.”