A Dash of Spice

A triple-threat to a girl’s heart.

Though hers would only ever belong to one Win.

Ciara’s gaze skated up Scout’s thick, corded neck to his strong, set jaw with what she guessed to be about two days of stubble lining it. He had dark-blond hair that was too long, yet lush and perfect for tangling her fingers in. The style was tousled and a lock fell across his forehead. Her eyes connected with his melted-chocolate ones and Ciara lost her breath.

Scout was ruggedly handsome and towered over her even though she wore four-inch heels.

He didn’t say a word to her. Just maintained the intense eye contact as he reached out a hand. Ciara slipped hers in his and he tugged gently, now walking backward onto the small dance floor that was just starting to fill up with the conclusion of the dueling poker heroes, bringing her willingly with him. The band was currently on break, but Ciara had loaded up the jukebox with hers and Scout’s favorites. He pulled her to him and they swayed together to a tune by The Smashing Pumpkins.

Desire instantly burned through Ciara. So, too, did emotions that were raw and powerful. She knew Scout could read each and every one of them on her face. Likely the reason he didn’t speak. Just held her close to him. Close enough that her breasts brushed against his chest and she breathed in the earthy, manly spiced scent of him. Her fingers curled around the side of his neck. The other hand was twined with his and resting on his hard pecs, at his heart.

Her breathing escalated at Scout’s nearness. At the reality of him, versus the fantasies she’d relied on to keep her company over the years. The blood turned molten in her veins as she inched closer, melding into him, their bodies grinding together.

The thrill over being in Scout Winchester’s strong arms mixed with all of her memories of him. Every time he’d kissed her. Every time he’d made love to her. Every time he’d whisked away tears from her cheeks.

There’d been plenty of tears. Starting way, way back. To her very first stay in Plymouth Rock. A temporary stay as all the others that followed had been. As this one would be.

Scout’s head dipped and he inhaled the fragrance of her hair, her skin. Let out a low, sexy groan that sparked a riot of sensations in her belly. Deep in her core.

They didn’t speak through two more songs. He didn’t seem to notice the couples around them anymore than she did. Ciara was lost. Drowning in desire and endless love.

For Scout.

Only for Scout.

No, he didn’t know it. She’d never said the words. Nor had he. They didn’t really have to, in truth. They naturally gravitated to each other. Naturally fell perfectly in-step with each other. Even after all this time.

The music flowed into The Cranberries hauntingly crooning When You’re Gone and Ciara and Scout continued their swaying, stuck in their own moment, in their own little world.

Eventually, one corner of Scout’s tempting mouth lifted and his rich brown eyes smoldered as he murmured, “How is it that you just keep getting more and more beautiful? Like, steal my breath beautiful.”

The backs of her eyes prickled, but she was able to blink away actual tears. “You always say the nicest things to me.”

“Well, that’s much more innocent and tamer than what’s currently racing through my mind.” His voice was an intimate rumble that resonated within her, making her hotter. Intensifying the yearning that always stayed with her, long after they parted ways.

And they always, always parted ways.

It was inevitable. Inescapable.

She said, “I wasn’t expecting you home for the holidays.”

“Just this holiday. JT and Ham are rolling in as well. Might already be here, in fact, up at the cabin.”

She smiled. “You know Hamilton hates when you call him Ham. Especially this time of year.”

“Yeah. That’s why I do it.”

She laughed softly.

Scout’s warm lips grazed her temple as he said, “That’s a sound I miss hearing.”

Ciara really hadn’t had that much to laugh about of late. Certainly not with the passing of Grandma Tilda last spring. It wasn’t easy to be back in Plymouth Rock, and definitely not easy for Ciara to sleep in the room that had been designated for her in Tilda’s big Colonial the first time her mother had gone to court-ordered rehab, when Ciara was eight. That’d been when she’d met Scout, whose family had lived in town. And his grandparents owned Win Creek Cabin on the mountain. Not so much a cabin but a gorgeous remote retreat.

Ciara had loved when Scout or his Grandpa Win and Grandma Gracie would invite her and Tilda up for a winter campfire or a summer barbecue. Back in the day, the Win’s had been the very definition of family, despite the boys’ father being a colossal asshole who’d skipped out on them. Well, emotionally at any rate. It’d been Catherine Winchester who’d brazenly given him the boot.

Ciara said, “Our phone conversations have become a little skimpy over the years.”

“Hard to keep up when we’re both traveling so much, what with the differences in time zones and one of us always being on a plane when the other’s o