No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

“And yet with you, all that flew out the window,” he finished my sentence for me, his breath a defeated huff. “I touched you all the time, and I couldn’t help it even though it only made everything worse for me.”

“For me too,” I confessed.

“I know,” he said thickly, dragging his hand through his hair. “You should be so angry and…. It’s not fair, what I did.”

I held his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you,” he rasped, “but I will.”

I grinned at him. “We covered that in bed, didn’t we? Me belonging to you?”

“I thought so, but you’re sitting here scaring the hell out of me, and I don’t know what I need to say or—I mean, how does one go about holding on to a retired Navy SEAL? How do I keep you without making you feel trapped? We’re in the middle of Montana, for God’s sake. Is there something, anything, I can do to make you want to stay?” He asked me, sounding a bit unhinged. “What do I––”

“Your heart will do it,” I said, then kissed him until he stopped trying to talk and melted against me.

“Whatever you want,” he said when I finally leaned back in my seat after easing free of the kiss, “it’s yours.”

All I wanted was the forever with him, and he’d already promised that. “Good.”

His sigh was long and deep, and I put my seat belt back on and slowly eased my Toyota back onto the road, headed again toward Mal’s. “So tell me, is your school still going to let you teach if you live with me?”

His scowl came fast. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” I said, affronted, glaring at him.

His snort of laughter made me smile in spite of myself.

“Listen, I—”

“Yes, Brann,” he soothed me, leaning in to kiss the side of my neck. “I can be married to a man and still teach AP and Honors English, drama, and be the yearbook advisor. I told them I was bisexual when they hired me nine years ago, because I never wanted to be anything but truthful even though it’s none of their business.”

I exhaled the breath I’d been holding.

“I’m sure there are schools that care, but Ursa High isn’t one of them.”

“I was worried,” I said gruffly. “I don’t want you to lose anything because of me.”

“You’re a gift, Brann. There’s only what you’re bringing to my life, to my girls’ lives. There’s nothing bad that could ever come by way of you.”

My eyes prickled with tears as I turned away from him to look out the side window for a moment.

“We probably should have stayed in bed a bit longer and not rushed right out.”

My eyes were back on his face.

“I mean, I know how I feel, how you feel, and we’ve basically been co-parenting since the day you showed up, but we have to find our footing together too.”

“You’re saying that we’ve got the ‘taking care of the girls’ part down cold, but the us piece needs some work?”

“Not work,” he said thoughtfully, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “I simply need to tell you, a lot, until you believe it as an absolute truth, that I don’t want to just live with you.”

“Oh yeah?” I said as I parked my Toyota in front of Mal’s rambling three-story American Queen Anne-style monstrosity of a house, which stood out from all the others on his street.

It was actually a mix of a bunch of Victorian styles, and I really hoped Mal and his wife, Jules, never wanted to move, because it was one of those things that looked kind of cool but was overbuilt and a bit too quirky. The fact there was a widow’s walk the length of the third story next to a spired sunroom was one of the first things I noticed. It turned out Mal had inherited the house from an eccentric aunt. He told me the homeowners association had begged him to tear it down and build a ranch house on the land or a Foursquare or a Craftsman, but instead, Mal had renovated it, painted it pale green with red trim, and built a pergola in the backyard for his wife as well as planting an extensive vegetable and herb garden.

“Look at me.”

I turned in the seat to face Emery. “I’m looking at you.”

He unclipped his belt, took my face in his warm hands, and leaned in and kissed me. Unlike the earlier kisses, this one was gentle and coaxing, his tongue stroking over mine as he tasted and lingered, and I forgot about anything else but the slow, sensual heat building between us. When he turned into me, tipping my head back, hands slipping under my heavy, zippered cardigan and t-shirt to my skin, I jolted with the contact.

“Shit,” he gasped, breaking the kiss and opening his door at the same time.