He paused, listening down the hall. Cayla’s low laugh accompanied faint sounds of splashing from the bathroom. “She’s off. Something’s wrong. She’s acting like it’s not, but something’s wrong. What did you say to her?”
Hadley folded her arms, dark brows drawing together in insult. “I told her about mom and growing up and all the stuff you should have said to her yourself.”
He swore. Now he understood why Cayla was upset. Knowing about his past would just remind her of his initial reluctance to get involved without duress. How much harder was he going to have to work to convince his wife that he was in love with her and he wanted this marriage to be real?
“I don’t want to talk about that shit. It’s over. It’s done. That’s it.”
Hadley just leveled him with a flat stare. They both knew that their past was a huge part of what had made him who he was. But she didn’t push.
“I’m gonna head on back to the inn. I’ll stop by the bakery before I leave town tomorrow.”
“See that you do.” He wrapped her in a big hug, holding tight to the one person in the world who’d lived through the same hell he had and come out stronger. It was his proudest accomplishment that he’d been able to get her to a point where she could stand on her own two feet and take no shit from anyone.
After Hadley left, Holt joined Cayla and Maddie in time for another chapter of Mr. Popper’s Penguins. Once both dog and child were settled for the night, he and Cayla slipped out of the room. She started to head for the kitchen, but he looped an arm around her waist and steered her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them and throwing the new lock.
She shot him an arch look. “You know she’s going to take longer to go down than that.”
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes widened fractionally. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He closed the distance between them, backing her up against the dresser so he could box her in. “Never play poker. Something’s off.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he brushed the hair back from her face. “Tell me what turned your light down.”
After a long, humming beat, she dropped the mask she’d been wearing all night. “Hadley told me about your childhood, your mom. About you.” Her eyes were wet as she reached up to frame his face. “No child should have to grow up like that.”
She was upset on his behalf. On behalf of the kid he’d never really been. Holt didn’t know what to do with that. He’d meant what he’d said to his sister. It was over and done. No reason to get emotional about it now.
Cayla swallowed. “I get why you didn’t want to take this on.”
Her hands were still on him, but he could feel her pulling back from him.
Desperate to stop it, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Don’t. Don’t judge us based on things I said before I knew you. Yeah, I said that the marriage and family thing was not something I wanted to do. Because I was imagining it would be just another verse of the same song I had growing up. But I was wrong. I hated what I had to do because I was a kid. Because I didn’t choose it. I didn’t have a partner. I didn’t have help. You’re nothing like my mother. You’re strong and capable, and you would never put anyone ahead of Maddie. I am in this with you a hundred percent. I—” He cut himself off before the rest of that three-word statement could spill out. It still somehow felt too soon. Like it would be pushing. “I want to be here, Cayla.”
On a sigh, she melted into him, burying her face against his shoulder. “I don’t ever want you to feel trapped with us.”
“I don’t. This marriage is not a cage. It’s a home. Maybe the first one I’ve ever had.”
Her head came up, those eyes glistening again. “Holt.”
Because those three little words were still fighting to get out, he kissed her instead, drinking deep of the sweetness he couldn’t get enough of. She wrapped around him, rising to her toes to press closer. Needing so much more than this, he banded an arm around her and edged backward, toward the oversized chair in the corner. Clearly on the same page, her hands went to his belt, having it undone and his fly down by the time his calves bumped the chair. She shoved his pants down just far enough to free his erection and nudged him to sit, only breaking the kiss long enough to snag a condom from the drawer in the little side table. He didn’t know when she’d stashed them there, but he sent up prayers of thanks as she rolled it on. Reaching beneath the skirt of her dress—another piece of forethought he blessed—he tugged down her underwear until she stepped out and crawled into his lap, coming back to take his mouth in a hungry kiss as she sank down, down, down.
They both groaned. She was the first to break the kiss to murmur, “Quiet,” against his lips.
He almost laughed. Then she began to move, and all he could focus on was the exquisite torture of her body tight around his. He needed her. Her sweetness. Her light. Her empathy. And he needed this. God, he needed this. For the rest of his natural life. As her muscles began to ripple around him, he made a fresh vow that he’d do anything to protect the peace and the home he’d found with her.