No White Knight

She inhales, darting me a wide-eyed look. “How’d you know?”

“Because it’s how I’d feel, too. If everything I grew up with was suddenly thrown into question.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s fine to have doubts, Libby.”

“I don’t want to. That’s what upsets me the most.” She bites her lip, drifting to a halt, resting her free hand on the wooden fence railing and looking up at the sky. “I want my faith in him to be so damn unshakable not even a whole graveyard of bodies could change anything. It hurts that it’s not. Scares me. Makes me feel like a bad daughter.”

“You’re not a bad daughter. You’re human, honey, and so was he.” I settle in next to her, leaning my arm on the fence—but while she’s watching the sky, I’m eyeing her. “It’s okay to realize our parents aren’t gods. Even if you’re having doubts, even if you’re scared…you’re looking for answers. Just asking questions doesn’t mean you’ve lost faith in who he was.”

Her throat works in a tight swallow, and she touches her fingertips to that pretty, delicate silver necklace she always wears.

“You know,” she whispers, “I think maybe he’d like who you are now.”

“I’d like that. But I’ve got a bigger question on my mind.” I watch her intently, the way the night shades her in delicate colors. “Libby, do you like who I am?”

“Aw, hell. You gotta go and ask me something like that?” But she’s smiling, no matter how shaky.

I grin back. When she looks up at me, her eyes are gleaming.

“I think…yeah. Maybe I do. Maybe I like you an awful lot, and that scares me too, Holt.”

“It’s okay.” I curl my fingers against her cheek, stroking along the high, soft crest of her cheekbone. “We’re both freaked, woman. You do the craziest shit to me.”

Her laugh comes gently.

“I scare you? What’s your score?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not keeping score with you any day, sweetheart.” I shake my head. “Promise you, the way I get being around you is a first for me every time. There’s nothing to compare with that.”

She wets her lips, that red tongue so tempting. “Tell me how you get around me, Holt Silverton.”

“So pissed off I can hardly see straight,” I say, and she laughs again, stronger this time, that glint in her eye less sad now and more amused, and it warms my heart. “So frigging spun up all I can think about is you. The madder you make me, the more I want you. You mess me up.”

“Yeah, well, funny how that works,” she whispers.

“I’m not done. The more I want you, the more I want to be someone you can respect just like the way I respect you. You push all my goddamn buttons. You make me want to be a better man…and that’s fucking nuts, Libby.” So crazy my heart pounds like mad, but I’ve got to say these things. “Because trying to be better means failing. But being afraid of failure’s no reason not to try.”

Her lips quirk, one-sided and sweet.

“All of that, huh?” she says, tilting her head to press her cheek into my palm.

“All the hell of that and more,” I growl back. “I’ve said enough, though. If I say anything else, you’ll think I’m just buttering you up.”

“Probably. I got no use for sweet talk. You know that.” She rests her hand to my chest and looks up at me with her eyes as clear as the wide Montana sky. “So kiss me, Holt. ’Cause I’m done talking.”

“Honey,” I murmur, “anything you say.”

Curling my fingers in her hair, I pull her in close—but she meets me halfway, rising up on her toes to press in close and slant her mouth against mine with an eagerness that’s almost defiant, pushing back against her fear of this heady thing between us.

It’s hot. Wild. Perfect.

Every whipsaw sweetness I could ever want, her lips hungry and working at mine like she’s trying to quench a desperate thirst.

I get it.

I get it fucking deep.

Libby burns me up so hot I’m desperate for anything to ease the pain of it even as I crave her more and more and more, devouring her mouth.

I’ll show her with every needy, scorching kiss that this is real for me.

More real than anything I’ve ever known.

When her lips part on a gasping moan, letting me into her, letting me taste her, I let myself sink into this feeling rushing through me until I’m a fucking mess.

I’m hard as goddamn steel. My jeans are a necessary evil to keep me under control, pure torture when it aches every time her body sways against mine.

Our tongues twine.

Her arms slip around my neck, her fingers buried in my hair.

With a ragged groan, I grip her waist, lifting her up to sit on the fence, pulling her up to my height so I can taste her.