Confessions from the Quilting Circle Maisey Yates (ebook reader 8 inch .txt) 📖

“I told you,” she said. “I’m committed to my music. I wouldn’t ask anyone to try to compete with that.”

“I don’t know, Hannah. I... I’m in awe of that. I’m in awe of you, a little bit. Because I never had dreams that were much bigger than this place. I’m happy here. I have a piece of land that I’m happy to work. I have my family. I’ve always believed that I would find somebody, fall in love, have some kids. That feels like something to me. I know it never did to you.”

“It isn’t that it’s nothing. I just don’t think that you can have both. I don’t think that you could be exceptional and ordinary at the same time.”

He nodded slowly. “Right. Because you always thought that was ordinary. I just never thought we were. I really thought we were something else.”

Special.

The word whispered through her like a curse this time.

He shook his head. “I wish... I wish there was something to make it go away. Because let me tell you something, Hannah Ashwood, I am damn sick of wanting you.” He rounded that bar, and nothing was between her and his anger, his height, his broad male body that was harder, and even more beautiful than it had been at seventeen.

He took a step toward her, so that they were only a breath apart. “I’m sick to death of it. But I’m weak. I’m weak as hell. Because I wanted you all this time you were gone, and you’re here now. I still want you so much.”

It was the rawness in his voice that caught her. It made it impossible for her to be cynical and she hated that. She wanted to make a joke. She wanted to push him away.

She couldn’t.

She could have cried. With how much she wanted him. Not just because she was attracted to him, though there was that. But because he was...him. Solid and real and right there. A link to a past she hadn’t wanted. But now it just made her...

Everything was such a mess. Gram was gone and Avery’s life had crumbled.

Hannah hadn’t gotten the position she’d spent her whole life sacrificing for.

Josh Anderson was the one thing in her life she’d let distract her.

She wanted that distraction now. But it scared her.

That was the problem. Sex with other men was something easy.

A touch from him never could be.

This didn’t feel simple at all. Or fun. Or like embracing nostalgia. And she felt like he was asking her for something that there was no way in hell she could give.

But she couldn’t resist taking a step closer.

She could feel his breath against her lips. She put her hand on his chest and could feel his heart raging there, a furious beat that matched her own.

“Hannah...”

She stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

The storm that brewed between them burst into thunder and lightning and every sharp, painful thing she told herself she would never want ever again. But she let the past burn away, and she let the future go right along with it.

He was here right now. He was kissing her right now. And he might be angry, and he might have every right to be. Right now she would just take it as passion. All the passion that she could feel coming from him. The hope that he still had inside of him that she didn’t have anymore.

She just wanted to take it. Just for a little bit.

And it would never be anything else. It never could be.

Because Avery wasn’t the only keeper of secrets. But some were better left untold. Because it was too late to do anything to make it better.

Because he wanted her now, and if he knew the truth, he would never want to touch her again.

He pressed her back against the kitchen wall, hard muscle pinning her there. She opened her eyes and the expression she saw on his face took her breath away.

She could see him, sixteen years ago. When she’d told him all the reasons they couldn’t be together.

You’re not good enough for me.

She closed her eyes again and kissed him harder. Deeper. Trying to blot out the memories. Erase the past with the present.

I’m special.

Her own words, so sharp and horrible, cut through years and desire like a knife.

Just because you’re happy with your sad little life, doesn’t mean that I will be.

She pushed her fingers through his hair, arched her body against his. His hand moved down her back to cup her rear end.

You’re holding me back.

She pushed away from the wall, and he held her, kept them both from falling.

“Upstairs,” she whispered against his mouth.

He grabbed her hands, pinned them down at her sides. “Are you sure? Because I already told you who I am. How I do things. And how I don’t.”

“Please,” she said, her chest tight, her throat throttled with so many emotions it was all she could do to force the word out.

He picked her up. Like she weighed nothing. Like all her problems and baggage weighed nothing. She took a breath but it turned into a sob. But he didn’t ask what was wrong and she was so grateful for that.

They went to her room and he shut the door hard behind them, peeling his T-shirt up over his head. His body was familiar and totally new all at once. The years had brought a blessed maturity to his chest and stomach that sent a kick of arousal through her.

He was perfect.

She felt clumsy as she tried to take her own clothes off, but his movements were decisive as he stripped her bare, his lips firm against hers. His hands were rough in a way they hadn’t been sixteen years earlier. Changed by labor and time.

She moved her own hands down his chest and wondered if he could feel her calluses. If he’d always been able to. The rough edges of her fingers from years of building up defenses