Chapter 22: Micah

I pour each of us a shot of whiskey. As we’re sitting on the sofa, sipping the liquor, I pull Robyn close.

She leans against me. “Is it over? Please tell me it is. I don’t think my heart can take anymore drama.”

“I think so. Chris talked to someone at the DEA in Denver. They’re going to arrest Verne tonight. They’ve got enough evidence to charge him with attempted murder.”

When she’s done, I take the shot glass from her and set it on the end table. Then I pick her up and settle her on my lap. “Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?” I ask. I’m thinking maybe she needs to process aloud.

There are shadows in Robyn’s eyes, and she’s uncharacteristically quiet.

She sighs. “When I was in that shed, all I could think about was you. I heard the shots coming from the shop, and I had no idea what was happening, if you were safe or… not. Micah, if anything had happened to you—or to the others—it would have killed me.”

There’s so much raw emotion in her voice, it makes me wonder if she’s feeling what I’m feeling. I realize we haven’t known each other for very long, and yet I can’t deny these feelings I have for her. How long do you have to know someone before you admit what you feel for them?

“When I heard gunshots out back, my heart just stopped,” I admit. “All I could think about was getting to you.” I link our fingers together and gaze down at our hands. When I think about how close she came to being hurt, I shudder.

“You might think I’m crazy for saying this,” she begins. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but—do you think sometimes you just know? Is it possible to meet someone and just click?”

“You mean like love at first sight?”

She laughs nervously. “You probably think it’s nuts.”

“Actually, I don’t think it’s crazy at all.” When I gaze into those beautiful blue eyes, my chest tightens, and I know this is exactly where I want to be. “If you want me, sweetheart, you’ve got me. All of me.”

“I feel the same. But, Micah—”

He smiles. “I thought you believed in love at first sight.”

“In fairy tales maybe,” she says, “or in romance books, but in real life? Do you really think it’s possible?”

“Can’t we write our own romance story? A former Army-pilot-slash-auto-mechanic falls in love with a beautiful Irish-American runaway?”

She smiles. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Then that’s our story.” I lean close to kiss her. “The rest we’ll make up as we go along.”

My phone rings then. “It’s Chris,” I tell Robyn as I take the call. “He’s calling with an update. Chris, I’m going to put you on speaker so Robyn can hear, too.”

“I’m here at the hospital now,” he says. They’re all going to be okay. Tony and Ricky are both in surgery and in stable condition. My deputy was treated and released, and she’s resting at home.”

“Thanks for the update, Chris,” I say as we end the call.

“Can we go to the hospital tomorrow?” Robyn asks. “I’d like to see Tony, but I think I need to see Ricky, too. He tried to help me, and he almost died in the process. I need to thank him, at least, and say goodbye.”

“Sure, we can go.” I rise from the sofa, lifting her in my arms. “But right now, I think we should go to bed. It’s late, and you’ve had a traumatic evening.”

“So have you,” she says, wrapping her arm around my neck.

After we get ready for bed, I turn off all the lights and set the alarm. Robyn slides under the covers, and I quickly join her. Immediately, she reaches for me. As I pull her close, I confirm my suspicions—she’s naked.

“You’re way overdressed,” she says as she skims her hands over my hips.

“I wouldn’t say over dressed.” I’ve got boxer-briefs on and nothing else.

She rolls toward me and kisses me. It’s a poignant kiss, tender and gentle, almost reverent. She cups my cheeks and brushes her thumbs over my lips.

“I’ve never been in love before,” she says. “I’ve never trusted anyone that much. But I trust you.” She leans in to kiss me again, this time with more heat. “I want you,” she whispers.

While I shove off my boxers, she reaches into the nightstand drawer and grabs a condom. I take it from her, rip the packet open, and quickly sheath myself. Before I can move, she’s straddling me, hovering over my erection. She maintains eye contact as she slowly lowers herself on me. Her hair hangs loose, soft waves caressing my bare skin. This was my fantasy in the beginning—to feel her hair brushing my chest.

I groan as she sinks onto me, drawing me deeper into her tight heat. She’s biting her lower lip in concentration. My hands go to her waist. I don’t rush her or guide her. She knows what she’s doing, and I’m happy to wait for her. But I need that physical contact. I need my hands on her.

I keep reminding myself we survived today. She’s okay. She’s safe.

If I allow myself to think about how close she came to injury tonight—or worse—I run the risk of losing my mind.

When she’s worked herself on me, at least as far as she can go, she moans. And then she starts moving on me, lifting herself, settling down again, over and over as she finds her rhythm. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed pink. I reach up and run my fingers through her hair, watching the strands fall. I gather her hair in my hands and pull her closer for a kiss.

Our lips cling together, shaking and hungry. Our tongues tangle, our breaths mingle. Having her here with me, in my arms, in my bed, feels so right. This is what I’ve always craved—this kind of connection. As she moves faster and faster, angling herself just right, I feel the tension rise in her thighs. She’s close to coming, and I pace myself, determined to hold off my own orgasm until she’s found hers.

Her pussy tightens on me, squeezing me tightly, and she gasps as she presses her hot face into the crook of my neck. I slide my hands up and down her back as I murmur to her, telling her how beautiful she is, how much I want her. As she finally relaxes on me, I finally give myself permission to come. I surge up into her and give in to my need.

I roll us then so that we’re lying side by side. I brush back her hair and study her face, wanting to memorize every feature. We’ve shared our feelings tonight, but there’s been no discussion of the future, and I don’t want to make assumptions.

We must be on the same wavelength, because she says, “It looks like you’re stuck with me now.”

My breath catches in my chest. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about leaving Colorado?”

“With Verne out of the picture, there’s no need for me to go. Not when I feel like I’m building something here… with you. I don’t want to leave you. I’ve been here only a short time, but this feels like home. It’s more of a home to me than I’ve ever had.”

My heart slams into my ribs at the realization she’s including me in her plans. There’s an us now.