Not Over You (Healing Springs, Book 1) Read online

  Everyone had their opinions about her, anyway. She was sure of it.

  Rocco reached his head over to her lap. She rubbed his ears, thankful for his presence. After three raging metal songs, she slipped the buds out of her ears and gave her attention to her dog and the road.

  Where had she driven herself to while lost in rage?

  Shivers wracked her body. Her eyes turned into crazed search and rescue beacons. She shifted into reverse, preparing to do a three point turn to get off this dead end.

  And wouldn’t it be her luck that Rocco started begging to go out at that very moment?

  “You can wait.”

  He disagreed. He barked at her, sending goosebumps over her arms. She didn’t want to get out of the car here.

  Rocco started clawing at the door. He wasn’t used to eating steak or the marinade Rick had used, so there was a good chance he truly was desperate to go.

  Savannah swore under her breath and pulled to the side of the small dirt road.

  “You are so lucky I love you.” She glared at her dog as she let him out. He immediately ran to the woods.

  “No, Rocco!”

  He disappeared into the wooded play area. She heard the birds squawking at his interruption, the crunch of the pine needles as he ran. Her feet, however, had grown roots.

  What if kids were playing over there? It was a weekday during school hours, but that didn’t mean parents couldn’t be there with younger children. All she needed was for one of the yuppy parents to be scared of Rocco and report them to animal control. She wanted to make as few waves as possible while she was here.

  She squared her shoulders and marched down the small path. She’d have a little talk with her pet about his rebellion later.

  She spotted Rocco right away, but her attention immediately went to the unchanged play area.

  This type of area was unique to her small town. When she was a teenager, she had volunteered to help build it. Someone had envisioned a natural playground without all the plastic and pressurized wood that made up other playgrounds. This one was a peaceful oasis where kids could be kids. Where their imaginations could soar. Where they could be the kings and queens of the universe.

  Brandon’s favorite place in the whole world, aside from the lake.

  She rubbed her arms. When had it become so chilly?

  Savannah shuffled across the soft bed of pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. No one was here, but she could hear voices. Brandon’s voice. Her teenage voice.

  “Please can we play in the mud pit? Please? I won’t get dirty!”

  “Are you nuts? Mom will freak if I let you get your school clothes muddy again. Do you want me to be grounded for life?”

  “She won’t be mad.”

  “Yes she will. She won’t be mad at you—she’ll be mad at me, the one she hates.”

  Brandon bent his head to his chest.

  “I guess you’re right. I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

  Savvy studied his forlorn expression until her heart broke along with his.

  “Okay, fine. You can play for five minutes. But please try not to fall in the mud again. Use a stick, take off your shoes, whatever. But stay as clean as possible.”

  Brandon wrapped his arms around her middle, squeezing tight. She pried him off and laughed as she sent him on his way.

  Savannah found herself smiling at the memory. He had, indeed, fallen in the mud. And she had, indeed, been called irresponsible and told she was grounded until she was eighteen. Luckily for her, her stepdad had intervened and soothed her mother’s ruffled feathers. Savannah went out that weekend, just like she always did.

  Savannah wandered over to the mud pit—that fun square filled with the softest dirt which was fed with a pipe of water that created glorious mud during the entire warm season. One section was shallow enough to walk in with bare feet, letting the mud squish between toes for those inclined. The bravest could walk up to their knees in the mud. The most insane could take a full mud bath. Brandon especially loved the mud bath.

  She looked to the side, where she noticed something that had never been there before.

  In keeping with the theme of the area, it was an old, sliced tree stump with a carving that made her throat tighten and her heart swell.

  Brandon Richard Grace

  Forever Eight Years Old

  May Your Heaven Be Filled With Mud and Trucks and Legos

  Beneath the words, carved into the tree slice, was a familiar portrait of Brandon’s angelic—and sometimes mischievous—face.

  Savannah wondered who created such a wonderful memorial. Her mother would have never put such a sentiment on a tree stump. She didn’t approve of him frolicking in nature. Her idea of memorializing the young boy would have been a fancy stone or a memorial wall at the school.

  Savannah knelt before the stump, stunned.

  Rocco ran to her side and began licking her dry cheeks.

  When Rocco first forced his way into her life, she would push him away when he comforted her. Over time, she gave in to his relentless need to drag her out of her darkest fogs. She’d never believe she deserved him, but she had grown to appreciate the companionship and acceptance.

  Savannah wrapped her arms around her dog and buried her face in his neck.

  He stood, stoically allowing her this moment of grief.

  She didn’t want to see his stone. That signified such cold, harsh reality. Permanency. A grown up world where her brother didn’t belong. Here, in this place where she had bonded so well with her baby brother, is where she would always feel him. Where he belonged.

  Savannah lost track of the time she spent at the mud pit and the tree stump. She only knew that her grief showed its ugly head for too long, and she had no right to grieve this way.

  She stood up, ignoring the cramping of her thighs and her muddy knees. She jogged back to the car with Rocco at her heels, itching for a run through the woods.

  She changed into running clothes in record time once she reached the studio. Adrenaline surged through her veins. She was feeling reckless. Impulsive. Ready to run until all thoughts were banished from her head.

  She let the door flutter to a close behind her, then slammed right into the hardest chest she had felt in her life.

  Savannah jerked her head back and brought her hands to her aching nose. She didn’t feel any blood gushing, so she must not have broken it on Quentin’s steel pecs.

  Quentin, ever the gentleman, reached out to steady her.

  “Are you okay?”

  He studied her eyes as if checking for a concussion. His look of concern fed a hollow place deep in her gut. His hands on her arms and his body so close made her burn to be closer.

  She knew she’d regret kissing him. But she also knew she’d regret the loss of this opportunity even more.

  Chapter Four

  One minute he’s doing his best to come up with a good excuse for being on her front porch, the next minute Savannah is hurling herself into his arms, attacking his face with an all-consuming kiss.

  Quentin reacted instantly. His hands on her lower back, he pulled her closer. She moaned deep into his mouth while her tongue danced a dance he had never forgotten.

  He didn’t mean to let passion take over, but he couldn’t contain his urge to push her against the cabin, his body seeking, wanting, needing. His hands played in her silky hair. She tasted the same—ten years hadn’t dimmed his body’s memory of her. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her in his arms.

  With her hands on his face, he was Superman. Leap tall buildings? Heck, yeah. Anything for her.

  “Let’s go in.” Her words, a breathy whisper, penetrated the fog of his lust-drenched mind. “Let’s do this.”

  She moved against him seductively, invitingly.

  His body wanted to take her then and there.

  He reached his hand up her shirt. Oh yes. Just as full as he remembered. Her nipples reacted to his attention instantly. His erection became more painful
, straining against his zipper. She reached down, caressing him through his jeans, and he was afraid he’d embarrass himself if he didn’t calm his raging thoughts.

  He tried to slow the kisses, but she increased the tempo. He growled and gave in to the flow. His tongue made love to her mouth. She purred, arched her back, demanded more.

  He moved his hand to the waistband of her running pants. His fingers teased the top of her panties. He could smell her desire, could feel her begging him to complete her.

  He could also feel the intangible sadness he had felt in her since she arrived. Only this time, more powerful.

  He stepped back, not letting go of her. He had to stop kissing her. She was intoxicating. Messing with his better judgment.

  She looked up at him, confusion creating lines on her otherwise smooth forehead. Her eyes were still hooded with desire.

  “Why’d you stop?” Her hands moved under his shirt, over his stomach, up his chest.

  Ten years. He couldn’t believe it had been ten damn years.

  He grabbed her arms, stopping them from their pursuit. She scowled at him.

  “I don’t remember you having those washboard abs before,” Savannah grinned. “Why are you hiding them from me?”

  He couldn’t help but smile back.

  She took advantage of his weakness and pulled his head down to hers again.

  He was lost in her kiss. No compass, no map, no clue when the storm would rush in and wash them away.

  Savannah reached behind her and pushed the door to the studio open. He followed her in. He couldn’t help it. He was firmly under her spell.

  But when they weren’t kissing, she was tense. Guarded. Emotionally unavailable.

  He pulled away, harsher than he meant to be.

  He turned toward the door, willing his erection to take a hike. Running his hand through his hair, he searched for something to say that wouldn’t be misconstrued.

  He wanted Savannah—damn, he had never wanted anyone more—but he had to respect her. She was clearly still mourning. Being here in town was distressing to her, and if he allowed himself to take advantage of her, he’d not only be a complete ass, but he’d deserve to lose her. Again.

  “Peaches, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  No response.

  He turned around, expecting to see tears in her eyes or an embarrassed face or a smile at the very least. In his experience, women didn’t appreciate being rejected.

  Nope. If reality was the moon, he was in another galaxy.

  Her face was stone. Her eyes were hardened to him. The warm, affectionate woman who had thrown herself in his arms now stared at him like she would a stranger. She didn’t glare, she didn’t appear upset.

  “I didn’t come here to take advantage of you,” he said, needing to reassure her. Or himself.

  She reached up to her hair, adjusted her now-unkempt ponytail, said, “You didn’t,” then ran past him and into the woods.

  Shit. What the hell had he done?

  He watched as her dutiful dog, once distracted with a chew toy that had been on the floor of the porch, ran after her.

  Quentin wanted to run, too. He wanted to chase her. To beg her to be his.

  But she ran.

  Away from him.

  Like she did before.

  He’d never stop loving her. Nor would he ever be unavailable to her.

  But she would have to come to him.

  ***

  Quentin gulped down the last of his third cup of coffee as he raced to answer the door. He would need a bucketful of caffeine to get through the day. Between his raging erection, lustful thoughts of Savannah all night long, and a bright and cheerful six-year-old waking him at the crack of dawn, he had maybe slept for a total of fifteen minutes.

  He didn’t realize he was still in his SpongeBob pajama pants and the Healing Springs Soccer League t-shirt he got roped into buying at the last fundraiser until he swung the door open.

  “Hey, neighbor. Mind if I use your kitchen?” Savannah had two reusable shopping bags in her hands. She held them up and smiled. “I brought my own supplies.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Quentin stepped back to make room for her and her dog to enter. He had somehow managed to forget that she’d be coming today. He was stunned that she followed through. Especially after last night.

  He watched the way she took quick possession of his kitchen. Did she own every space she entered?

  She placed her bags on the counter and began unpacking them, lining up fresh veggies, packages of meat, and a giant bag of rice.

  “Are you cooking for you? That’s a great idea. You can reheat at the studio.”

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

  “I’ll have to come back another day for that. Today is all about Rocco.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He suspected the dog ate better than he did.

  “Are you sure this isn’t an imposition?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. I want you here.”

  She lowered her eyes before he could read her reaction to his words. Not wanting to make a big deal of anything—clearly she planned to pretend nothing happened between them last night—he smiled and moved toward the counter, perusing the fresh foods.

  “Organic? You weren’t kidding, were you?”

  She pursed her lips and tightened her jaw.

  Sensing her anger rising, he knelt in front of Rocco. “You’re the luckiest dog on the planet, aren’t you?” Quentin rubbed Rocco’s ears as the animal danced his back feet back and forth.

  He felt Savannah relax. He enjoyed the way she began to hum as she worked. Unfortunately, he had to head out for a meeting before picking Joey up from his half-day at school.

  “I have to jump in the shower—need anything?”

  He watched her nibble on her lower lip and wondered if she had the same thoughts as he did.

  He stepped closer. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Care to join me?”

  She seemed tempted for a minute, but looked down at his SpongeBob pants.

  He hadn’t been this embarrassed since the time they went skinny dipping in high school and his so-called best friend stole his clothes from the shore. That was the first time Savannah had seen his pathetically skinny sixteen-year-old naked ass.

  “Hey, I’ll have you know—it takes a strong man to dress like this.”

  “I bet it does.” She laughed through her words, widening her eyes in fake seriousness. “You must be a very strong man.”

  If it took dressing like a fool to bring out this joy in her, he’d do it every day. Her eyes sparkled, her teeth gleamed. Her delight tingled his skin.

  “I don’t want to brag, but I have been working out,” Quentin said, flexing his muscles and walking toward her. “Wanna feel?”

  He put his hands on her hips, turning her toward him. Her hands immediately went to his arms. She licked her lower lip before drawing it between her teeth. Her eyes stared at his chest. He swore he could feel her heart leaping from her shirt to his chest, but maybe that was his own?

  He began to lower his head toward hers.

  She cleared her throat, then twisted away, mumbling something about having to stir the rice.

  He stepped away, counting backwards by thirteen. Calm yourself. He wondered who was the real dog in this room.

  “Quentin—”

  “I’ll be in the shower. Yell if you need anything.” The cold shower. He wondered if she’d be suspicious if he grabbed a bucket of ice and brought it with him.

  He was usually so in control of himself, of his feelings, of his libido. He had sworn off any serious relationships after what his ex-girlfriend pulled on him. After she abandoned their son and never even bothered to check in to see how he was, he realized he was cursed when it came to relationships. Casual hook-ups? Occasionally. But he had more important things to worry about, including his son.

  Quentin could feel her eyes on him as he walked away. He d
idn’t mean to be rude, but if he didn’t get out of there soon, he might blast them to the past quicker than he should.

  ***

  Savannah swore under her breath when she heard the water running. She shouldn’t have come here. Sure, she had to make Rocco’s food, but she knew as sure as she knew that her favorite color was green that she came here for one real reason.

  She wanted to be near Quentin.

  Okay, so he rejected her last night. So what? Maybe he was being shy. She knew he wanted her—she could feel the zap between them every time they were within ten feet of one another.

  She covered the rice and checked the meat mixture. She probably could speed up the process, but she had a precise way of cooking that made her food unique and healthy. She hoped Quentin didn’t mind her taking up the entire morning.

  Savannah looked around at all the details in the kitchen. A handprint on blue construction paper that said “Happy Father’s Day” in a young child’s sloppy writing confirmed her suspicions. A train table tucked into a corner of the large kitchen made her smile. The home was neat and orderly, which surprised her. She knew Quentin loved kids and was good with them—he had spent a great deal of time with her while she was babysitting her little brother—but she had a hard time imagining him as a dad.

  She heard Quentin opening a door down the hall, so she busied herself chopping vegetables.

  Her body screamed with awareness when he entered the kitchen. He smelled fresh and delicious. Oh, how she wished things were different and she could have joined him in the shower. She smiled at him when he grabbed a piece of carrot and popped it into his mouth. She wanted to catch the drop of water running from his hair to his forehead with her tongue. She wanted to taste him, own him.

  Distracted, her knife slipped and she sliced her index finger. She swore before shoving it into her mouth to ease the pain.