Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(70)
Pressing his face into her hair, he pulled her close and breathed her in. All the way in. She didn’t move, just melted into his chest, and Dax knew that right here was exactly where he wanted to be.
Much later, Emerson opened her eyes, surprised to find that the sun was shining—and Dax was still asleep. Well, part of him was awake, but she was pretty sure that was because he’d fallen asleep cupping her backside as if he owned it.
And he did own it. He was wrapped around her like a military-grade bubble of awesome, keeping all of the worries at bay. She was sure that once she left Planet Dax, she would admit that he owned her heart too. That somewhere between no strings and sharing secrets Emerson had fallen.
And she’d fallen hard.
She may have even started down that slope in San Francisco, which would explain a lot of her recent behaviors. Seeing him that first night at the VFW hall, she had felt giddy, reckless, scared. All ginormous signs that she should have run. But she’d also felt a sparkle of hope that maybe she could have something of her own, something that was all hers, and it had made her brave enough to go after her dreams and enter Street Eats.
Not content to settle for crumbs any longer.
Only now that wasn’t all she wanted. Which was a mistake on her part, because he was leaving, and just the thought of starting over again, trying to figure out her life with one more person missing, brought on the flutters.
Not the good kind, but that destined-for-a-meltdown variety she hoped to never feel again. Needing some air to gather herself, she carefully untangled herself from Dax. Only his arms tightened around her and his eyes slid open.
“Hey,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Where are you going?”
To hide. “To make some breakfast.”
“What I want isn’t in the kitchen,” he said, his hands kneading her butt. “It’s right here.”
“But I have to get ready for work.”
He looked over his shoulder at the clock, then plopped his head back down and wrapped his arms around her in a way that was slightly possessive. “Not for another hour.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, then closed his eyes, cuddling into her like she was his lifeline.
And that was when the panic set in. As far as she knew his plans were still the same. But then there were moments like this, confusing, wonderful, magical moments, when he held her as if he was promising to never let go. Which gave her hope.
False hope or real, she wasn’t sure. And she was too scared to ask.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, his hand stroking down her spine and back up.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
He chuckled. “Because I can practically feel your stress pressing into me.”
She wanted to point out that it was her flapping, because she was a big fat chicken. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He scooted up to lean against the headboard, then positioned her so she was lying on his chest, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
She opened her mouth and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Before you tell that lie on your tongue, remember the thing you do with your eyes. Dead giveaway.” So she closed them and dropped her head. “Emi?”
She took a deep breath and looked up past his flat stomach, his rippling abs, and impressive pecs, into those deep blue eyes that melted her heart. “Last night was”—amazing, life altering, epically intense—“nice and I just don’t want it to end.”
His expression softened and he said, “It doesn’t have to. Just decide to stay.”
She opened her mouth to ask him the same thing, but all she heard in her head was a loud, patronizing cluck, cluck. So Emerson did something she hadn’t done in years—she snuggled into his arms and closed her eyes.
And wished with all the fairy dust in the world that he would stay, right here, with her. For always.
Bothe State Park was over 1,900 acres of untouched nature at its finest, located a few short miles north of St. Helena in the foothills of the Napa Valley. With its year-round hiking, spring-filled pools, and wide variety of indigenous trees and plants, it was the perfect place for the annual Lady Bug Loveliest Survivalist Campout. It was also the place that St. Helena Lady Bug Lovelies 662 was going to win its first Loveliest Survivalist trophy.
Emerson had packed everything they’d need—and a few extra things, like a batch of unsanctioned brownies and cupcakes, just in case their Xtremely Edible plans didn’t work out so well. Dax spent some time before their Lady Bug meeting on Thursday helping Violet perfect her bass trap. He could have just made it for her—it would have been easier.
But Dax didn’t do easy. He did things right. So he stood by patiently while Violet explained to the girls how to make the exterior, not even interrupting when Violet made every mistake possible with the trap, and a few that seemed impossible.
Then it was his turn to show them how to make the funnel. The girls giggled when he said a weave was kind of like a braid, made a big deal out of the fact that he carried a knife in his pocket, and made gagging noises when he said they had to clean the fish. He never raised his voice or lost his cool but took the time to encourage and instruct in a way that boosted all of the girls’ confidence. Not to mention made Emerson’s heart a few sizes bigger.