Discovering Harmony (Wishing Well, Texas #3)

Hudson

“A halo only needs to drop a few inches before it becomes a noose.”

~ Loretta Reed


“Harmony.” I knew the warning tone in my voice did nothing to deter the girl straddling my leg.

Why did doing the right thing feel like it was going to kill me?

The girl of my dreams had just come apart in my arms and was asking, nicely, for me to bend her over the haystack and fuck her, because that was what she thought about while she made herself come to take the edge off at night.

How in the hell was I supposed to walk away from that?

Beads of sweat were rolling down the back of my neck. My perspiration had nothing to do with the temperature outside, or physical labor and had everything to do with the heat that only Harmony ignited in me.

I was trying to stay strong, but she wasn’t making it easy. It had taken every ounce of self-control I’d had to stay away from her these past few days. To not respond to her texts, or show up at her house. It had been an hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, second-by-second struggle.

More times than I could count, I came close to losing that battle. The only thing that had strengthened my resolve was the knowledge that if I did any of those things, I would only be prolonging the inevitable. Our lives were on different tracks. Just because they were crossing now didn’t negate the fact that they were headed in opposite directions. The end, just like winter, was coming. Spending more time together would only make that fate even more unbearable.

Or worse, it would cause Harmony to stay. To settle for a life she didn’t want. At least, she wouldn’t want it, down the road. No matter what she might think she wanted now, her heart wasn’t here, in Wishing Well. There was no way in hell I was going to be the guy who kept her here. The guy she ended up resenting. I could never be that.

Not that she’d even hinted at wanting to change her plans. As far as I knew this was just a casual affair to her. There was a very good possibility that all I was to her was a fun distraction, a way to pass the time, an itch that she finally got to scratch. Which was just another check in the, this-is-a-bad-idea column.

“I don’t have protection.” It was the truth, even though as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was taking the easy way out. No and we can’t were two very different answers, and the answer should be no.

She didn’t miss a beat before responding, “My IUD is good for another three years.”

My shaft throbbed painfully at the thought of being inside Harmony with no barriers. She was so damn tight, even with a condom I’d barely been able to last. I’d never been with a girl and not used a condom. A few had offered, but I’d always subscribed to the philosophy of being better safe than sorry. Even when I was in serious relationships, there hadn’t been the slightest temptation.

It was one hell of a temptation now.

“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she spoke softly.

That’s when I saw it. The vulnerability. The fear that I would reject her. The uncertainty. The soft center under her hard shell.

I may not know what I was doing, or how I was ever going to get over her, but I sure as hell knew there was no way I could ever let her think that I didn’t want her.

She squealed as I lifted her up and headed towards the hay. Her legs wrapped around my waist as she buried her face in my neck and, just like at her house, started covering it in open-mouth kisses.

“Wait.” She lifted her head, reaching out her hand towards the table saw behind me. “I brought a blanket.”

Damn, she thought of everything.

As if reading my mind she slapped my arm. “It was for the picnic.”

“Says the girl who isn’t wearing any panties.”

Her head fell back and she laughed a deep belly laugh. It was the sweetest sound in the world. The thought of some guy in New York, or wherever she ended up, making her laugh, kissing her, touching her, making her come apart in his arms made my chest constrict with pain I’d never felt before. It wasn’t as searing as the time my little brother Hayden accidently shot me with BB gun, or as sharp as when I broke my arm during the playoffs senior year. It was worse. It was a soul-deep, twisting, excruciating pain. Like someone had their hands around my heart and was ringing it like a dishrag.

Harmony lifted her head just as I reached the blanket, and she must’ve sensed my shift in emotion because her brow furrowed and she cupped my face with her hand. “What’s wrong?”

I wanted to tell her everything. That the thought of her being with someone else was more painful than getting shot or having a broken arm. I wanted to demand that she never let another man touch her. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. That she owned me. That she was mine.

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