Thankful For Him: An Instalove Possessive Holiday Romance Page 6

  I stop mid-sentence, totally forgetting the one thing that means that probably can’t happen.

  “I’ll check the phones,” Misty says, reading my mind, hopping off me and moving across the room so quickly I barely have time to take in her perfect form as it crosses the room.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” I murmur to myself, punching both hands back down on the bed in frustration, but grateful it held up through the night.

  They just don’t make ‘em like this anymore.

  “Phones are down, need to top up the generator too,” Misty calls out as I stretch a little before lifting myself to the edge of the bed.

  I’m in shape, sure, but I know a pleasant ache when I feel one.

  I hope Misty feels it too.

  Scratching my chest I realize all my clothes are in my bag in the SUV still, I settle for nothing but my girl to warm me up as I head out to the kitchen.

  Misty gasps then clutches me as soon as she sees me. “You’re really asking for it, mister,” she exclaims, and I feel her heart against me, thumping faster than a rabbit’s as I hold her close.

  She’s found her robe and looks a perfect picture in the light pink satin as it clings to her curves.

  Me?

  I could go commando all day if it only meant easier access to her, but I set about stoking the fire and asking over my shoulder what she needs me to do, which makes her giggle loudly from the kitchen.

  “I think you did it all last night,” she hollers back, and I groan at the memory, vowing to teach her just a little more the next chance I get.

  I got so much more of that, Misty. All day and all for you if you want it.

  Tossing some thick logs in the fireplace, they catch easy. Like my own fire.

  In minutes there’s a roaring blaze in the living room and the warmth is welcoming.

  I move over to the windows, overlooking the lake. The trees have all grown but it’s the same gentle slope I remember from years ago.

  Glancing up at the sky I notice dark clouds rolling in, the rain getting heavier and a mist settling over the lake, making it almost hard to see.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this, up here I mean?” I ask, turning to see Misty carrying a tray of coffee and bagels, which she almost drops as her eyes zoom in on my now almost permanent hard on.

  “No. Never,” she gulps, and I laugh loudly.

  “I mean this weather!” I exclaim, moving to help her before she loses everything.

  “And I was gonna fix us breakfast,” I chide, kissing her softly on the lips.

  “I know where everything is, besides,” she adds, gnawing her lip and letting her hand slide across my cock once she sets the tray down. “You might have burnt something in there.”

  I shrug, but welcome her hands on me and hold them there a little longer until she shakes her head.

  “I’ll find you something of Dad’s,” she says absently, getting up and we both stop and look at each other.

  “How long have we got?” I ask her, knowing neither of us can tell.

  “Here?” she asks. “Today?” she adds, sounding confused.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that,” I comfort her, getting up again and holding her, kissing her.

  “My bags in the truck,” I remind her, but she’s already off to find me something to cover up with.

  “Here,” she says heartily, tossing me a sweater and some gray sweats.

  “Dad’s old but very clean ‘cabin clothes’, he won’t mind.”

  He won’t, but I do.

  It hurts Misty I can tell, but I make my way out to the SUV, butt naked and fetch my own gear.

  Once I’ve slipped into some of my own casual clothes. Denim, a shirt, and some woolly socks, I find her in the kitchen, busy getting dinner ready.

  “I understand,” she says softly. “I get it, don’t worry about it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Misty

  It’s only a little after ten, and as usual, I overreacted.

  Glad I didn’t dream it though, I welcome the morning alone with Zak, but still can’t help walking on eggshells as he struts around butt naked.

  It’s making me crazy hot again, but what if Dad turns up?

  What about when Dad does turn up?

  All this plays through my mind on top of the usual stuff we tell ourselves when we have a big day ahead of things to do on occasions like Thanksgiving.

  “That’s if he does come back,” Zak says, finally breaking the tense silence we share after our quick breakfast of coffee and bagels.

  I’m forcing stuffing into the bird, watching the clock now as I realize it might not be ready in time.

  What does this thing weigh? Fifty pounds?

  Jesus. Feels like it.

  I feel Zak’s hands on my hips, pulling me back towards him as he rests his chin on the top of my head.

  “Let’s just see how it pans out,” he says, giving voice to the gnawing feeling I have growing inside me.

  “It might be smart to keep a little space between us with your Dad around, but he’s not here right now and I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward,” he says honestly.

  I turn around, and although I’m disappointed he’s dressed now, and my hands are covered in stuffing, I hug him as he lifts me up, settling my rump on the counter as he kisses me.

  “I’ll help you stuff more than this turkey in a minute,” he warns me, and I hop down, getting back to business.

  “I’ll need you to lift it into the oven, it weighs a ton,” I remark, letting him take the whole tray which he lifts like it weighs nothing as I watch his fine ass flex through his jeans and his torso bulge with tension as he eases it into the oven.

  “There are yams and some other vegetables, gizzard gravy and we should be done,” I announce proudly, drying my hands as he turns around, eager to hold me again.

  “What happened to keeping our distance?” I ask, and he crushes his face into a knot, groaning.

  “Okay. Maybe this is gonna be harder than I thought,” he confesses, noticing my gaze dropping to his crotch.

  “And not the only thing that’s too hard,” I smile, but we both feel it.

  We both know it.

  “After Thanksgiving,” I suggest. “We’ll tell him then?”

  Zak nods stiffly in silent reply and we both pretend for as long as we can that we can make it.

  That we can last hours, maybe days in front of my Dad without launching ourselves at each other, sharing the love between us that’s been unleashed.

  Uncontainable.

  “Did you say gizzard gravy?” he asks, breaking the spell after a moment’s silence and I nod.

  “Sure. You remember, probably know it as ‘Homestyle’ or ‘old fashioned’ gravy, but it’s made from these,” I announce, slopping a two pound bag of gizzards onto the counter.

  “Don’t worry,” I add. “We don’t do it with the livers… that would be gross,” I quip, and noticing the green look on his face I start to laugh.

  “I thought you knew, that’s how we always do it,” I tell him, but he only makes another face.

  “I’ll get those yams ready,” he offers and sets about scrubbing and preparing them after trimming the long ends.

  Zak and I work well as a team in the tiny kitchen.

  Like the bedroom, his huge frame fills most of the space; but he seems to have a delicate touch with food and an eye for detail as much as he does with everything else he’s so good at.

  I can see now how he made it in life, how he’s a man who can have anything he sets his mind to.

  I’m thankful too, in advance, for him having chosen me to be his woman. I don’t think I could live another day knowing I wasn’t his and he wasn’t mine.

  It’s lunchtime by the stage everything’s prepared and I can safely say, apart from the bird being maybe not being done on time we might get out of this yet.

  If only-

  And then we both hear it.

  Before Zak ca
n suggest making us anything, or even hopping back into bed ourselves for an hour or two.

  The familiar crunch on the gravel outside, even over the never ending rain. The same car I heard last night.

  Zak takes a breath, then steels himself. His face is set with friendly resolve, determination.

  He brings me close enough to him to kiss me one more time, reminding me what he said earlier.

  “We’ve got this, Misty. Just follow my lead,” he says with encouragement.

  To my surprise, I hear the car leaving almost as quickly as it arrived, and my Dad’s voice calling out as he lets himself in.

  “Anyone home?” he calls out jovially, followed by, “Something sure smells good!”

  Zak and I force ourselves to relax.

  But if I look half as guilty as he does, we’re in big trouble.

  “That you Dad?” I holler, deliberately trying to sound normal. Whatever that is anymore.

  Now that I’m a claimed woman.

  Now that I’m Zak’s girl.

  “Here’s my baby girl! And my main man too!” My Dad exclaims loudly, hobbling into the kitchen on a copper cane I don’t recall ever seeing.

  I peck his cheek and he pumps Zak’s hand, no sign of the pain he was in last night, and apart from the cane, I don’t think we’d believe there was anything wrong with him at all.

  “How are you, Mark, what happened?” Zak asks quickly, filling the space where my mouth hangs open like a fish.

  Dad looks out the window, his eyes shining even though he does wince a little as he tries to straight his back.

  “I’d say a damn near miracle happened, Zak!” he almost shouts, both Zak and I relax automatically.

  It’s clear Dad has no idea what’s happened between us.

  But now we’re both hanging to know what happened between him and Malibu Doctor Barbie.

  I am anyway.

  Zak prompts my Dad to go on.

  “Veronica… Uhhh. Is not a real doctor in the traditional sense mind you. I believe this is yours, Zak,” he says, fumbling for the check Zak wrote last night.

  “She’s a master of something they call Ashiatsu, or the back walking. She literally put me in a hot tub for an hour and then laid me out, flat as a pancake on a hardwood floor… then she just walked across my back for an hour. I felt the pop when she reached that dicky disc, called out for a minute, and then must’ve fallen asleep.”

  Zak and I look at each other with astonishment.

  “I tell ya, Zak. I’ve never felt so alive, so good! It still hurts mind you, a little tender. A couple of days of easy walking and rest, Veronica said.”

  “So she never...” Zac asks my Dad.

  “She never what?” Dad retorts, lifting the lid on the gizzards, eyeing me to let me know they’re done.

  “How’s that bird?” he adds, but I manage to get between him and the stove to stop him from looking. To stop him seeing it’s only just gone in.

  “Let’s go sit you down, Dad. You must be exhausted,” I suggest.

  “Oh no! Veronica said I should keep moving as much as possible. I’ve never felt better, Misty! I think Veronica just put my chiropractor out of business. Is that coffee on?” he asks, and Zak helps him to the lounge again, promising him whatever he wants, just as long as he stays out of the kitchen while I finish cleaning up.

  While we both figure out what to do next.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Zak

  Misty gives me a worried look as I manage to get her Dad out of the kitchen, a look that asks the same questions I have.

  What else did Veronica tell him while she walked on his back?

  Did she tell him about what she saw me doing to his daughter in his kitchen?

  Her giving that fat check back is either a clear message she still has something over me, over us. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.

  Mark settles himself on the couch, running a hand over the suede.

  “So…” he says, suddenly looking serious, lowering his voice. His eyes have been darting around since the moment he walked in the room.

  I figured he might be hopped up on coffee or maybe just chuffed to not be in agony, but his eyes narrow on mine as he leans forward, wincing just a fraction.

  I force a smile, not daring to say a word and hoping he doesn’t hear me swallow.

  “What did you guys get up to last night?” he asks, holding my gaze, giving me his best poker face.

  Mark’s no dummy, and we’ve known each other since we were so young I can’t even remember how old.

  His jaw tightens for a second, and then he relaxes his face and leans back.

  I should have an answer. Anyone who didn’t take his only daughter last night would be able to list off everything they did apart from that in a second without a problem.

  But I freeze, just long enough for Mark to join the dots.

  Maybe.

  He raises both brows, puckers his mouth, and then looks past me, his eyes focused on what I know must be Misty’s back in the kitchen.

  Jesus, Mark you shoulda been a fucking detective. This is terrible.

  I won’t tell though, not yet. I promised Misty it wouldn’t ruin Thanksgiving and I mean it. I won’t.

  I clear my dry throat, clutching at it for a moment, feeling like I’m being choked.

  But I think of her, Misty. My reason for living now and my promise to her.

  A white lie, just a teensy one.

  “Uh, we got some food ready for today… chatted by the fire I made for a bit. I think Misty went to bed early, I must’ve flaked on the couch. That flight was pretty brutal,” I tell him, pleased with how confident I sound.

  Twenty years selling and buying other people’s money that I know isn’t really worth the paper it’s printed on. I can bluff too when I have to.

  “Oh,” Mark says casually, stabbing me with a quick smile.

  Almost friendly.

  At this stage I know it’s always best to turn the tables when someone’s fishing for what I don’t want to trade.

  “How ‘bout you, huh?” I ask, mirroring his earlier stance, leaning in and lowering my voice. “That Veronica, eh?” I grin with a wink, sucking air between my teeth before giving a low whistle.

  Mark shrugs. But now he’s not so sure about me and Misty, I can tell.

  “You didn’t seem to think so last night,” he says after a moment. “And what’s with giving her all that money? It was like you couldn’t wait to get her or me out of my own dammed house,” he says gruffly.

  Touché.

  I frown, pinching my eyes for a second. “It’s Thanksgiving, Mark. Who in their right mind is gonna do any work at their usual rate if at all?” I exclaim, forgetting to keep my voice down.

  Mark’s eyes narrow again, getting shifty. He’s not buying what I’m selling.

  “And you mean to tell me she just walked up and down your back for an hour?” I retort, almost hissing with accusation.

  Mark takes a breath, and calms himself instantly.

  “You’ve changed, Zak,” he says impassively, like someone who sees an old friend after so long and can’t even see the memories anymore, just the face.

  “C’mon, Mark. What the hell does that mean?” I ask him earnestly, feeling genuine hurt now.

  “It means, you’ve changed,” he says again, scanning me with his eyes to the point I get defensive and stand up, looming over towards him.

  “Here Dad, some coffee and a-” Misty starts to say behind me as she walks back in, sensing the mood her Dad’s in straight away.

  Mine’s not much better, to be honest, and I’m half wondering if it’s maybe best to just be out with it.

  “What did you and Zak do last night, honey?” he asks cheerily, shaking his head as he holds my gaze again, warning me not to turn around. Not to look at Misty.

  Not to prompt her.

  His face changes again after what feels like a full minute of silence but must be only a few seconds.

  “
Uhhh. I got the rest of the things out of the truck, had a shower, and went to bed early. I think Zak was pretty tired too,” she says, sounding nowhere near as confident as I did.

  I hear the cups starting to rattle on the tray before she has to set it down.

  “You didn’t watch a movie, play cards, or anything?” he asks, probing her further.

  My own jaw tightens, and I guess Mark’s right. I have changed.

  I’ve changed my mind about how much I hurt his feelings from now on. Misty’s mine, she belongs to me. I don’t have to stand here and watch him do this to her.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Misty adds, and I hear her slapping her own forehead. “We watched a movie, then I went to bed.”

  “Which movie?” Mark asks, starting to return my look. “Which movie, honey?” he asks again, starting to lean forward.

  Misty falters, I want to turn around and just hold her. Get us both out of here, but I know how much her Dad means to her.

  And there’s that matter of my promise.

  Dammit!

  “Which movie?” Mark asks again, almost yelling before I shout over him as he jumps to his feet.

  “Alright, that’s enough, Mark! Don’t talk to her like that. If you’ve got beef then have it out with me! Why ask me up here if you’re just gonna insult me? Don’t bring Misty into it,” I shout at him.

  “C’mon. Out with it man, what’s your fucking problem?” I snarl, balling my fists, ready for anything now because Mark’s looking about as angry as I feel.

  “Zak!” Misty calls out, putting herself between me and her Dad. “Dad? What’s wrong with you two?” she cries out. My hands open, wanting to go to her waist from behind, to pull her close to me, to put an end to all this nonsense once and for all.

  But I did promise her.

  “What does it matter what movie? We chatted through the whole thing anyway, it was some old Christmas movie, the one that’s always in the DVD player,” she blurts out, her body trembling with emotion.

  Mark’s shoulders slump and I take a step back.

  Misty rushes back to the kitchen and then I start when I hear the back door slam.

  I start to turn but feel Mark’s hand is on my shoulder.

  “I’ll go,” is all he says, and he moves past me without another word, going outside to find his daughter.