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Slow and easy was done. She moved now, sleek as a bullet, quick as lightning, driving him past that instant of wonder into pleasure and need, into greed.
She flung reason aside, reckless and eager, to clamp against him, taking as ferociously as she gave. On the desperate edge, she curled to him as sensation careened through her, and at last, at last, swept her into release.
They didn’t so much lie down as fall back on the bed. There, sprawled together, they both tried to find their breath.
“Why,” he managed, then concentrated on breathing again.
“Why?”
Eyes closed, he held up a finger as signal to wait another minute. “Why,” he repeated, “haven’t we ever done that before?”
“Damn good question. We’re both really good at it.”
“Praise Jesus.”
With a wheezing laugh, she patted his ass. “I knew you would be. You’re the detail man. And thank you very much for not missing a single one.”
“You’re welcome, and thank you. By the way, you have a flower tattooed on your ass.”
“Not merely a flower. A thistle—a traditional Scottish symbol. That was pride of heritage,” she told him. “And it’s on my ass, as I knew that was one place my dad wouldn’t see it and flip on me.”
“Good thinking. I like it.”
On a sound of contentment, she closed her eyes. “I should be exhausted.”
“You’re not? I didn’t finish my job then.”
“Oh, you finished your job. I meant it’s got to be closing in on four a.m., after a really long day. I should be exhausted. Instead I feel good, relaxed and sleepy.”
He shifted to snuggle her in, to pull the duvet over them. “No work tomorrow.”
“No work.” All but nose to nose with him, she grinned. “Let us again praise Jesus.”
“Why don’t we have a nap, let’s say, then we can see if we missed any details the first time around?”
“I say good thinking.” She wiggled her body still closer to his, opened her eyes for a moment just to look at him. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year.”
Closing her eyes again she let herself drift away. Her last thought was her friend was now her lover. And she was happy.
* * *
HE RECOGNIZED THE silence, the wrapped-in-cotton quiet that meant only one thing.
Owen opened his eyes, blinked them clear and watched the snow fall in downy drifts outside the window. Gotta break out the plow, he thought—but later. He rolled over, intending to wake up Avery in a way he hoped she’d appreciate, but found the bed empty.
Where the hell was she?
He dragged himself up, poked his head through the open bathroom door. He spotted her toothbrush on the side of his sink, considered that as he went to the dresser for a pair of flannel pants.
He smelled coffee—and, oh boy, bacon—as he came down the stairs.
A marching band high-stepped on his kitchen TV, snow blanketed his patio outside the doors. And Avery stood at his counter chopping peppers.
She wore a white chef’s apron over a blue-checked robe, her hair clipped back, her feet bare. He remembered how she’d looked the night before, in the sexy dress, then later in the even sexier underwear. But he realized he most often imagined her just like this—in an apron in the kitchen.
“What’s for breakfast?”
She looked up, over, smiled. “You’re awake.”
“Marginally. Why are you?”
“Because it’s nearly eleven, it’s snowing, and I’m starving.”
“Eleven?” He frowned at the clock on the stove. “I don’t know the last time I slept this late. I guess it’s okay.” He gestured toward the snow. “No school today.”
“Yippee.”
Moving to her, he turned her from the counter, drew her in for a kiss. “Morning.”
“Morning.” She leaned against him a moment. “It’s so quiet. In town, even when it’s quiet there’s sound. But here, with the snow, it’s like the world shut off.”
He turned her again so they both faced the glass doors. “Look.”
Through the snow, on a ridge behind the snow-drenched trees, a trio of deer wandered silent as ghosts.
“Oh, they’re so beautiful. I bet you get to see deer all the time.”
“A lot.”
“The boys are going to love it when they all move into the new house. You did. I remember how you and your brothers ran wild in the woods when we were kids.”
“Good times.” Bending, he kissed the top of her head. “So are these. What’re you making here?”
“You had this and that left over from the party. We’ll call them kitchen-sink omelettes.”
“Sounds great. You didn’t have to.”
“Food, kitchen—” She spread her hands. “I’m helpless not to cook. You have most excellent tools, and I know you hardly ever use them.”
“But they’re here if I want to.”
“True. I could toss a bunch of this in a pot—people never eat as many dipping vegetables as you figure they will. No point in having them go to waste. I can make up a soup.”
“Snowy day, homemade soup?” Did that mean she planned to stay awhile? “Who’s going to argue with that?” He walked over to pour himself coffee. “I need to go out and plow soon.”
“I guess you do, but too bad. It’s nice feeling snowed-in and cozy. Well, a man about to plow needs a manly breakfast.”
While she cooked, he put away dishes, and enjoyed the easy rhythm.
“So, the delayed post-party replay,” she began. “Did you get the scoop on Jim and Karyn?”
“I got that Jim’s in Pittsburgh and Karyn didn’t want to come without him.”
“You don’t talk to the right people.” Avery folded the omelettes. “Jim’s in Pittsburgh with his mother because Karyn kicked him out.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she found out Jim’s been having an affair with the mother of their oldest boy’s best pal.”
“Jim? Come on, that can’t be right.”
“No, it’s very wrong, and it’s been going on nearly two years according to my sources.” She plated the omelettes, added bacon, toast, passed a plate to Owen.
“But . . . they seemed so solid.”
“Well.” Taking her own plate, she joined him at the breakfast bar. “She comes into the pizza shop with the kids, more often without him than with, and I saw her at Sam’s Club right before Christmas when I was doing a supply run. She looked stressed, barely spoke to me. At the time I figured it was just mother-of-three Christmas countdown pressure, but now . . . She found the other woman’s panties in her bed.”
“Well, Jesus. That’s not only wrong, rude, cold, but it’s stupid.”
“Could be the slut/lover—she’s already separated from her husband—left them in there on purpose. Anyway, that was the kicker. She booted him out, and she’s already got a lawyer.”
“I’d say good for her, but it doesn’t seem like the right phrase. It’s hard to swallow it from Jim. They’ve been married, what, like ten years?”
“About, I guess, but for the last two of them, at least, he’s been screwing around. No excuse for it. You’re not happy, you fix it or you end it. Plus, since he’s in Pittsburgh with his mommy, he must not be serious about the slut.”
Mystified by her logic, he took the toast she buttered for him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because if he was serious, he’d have crashed at the slut’s. Now he’s broken his family, ruined his marriage, his rep, not to mention how much this’ll hurt those little kids. All for some stranger. I hope she skins him.
“No comment?” she said after a moment of silence.
“I figure you never know what goes on between two people, or a family, but yeah, from what you’ve got, skinning seems appropriate. I like Jim okay. He just called me a couple weeks ago about rehabbing their master bath. I was supposed to take a look at it after the holidays.”
Avery wagged a slice of bacon. “He’s planning a new bathroom and screwing his slut in his wife’s bed. Not serious about the slut, no respect for his wife or his family.”
“No respect, agreed. But maybe the affair isn’t a slut.”
“Please.” Avery shoveled in omelette. “She was still married when she first hooked up with Jim, and my sources say Jim isn’t, or wasn’t, her first cowboy.”
“How do people know this stuff? Who is it anyway?”
“I don’t know her. Apparently she lives in Sharpsburg, works for some insurance company. Has a weird name—no smart remark referencing Avery,” she added. “Harmony, which doesn’t seem to be apt.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I know a Harmony who works for our insurance agent. This omelette is great.”
“Aha!”
“Aha?”
“Subject change, shifting in seat.” Eyes keen, she wagged a finger at him. “Sure signs of guilt and/or evasion. You dated her?”
“No! She’s married—or she was married. And she’s not my type anyway. Let’s just say I’ve had conversations and so on with her due to insurance. And there may have been subtext.”
