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“I didn’t save him,” she murmured as she slipped off to sleep. “He begged me to save him, and I couldn’t.” Her voice thickened with tears and with sleep. “I couldn’t save him.”
She finally relaxed against him as he bent his head over hers and held her tight.
“You saved him,” he whispered into her hair. She had no idea how she had saved him. The man he had been didn’t exist any longer, but the man that loved Sabella, that ached for her, that had endured hell because of his vows to her, had survived.
He rocked her when she whimpered in her sleep, comforted her, and held her. He stared into the darkness and wished he could cry himself. Because she had suffered when he had thought she could go on. Because Grandpop had been right. He had loved her until at times he swore he could feel the beat of her heart next to his own. But he knew Grandpop had been right about the eyes. Because in the memories of the hellish existence he had lived, he had remembered seeing images that weren’t there. He would be in his bedroom, staring into the mirror, staring at Sabella. And it seemed his Sabella had stared through his eyes as well. Straight into hell.
His arms tensed, tightened around her. He tilted his head back and forced himself to breathe through the pain. To hold back the agony welling inside him.
“Sabella.” He whispered her name, breathed her in.
She shifted against him. Sleeping, sensual, tempting. “I missed you, Irish.”
And he ignored the single tear that fell from the corner of his eye. The pain. The loss. She knew. Deep inside where she refused to see who he was, she knew, because that bond was still there, those vows were still there. By staying away from her, he had left her drifting between reality and hell. Still bound to him, yet alone, facing the nightmares without him by her side. Enduring, even when she had glimpsed the horror he had lived through.
And he had thought his wife wasn’t strong enough to face what had happened to him. Hell, he had a feeling his wife was far stronger than anyone knew. Perhaps, in her heart, in her soul, she was stronger even than him.
She was warm. Sabella shifted in the bed, almost moaning at the sense of warmth that surrounded her. Noah’s arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, his head tucked above hers just like Nathan used to do. It must be a male thing, she decided. Nathan had been her only lover, so of course she would notice it. One leg was thrown over hers, her head rested on his arm, the other arm was lying over her waist, holding her to his chest.
She couldn’t escape him if she wanted to. And she so didn’t want to. She wanted to luxuriate in this warmth. Hold on to it. But something prodded at her mind, nipped at her, wanting her to awaken.
She shifted against him, trying to escape it. She wanted to stay here, right here. No matter how much she ached for other things, she didn’t want to lose this feeling of incredible peace.
Then his hand shifted, moved beneath the hem of the shirt she still wore and pressed against her stomach. Sabella stretched, moved, pressing more firmly against the warm male body behind her, her breathing hitching, half sob, half moan as she realized it wasn’t a dream.
She was weak. She needed.
What had Kira said, get rid of the sexual crisis and everything else would clear itself up? It made sense to her. Right now, enfolded in his embrace, as his hand moved to the band of her panties, it made sense.
“Stay still.” Hoarse, guttural, his voice rumbled in her ear as she tucked her butt closer to the iron-hard length of the heated cock pressing against her.
He was naked. Sometime during the night he had undressed and gotten under the blankets with her. She shivered at the thought. She could feel the naked length of his body behind her, powerful and hard.
Her lashes lifted. It was still dark. Dawn hadn’t yet begun to lighten the room and she didn’t have to face what was and what wasn’t. All she had to do was feel.
Her head turned until her lips could press against his neck beneath his chin. The abrasion of his beard was erotic, sexy. She hadn’t known a beard could feel so sexy.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He stilled behind her. His hand pressed against her stomach, moved to her hip, and tightened to hold her still.
“Don’t tempt me, Sabella.” His voice whispered through the darkness, wrapping around her as she let it stroke her senses.
“I want you.” She hadn’t wanted since her husband’s death. She wanted now. She wanted with a strength she knew she would have to face later, but not right now. Right now, she would experience it, revel in the pleasure of it.
She felt the tension that whipped around them, that filled the air and heated the room.
“Do you want me?” he growled then, turning her, the shadow of his broad shoulders suddenly filling her vision as he leaned over her. “Is it me you want, Sabella? Or your husband?”
Her hands lifted to his shoulders, smoothed over them. Her nails bit into his flesh, tested his muscle.
“Does it matter?” she asked him, feeling the clench of both needs suddenly filling her. She hated that confusion, that sense of being so off balance she didn’t know who or what she was reaching for. “Does it matter to you?”
He was silent for so long that she wondered if he would answer her at all.
“It doesn’t matter to me.” A snarl filled his voice. “I would take you, Sabella, and when you cried out my name I wouldn’t give a damn who you were crying out for. But if you expect me to take you as your husband would have, you’re in for a sad surprise.”
“You don’t know how my husband took me,” she told him then, lifted her head and let her tongue stroke over his chest, rubbed her face against the crinkle of chest hairs. “Take me, Noah, however you want to.”
