Page 59 of Merging Wright

Jane scoots toward the end of the bed, but I shift with her, catching her around the waist.

“Wait. I wasn’t concerned. Just . . . curious.” I lower my face, lips landing on her covered shoulder. A sudden case of nausea roils in my belly. I recall another woman’s disappointment when she wasn’t pregnant. I never knew how she felt when she finally was.

“What do you mean you can’t get pregnant?” Jane is in her mid-forties, which seems a little young for menopause.

She simply shakes her head in response to my question. “Don’t worry, Mr. Wright. I can keep a secret. Our marriage is in name only.”

That isn’t what I want, either. I don’t want her to be a secret. And I don’t want marriage in name only. Now doesn’t feel like the time to tell her these things, especially after the bomb she just dropped. I groan at her misunderstanding. “Jane.”

She slips from my grasp and shuts herself in the bathroom. If we didn’t live with my mother, I would make a scene of hammering on that door and demanding she open for me, insisting we talk.

Maybe we should rethink living with Ma.

But doesn’t that keep Jane a secret as well?

I fall back on the bed. Fuck. I’m no better than Ripley Edgar.

28

Playlist: “I Want You Back” – The Jackson 5

(from Guardians of the Galaxy)

[Mach]

After what Jane told me, I couldn’t not touch her. She finishes her shower and climbs into our bed where she assumes her typical position, on her side with her back to me. But I wasn’t having it. I scooted up behind her and molded my body to hers, wrapping my arm over her waist and tucking my knees behind hers.

“Mach, you don’t have to do this.” Her voice is quiet in the darkness of our room.

“Just let me hold you, Jane.” My arm tightens around her.

Her head shakes on the pillow. “I’m okay.”

I hear the words, but I don’t believe them. If I were looking at Jane, she might be chewing her lip in disagreement with herself.

Reaching for the side of her face, I blindly brush back her hair and scoop it around her ear. I clump the thickness together and push it to the side to get my face into her nape. Returning my arm over her waist, I tug her tighter to my chest.

“Mach—”

“Jane. Shut up.”

She chuckles, her body vibrating against mine. “Still the boss.”

“Call me Mr. Wright,” I tease into her skin which smells once again like summer rain.

“Mr. Wright.” The title is breathless, and I feel her exhale.

“Get some sleep, Mrs. Wright.”

Jane stiffens, but when I kiss her nape, her body relaxes. I press another kiss to her shoulder and then stop myself. If I sip more of her skin, I’ll want more of her, and tonight Jane needs my comfort more than my cock.

Tonight, I need her to just be . . . with me.

+ + +

Parts of our bodies touch each morning when I wake, as if somehow, we reached for one another during the night. Typically, Jane wakes first, and I linger, relishing the hook of her ankle over mine or the heat of her hand in mine.

It’s no surprise, Jane is absent from the bed in the morning.