Page 64 of Running to You

He’d sacrifice anything for the people he loved.

He just didn’t think they felt that way about him.

Eliza certainly hadn’t. He hadn’t expected much from her that disastrous day—just that she’d listen, let him explain. But she wouldn’t even give him that. All the love she’d professed, gone in an instant.

How deep could it have run?

Not as deeply as his.

And that was the crux of it. Not just with Eliza but with everyone. The more he loved, the more quickly he was tossed away.

And there was a happy thought.

When the kitchen was clean, he said, “I’m going upstairs to get some work done and catch the Patriots game. You’re welcome to join me.”

Maybe his words hadn’t been very welcoming because she shook her head. “That’s okay. I think I’ll grab a book and go to bed.”

While she perused the bookshelves in the sunroom, he double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked, then added another log to the fire.

With a couple of books in each hand, she headed for the stairs.

“If you leave your laundry outside your door,” he said, “I’ll start a load tonight.”

“I can do it in the morning.”

“I’ll take care of it. Just get some sleep.”

She smiled that pretty, natural smile that had the power to derail him. “Thanks. Good night.”

Three hours later, the volume of a commercial roused him out of sleep. He’d worked on his laptop for much of the game, trying to get ahead on the week’s tasks, then drifted off in the fourth quarter, not sorry at all to have missed the end of a blowout loss.

He clicked off the TV and the light as he left the den. It was quiet and dark aside from the glowing coals he could see in the fireplace from the second-floor walkway that overlooked the great room. No light shone beneath Eliza’s door, though she’d left her dirty clothes there, as he’d asked.

He grabbed them and took them downstairs. He’d start a load in the morning.

After changing into his flannel pajamas—not his normal sleepwear, but he figured he’d better don more than his boxer shorts—and brushing his teeth, he headed for the living room. He put his handgun, taken from his safe that afternoon, beneath the cushions, where he could grab it quickly. Then, he tugged the blanket Eliza had used earlier over himself, stretching out on the sofa in front of the fire. Not that he thought Eliza’s pursuers would find them, but if they did, Sam would be ready.

* * *

His worries led to nightmares. But those morphed into dreams. To one dream.

The gentlest brush of Eliza’s hair across his cheek. Her sweet breath on his skin. Her soft lips on his mouth. So tender, her touch. Barely there. It wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

He dug into her hair, loving the feel of her soft strands tangling in his fingers. He pulled her closer and dove in. Tasting her. Wanting her.

But it still wasn’t enough. He wrapped his arm around her, pressed her body against his. Ran his hand down her side, enjoying the silky fabric against his palm. Feeling her smooth curves.

And then she issued a soft moan of pleasure. It sounded so real.

Don’t wake up. Not yet.

But he was waking up. He knew it. And yet, Eliza was still there.

Still in his arms. Still kissing him.

He opened his eyes. Yanked his hands off her.