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“She’s not my worry.”

The line of his body relaxed before tensing anew. “What do you mean she’s not your worry?”

“I’m concerned about this transition for you and not having appropriate time to process the loss of Louise.”

He stared at her, hair falling over his forehead, a stark bleakness in his brown eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this tonight. Don’t have the bandwidth.”

She laid gentle fingers on his jaw. “I’m not pushing you, Lamar.”

“I know. But I . . .” His throat pulsed with a hard swallow. “Not tonight, Cait.”

Only five days. If he needed time, she’d give him that. Besides, pushing? He’d only shut down, dig in with his characteristic obstinacy, and the healing would take longer.

Or never occur at all. He still carried wounds from his father’s death, his brother’s death before that. Those old hurts lurked, rising to the surface of their lives, sometimes without warning.

She of all people understood. The shadow of her own father haunted her dreams, still.

If he wouldn’t talk, she could give him a place to rest.

So she slid her fingertips over his throat, to lie in the hollow at the base. Beneath her elbow, his breathing shifted.

His long-fingered hand cupped her shoulder, easing a caress down her arm, and she shivered. Such a simple touch to set off such an instant response, desire unfurling low in her belly.

He turned his head to kiss her, then rolled, putting her on her back while he leaned over her, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath her ear. A shudder moved through her, his name falling from her lips on a trembling murmur. He eased up the hem of her camisole, and she lifted her arms, helping him strip it over her head before she wiggled out of her sleep shorts. He shoved off his boxers before coming back down to her.

A deep chuckle vibrating over her skin, he slid his hand down her belly to cup between her thighs before his hot mouth closed over her nipple. Sensation arced through her, and she moaned, gripping his hair. He knew how to touch her, responding to her responses, so soon she was wet and aching, her breath coming in soft bursts.

Planting one hand on the bed beside her, he stretched for his nightstand’s top drawer and the bottle of lube stashed there. A click of the top, and then two of his fingers slid over her, circling her clit, stroking down to her opening and back up, smooth, slippery caresses that stole her breath.

He was hard against her thigh, a smear of precome on her skin, their combined arousal tickling her nose. They’d need to shower again after this, but she didn’t care because he was here, was himself.

He circled her clit with two lubed fingers, a steady pressure, so she hovered on the cusp of a climax. She gasped. “Tick.”

“Roll over,” he rasped next to her ear, and her stomach clenched on a wave of desire.

She stilled, waiting, and he lifted his head, their eyes locked. His jaw firmed, then long fingers clamped her wrists together. Muscles bunching in his arms and shoulders, he shifted her himself, and she found herself on her belly, staring at their white sheets.

“So damned rebellious for a good Woodfield girl.” His voice a low rasp, he dragged his nose up her nape, his teeth landing in a light nip. “What would the nuns say?”

She laughed, the bubbling sound cut off by a gasp when, one hand holding her wrists, his other arm banded about her waist, he tugged her hips up into the cradle of his thighs.

Hard, he slid over her slick flesh, a delicious friction, and a moan slipped free of her lips. She ground into him, aching between her thighs.

Still gripping her wrists, he unwound his arm from her belly and positioned himself, rubbing his head over her before his hips moved in one hard thrust. She moaned once more as he filled her, her body stretching around him. She pushed back, and he grunted, fingers flexing on her wrists as he pulled back, thrust again, setting a hard, deep rhythm.

That angle was . . . a soft, broken exhale wrung from her lips, almost a whimper. Oh.

His hold tightened, and she stretched out her fingers, pushing back the best she was able, seeking, chasing, with the exquisite pressure of his weight pinning her.

“Tick.” She closed her eyes. “Please.”

Breathing hard, his gasps rushing hot over her ear, he flattened his hand on her belly, fingers barely brushing her clit, and pumped harder. Tension coiled tighter in her belly, in the sensitive flesh where he filled her over and over. The pressure gave way, unfurling, pleasure radiating up and out, so her body clenched on his.

She buried a scream in the mattress, pushing back to meet him. Holy Mother, don’t let Zeb hear her again and come whining and scratching at the door.

“Hell.” With a strangled groan, he lunged forward, aftershocks beating through her while he pulsed inside her.

A ragged breath puffed against her shoulder. Surrounded by his warmth, she fought for an even inhale. A droplet of sweat hit the base of her neck, between her shoulders.