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Thoughts of Oliver brought the grief and guilt back like a black curtain that fell over everything.
“Hey, Jack,” Mia said, breaking him from his thoughts. Thank God. He moved his king two spots to his right and it was such a weak move that Mia put the piece back.
“Castling? That was bad,” she said. “Even for you. Try again.”
He concentrated, finally seeing her bishop for the threat it was, and he moved his knight to counter.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” he said.
“Were you really…”
He glanced up at her, noticing the fire engine red blush on her neck and face, and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. This outta be good.
“Was I really what?”
“Celibate?” she blurted. “All these years?”
He took a deep breath and it shook slightly at the bottom. “Like a monk.”
“But you never tried…anything with me. I mean, you said on that roof that you’d been thinking of me like that, so I know it wasn’t just the dress or the wine.”
”It wasn’t the dress or the wine,” he agreed softly, the game totally forgotten. “I’d been thinking about you like that since you were fifteen.”
Her eyes got wide and her mouth fell open.
“I felt like a pervert, not just because you were so young, but because you were my friend and I told myself that I would never do anything, not unless you started it.”
“Fifteen?” she asked, and he nodded. “Wow.”
The years they’d wasted—it was enough to make a guy sick. Amazing that, for a scientist, he’d somehow failed to observe his own wife.
“Can I ask you a question?”
She nodded, looking so uncomfortable that he was torn between hugging her and pressing her back against the white sheets and showing her all the many ways he’d thought about her over the years.
“You weren’t a virgin that night—”
”Did you expect me to be?”
“No! No, I didn’t. But, I never heard about any boyfriends or whatever—”
”Was I supposed to call you and tell you I got laid?”
He shook his head. This was stupid. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” She was so little curled up against a pile of white pillows. The bruising on the side of her face made her look impossibly tough and fragile at the same time. But that was Mia for you.
And being her husband gave him no rights to her sexual history. Her secrets were her own. He looked back down at the board and the mess of black and white pieces.
“Whose turn is it?”
“Chad Winters,” she said, and he looked up, slack-jawed. “We got together the night after my high school graduation. I told myself after you left that night that you clearly didn’t feel anything and it was time to get on with my life.”
“By having sex with Bill Winters?” Strange that he felt jealousy over something that happened fifteen years ago.
“We dated for a while after that night. It wasn’t like that. He was a nice guy and he liked me.”
“I was a nice guy and I liked you!”
Her eyes got angry. “You didn’t let me in on that little secret, Jack. You kept it to yourself.”
He took a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…strange, I guess, to think of you with someone else.”
“You weren’t a virgin in Santa Barbara either, Jack.”
“I felt like one,” he said. He picked up one of her captured pawns, rolling it between his fingers to give him something to do instead of reaching for her.
“Five years of celibacy will do that to a guy, I suppose,” she said, trying to make a joke of something that wasn’t funny.
“You did it to me, Mia. You. You made me feel…different. The sex felt different. Hell, the whole night felt different.”
She nodded, her head bent, and he stared hard at the curve of her cheek, telling himself that what he wanted to do was a mistake. In fact, the way he felt right now, the combustibility in the air, the only thing that wouldn’t be a mistake would be leaving.
But he wasn’t about to leave.
“I’m sorry we wasted so much time,” he whispered.
“Me too, Jack,” she breathed.
He shoved the chess set out of the way and leaned down to the bed. He knew she was hurting and he wasn’t going to push his way into her bed, but he wasn’t leaving without touching her.
He needed it—the physical proof of their connection—and he was pretty damn sure she did too.
His fingers touched the satin of her cheek, a small spark popping between them, and she smiled awkwardly.
“Let me kiss you,” he said.
“Jack—”
“Just a kiss, Mia.”
She didn’t say anything, her whiskey eyes staring up at him, watching him as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her eyelids slid shut on a soft sigh and he melted into her, was absorbed by the sweetness and spice of Mia.
