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Covering her body with his own, he felt her full breasts against his chest, felt her soft, feminine curves sway against his hardness. The satin-smooth skin of her inner thighs stroked the hard length of his shaft, and her wet core tantalized his aching tip alluringly. He heard her gasp with need as she twisted her body beneath him, gripping his hips with her hands, trying to pull him closer, spreading her thighs in unconscious seduction.
But he did not want to take her. No. Not yet. Beads of sweat covered his forehead as he held himself apart from everything he wanted most. This was the last time he would possess her, and he wanted to make it last forever. As long as she was in his arms, he would not have to face the heartbreak and grief that waited for him on the other side. He would not have to face the dark solitude without her …
She stroked his back, her breasts plumping against his chest. He felt the sweaty heat of her skin, heard the breathless hush of her sigh. Gripping her shoulders, he closed his eyes, trying to resist. But she knew him too well. She moved beneath him, suckling his earlobe, breathing on his neck as she ran her hands on the back of his upper thigh, below his buttocks, between his legs. She stroked him—and he felt the hot, wet core of her slide against him—pulling him inside—
With a choked gasp, he surrendered. His body took over. With a low growl, he grabbed her shoulders and plunged himself inside her in a single deep thrust. Her body tensed, then melted, parting for him, accepting him, embracing every inch of his thick length. Pulling back, he thrust again with a gasp, and again, riding her. His every muscle was taut in the exquisite precipice between agony and pleasure. Six thrusts and only the grimmest vestige of self-control kept him from exploding inside her. But he had to make it last. He had to. He could not live without her….
Rolling onto his back, he lifted her over him, impaling her. Her thighs gripped his hips as he let her control the rhythm and speed. After months of bed play, his once-virgin secretary had become a fiery seductress. He thought having her on top would slow him down, make him last. But instead, as she pushed herself against him, he filled her harder and deeper than he ever had. Her heavy breasts swayed back and forth against his face as she rode him, going deeper with each thrust, until he closed his eyes, panting beneath the brutal onslaught of pleasure. Reaching his hands behind him, he gripped the headboard of the bed.
Harder, deeper. And wet, so wet. As she slammed against him, her walls wrapped around him, tight, so tight, pulling him into an abyss of mindless pleasure. His eyes rolled back as he gripped her hips with his hands, his whole body shaking with the agony of need. He felt her quicken and pulse around him as she flung back her head and screamed with joy. Looking up at her, seeing her beautiful face filled with ecstasy, her eyes closed as if in prayer, he could no longer resist. With one last savage thrust he exploded inside her, riding the wave with her. His hoarse cry mingled with hers as he came and came and came, never looking away from her beautiful face.
And Callie collapsed on top of him, clutching him to her hot, sweaty body, happiness pouring out of them both like radioactive light.
Afterward, Eduardo held her. For the first time, he was grateful knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep beside her. He could hold her all night. He’d watch her gentle face slumber beneath the latticed moonlight. She felt so soft in his arms. So warm. So sweet. His eyelids became heavy as he held her. Closing his eyes, he kissed her temple, breathing in the vanilla and floral scent of her hair. He loved her so much he thought he could die of it. He would hold her all night long. He’d relish every hour. Every minute …
Eduardo woke with a gasp.
The pink light of morning poured in through the window as he realized that he’d slept beside his wife for the first time.
In panic, he looked at her side of the bed.
It was empty. For the first time, Callie had been the one to rise in the middle of the night. She’d been the one to leave. And as the first wave of anguish hit his body, he knew this was how he’d always known he would be.
Alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CALLIE sat at the kitchen table of her pa
rents’ farmhouse and looked at the papers in her shaking hands. The words seem to swim in front of her eyes.
Divorce papers.
“It’ll be quick and painless,” her lawyer had assured her when he’d given her the file. “I marked each place for you to sign with a yellow tab. All the tough questions were already dealt with in the prenup. You’ll share custody, switching visitation each week, and with Mr. Cruz’s extremely generous level of alimony and child support you’ll be the richest woman in Fern County.” The lawyer gave her a sudden sharp grin. “Good thing every divorce case isn’t so quick and painless, or else I’d be bankrupt.”
Quick. Painless. Callie heard a wheel squeak as her nine-month-old daughter crossed the floor in the antique walker used by three generations of Woodville babies. Marisol giggled at the sound, and her laughter was like music. Callie smiled at her daughter through her tears.
“Pa-pa-pa?” Marisol said hopefully.
Callie’s smile faded as she looked down at the papers. “Soon, sweetheart,” she said over the lump in her throat. “You’ll see him tomorrow.” Marisol would be flown back to New York for a week with Eduardo, and Callie would have to endure seven long, aching days without her child. Then the next week, they would switch, and it was Eduardo who would be alone.
He’d been fair. More than fair, allowing Callie to live at such a distance, using his private jet to shuttle Marisol between North Dakota and New York. Callie had no idea what they’d do when it was time for Marisol to start school, but something would surely be worked out. Money, it seemed, could solve any problem.
Except this.
Callie didn’t want his money. She wanted him. She was still in love with him.
But he’d let her go.
She hadn’t seen Eduardo for two months, since she’d left Marrakech with her baby, Brandon and her family. Since then, their only point of contact had been through their lawyers. Even Marisol’s pickups and drop-offs each week were handled by Mrs. McAuliffe.
Callie hadn’t seen him. But each night, she dreamed of him, of their last night together, when they’d kissed in the shadows by the fountain. When they’d made love so passionately and desperately the bed seemed to explode into fire. When he’d huskily spoken the words she still, against her will, held to her heart.
I love you. I love you as I’ve never loved anyone. But I can’t love you without hurting you.
Once, she would have given ten years of her life to hear Eduardo say he loved her. Now, the words were poison. She’d cried for weeks, till there were no tears left. But there was no other answer. She couldn’t live as his prisoner. And he couldn’t risk giving her his heart if she wasn’t.
Two teardrops fell on the divorce papers spread out across her parents’ blue Formica table. When she’d come back home, part of her had hoped she might be pregnant, which would at least give her a reason to talk to her husband again. But even that hope had failed her.
