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Rinsing a dish, she glanced over at him. “I’ve got this case I’m working on...” she began, then stopped. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, but he continued to hold her gaze with his own. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to love her.
The consequences be damned.
She was going to do this with or without him. And though he had a feeling he might hate himself for the rest of his life, he couldn’t let her do it without him. He also couldn’t spend another minute standing beside her, sharing her space, sharing their memories, without making love to her.
So he would. He’d leave his sperm inside her as she wanted. He just wouldn’t think about what changes that might bring. Except, perhaps, to pray that there wouldn’t be any changes at all.
Susan, with her heart in her eyes, fell into his arms as he reached for her, clinging to him. And opened her mouth for his kiss.
He didn’t want this to happen. But, God help him, he was only a man.
FINALLY. Susan’s quivering body cried out the word. Picking her up without even taking the time to dry her arms, Michael carried her down the hall to her bedroom—their bedroom—and put her on the bed. He followed her down, still fully dressed, kissing her again before either of them could speak.
Not that she had anything to say. He was coming at her so fast she couldn’t even think. But she could feel. Oh, could she feel. His hands glided over her possessively, knowingly, hungrily. It was almost as if he were trying to possess all of her at once, to claim her, and she couldn’t succumb fast enough. For either of them.
She wanted to touch him, too, to reassure herself that he still felt familiar, that he was still hers. But he was consuming her senses with his urgency and it was all she could do to keep from splintering into a million pieces. She held on—to him, to the covers beneath her, to whatever she could clutch in her fists.
There wasn’t room for gentleness. Not that he hurt her. He didn’t. He never would. He was careful with his passion, but not controlled. Not at all controlled.
His shirt came off one arm at a time but his searching caresses didn’t stop for a second. Susan helped him with the waistband of her slacks, pulling her shirt up to her neck. She helped him with the waistband of his pants, too, needing him desperately, needing to finish what they’d started. Before she could think about it. Question. Worry.
She knew in her heart that this was right, that something far stronger than either of them was driving her to her eventual goal. And that was all she knew. Michael left her no time for any further thought.
Because of the day’s frantic and—until now—unrelieved tension, she climaxed before Michael had even straddled her. Her gaze traveled his body as he suspended himself above her, loving the firm lean lines she knew so well, the dark hair tapering down his belly, the sweat on his brow.
Entering her with one quick thrust, he lowered his body to hers. Then, chest to chest and belly to belly, there was nothing left but feeling. He was so strong, so confident in his strokes, his caresses, she came a second time, experiencing wave after wave of sensation, until she was only aware of how much she loved the man in her arms.
And as the waves passed, as the sweetest peace followed, Susan felt him empty himself into her unprotected body. He groaned as he held himself deep within her and she knew he was doing that for her. Only for her. He was giving her the most precious gift, the gift she’d wanted, and Susan did the only thing she could.
She wept.
Silently, softly, the tears dripped off the sides of her face onto the mattress beneath her. Her arms still wrapped tightly around Michael, she prayed that he wouldn’t know, that he wouldn’t ask her to explain her tears. Or worse, be angry with her...
Michael began to move again, to settle himself inside her, to caress her body as thoroughly as he had before. Whether he knew about her tears or not, she wasn’t sure, but they dried, forgotten on her lashes, when he loved her again.
And later, as she was sleeping in his arms on top of the covers, he woke her and made love to her a third time.
There was still, in spite of their satiation, something frantic in Michael’s loving. Something that called out to Susan even though she didn’t want to hear its voice. Something she answered even as she denied its existence.
Almost as though he were telling her goodbye. And she was accepting that he had to go. That he wouldn’t be back. Not as she knew him that night Not as she’d ever known him before.
It shouldn’t have mattered. They were, after all, divorced. Living separate lives in separate states. It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
She was deathly afraid she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.
As MISTAKES WENT, the gingerbread house ranked right up there. All day Sunday, Michael and Seth were in her living room, roaring along with the players on the field at the Super Bowl. While Susan was stuck in the kitchen building, frosting and decorating the dream house she’d never, ever own in real life.
That house, scaled up to size, would take a big family to fill. A single mom and one kid didn’t qualify. A divorced woman living alone even less so.
She didn’t even have a use for this mammoth gingerbread house now that it was finished. The original plan had been to send it home with Melissa.
“Seth’s gone, and I’m about ready to head out.” Michael stood in the kitchen doorway, his hands in those damn jeans pockets again.
Not trusting herself to speak, Susan nodded. She’d been weepy all day and she couldn’t blame that on Michael. He’d done exactly what she’d asked him to do—and only because she’d pushed so hard. Regrets were hers alone.
