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She grabbed a nightgown from the dresser and went into the bathroom. Sam blew out a sigh of frustration and stripped to his boxer briefs. He could be a gentleman and put on a pair of shorts, but this was his old bed, this was his wife and, damn it, he wasn’t going to be uncomfortable just because Tara was still attracted to him. Her attraction sure as hell wasn’t one-sided.
Sam slid between the crisp, cool sheets and pulled the comforter up to his chest. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered how long this night would be. Each minute would no doubt drag by at an excruciating pace.
The bathroom door opened once again and Tara didn’t move farther into the room and she didn’t climb into bed. Sam shifted to see what she was doing, but she merely stared at him.
“What now?” he asked.
“I’ve been sleeping on that side.”
His side? The side he’d slept on the entire time they were married? Interesting...and rather telling of her feelings. He really shouldn’t read too much into this nugget of knowledge, but he was human and his ego had taken a beating. He was most definitely grabbing on to this and tucking it away for future use.
Tara raised a brow and continued to stare. Fine. He was flexible, so long as she didn’t think he’d be on the floor or the sofa.
Sam tossed back the sheet and came to his feet. He circled the bed and Tara still hadn’t moved. She wore one of those tank-style cotton gowns that hit above her knees. The outline of her body drew his eyes. He fisted his hands at his sides and forced himself to reach for the corner of the blanket. In doing so, his arm brushed hers and he couldn’t ignore the tremble...from her? From him? Maybe both.
Slowly he straightened, keeping his eyes on hers. All day he’d only seen worry, a touch of fear and exhaustion. Now, staring at her, all he saw was...damn it. All he saw was desire.
“You can’t look at me like that,” he warned. Though he ignored the blaring horns inside his head and stepped into her, settling one hand on the dip in her waist. “That’s the look that I never could turn down. That silent invitation.”
“Having you here is more difficult than I thought,” she admitted on a whisper.
And as much as he wanted to follow her onto that bed and forget everything that stood between them—namely a piece of paper ready to end everything—he had to respect her initial wishes. If he ever got her back, it wouldn’t be because he’d used Marley’s situation to do so.
Sam settled his other hand on her waist and blew out a breath. “I’m struggling, too,” he confessed. “It’s been too long since I touched you, Tara. But this isn’t the right time.”
He might not be giving in to his every desire, but he was still a man, damn it. Sam dropped his forehead to hers just as her hands came to her sides and squeezed his wrists.
“Sam, I need—”
He had no idea what she was going to say. His mouth settled over hers, cutting off her words because he needed it, too. Just a taste. Just. One. Taste.
So much need and ache consumed him. Tara’s clutch on his wrists tightened as she opened her mouth, giving him greater access.
But before he could get too swept away with the memories—the good ones—and the sweet taste of his wife, Sam pulled away.
Tara stared up at him and he had to force himself to step back. Her fingertips went to her damp lips and she closed her eyes.
“I won’t apologize,” he told her. “We both wanted that kiss, but that’s where it ends.”
Brief as it had been, he had a feeling he’d still be tasting her on his lips come tomorrow.
When Tara said nothing, Sam reached for the pillow and pulled it off the bed. He turned to the end of the bed, grabbing the perfectly folded throw from the bottom. “I’ll go sleep on Marley’s floor.”
“Sam, don’t.”
He stilled in the doorway, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the temptress staring at him. “If we crawl into that bed together, we’ll both wake with regrets.”
He’d waited so long, had prayed and pleaded to get here, but there was no way he would take advantage of the moment. Tara deserved better. Hell, he deserved better.
