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He just felt…good.
Which was not what he was expecting.
He’d never wanted to forget her. He’d always wanted to keep a place for her in his heart because she deserved no less. And he’d expected making love to another woman would be fraught with memories too painful to bear. Memories of Sheri and what it felt like to take her in his arms, to kiss her, to do all the things to her that he’d loved doing that he’d never do again.
But there had only been Beth in his arms just now and no memories at all to haunt him. And there was a certain bittersweet pain in that, yet also relief.
Beth didn’t deserve for him to be thinking of his dead wife while he was with her, and Sheri didn’t deserve it either.
Neither do you.
Yeah, well, that was up for debate.
Still, as he looked down into Beth’s eyes, he could only see her, not Sheri’s light-brown eyes gazing back. Only see a very well-pleasured woman looking rather dazed and not a little awed.
A long-forgotten and very male part of him stretched out in satisfaction.
He’d done that to her. That was all him.
Automatically he smoothed back small tendrils of hair that had stuck to her cheek and forehead before shifting again to pull up the strap of her dress and adjust the fabric, easing everything back in place.
“You sure you’re okay?” He reached to tuck another rogue strand of hair behind her ear. It was very soft.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She was studying him with that same slightly awed look.
“Nothing sore?”
“No, not at all.”
He reached to secure her strap more firmly on her shoulder and this time her hand came out, gripping his.
“Finn,” she said softly, “I’m fine. You don’t have to fuss.”
Another realization filtered through him, of what he was doing and why. He was a caregiver, like his brother, and he always had been. It came naturally to him, which was why he’d found looking after the horses after Sheri’s death so therapeutic. He’d needed something to care for and animals, rather than people, were all he could handle.
Now here he was caring for Beth.
Are you sure that’s a good idea?
A stupid thought. As if caring for a woman after sex meant anything, which of course it didn’t. He was just being gentlemanly and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.
“I’m not fussing. I’m taking care of you.”
She flushed deeper. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Too bad. I’m doing it.” He frowned at the tear in one of the straps of her dress. It was a very narrow piece of fabric and it had torn straight through. “Sorry about that,” he murmured. “I’ll buy you a new one. In the meantime I’ll find you a safety pin.”
But gently Beth pushed his hand away. “I don’t need a new one and I don’t want a safety pin. I’m okay.” She reached for him, sliding her fingers into his hair again, her body shifting languorously underneath his. “Let’s stay here awhile.”
He got even harder at the husky note in her voice and the scent of musk and sex and sweet apricots surrounding him. The thought of pushing her back on the couch and exploring her properly was very appealing, and for a second he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more.
But something was making him uneasy and it took him a second or two to put his finger on it.
Shit. Had he used a condom?
Obviously you didn’t. You don’t have any, not when you haven’t had sex for five years.
A cold feeling twisted in his gut. “Beth,” he said hoarsely, “I didn’t use protection.”
