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And he wanted that more than he had ever wanted anything else in his entire life. He felt hopeful for the first time in months. He was loving his time with Clara, not finding the thought of being alone with the baby at all daunting anymore. And Olivia . . . God, she had always been a breath of fresh air in his otherwise stale life, and that hadn’t changed at all.
He had been starting to lose hope. But since they had resumed intimacies two nights ago, he felt so much more optimistic. Granted, she didn’t want to spend the night with him. Last night and the night before, after several bouts of crazy, out-of-control lovemaking, she had sent him on his way. But he finally felt like things were heading in the right direction for them.
That meant staying in Riversend for now, starting to establish roots, and trying to figure out how to conduct business from here.
“Sure, I’ll be happy to help out once we’ve figured out the logistics,” Greyson said, and Brand grinned.
“Fantastic. Thanks, mate.”
Greyson nodded and grabbed his gym bag and towel. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Looking forward to it. Hope I didn’t leave too many bruises,” Brand said tauntingly.
“I’ll survive.”
“That was amazing,” Libby moaned in sincere appreciation on the third night of her renewed sexual relationship with Greyson. They were both curled up on the sofa, which had seen quite a workout over the last three nights. By unspoken mutual consent, neither of them had ever attempted to move their encounters into the bedroom, where Clara lay sleeping. For Libby, it was simply because she didn’t want him in her bed again. It would complicate matters. Start to feel less casual and more meaningful. She wasn’t sure why Greyson had never suggested moving to the bed, but she figured it had something to do with waking Clara. He walked on eggshells around the baby once she was asleep, and their vigorous bouts of sex were anything but quiet lately. Greyson had become increasingly noisy, but Libby could tell that every moan, groan, and gasp were reluctantly conceded. He started off quietly, but by the time he entered her, he was always quivering with need and almost sobbing in relief. He had managed to claw back some semblance of control after that first night, but it was still very different from what they’d had before.
And Libby loved it. More than she should. His intensity and focus added a dimension to their sex that made it incredibly difficult to resist him. Not that she was resisting anymore. But she was trying very hard to compartmentalize. It was temporary. They knew that . . . and once they divorced, it would be over.
He was quietly stroking her hair while they both cooled down and the sweat dried on their naked bodies. She felt goose bumps rise on her flesh as her body temperature returned to normal and the cold started to seep in.
“You’re cold,” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her in an attempt to warm her up. Libby sighed in contentment, enjoying his heat, snuggling close to his naked chest. She closed her eyes, wanting to rest for just a few minutes before sending him home.
When she woke up, she sensed that hours must have passed. She was still in his arms, but he had managed to drag Clara’s playtime comforter over them. She felt warm and comfortable and reluctant to move.
He was limp beneath her, snoring slightly, and she lifted her head to stare down into his slack face. He was so damned gorgeous it sometimes hurt to look at him. She wished things had been different. Wished he had never had the mumps and never been misdiagnosed, never made those accusations . . .
But wishing was futile. And those things had happened. He had betrayed her and hurt her, and he had abandoned her. When she had needed him most.
And she kept losing sight of that.
His eyes opened, and he smiled at her. A sweet, loving smile that made her stomach clench and her heart stutter.
This was so dangerous. She had to stop gambling with their emotions, and she needed to end this.
For all of their sakes.
“You should leave,” she told him tightly, and his brow furrowed.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just . . . I’m tired. I should get to bed.”
“I could . . .” He swallowed, and she could see his next words coming before he said them. “I could stay.”
“No, Greyson. You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to.” Only she did want him to, and that was messing with her mind so badly.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed whatever he’d been about to say and nodded curtly. She moved off him, standing up and wrapping the comforter around herself while she watched him hunt for his clothes.
