by Nora Roberts
trucks or cars as friends and neighbors came to stand in their places. Voices carried, so she heard jokes, sleepy laughs, calls of good night.
She quickened her pace when she spotted her parents. “You said you were going to use the cabin and get some sleep,” she said to her mother.
“I said that so you’d stop nagging me. Now I’m going home to get some sleep. You do the same.” She gave Lil a pat on the cheek with a gloved hand. “I know this is a bad reason, but it’s good to see people come out to help this way. Take me home, Joe. I’m tired.”
“You get some sleep.” Joe tapped a finger on Lil’s nose. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
No doubt about that, Lil thought as they separated. They’d keep close tabs on her until this was resolved. It’s the way they worked. And if the situation were reversed, it would be the way she’d work.
Inside, she stowed her rifle, then peeled off her outdoor gear. She glanced at the steps, thought about bed. Too restless, she decided. Too much coffee in the bloodstream.
She set a fire in the hearth, got it going. If Coop didn’t want one, he could bank it down. But at least it added more warmth and cheer to his temporary sleeping arrangements.
She wandered back to the kitchen, thought about making some tea. And decided she was too impatient to wait for the water to boil. Instead she poured half a glass of wine, hoping it would counteract the caffeine.
She could work, she considered. She could spend an hour at the computer until the edge wore off. But the idea of sitting still didn’t appeal either.
Then she heard the front door open and knew she’d been waiting for that. For him.
When she came back into the living room he was sitting down, pulling off his boots. He looked, she thought, alert, awake, his eyes clear as they met hers.
“I figured you’d be upstairs by now.”
“Too much coffee.”
He made a vague sound of agreement, and took off the second boot.
“Maybe I’m feeling as restless as the animals. I’m not used to having people around this time of night either. I can’t settle.” She walked to the window, stared out.
“I’d suggest a couple hands of gin rummy, but I’m not in the mood.”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “And I’m in your way. I could try solitaire.”
“You could also try turning off the lights and closing your eyes.”
“That would be the sensible thing.” She swallowed the last of the wine, set the glass aside. “I’ll go up, let you get some sleep.” She started toward the stairs, stopped, turned back. He hadn’t moved. “What if I want sex on the table?”
“You want to have sex on the table?”
“You said sex was off the table. Maybe I want it back on. Maybe I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. You’re here; I’m here. We’re friends. That’s established, right? We’re friends.”
“We always were.”
“So that’s all it is. Friends, and not being alone. Giving each other something to take the edge off.”
“Reasonable. Maybe I’m too tired.”
Her lips curved. “Like hell.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
But he stayed where he was, watching her. Waiting.
“You said you wouldn’t touch me. I’m asking you to set that rule or provision, or however you think of it, aside. Come up with me, come to bed with me, stay with me. I need to shut my mind off, Coop, that’s the God’s truth. I need some peace of mind. A few hours of it. Do me a favor.”
He stepped to her. “Doing you a favor’s standing out in the cold until two in the morning. Taking you to bed?” He reached up, ran his hand down her braid. “Doesn’t qualify. Don’t tell me you need peace of mind, Lil. Tell me you want me.”
“I do. I do want you. I’ll probably regret it tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be too late.” He pulled her in, captured her mouth with his. “It’s already too late.”
He turned toward the steps, then gripped her hips, boosting her up so she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.
Maybe it had always been too late, she thought as he carted her upstairs, and she let her lips roam his face as she had once, long before. Back in time, the familiar. Like closing a circle, she told herself. It didn’t have to be any more than that.
She pressed her cheek to his, sighed. “Feel better already.”
At the bedroom he turned, pressing her back to the door. And those eyes, the ice blue that had always snagged her heart, caught hers. “A hot bath makes you feel better. This is more, Lil. We’ll both have to deal with that.”
When his mouth took hers it wasn’t for comfort, or to soothe, but to ignite. So that slow simmer, never fully banked, came roaring back to full, furious flame.
Peace of mind? Had she thought she would find peace here, with him? There would be no peace with the war raging between them, inside her. Engulfed, she gave herself to it, and to him.
Maybe this time the battle would be done, and that constant flame inside her finally, finally burned out.
The need rose up, riding along her skin, filling her breasts, her belly with heat. Familiar, perhaps. But more and less than what had been. Had his hands been so sure, his mouth so urgent?
She was still wound around him when he strode to the bed. The lights from the compound slanted through the slats of her blinds, thin bars of light that fell over the bed, over her when he set her on the edge. A kind of cage, she supposed. Well, she walked into it willingly.
He gripped her boot, tugged. She heard herself laugh, nervous joy, as he pulled off the other. Then he reached down to unbutton her flannel shirt.
“Unbraid your hair.” He drew the shirt off. “Please.”
She lifted her arms, slid the tie at the end of her braid onto her wrist out of habit, and loosened her braid as he took off his shirt.
“No, I’ll do that,” he said as she started to comb her fingers through her hair.
“I’d think about your hair, the way it feels and smells, the way it looks after I’ve had my hands in it. All that midnight hair.”
He wrapped her hair around his fist, tugged so that her face tipped up to his. The gesture, the flare of heat in his eyes spoke as much of temper as passion. “I’d see you when you weren’t there. Like a damn ghost. A glimpse in a crowd, a tease out of the corner of my eye, disappearing around a corner. You were everywhere.”
She started to shake her head, but he tightened his grip. For an instant she saw that anger flash, then he released her hair. “Now you’re here,” he said, and drew the thermal shirt over her head.
“I’ve been here.”
No, he thought. No. But she was here now. Aroused, a little annoyed, just as he was. To please himself, to pleasure her, he traced his fingers down her collarbone, over the subtle swell of her breasts. The girl he’d known had been a willow stem. She’d bloomed without him.
She shivered at his touch; he’d wanted her to.
Then he pressed the heel of his hand to her forehead, gave her a light shove onto her back. And made her laugh again.
“Mr. Smooth,” she said, then he was on her, his body pressing her into the mattress. “You’ve put on a few pounds.”
“You too.”
“Really?”
“In interesting places.”
She smiled a little, and combed her fingers through his hair as he had with hers. “Well, it’s been a while.”
“I think I remember how everything works. How you work.”
He brushed his lips to hers, a teasing, then a sinking, sinking until it was drowning deep. His hands were on her, reminding her what it had been, confusing her with what it was now.
Strong, hard, working hands, sliding over her, pressing, molding until her breath quickened, until past and present were one brilliant blur over her senses.
He flipped open her bra, tugged it aside, and had her—hands and mouth, teeth and tongue—so quickened breaths became gas
ps, gasps became moans. She dragged at his thermal, yanking it up and away, impatient now to feel him. Strong back, ridges of muscle. New and fascinating.
He’d been a boy, just a boy really, when last she’d touched him like this. It was a man under her hands now, a man whose body pressed down on hers.
In the dark, barred with light, they rediscovered each other. A curve, an angle, a new point of pleasure. Her fingers skimmed over a scar that hadn’t been there before. And she whispered his name as his lips raced frantically down her body.
She quivered when he unbuttoned her jeans, hitched her hips up to help him pull them away. Rolled with him over the bed as they hurried to strip off every barrier.
Outside one of the cats called out, a wild thing prowling the dark. He took her there, into the dark, and what was wild in her cried out, released in harsh and primitive pleasure.
She moved for him, and with him, her eyes a gleam in the shadows. Everything he’d found and lost, everything he’d lived without was here. Right here. His senses swam with her, a rush of woman, all scent and skin, all wet and warm. The beat of her heart against his hungry mouth, the slide of her skin under his desperate hands.
He pushed her over, felt her rise and break, then gather again.
His name. She said his name over and over.
His name when he drove into her. He held, held himself on that whippy edge, filled and surrounded, entrapped until they were both trembling. Then it was all movement, mad, mindless. And when she broke again, he shattered with her.
She wanted to curl up against him, just fit her body against his like two pieces of a puzzle. Instead she lay quiet, willing herself to hold on to the pleasure, and the peace that had finally come with it.
She could sleep. If she closed her eyes, let her mind shut down, she could sleep. Whatever needed to be said or dealt with could be said or dealt with in the morning.
“You’re cold.”
Was she?
Before her brain could connect with her body he’d shifted her up and over. When had he packed on all the muscle? she wondered. He tugged the sheet and comforter over her, then drew her against him.
She started to stiffen—to ease away, a little at least. Didn’t she need some room, some sort of distance? But he held her there, curled her in exactly where she’d wanted to be.
“Go to sleep,” he said.
And too tired, too undone, to argue, she did just that.
SHE WOKE BEFORE SUNRISE, stayed very still. His arms had stayed around her, and hers had gone around him in the brief hours of the night.
Why, she wondered, did something that basic, that human, break her heart?
Comfort, she reminded herself. In the end, he’d given her the comfort she’d needed. And maybe she’d given him some in return.
It didn’t have to be more than that.
She’d loved him all of her life, and there was no point in trying to convince herself that would ever change. But sex was just an elemental act, and in their case a kind of gift between friends.
Single, consenting, healthy adult friends.
She was strong, smart, and self-aware enough to accept that—and keep it that way. The first step, she thought, was to untangle herself from him and get out of bed.
She started to ease away, as cautiously as she might if she’d been wrapped around a sleeping cobra. She’d barely gained an inch when his eyes opened and beamed straight into hers.
“Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she whispered—it just seemed the reasonable thing to do. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve got to get started.”
He kept her close, only lifted her hand, turning her wrist to look at the luminous dial of her watch. “Yeah, I guess we both do. In a couple minutes.”
Before she could react he rolled over, and was inside her.
He took his time. After that first shock of possession, he went slow. Long, lazy strokes that left her both weak and giddy. Helpless she floated up, felt herself all but shimmer. Pressing her face to the side of his throat, she let go.
She sighed, lingering longer than was wise.
“I guess I owe you breakfast.”
“I never argue with breakfast.”
She made herself turn away, made the effort to keep her voice light. “I’ll go start the coffee if you want to grab the shower first.”
“Sure.”
She grabbed a robe, pulling it on as she hurried out.
She avoided looking at herself in the mirror and concentrated on the practicalities. Strong black coffee and what she thought of as a full farm breakfast. Maybe she didn’t have any appetite, but she would damn well eat. No one would know she was sick with love. Again.
Better to focus on the positive, she reminded herself. She’d gotten more rest in four hours than she’d had in days. And surely that buzzing sexual tension between her and Coop would diminish now.
The deed was done. They’d both survived. They’d both move on.
Bacon sizzled in the cast-iron skillet while she warmed biscuits in the oven. He liked his eggs over easy, she remembered. At least he had.
By the time he came down, smelling of her soap, she was breaking eggs into the pan. He poured his coffee, topped her mug off, then leaned against the counter and watched her.
“What?”
“You look good. It’s nice to look at you over my morning coffee.” He glanced at the bacon she had draining, then the hash browns sizzling with the eggs. “Guess you’re hungry.”
“I figured I owed you the full shot.”
“I appreciate the breakfast, but I’m not looking for payment.”
“All the same. Anyway, I hope I can get that alarm system installed soon. I can’t expect people to keep guarding the place like it was Fort Apache. Everyone’s got their own to see to, including you.”
“Look at me.”
She glanced over as she flipped the eggs. “Why don’t you sit down? This is about ready.”
“If you’re thinking about stepping back, think again.”
With hands remarkably steady, she scooped out the hash browns. “Sex isn’t a ball and chain, Coop. I step where I want.”
“No, you don’t. Not anymore.”
“Anymore? I never—” She put up a hand as if to stop herself. “I’m not getting into this. I’ve got too much to deal with today.”
“It’s not going away, Lil, and neither am I.”
“You were gone for over ten years. You’ve been back for a few months. Do you think, really think, everything just picks up where you want it to, for as long as you want it?”
“Do you want to hear what I think and what I want? Are you ready to hear it?”
“No, actually, I don’t, and I’m not.” She didn’t think her heart could bear it. Not now. “I’m not interested in a discussion, debate, or rehash. We can be friends, or you can push until we’re not. That’s up to you. If what happened between us ruins our friendship, Cooper, I’ll be sorry. Really sorry.”
“I’m not looking for a fuck buddy, Lil.”
She let out a breath. “Okay, then.”
He took a step toward her, she took one back. And the door opened.
“’Morning. I wanted to let you know . . .” Gull wasn’t the quickest off the mark, but even he could sense bad timing. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” Lil said quickly. “In fact, you’re right on time. Coop was about to have breakfast. You can keep him company and have some yourself.”
“Oh, well, I don’t want to—”
“Grab some coffee.” She began dishing up two plates. “I’ve got to go up and get dressed. Everybody okay out there?”