Nothing But This

by Anders, Natasha

  She sat quietly while he got himself under control. When he finally lifted his emotionally ravaged face back to hers, he graced her with the smallest of smiles.

  “Thank you. That means so much to me.”

  Feeling horribly weepy herself, Libby could only nod. Afraid that if she spoke, she would break down. Because it felt wonderful to forgive him, to move on from all the anger and negativity. But without all that fuel to fire her determination to remain emotionally distant, she felt ridiculously vulnerable and uncertain of what to do next.

  She thought of those divorce papers. After he had signed them, she had moved them from nappy bag to nappy drawer. All she had to do was sign them and send them to her attorney, and the deed would be done. But she hadn’t signed them yet, and to all intents and purposes, the man sitting across from her was still her husband.

  The man she had known and hero-worshipped her entire life. The man she had hated for a brief sliver of time. The deeply flawed, vulnerable, slightly insecure man she now knew she still loved with every fiber of her being.

  She was so confused. And she didn’t know where to go from here.

  The half-hour drive home was comfortably silent. Clara was awake and happily diverted by the toys on her car seat, but by the time Greyson brought the car to a halt outside Libby’s house, the baby was starting to fret.

  They both exited the car, Libby grabbing the baby bag while Greyson unbuckled Clara and lifted her into his arms. She was crying, a nagging sound that told them she was hungry and tired. They didn’t speak, but Libby marveled at how in accord they were as they entered the house. It resembled a well-rehearsed dance: Libby went straight to the kitchen for a bottle while Greyson carried Clara to the room. He changed her nappy and gave her a quick wash and powder before putting her in a more comfortable onesie. By the time he was done, Libby was waiting with her formula and a bowl of homemade butternut squash puree.

  Greyson put Clara in her high chair and then sat across from them. Libby was very aware of his avid gaze while she fed the baby, who gradually calmed down and happily ate her butternut. She kept futilely trying to take the spoon from her mother to feed herself and then happily guzzled down half of her bottle.

  “She was hungry,” Greyson observed idly, and Libby made a lazy sound of assent. Clara’s eyelids were starting to droop, and Libby took her from the high chair to rock her slightly. It had been an exciting day filled with new sights and sounds, and that, combined with a long car ride and a full tummy, was making her sleepy.

  “I should head home,” he said, sounding reluctant, and Libby found herself on the verge of protesting. It was that instinctive desire to keep him close that kept her mouth shut, and she nodded, afraid that if she spoke, she would ask him to stay.

  “Do you want to tuck her in before you go?” she asked, indicating the sleeping baby.

  “I’d like that,” he said quietly, getting up to take Clara from her. It was early evening, and they both knew Clara would wake again in a few hours’ time, so he tucked her into the bassinet in the living room and ran a gentle finger over her adorable little nose.

  He turned to look at Libby and, with the same finger, tenderly brushed a curl out of her face and slotted it behind her ear.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Thank you. For today. It was wonderful.”

  He didn’t say anything. His eyes searched hers for a long moment, and Libby was powerless to do anything but stare back. She couldn’t quite read the emotions in the roiling depths of those beautiful eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze away either.

  When he made a muffled sound, something between a sigh and a groan, and shut his eyes with a shudder, she empathized. Feeling the same helplessness, desolation, and temptation that was evident in the quiet sound.

  Greyson shouldn’t do it. He knew he shouldn’t. But he was going to kiss her. He was physically incapable of stepping away from her in that moment. Of dropping his hand and severing the contact between them.

  The tender acceptance he had seen in her beautiful eyes didn’t do much to deter him, and with a quiet moan, he shut his eyes and closed the distance between them. He claimed her mouth in the softest, lightest of kisses. When she didn’t resist, he deepened the caress and felt a surge of satisfaction when she put her hands on his chest.

  He kept the kiss gentle, exploring her mouth and taking his time, feeling like he was tasting her for the very first time.

  By the time he brought his hands into play, touching, stroking, caressing, she was moaning softly into his open mouth. Her own hands had fisted in the fabric of his T-shirt, and her pelvis was rocking slowly and rhythmically against his.

  It had been a relatively warm early-October spring day, and she was wearing a sweet, short slip dress with ties on the shoulders, and he fumbled with the bows for a few minutes before releasing one tie and then the other. The dress slid—without any attempt from her to stop it—all the way down to pool around her ankles. He hadn’t intended for that to happen, but when he lifted his mouth to stare down at her beautiful body, clad only in lacy black panties and a matching black bra, he said a reverent prayer of thanks.

  He swallowed heavily and met her eyes.

  “Olivia?” He wasn’t sure how far he could take this. Wasn’t sure how she felt about where it was going, but she hadn’t protested and did nothing to hide her body from his avid gaze.

  She didn’t respond to the questioning lilt in his voice but stepped toward him and eagerly pushed his T-shirt up over his chest. He moaned, happily taking that as the acquiescence he had sought, and helped her, dragging the shirt up and over his head and tossing it aside.

  He grabbed her hand and led her into the bedroom, but he found himself helplessly claiming another kiss from her before they even made it to the bed. She closed her arms around his neck and levered herself up, wrapping her firm thighs around his waist and locking her ankles behind his butt.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, before voraciously eating her mouth. He laid her down on the bed, one hand flat against the small of her back to support her and the other braced on the mattress to maintain his balance. He placed a knee on the bed while keeping his other foot on the floor. He couldn’t get enough of her. He had wanted to keep this tender and reverent, but they were both too greedy. Too damned hungry for each other.

  Before he knew it, he was licking his way down to her breasts, lavishing attention on each taut nipple. Her own mouth and hands weren’t idle, and she was stroking and sucking every inch of his flesh she could reach. Soon she was fumbling with his belt and then his fly, and then she had him in her grasp, and they both groaned at the contact.

  “Condom?” she asked tautly, and he made a rough sound of assent, begrudgingly leaving the wondrous hills and curves of her body to kick off his jeans and search for his wallet. When he found a condom, they both hastily fumbled to get it on, and once they succeeded, he tugged her panties off and clambered between her spread thighs.

  He sank into her without further delay, having the presence of mind to slow things down enough to make it a gradual entrance, rather than slamming into her without any finesse.

  They both sighed contentedly at the contact, and Greyson could only describe it as a sense of homecoming. He was back where he belonged.

  After he was fully sheathed, they took a moment to appreciate the tight, perfect fit of their joining, and then he began to move, long, slow strokes. Each one punctuated by a soft, helpless moan dragged from his mouth.

  His lips stayed on hers, and his tongue mimicked the lazy thrusts of his body in hers, while his hands were fisted in her long, soft hair. Her hands were on his ass, fingers clenched in the taut flesh as she tried to pull him closer. Urging him, without words, to move faster.

  He eventually complied, plunging into her with a wildness that he found hard to temper. When she dragged her mouth away from his and whispered his name, he lost all semblance of control. His hands went to her hips as h
e reared up and slammed into her.

  He was vaguely aware of the wild, keening cry coming from her as she orgasmed. The tight convulsions of her sheath brought on his own climax, and when he came, he cried out her name.

  The strength seemed to seep out of Greyson with his climax, and he slowly sank down onto her sweaty, breathless body. He angled himself so that only his head was resting on her chest, between her breasts. And Libby knew he had to be hearing the thundering beat of her heart. She couldn’t remember ever having an orgasm that powerful before. Her body was limp, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to move again.

  The entire experience had been transcendent and so much more emotional than the sex they had had before. Greyson’s face was hidden against her chest, and his body was shuddering with what felt like sobs. He was muttering something against her skin, but she couldn’t quite hear him over the beat of her heart and her heavy breathing. One of her hands was soothingly stroking his hair, and she made a concerted effort to control her breathing so that she could hear what he was saying.

  “. . . love you. I love you. I love you so much.” It was soft but unmistakable. He was repeating the same phrases over and over again. Libby listened, her hand stilling in his hair, not quite sure if she believed it or if he was aware that he was saying them. Eventually his words started to slur, his head grew heavier, and he was asleep moments later. Leaving Libby even more uncertain about what her next move should be.

  They made love twice more before Clara woke up, but Greyson never repeated the phrase. They didn’t speak about what the intimacy meant for their relationship, if it changed anything or where they would go from here. They just enjoyed each other’s bodies, and after Libby fed Clara, Greyson kissed them both and went home.

  It was confusing, and Libby hated not knowing what came next. She was terrified of getting hurt again. He had said he loved her, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Or even if she believed it.

  She barely slept that night, and by the following morning she had made an important decision. After the staff meeting she went straight to Tina’s office. Her friend had been very quiet and withdrawn over the last month. She had confided in Libby that she wasn’t happy with Harris’s decision to call things off between them. It was clear that the woman was pining for Harris, and judging from Harris’s messages, he missed Tina too. The two were obviously in love, and Libby wished she could help them both recognize how right they were for each other.

  But sometimes, the past loomed too large to be overlooked. She knew that better than anybody else.

  “What’s up, Libby? You okay?” Tina asked, her concerned eyes giving Libby a once-over.

  “I’m hoping you could give me a week or so off. I’ll prep Agnes and the rest of the kitchen staff to handle things in my absence.” She knew she was being a coward, running away at a time when she should stay and try to figure out, for all their sakes, what the hell was happening between her and Greyson, but she was so damned exhausted. She just wanted to switch her brain off for a while and not think about it.

  “That’s fine, Libby. I know things will be handled competently while you’re away. I’m more concerned about you. Where are you going?”

  Libby gulped, drawing in a shallow breath before exhaling on a soft gasp and burying her face in her hands. She wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing, but she needed to think, and she couldn’t do that with Greyson always around. She couldn’t trust her judgment where he was concerned.

  She felt Tina’s arm encircle her shoulders in a comforting hug. The other woman led her to the sofa and sat down beside her, bringing Libby’s head to her shoulder. The unquestioning support set the waterworks in motion, and Libby found herself in floods of tears as she accepted her friend’s consolation.

  In the months since she had left Greyson, she had stayed strong, for Clara, for herself. The tears she had shed had been private and rushed. And they had been rare. And when she had found herself overwhelmed or frightened or lonely, when tears had been inevitable, she had allowed herself very brief moments of cathartic crying bouts. This was the first time she’d allowed herself to break. And she had needed it. Desperately.

  When she finally managed to bring herself under control, she lifted her head and patted her cheeks self-consciously. But Tina wasn’t judging her. The other woman handed her a box of tissues and gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I just need a break. I thought I’d take Clara to visit my parents and the Chapmans. I came here to get away from him, but he’s just always around. And I’ve made stupid mistakes. I’ve allowed . . . things to happen.” She blushed, thinking about last night. She wasn’t sure if that could be counted as a mistake, but that was the very reason she needed to get away. She needed some clarity. “And I can’t refuse to let him see Clara; he adores her. But it’s not just Clara he wants to see. And I can’t . . . I can’t let him into my heart again.”

  Except . . . he was already in her heart. He had always been there, and she suspected that that was where he would stay. Probably forever.

  “Has he spoken about what he wants?”

  Libby blew her nose and shook her head, conflicted and confused. He had never made any secret of wanting her back, but Libby wasn’t sure she was ready for that. If she would ever be ready for that, after everything that had happened. Their new reality made that almost impossible.

  After last night, neither of them had discussed an alternate version of their previous relationship. And that confused her. She should know, she should have an inkling of what she wanted and needed from him. She hated not knowing what her next move would be. The divorce had been a certainty, but she had kept making excuses not to sign those papers. Had shoved them out of sight and out of mind. And then last night had happened, and now she had no idea what she wanted.

  Forgiving him was one thing. Taking him back, giving their marriage another shot, was something else entirely.

  “You know that man, he’s a frickin’ closed book. Who the hell knows what’s going on in that head of his?” Okay, maybe she was being unfair, given all his recent revelations, but she wasn’t quite prepared to go into all of that with Tina right now. “I know he loves Clara, I know he wants me, but that’s the extent of it. I’m not settling again, Tina. Never again. Why can’t relationships and men and . . . I don’t know . . . life be uncomplicated? Why does it all have to hurt so much?”

  She thought about the words he had said immediately after sex last night. She still wasn’t sure if he was aware that he’d said them. And how could she trust that he had meant them? It just seemed so ridiculously far fetched that Greyson would now claim to love her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What do you mean?” Greyson asked Olivia that evening after he walked her and Clara into her house.

  He wasn’t sure he correctly comprehended the meaning of the statement she had just made. They had had a phenomenal twenty-four hours. Yesterday and last night had felt like a real turning point in their relationship. He hadn’t had much chance to speak with her today, but when she had invited him in now, he’d had high hopes for a repeat of what had happened between them last night.

  Instead she had turned to him after they had entered the house and told him she was leaving.

  “Leaving to go where?” he asked.

  “I’m going to visit my parents for a few days. I wanted them to spend some time with Clara.”

  “Why now?” he asked bluntly, and her eyes clouded.

  “Greyson, things are complicated right now. What happened yesterday . . .”

  “Do you regret it?” he asked, certain that he knew what her response would be. And dreading the confirmation of his worst fears.

  “No.”

  The single-word response—the complete opposite of what he had expected to hear—stunned him. And he reeled for a moment as he stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t regre
t it. Not at all. And that confuses me. I need to think, Greyson. And I don’t believe I can make sound decisions with you around to cloud my judgment.”

  “Olivia.”

  “I have to do this, Greyson. For all our sakes.”

  He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the prickling sensation behind his eyes. The thought of her leaving absolutely terrified him. It felt like the progress he had been making with her, and with Clara, would be lost once she left. He couldn’t lose them again. It would kill him this time. He was certain of that.

  “When are you thinking of going?” His voice was embarrassingly hoarse, and he cleared his throat self-consciously.

  “Tomorrow. I was going to make an online booking tonight.”

  “Don’t. I can arrange for the chopper to pick you up.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Greyson. It’s an incredible waste of resources just for us.”

  “It’s safer, faster, and more convenient. It would be better for Clara.”

  “Greyson . . .”

  “She’s my daughter, Olivia. You’re my . . .” He paused, reluctant to even think the word ex-wife. “You’re her mother. Please let me do this for you.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “I’ll drive you two to the airport.”

  She nodded, and he was surprised by how acquiescent she was being. Usually she would argue about every little detail, and he wondered why she was being so agreeable. He wasn’t sure if this compliance was a good thing, or if she was just throwing him a bone before finally yanking that rug out from beneath him.

  He didn’t think she had it in her to be that unkind. But despite what she had said about forgiving him . . . the thought of how cruel he had once been to her still loomed large in his head. He found it difficult to imagine her forgiving him for that. Perhaps because he still had such a hard time forgiving himself for it.