She wanted to throw herself at him, wrap her arms tight around him, kiss him and kiss him. Hold him forever. Tell him how very much she’d missed him, promise him her love and her undying devotion. Swear to him that now he’d come to get her at last, she would never, ever let him go.
But had he come to work things out?
Or to tell her it was over?
Oh, Lord. Why didn’t he say something?
Why didn’t she say something?
A terrible shyness had overtaken her. So many of those passionate things she yearned to tell him. But somehow, her throat had locked up tight and her lips had got to trembling—all of her was trembling. She could only wrap her arms around herself, only swallow and shiver and stare.
They stood there in the near-freezing middle of the night, in the open doorway, just looking at each other.
He was the one who finally spoke. “I know it’s late. I guess I should have called and warned you I was coming, but…” The sentence wandered off. He showed no inclination to finish it. “You’re shaking…” He reached for her.
She lifted on tiptoe and swayed longingly toward him.
But the contact didn’t quite happen. His hand dropped to his side at the same time as she caught herself and drew back, settling onto her heels again with a sad little sigh.
They stared at each other. She felt absolutely miserable. Judging by his bleak expression, he did, too.
He asked, “Are you all right?”
Somehow, she managed to croak, “Yes…No…Oh, God. I don’t know….”
“Is it okay if I come in?”
She swallowed again, and bobbed her head. “Yes. How silly. Of course you should come in.” Somehow she made her shaking legs move, stepping back enough to clear the doorway.
He entered.
She shut the door, turned the lock. “Your jacket…”
He handed it over. She hung it in the closet.
And another unbearable silence ensued, a silence thick with all the things neither of them seemed to know how to say.
She had the strangest sense that they were making a kind of progress toward something monumental, and they were doing this in tiny steps, by slow, agonized degrees.
“Uh, how’s Tanner?” he asked.
“Better every day. Still on crutches, and griping about it constantly. But he should be good as new within the next few weeks….”
“Your sister? And DeDe?”
“Fine. Both of them. Just…fine.”
“Well. Good. That’s real good.”
Another silence. More staring.
“Coffee,” she said finally, sounding downright desperate. “Would you—?”
“I’d love some.” He looked relieved. “Yes.”
She turned toward the kitchen area—and then stopped herself. “Wait.”
“What?” Dark brows drew together.
“Jenny. You’ll want to see Jenny….”
“I do. Very much. But isn’t she sleeping?”
“God. I hope so.”
Did he almost smile? It seemed he did. And then he suggested, “Maybe if we went in quietly…”
“Yes. Quietly. Good idea.”
“I’ll take off my shoes, why don’t I?”
“Please.”
He sat in the straight chair by the door, and removed his handmade Italian boots, setting them neatly out of the way. When he rose again, he waited for her to lead him down the hall.
In Jenny’s darkened room, Hayley stood back by the rocker as he stepped up to the crib. Through the shadows, she watched him. He grasped the crib rail lightly. His head was tipped slightly down.
Jenny made a sound in her sleep, as if she were dreaming. And then she sighed.
It seemed to Hayley that Marcus smiled, but it was hard to tell for sure in the wedge of light that bled in through the half-open door to the hallway.
Finally, he turned to her. He lifted a hand and gestured toward the door. She followed him out, quietly pulling the door shut behind her.
They didn’t speak until they reached the kitchen.
“She’s bigger.” He seemed surprised.
She shrugged. “Babies grow fast. And it’s been weeks.”
“Four weeks,” he said.
She glanced at the clock. It was five past midnight. “And three days,” she added. “As of five minutes ago.”
“Too long,” he said. His eyes were the deepest green right then. There was no mistaking the meaning of that look.
Relief, warm and sweet, went flooding through her.
He hadn’t come to end it.
This was not goodbye.
But still, as swiftly as relief came over her, it fled. Could she have misread that look, after all?
She loved him so. And she wanted it to work out between them. That made her prone to read more into a tender expression than might actually be there.
It was altogether possible that he only meant he missed his daughter, that he hadn’t been referring to her, to Hayley, at all.
Coffee. She’d offered him coffee. He lingered at the end of the counter as she got down the coffee beans and measured them into the grinder. The grinding sounded impossibly loud, and the silence when she finished, profound.
She poured the fresh grounds into the brew basket, filled the water reservoir, set the carafe in place and pushed the button, achingly aware as she performed each familiar movement, that he watched her.
Staring at the red brew light as the machine began to sputter, she cleared her tight throat and suggested, “We could sit. Until it’s ready.”
Neither of them moved.
She slanted him a glance. Yep. Watching.
He spoke at last. “You look good.”
A short burst of laughter escaped her. “Oh, yeah. Fresh out of bed in my old robe and fuzzy slippers with my hair all over the place.”
“That’s right. You look beautiful.” His voice was low, with a certain roughness in it now.
A tempting roughness.
He took a step toward her along the counter. Her body tightened. She made herself turn to face him fully, lifting her chin, letting the light of challenge gleam in her eyes. Her breath snagged in her throat as he stole another silent step.
Oh, yes. She was really starting to believe now.
This was not a man who’d come to say goodbye.
And oh, it had been forever. A lifetime, since she’d felt his hands, hungry and seeking, on her eager flesh.
They had so much to say to each other.
And yet, in that moment, she didn’t give a damn for the words. She wanted the contact. Needed it. Craved it.
She wanted him, wanted Marcus. Touch to touch. Skin on skin.
Silent and sure on stocking feet, he approached. It was only a matter of two more steps and he was there, right in front of her.
The scent of him, so tempting and so well remembered, taunted her. He lifted a hand and touched her hair.
“God,” he said. “Hayley…” Those green eyes scanned her face, hungry. Seeking.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, Marcus. Yes…”
“Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever touch you again….”
All she could manage was another yearning, breathless “Yes!”
He eased his fingers under her hair, curving them around her nape, brushing the tiny hairs there, sending hot shivers shimmering upward, over her scalp.
It was too much, the feel of his hand on her, at last. Too much—and never enough.
She surged up, pressed her mouth to his, parting her lips so she could taste him, lick him. He opened on a groan. She speared her tongue inside, tasting the sweetness, the heat, the wonder.
Feeding the fire.
His fingers slid boldly down the front of her, skimming her right breast, teasing the nipple to hardness. But only in passing.
His goal was the sash of her robe. He found it, grasped it and tugged. The sash came undone. She felt the front of the robe fall open.
She mo
aned as he followed her tongue back into her mouth. He sucked, sweet little tugs that beckoned, that teased, that set her aflame. He caught her top lip and drew on it, tongue sliding along the inner surface, thrilling her with its wet, rough glide. He guided her lower lip into position, and then he sucked it, too.
He pushed the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the floor with a tender little plopping sound. Under it, she had on her favorite old button-front nightshirt. And under that…
Nothing.
Except for his warm, big hand which immediately curved around the front of her right thigh, high up, beneath her frayed flannelette hem. His fingers dug in, so that she moaned and let her head drop back, losing the glorious wonder of his kiss.
“Closer,” he muttered. “Closer to me…”
His free arm snaked around her and he pulled her body up against him, lifting her toes right off the floor. Her slippers slid off, one and then the other.
Bending her back, he nipped tender kisses, from the hollow of her throat, up along her neck and over her chin. Then, at last, he took her mouth again, while the hand that cupped her thigh moved higher.
And higher still….
He curled those clever fingers around to the back, up high and tight, his index finger just brushing the moist curls that covered her sex.
She quivered in longing and anticipation, couldn’t wait to drag him into the bedroom, whip out the protection her doctor had so thoughtfully provided, and take him deep inside her.
She clasped his shoulders, wiggling until he let her back down on her feet again, then trying to guide him backward, making hungry little moaning sounds, urging him to move.
He caught her lower lip between his teeth again. She whimpered some more.
He muttered, his voice rough velvet, “Uh-uh. Going nowhere. Not yet…”
He explored her, caressing fingers trailing upward, over the curve of her hip. She moaned into his mouth. He gave a low growl in response and clasped her waist, only to slip his hand fully between them and lay it, palm flat, on her belly, where she had held their child.
Below, she was melting, yearning, dying for more. For him never, ever to stop holding her, touching her, kissing her in that thorough, deep, overwhelming way.
She lifted her hips, ground them against him, felt the hard ridge that said how much he wanted her.
It was far too tempting, that ridge. She slipped her hand between them and eased it under his sweater. Grabbing his belt, she unhooked it in quick, eager moves. She had that buckle undone in no time and she slithered the belt off and away. The clasp made a sharp clinking sound as it hit the tile floor.
She undid the button at the top of his jeans. He helped her then, taking one side of the placket as she grabbed the other.
Together, they yanked that zipper wide. He groaned and worked his hips against her, wrapping his strong fingers around her wrist, guiding her hand where he wanted it, flat on his hard belly and then under the elastic of his boxers.
She found him, at last, so hot and hard and ready.
She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked him and he muttered her name against her parted lips, pleading in ragged whispers, “Yeah, like that. Hayley, oh, yeah…”
But then he stopped her, grabbing her wrist again, tighter than before, groaning low in his throat, pleading with her wordlessly.
She gave in and followed his lead. She knew him so well, after all. She understood that he wasn’t ready yet, to let her have that much control over him, to let her take him all the way before he’d done as much for her.
She smiled a knowing smile against his mouth. “Too proud…”
“Uh-uh. Too eager. To touch you. To feel you come…” He covered her mouth in a searing kiss.
And his hand was up under her nightshirt again, touching her, petting her, those knowing fingers easing between her wet folds. Sensations—hot, melting, streaked with light, spun out from where he touched her. They claimed her whole body.
She cried out and her knees gave way. He supported her, kept her upright with his arm wrapped tight around her.
And he played her, fingers stroking her, in a rhythm that stole her breath and sent her mind reeling. Until she shattered, moaning, spangles of light behind her eyes, shimmers of wonder bursting at the center of her, sending glittery trails of purest pleasure singing along every nerve.
“I think I just died,” she whispered, once the pleasure had crested and faded to a lovely, warm glow. She clutched his big shoulders. “Please don’t let go of me. I’ll melt into a puddle right here on the kitchen floor.”
He made a low sound of satisfaction and nuzzled her neck. “Never,” he vowed. “I’m never letting you go….”
The coffeepot gave a final sputter. “Just in time,” she told him with a breathless laugh. “Your coffee’s ready.”
He already had one hand at her back. He slipped the other under her knees and lifted her high. “It can wait.” He turned and carried her out of the kitchen, across the living room and down the hall.
In her room, he set her gently on the bed.
He tugged on the hem of her sleep shirt. “I want you naked. Get this off….”
She lifted her arms and he whipped it away.
“Beautiful,” he said, standing back a little, so he could see what he had revealed.
“Thank you.” She gave him a tender smile. “You always say that, you know?”
“Because it’s always true.”
“Did I sound like I was complaining? I wasn’t. I like it, when you call me beautiful.”
“Good.” The fly of his jeans still gaped wide. He shoved them down, his boxers with them, skimming off both socks, as well.
“The sweater,” she commanded, leaning back on her hands.
“You can be damn bossy, you know that?”
She didn’t even try to deny it. “Just take off that sweater, just do what I say.”
He took the sweater, pulled it up over his head, and tossed it somewhere behind him.
They regarded each other. She thought of how she loved this moment: the two of them, together. Naked.
It didn’t get better than this.
But then he frowned. “Damn. I’m guessing it won’t hurt you now, for us to be doing this.”
“It’s safe. I had my checkup last week.”
“But what about protection? I don’t have anything. And I have a feeling you don’t really want to get pregnant tonight.”
She already had the bedside drawer open and she held up the box of condoms. “Say thank you, Dr. Wright.”
He wasn’t frowning anymore. “A wonderful woman, that doctor of yours.”
“Yes. Skilled. And thorough. Kind to her patients.” She took out one of the pouches and set the box next to the bedside clock. “Not to mention, generous with the free samples.” She reached out her arms for him.
He came down to her. She removed the condom from the pouch and slowly rolled it over him.
They stretched out, facing each other. He touched her, his palm skimming the swell of her hip.
“Too long, since we’ve been like this…” He said it softly, almost reverently.
She caressed his shoulder, loving the feel of his smooth flesh, the hard muscle beneath. His body never failed to amaze her. He was beautifully formed. Even the thin, white scars that crisscrossed his strong back were dear to her. A mute testimony to his father’s abuse, they showed what he’d endured.
“Much too long,” she whispered. “Tell me this isn’t a dream.”
He trailed the back of his index finger downward, into the curve of her waist. “No dream. Real.” He pulled her close.
They kissed. Endlessly.
And then, at last, the moment came. He rose above her. She took him inside, wrapping her legs around him. He braced himself on his fists, sparing her his full weight as he levered his hips more tightly to hers, so she felt him even more deeply than the moment before.
Stretched in the most luxurious way, filled with
him, she looked up into his eyes. Amazing. Nothing like it, to be joined with him. To be one with him in this intimate way.
She reached up, touched his face, traced the smooth, tempting softness of his warm lips. He kissed her fingers, sucked her thumb into his mouth.
Tears welled and escaped, twin trails along her temples.
Still, she hardly dared believe this was happening—the two of them, here, in her bed.
So often she’d dreamed of this moment. She had doubted, had wondered if they would ever share this bright magic again.
He bent close, whispered her name, kissed away the tear tracks, on one side of her face and then the other.
She smiled, nodded, so he would know she was okay. So he could rise above her again, and press in so tight and dear.
He moved within her. She picked up his rhythms and gave them back to him, lifting her hips to him, meeting each thrust.
He came down upon her, his hard chest crushing her breasts. But only to wrap her close and roll, giving her the top position.
She took control. Getting her knees under her, bracketing his lean hips with her soft thighs, she rode him. Her hands on his chest, her head thrown back, she took him deep. They stilled, pressed tight together. Until, slowly, she rose up, letting him out to the tip—and then taking him in all the way again.
He grasped her hips in his hands and he helped her—to rise until she almost lost him, to sink down upon him once more…and again.
And again, after that.
The rhythm claimed them. They gave themselves over to it. Her body was his and his body, hers.
She felt the end approaching, curling up like a high wave. And then rolling down, roaring like thunder as it came crashing through her. He surged up into her, holding her so tight against him.
Silence. A glowing stillness.
“Yes,” she whispered, “Oh, yes…” The wave engulfed her, swallowed her. She went under gleefully, groaning his name.
Chapter Sixteen
From Jenny’s room, they could hear the first fussy, questioning cries.
Hayley groaned and rubbed her cheek against the crisp dark hair on Marcus’s chest. “Oh, no…”
He chuckled and the sound echoed pleasantly beneath her ear. He had his arms wrapped around her, secure and tight. “Hey. Her timing could have been worse.”
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