by Kim Loraine
By the time dinner was ready, the house was full of the warm aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread. She’d opened a bottle of wine, lit some candles, and stood at the kitchen counter—waiting. Nerves spun in her belly, a tumble of anticipation. Minutes ticked by and six o’clock passed. With each second that followed, her disappointment grew heavier in her gut.
He wasn’t coming.
Pouring herself a generous helping of wine, she forced back the tears in her eyes and took a deep gulp.
Then there it was.
Three sharp raps on the front door.
Taking a deep breath, she set her glass on the counter and straightened her teal pencil-skirt before walking to answer.
As she opened the door, her stomach flipped at the sight of him. His too long hair was combed and slicked back, putting those rugged features in sharp relief. Good, God. He seemed to get more handsome every time she saw him.
“Sweetheart.”
Her smile couldn’t be contained, even though she’d been trying to keep her cool. “Hot shot. You’re ten minutes late.” Stepping back before he could pull her to him, she gestured for him to enter. “You have a key.”
He shrugged. “I can’t use it if I don’t live here.”
Shit. He was right. They seemed precariously balanced on the knife’s edge of divorce and reconciliation. She needed to remember that. They’d both hurt each other—badly. Her by kicking him out, and him . . . where did she even begin?
His fingers trailed across the bare skin of her arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. I just meant it didn’t feel right. I’ve got to earn my place back in your heart.”
Again, her stomach flipped. He’d never left but she couldn’t tell him that. He’d just broken her.
Clearing her throat, she sidestepped him and focused on getting dinner on the table. “Dinner’s ready. I hope you’re hungry.”
As she grabbed the salad bowl she felt the warmth of his big body next to hers, gathering the entree without prompting.
“Chicken parm?” he asked, amusement in his tone.
“I know it’s your favorite.”
“Thanks.”
God, this was awkward. She didn’t know how to go backward with him. He settled the serving dish in the center of the table while she placed their salad and garlic bread on either side, and they sat. Heavy silence fell between them.
Clearing his throat, he took a long drink of water and offered a weak smile. “Looks great.”
“Go ahead.” She held out the serving fork, not knowing how to move past the uncomfortable, stilted conversation.
His green eyes latched on to hers as he took the offered utensil, the brush of his fingertips sending a spark through her. To her surprise, he filled her plate with the sauce-covered chicken, followed by salad, and without asking, he replenished her wine before serving himself.
They ate in silence, casting tense glances at each other to the soundtrack of their forks and knives clinking on plates.
“This is awkward as fuck, sweetheart.”
Her cheeks heated as he echoed exactly what was on her mind.
A nervous laugh escaped her. “It really is.”
“How was the rest of your day?”
“Honestly? I was distracted . . . thinking of tonight.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Oh?”
She couldn’t help her giggle. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“You’re turning up the smolder. I can see it on your face.”
Sitting back, he put both hands up and feigned innocence. “I’m sorry, this is just the face God gave me. I can’t help it if I’m sexy as fuck.”
“Clearly, your confidence hasn’t been diminished.”
Those sparkling eyes dimmed just enough for her to know she’d hit a nerve. He quieted and focused on his food, taking careful bites as he polished off his serving. Pushing back the chair, he cleared his place and headed into the kitchen.
The rush of water from the sink followed by the familiar clink of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher left her feeling at ease. These small sounds helped bring everything on the path toward normal. Standing, she carried her own plate to the sink. They stood beside each other, her rinsing her dish, him scrubbing the pots and pans—a dish towel tossed carelessly over one shoulder. Comfortable. Easy. Right.
“Sweetheart, I think your plate is clean.” The rumble of his voice jolted her out of her swirling thoughts.
Looking down at her hands, she saw he was right. The plate was spotless. Placing it in the dishwasher, she dried her hands and walked away. Halfway out of the kitchen she stopped, turned, and walked straight up to him, pressing herself against his back and hugging his waist.
He stiffened in her embrace, the muscles in his shoulders tightening.
“Valer—”
“I think you should move back home.”
Chapter 11
Donovan’s heart thudded in his chest. Had he heard Valerie right? Come home. Home—with her. Turning to face her, he schooled his expression to one of cautious optimism. He was all raw nerves and vulnerability on the inside. She’d destroyed him over the last few months, but now wasn’t the time to let her see.
He had to clear his throat to get a response out. “Are you serious?”
“You either need to come home so we can give this another shot, or . . .” Her lower lip trembled as she flicked her gaze away and tugged at the hem of her shirt. “I mean, what are we doing? You’re bouncing from place to place. Living at the station, and now with Alex.” She took a deep breath and the rest flowed out in a rush. “You hurt me, so badly with some of the things you said after I asked you to leave. But then, you start being so . . . sweet. And I see the man I fell for. He’s right here, waiting for me to grab on to. I know you were grieving just as much as I was. I realize that now. I forgive you. And I hope you can forgive me. But Donovan, we can’t stay like this.”
His heart lurched at her words. Forgive her? For what? She hadn’t truly done a damn thing aside from needing space to deal with the loss they’d experienced. He was lucky she hadn’t divorced his ass already. But to move home just like that? Fuck. He didn’t know what to do. Hell, he knew what he needed. Close the gap between them and crush her to him, promise her he’d never hurt her again. But he could see the distance in her eyes. She wanted this—wanted him—but the reality of their situation was that he’d done too much damage with his harsh words in the heat of the moment.
Cupping her face in his hands, he fought through the ache in his chest. “If you really want me to, I’ll come home tonight.”
She smiled a real, honest smile. “I do.”
“But I’m not sure we should rush this, sweetheart. I fucked up, beyond belief. You might have forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself. I said things . . .” he had to swallow past the lump in his throat before he could continue. “Things you never deserved to hear. Shit I didn’t even mean.”
“Donovan,” she started.
“No. I meant it when I said I had to earn back my place in your heart. I can see the hesitance in your eyes. You’re not ready for us to jump back in without a lifejacket to keep us from drowning. I’ll come home, but I think we need to move slow. I’ll stay in the guest room.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she contemplated his proposition. After what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. “Okay.”
With a sigh, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room only to return a moment later with both of their full wine glasses. Handing his to him, she held hers high and clinked the rim to his.
“To new beginnings.”
His heart swelled. This is what they needed. “To us, sweetheart.”
Her lips turned up in a soft smile as she brought the glass to her mouth and took a s
ip. But then her brows furrowed and she gestured to him. “You’re not drinking.”
Shaking his head, he set his glass on the counter. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since that day on the beach. “Someone once told me it made me an asshole.”
“Dick.”
Raising his eyebrows, he fought the grin trying to spread across his face. “What?”
“I said it made you a dick.”
A laugh escaped him at the matter-of-fact way she corrected him. Grabbing himself a glass of water, he raised the cup to his lips. “There. Cheers.”
“Okay, you’d better get going.”
He coughed on his water. “What?”
“I’m sure Alex can’t wait to get you out of his hair. Go get your stuff.”
Excitement rushed through his body. This was really happening. For the first time since she’d lost the baby, they had a real chance for a fresh start.
~ ~ ~
The next morning Valerie was up before sunrise, donning her yoga pants and long-sleeved shirt over a tank top. As she stepped outside she sighed. The mid-November weather had finally given up the last dregs of warmth and was now on the cusp of biting cold. That meant no more sunrise class on the beach. She mourned the days of a hot yoga class that she hadn’t experienced in months because of the unusually warm fall. Sure, they could have chosen to stay in and sweat out all of their toxins, but the class as a whole opted for sunshine and fresh air whenever possible.
Driving the short distance, she thought back fondly to the first and only yoga class Donovan had ever attended with her. She laughed out loud in the empty car as memories of him limping to his jeep and trying desperately to appear strong and uninjured after pulling a groin muscle. That had been the moment her heart had melted. She may have given him a run for his money, but deep down she knew right then and there that he was one of the good ones.
Loving Donovan Miller was easy. Recovering from him would be impossible.
That had only been further cemented when she’d peeked into the guest bedroom to see him this morning. Her heart had lurched. One glance at him, splayed across the bed, one bare leg hanging off the mattress and an arm over his eyes, and she knew she’d never have been able to go through with a divorce. There would be no recovery for her, because she wasn’t going to lose him.
She shivered as she walked across the parking lot to the yoga studio only to be brought up short when she noticed the darkened windows and sign taped to the door. Shit. She’d completely forgotten Phoenix had gone out of town for the last half of November. Now she was freezing, sleepy, and wishing she was still in her warm bed.
By the time she got home the rich aroma of coffee and bacon hit her as soon as she opened the door. Her mouth ran dry at the sight of her husband, clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs, standing at the stovetop.
“You know, it’s dangerous to cook naked.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder and winked. “I’m not naked.”
Smirking, she dropped her purse on the table next to the door and shrugged out of her coat. “You might as well be.”
“You’ve never complained before.”
“I thought we were taking this slow. Roommates don’t walk around in their underwear.” She really didn’t mind, but he needed to feel like he was redeeming himself, and she wanted to let him.
“In my defense, I thought you’d be gone a lot longer.” Switching off the burner, he slid two eggs onto a plate of toast and bacon. “Hungry?” He placed the dish at her spot at the table before walking back to his room.
Her whole body tingled as he walked away from her. His amazingly toned ass was one of her favorite parts of his anatomy. His chuckle brought her back to reality as he wandered into his room. Shaking her head, she sighed. Coffee. She needed coffee before anything else if she was going to think clearly around this man.
She turned on the burner and cracked two eggs into the still warm pan while trying to take control of her libido. But the warmth of his large hand sliding around her shoulder sent her spinning.
“You look cold,” he murmured as he pulled her against his body in a slight embrace.
He’d put on a pair of gray sweatpants and his GBFD t-shirt. God, she loved the look of him.
“It’s freezing outside.”
She flipped the eggs while he prepared another plate, and in minutes they were seated and sharing breakfast.
“What happened to yoga this morning, sweetheart?”
Shrugging, she flipped her ponytail over one shoulder and added more cream to her coffee. “Phoenix went to visit his family for Thanksgiving.”
“Phoenix?”
“The instructor. You know, the guy who owns the place?”
“That’s his name?”
She nodded, bringing the mug to her lips and taking a sip. The hot liquid warmed her belly, making her sigh with happiness. “Yup. You’ve known him for years now, hotshot.”
Rolling his eyes, he laughed. “I went once. To get you. I blocked yoga out after that.”
“I was just thinking of that day. You weren’t very successful, were you?”
A roguish smile turned up his lips. “Oh, I think I was. You married me, didn’t you?”
“I guess I did.” She smiled into her cup. “You win.”
His hand slid across the table, linking their fingers as he toyed with her wedding ring. “It’s not a competition. I’m such a lucky fucking bastard.”
The heat in his gaze sent fire racing through her. It was obvious he wanted her. Licking her lips, she moved to stand, needing his lips, hands, tongue—needing him.
As soon as she broke eye contact he was up and moving away, down the hall, and into his room. He was keeping his distance, exercising a level of self-control she hadn’t seen from him before.
She waited for five breaths and then followed, needing something more than that tense gaze. Knocking on the door, she pushed slowly inside. He stood at the window, hands in the pockets of his pants.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I just needed . . .”
She stopped him by taking his hand and bringing it to her lips. He shuddered at the contact.
“You said slow, hotshot. It’s still okay to want me.” Her fingers trailed up his arm. “I want you.”
He let out a harsh breath and shoved his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head. When his lips crashed down on hers, every part of her screamed to wrap herself around him, melt into his kiss, and let him take her to bed. Through barely opened eyelids, she saw the furrow of his brow as he seemed to try resisting. The groan that escaped his throat sent a rush of arousal straight to her core, and the answering tremble in his body echoed the need in her own. But he didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead, with shaking hands he broke away, stepping back and breathing heavily.
“Damn, I’d almost forgotten what you taste like.” His voice was a tight growl of desire.
“You can have more.” She stepped forward, noting the hard bulge in his sweatpants. “You obviously want it.”
Shaking his head, he let out a chuckle. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
“I’m not trying to.”
The smile on his face sent a thrill through her. He raked a hand through his hair and sat on the bed. “I’m trying to take my time. Ease back into our life together, and you just want to come barreling back in like a bull in a fucking china shop. You’re usually the careful one.”
Cocking one hand on her hip, she laughed. “Can we at least make out? I promise, I won’t let you get past second base.”
“Over the clothes or under?” He arched his eyebrow and brought his gaze to hers.
She leaned down, bringing her lips to his ear and whispered, “I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 12
“
So you two are . . . living together, but not having sex?” Lena pushed her food around on her plate. The look she sent Valerie made her cringe.
They sat at the dining table in Michael and Lena’s home. What was once sparsely decorated and a clear bachelor pad, had become dominated by female influence and baby stuff. Lots of baby stuff.
“I think he’s got the right idea. We fell completely apart. Clearly our relationship wasn’t as strong as either of us thought.”
Pursing her lips, Lena nodded. “You might be right.” She speared a slice of cucumber and popped it into her mouth.
“Anyway, I think it’s helping. I want him, but that’s not new. I’m not as comfortable around him as before. It’s like we’re getting to know each other again.”
“You’re dating.”
Shaking her head, Valerie laughed. “Not really.”
“Yeah, you totally are.”
“He’s only been home a few days.”
“Did you brush your hair and teeth before you saw him this morning?”
A hot blush crept up her cheeks. “Maybe.”
“Dating.”
“Do you think he knows that?”
Lena shrugged before pushing her plate away and checking her phone. “He’s a guy. He probably has no fucking clue what he’s doing. Although . . . he’s the one who’s not putting out. Maybe he’s a genius.” She sat back in her chair and laughed to herself. “Huh, imagine that, Donovan Miller might be smart after all.”
Valerie wadded up her napkin and tossed it at her friend. “Hey, Donovan is smart. And caring, and kind. He’s wonderful, actually.”
“Hmm, must be why you married him.” Lena smirked.
“So, where’s Michael today?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Yeah, so?”