“I know you can’t,” she said. Her fingers brushed lightly over his tensed knuckles. “You loved Susan. Didn’t you?”
He heard the hesitance in her voice, but he couldn’t lie, not even to spare her feelings. “Yes.”
“You were lucky.”
“Not so lucky,” he grumbled.
“Luckier than a lot of people.”
“I guess so.”
“When she…died,” she began in a soft, throaty voice, “what did you do?”
“Do?”
“Yeah. What was the first decision you made without her?”
Gravel clogged his throat. He stared blindly at the crumbs surrounding his untouched cake. “I got outta bed.”
She grasped his hand, soft skin gliding over his. His fingers began to unfurl from the fist he hadn’t realized he’d made. “Good choice.”
Bram looked up, meeting her steady gaze. “Was it?”
“I’m glad you did.”
He nodded, absorbing the simple truth in her words. Silence hummed low and comfortable between them. “What did you do?” he asked at last.
A smile crept onto her features. “A couple of months before he left, Richard gave me a car for my birthday.”
“Nice.”
“I hated that car.”
“Why?”
“It was an old lady car.”
“It was a new car,” he muttered, fixing her with an incredulous stare.
“It wasn’t about the car,” she snapped. “Don’t you get it? That’s how he saw me.” She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Staid, boring, old. The day after he told me he wanted a divorce, I traded it in for the car I have now. I figured if he could trade me in for something that suited him, I could trade the stupid car for something more my style.”
His lips twitched. “Were you planning on taking your fancy SUV off-road?”
She gestured to the window. “Already have.” Lynne’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but when she pulled her hand away to nudge his plate closer, he didn’t stop her. “Eat your cake.”
Ignoring his spoon, the strawberries, and even the can of whipped cream, he broke off a hunk of cake and popped the bite into his mouth. Instead of melting on his tongue, it disintegrated, coating his mouth with dry, powdery crumbs.
Sadly, he wasn’t fast enough at hiding his grimace, and he couldn’t work up enough moisture to force the morsel down his throat.
Lynne’s eyes widened then narrowed in confusion. “Bad?”
He shook his head, afraid to speak for fear he’d spew crumbs in her face. His teeth and tongue worked furiously. He swallowed as hard as he could, forcing the cake down his parched throat. “It’s good.” He punctuated his statement with a dry cough.
She glared at the traitorous cake. “I don’t understand. I followed the recipe Anna gave me.”
She pinched a piece from the slice on his plate. The minute the cake touched her tongue, her eyes widened in shock. She grabbed her neatly folded napkin and promptly spit the crumbs out. “What did I do wrong?”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly.
“It’s vile.”
Bram chuckled, grabbing her wrist as she shot from her chair. “Don’t.”
“But I followed the recipe. You liked her cake.”
He gave her wrist a tug and scooted his chair from the table, urging her down into his lap. When she relented, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her back, unable to stop the rolls of laughter rumbling from his belly.
“Stop laughing at me,” she hissed, struggling against his restraint.
The laugh slowed to a chortle, and he tightened his hold on her. “Better stop wiggling,” he warned.
“I would’ve been better off having you bring that store-bought cake from your house.”
He grinned once he caught sight of the pout swelling her lower lip. “I tossed it.”
“You tossed a whole cake?”
“Tried a piece last night after I got home. Tasted like yours,” he said, nodding to the plate.
She twisted around to peer at him. “But the pot roast was good, right?”
“Better than good.”
“You’re not lying?” When he shook his head, she huffed. “Well, at least you liked dinner.”
Bram lifted one hand to smooth her hair back from her face. “I like you.”
Her face softened. “You do?”
He plucked a plump slice of fruit from the bowl, looking up at her through his lashes while he offered the berry to her. Her lips parted. He caught a flash of pink tongue as she accepted the morsel, and his breath hitched. He watched her chew, mesmerized by the play of her full, moist lips. “I like you an awful lot.”
“I like you an awful lot, too.”
He threaded his hand into her hair and pulled her down. Her tempting mouth hovered millimeters from his. “I’m awful happy to hear that,” he murmured and closed the distance between them.
****
Location, location, location.
Never in the history of the world has a man ever been more obsessed with location. She tried to glare at him, but the sight of the bare strip of skin above his waistband proved too alluring. Bram jerked his polo shirt down, smoothing his hand over the wrinkles she’d made when she pulled the tails free and bunched the fabric up over his stomach.
So what if the ends of my hair are in the bowl of strawberries?
He offered his hand, and for one mutinous moment, she considered scrambling off the table without his gallant assistance. The can of whipped cream fell to the floor with a clank, and she tamped down her impatience. His fingers closed around hers. She gained her feet and kept going, using the momentum to pull him along behind her.
She was halfway through the living room before she realized he put up no resistance. A smile twitched her lips. The bedroom door stood wide open, and she paused on the threshold.
“Better?” she asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.
“Much.”
He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her so her toes barely skimmed the floor. A giggle sprang loose as he started toward the bed. She clung to his broad shoulders, winding her legs around his. They fell onto the faded quilt in a tangle of limbs and a tumble of laughter.
His mouth found hers again. He swallowed her mirth and gave her a healthy dose of ardor in return. She reclaimed the warm, satin-smooth skin of his back. The buttons on her top strained as she arched into the hand cupping her breast. His tongue was wet velvet, and the rough tips of his fingers made her itch. Every delicious inch of his hard body pressed into hers. She stretched like a cat, rubbing sinuously against him. He whispered her name in a voice drenched in awe and thick with need.
She trailed her nails down the length of his spine, pressing the flat of her hand to the taut, rounded mound of his ass. His head jerked back as she grasped him with both hands, pulling him to her and rising to meet the hard ridge beneath his fly. He kissed her thoroughly then pulled back, staring down at her with a deceptively sleepy gaze.
Her trembling fingers put the first of the buttons on her blouse out of its misery. He glanced down, inhaling sharply as the next gave way too. “Stop pushing me away,” she whispered. Emboldened by the hot, hungry flash of fire in his eyes, she smiled. “I want you naked in my bed, Bram Hatchett.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Fourteen
Smooth, silky skin slipped against his. Wispy tendrils of tangled waves tickled his cheek and chin. Tiny puffs of air stirred the hair on his chest. Bram could have cataloged every infinitesimal movement. How could I have forgotten this? Did it feel this good before? A sharp stab of guilt knifed in his gut. He stared at the ceiling unblinking, absorbing the twisting pain he deserved. Oh, Suse, I’m sorry. It did. I know it did.
Memories, thick and cloying, engulfed him. Susan was so tiny—wasted and ravaged, worn down by the fight she knew was over long before he did. She nestled against him
, just as she had for nearly a quarter century, her cool skin stealing his body heat. Her palm absorbed the beat of his heart. “I don’t want you to be alone,” she’d whispered.
The steel that lined her voice made him ache. Vertebrae strained cool, paper-thin skin. He traced each knob, counting them in his head. “Shh.”
“Bram.” She groaned in a combination of pain and frustration and rolled onto her back.
He turned toward her, drawn by the string she’d tied around his heart when she’d swiped his pencil box in the third grade and colored her name in red crayon. “Suse, I think we should try that place in Houston.”
“No.”
“You heard Doctor Norton. They’re trying new treatments every day.”
She pinned him with a glare. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Then we’ll try something new, dammit.”
Susan gave him the same enigmatic smile she used the night of their Junior Prom—the first time he proposed. “We’ll see.”
He propped his head on his elbow, staring straight into her wide gray eyes. “I’ll call Doc Norton tomorrow and tell him to set up the referral.”
“Okay.”
She closed her eyes, a serene smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Her breathing grew soft and shallow. The fist balled against her stomach grew lax, her slender fingers unfurling as she welcomed the respite of sleep. He rolled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling for a good long while.
When he finally closed his eyes, Susie whispered, “Promise me something.”
“Anything,” he answered without a moment of hesitation.
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
Bram’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t open his eyes. He knew if he did, he’d give in to whatever she was asking. “I won’t be. I’ve got Abe and Willie, and I’ve got you.”
“Ass,” Susan retorted with a whispery chuckle.
He rolled onto his side, curving the bulk of his body around hers like a shield. “Mule.”
The clinical trial Susan started that week shone a ray of hope on a bleak prognosis. Unfortunately, she suffered a massive cardiac arrest just ten days into the radical new treatment.
We were good. We were so good together, Suse….
Truth. And for the longest time, it seemed like nothing would ever be good again. Her death extinguished the light in his life. And then he met a fancy-pants city girl with a thing for livestock and strange notions about coffee.
Lynne shifted and snuffled in her sleep, bringing him back to the present with a jolt. His fingers traced the graceful line of her spine. Taut, firm muscle shifted beneath warm skin. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo, committing its coconut-laced fragrance to memory.
Her skin tastes like peaches. Her hair is like corn silk. Had Susie’s been this soft? Will she think about me when she’s back home? His brain ricocheted from the past to the present and pinged the future. Will she tell her fancy friends about the farmer in Arkansas? Will I be some kind of cocktail party joke—the hick who fixed her porch then nailed her too?
“You aren’t sleeping.”
His breath hitched in his throat. He closed his eyes and concentrated on forcing his lungs to expand and contract.
Her lips grazed his chest then trailed along his collarbone. “I can hear the wheels turning in your head. Talk to me.”
He searched for something to say. “Been a long time since I shared a bed,” he mumbled at last, hoping she’d find his excuse plausible.
Lynne shifted. “Am I crowding you?”
His arm tensed, pulling her back to him, unwilling to let her go for even a moment. This is bad. I’ve got it bad. What the hell am I going to do when she leaves? “You’re fine.”
She pushed her hair back and tipped her face up. The heat of her piercing gaze cut through the dark, prickling his skin. The rise and fall of her breasts against his chest pushed him closer to the brink. He clamped his mouth shut, afraid of what might come out.
“Tell me about her.”
He stopped breathing altogether. “What?”
“It’s okay, Bram.” She planted one hand on his chest and leveraged herself high enough to stare down at him. “Tell me about her. Tell me what made you fall in love with her.”
“She stole my pencil box,” he blurted, and then the dam burst.
Words tumbled from his lips, tripping over one another in his need to let them out. He told her everything. The corsage he’d pinned to Susan’s homecoming dress, the way her face lit up when she spotted him waiting for her at the altar, and the filthy names she called him while pushing their children into the world.
Lynne stroked his arm as he talked about Abe’s little league days and the fact that Susan was the only mother to ever be officially ejected from the rickety old bleachers. She giggled into his neck when he confessed his anger and embarrassment upon discovering he had no cash to pay for the milk Susan asked him to pick up because she had swiped the last five dollars from his wallet. He also admitted his stunned amusement after he learned the money was used to pay for tickets to a ballet performance staged in his own living room by a six-year-old wearing a lacy slip for a tutu.
If he thought about what he was saying, guilt might have gotten the better of him. After all, he was holding a warm, naked woman in his arms while he spoke of doctor’s offices, needles the length of his hand, and the pills that made his wife say goofy things. If he realized what he was doing, Bram never would have talked so much. He rarely strung more than three sentences together at once, and he never talked about Susan with anyone—not even his kids. Yet, holding Lynne and talking about Susan came so easily.
Logically, he realized he might be making a big mistake—telling one woman too much about another—but something in the way she held his gaze told him it was okay. Something about her body pressed tight against his, solid and unflinching, told him everything was right.
When his words wound down, she kissed him sweetly on the lips. Tears burned behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue and savoring the lingering taste of her.
“Thank you.”
A strangled laugh caught in his chest. “For what?” he rasped. “Spilling my guts all over you?” He sensed her smile, envisioning it perfectly and hoping to etch the image into his brain to keep him company after she left. “Lynne—”
She placed the tip of her finger to his lips, silencing him. “Open your eyes.”
He did as she asked, staring back at her warily even as his traitorous lips pursed against the soft pad of her finger.
“Thank you,” she said again, her voice low and firm.
He shook his head, his lips moving wordlessly against her fingertip. When she withdrew, the breath left in his body escaped in a rush. “You make me feel….”
Bram rose from the pillow, cradling the back of her head in the palm of his hand. Her gaze searched his, waiting patiently for him to find the words that eluded him.
When he failed, she reassured him. “It’s okay.”
He gritted his teeth in frustration. Then he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed her hard and hot, pouring the dregs of his sorrow and loneliness into her. His tongue swept into her mouth, feeding her the desperation and desire threatening to consume him. He pushed her back, pinning her to the mattress with the weight of his need to keep her with him.
He broke the kiss, staring down into her eyes, unable to mask the terror rippling through every fiber of his being. Her gaze remained steady and sure while her fingernails sank into his biceps. Her legs wound around his, holding him tight.
His chest heaved and his heart pounded against his ribs so hard he feared they would shatter. He grew hard and hot, blood pulsing through his veins, pressing insistently against her stomach. She slipped one hand between their bodies, her fingers closing around him, guiding him home.
He nearly wept with gratitude when he sank into her. Her hands stroked his back, her fingers tangled in his h
air, and her lips clung to his, capturing his every breath and giving hers in return. Her body closed around him, pulling him deeper.
“You make me feel,” he confessed in a tattered whisper.
****
Funny, somehow she knew exactly what Bram was doing by his breathing alone. Even as she dozed, she knew he was awake and worrying. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, each gasp came shallow and raspy. When he slipped into sleep, his breaths grew deep, even, and peaceful. Still, her mind was alert. Acutely attuned to every beat of his heart, the weight of the arm draped over her hip, and the delicious sensation of his breath stirring her hair.
Oh God, he fits. We fit. This works.
Once upon a time, she’d been accustomed to the odd hours a doctor kept. She didn’t stir when Richard’s pager chirped. After the first year, she stopped springing from the bed when he slipped from between the sheets. Once Justin came along, her husband’s disturbed sleep patterns didn’t faze her—she adjusted her internal alarms to her son’s rhythms.
Richard left their bedroom a few years before he’d left their house, relocating to a guest room down the hall. Thinking back now, she marveled at the fact that she’d never asked for an explanation for the move. She simply relished the extra space.
She could blame her hyperawareness on being unaccustomed to sharing her bed, but that wasn’t the truth. She hated the centimeters of space between Bram’s knees and the backs of her legs, so she closed the distance, relishing the prickle of crisp hair against the backs of her thighs. His chest was warm and firm against her spine, each rise and fall pushing him closer as he slept.
Lynne stared at the crack in the window sheers. The sky lightened from ebony to charcoal, then to the pearly gray that warned of impending dawn. The scent of him would forever be imprinted on these sheets and in her pillow. His taste lingered on her lips. He stirred, shifting closer and burrowing into the back of her neck, his mouth brushing her nape.
Chores. She allowed the smile to come. He has to get up and do his chores.
When he issued the warning seconds before falling asleep, she’d wanted to tease him mercilessly. Dozens of tiny jabs about having his allowance docked, or not being able to borrow his dad’s car keys sprang to mind. One work-roughened hand closed around her bare breast and all thoughts of jest fled.
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