by Karen Rose
For a long, long moment she only stared at him and he didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling or planning to say. Then her smile—her real smile, not the zen one—bloomed, her green eyes growing dark with purpose. And desire.
He knew this look. He’d seen it once before, that very first night. He’d imagined it on the hundreds of nights that followed, nights he’d lain alone in his bed, missing her. Wanting her. He wanted her now. Right now. He wanted to pick her up and toss her on the bed and . . . have her. Give her everything he’d denied them both for the last year.
But he remained as he was, frozen, silent, because she was regarding him intently, her confidence back with a vengeance, and he couldn’t control the shiver that raced across his skin. Her hands came up to cup his jaw, her thumbs caressing his cheeks.
“I’ll have you, Adam,” she murmured, her gaze locked with his, filling him with bubbling warmth. It was joy and relief and contentment and . . . too many other feelings to parse. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so valued, in . . . God. Maybe never.
It had been worth it, he thought. Every damn day he’d said no to the cravings. Because he’d been saying yes to this. Yes to her. He could never tell her no.
Her hands slid up into his hair, a smile curving her mouth, sweet and provocative all at once. As if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. That she’d rendered him speechless. That she understood the power she had over him and would never use it to hurt him. “I’ll have you in my life.”
His chest hurt. But it was good hurt. The best kind of hurt.
She tugged his face down, gently brushing her lips over his and . . . God. He’d been hard before but now . . . God. It was all he could do not to buck his hips up into her like a savage. He balanced them on the edge of the tub, not daring to move because once he did, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.
“I’ll have you in my heart,” she whispered against his mouth, humbling him.
“Meredith.” It came out fervently. Like a prayer. Which it was. “I—”
She pressed her finger to his lips, which relieved him, because he was about to beg her for things he still had no right to. But then she licked her lower lip, then his, and his control shattered. “In my bed,” she whispered. “Please.”
He couldn’t have halted the upward surge of his hips or the groan that broke free from his throat, not if he’d tried. His fingers flexing, he dug into the softness of her curvy butt to keep her from sliding off his lap. He shoved his other hand into her hair, crushing his mouth to hers. Mine. Mine. She’s mine.
She moaned quietly, startling him by swinging one of her legs across his lap so that she straddled him. He rocked backward, nearly tumbling them both into the empty tub. He caught himself at the last second, propelling himself forward and up, gripping her thighs to keep from dropping her as he came to his feet.
Her arms wound around his neck and she hummed against his mouth. “Please,” she whispered and he knew he should say no, knew he still had things to say, things she needed to hear, but God help him, he had no defense against the sweetness of her voice or the soft kisses she was pressing all over his face. “Please.”
Panting hard, he hefted her higher so that her legs wound around his hips, his erection finding a home between her thighs. She ground against him, her head falling back, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Please,” she whispered again.
“Please what?” he asked, his voice tight with strain because he wanted to back her against the door and plunge deep into her heat. “What do you want?”
“You. Please. It’s been so long and I’ve missed you. I need you.” She ground against him again and any blood remaining in his head fled south. “Please.”
Then she was kissing him again, breaking down his inhibitions, making him want. He staggered into the bedroom and ripped his mouth away from hers. “I need to be inside you,” he said roughly, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. Rough and gruff and vulnerable. But he trusted her not to hurt him. “If that’s not what you want, tell me now.”
She met his eyes in the semidarkness. “Yes. You. Inside me. That’s what I want.”
Thank you, God.
But she needs to know. She needs to know! He must have some conscience left, because it was screaming at him, its words just barely breaking through his haze of want. He shook his head to clear it. “I need to tell you things.”
She tugged his hair, kissing him hard. “I know. But after. I need you now.”
I need you now, too. Telling her his secrets was going to hurt. He’d take this moment of respite. He’d take it and hoard it and draw on it for strength when he turned himself inside out with confessions. His conscience bowing out gracefully, he carried her to the bed, pulled back the blankets, and gently laid her down, arranging her hair on the pillow.
“I dreamed of this,” he whispered. “Dreamed of you.”
Her smile was like sunlight, filling him up, driving away the shadows. Most of them, anyway. A few stubborn shadows lingered and he’d deal with them. After.
“I dreamed of you, too.” She splayed one hand over his chest, slowly fanning her fingers back and forth, dropping lower with each pass. “Dreamed of this.” Her gaze dropped to follow the path her hand had taken, focusing on the bulge that his sweats didn’t do a thing to hide. “And this.” Her finger traced his length and he shuddered violently. She took the drawstring in her pretty fingers and gave it a slight tug. “Can I?”
“Please,” he rasped, his voice gravelly and breathless.
She pulled at the string, releasing the neat bow he’d tied, then hooked a finger in the waistband and pulled at the sweats, freeing his cock. She sucked in an appreciative breath, lifting hungry eyes to his for a split second before returning to stare at his erection, which bobbed toward her like she was its true north. Because it wasn’t stupid.
His body wanted Meredith Fallon. His heart wanted her even more. That she wanted him, too? It was almost too good to be true.
Her hand wrapped around him, giving a quick slide up and down, making him gasp.
“Stop thinking,” she ordered with a squeeze that had his eyes rolling back in his head. “Start doing. Please.”
Smothering a laugh at her impatience, he kicked the sweats aside and climbed in beside her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, then groaned when her hand found him again.
“We have to be quiet,” she whispered. “You weren’t the last time.”
He smiled now, because the memory had changed from bittersweet to just sweet. And hot. She’d been uninhibited in bed and he’d greedily relived every moment they’d shared. “You were louder.”
“But I can be quiet.” She lifted a brow. “Especially if you finally start kissing me.”
He obliged, taking her mouth in a kiss that was more warm welcome than sizzling passion, but it must have been the right thing to do because she hummed against his lips, opening her mouth and her arms. It started out sweet, a tentative tasting. Relearning.
He freed the buttons of her silky pajama top, one by one, until there were no more buttons. He pulled away from her mouth to slip the top from her shoulders, letting himself stare at her beautiful breasts for a long, long moment. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, then cupped one breast reverently.
She hummed again but it sounded more like a growl as she undulated, pressing her flesh harder into his palm. “I won’t break, Adam.”
“I know. That’s why you’re perfect.”
She gave him another one of those lust-filled stares, then hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down to her, kissing him with all the passion he remembered, and the intense heat was back, burning him from the inside out. He’d gladly go down in flames.
“Want you,” he gritted out, pulling at the pajama bottoms that were in his way.
“Good,” she gritted back and kicked free of the pant
s.
He wanted to take a minute, to look his fill, but her hips were arching and his heart was pounding in his head. Pretty. So pretty. So mine. He palmed her between her legs and she bit her lip, releasing a muffled cry, grinding up into him. “Goddammit, Adam. Please.”
He slid a finger up into her and had to press his face into the curve of her neck, muffling his own groan. “God. You’re so wet. I can’t wait to be inside you.”
“Then don’t wait.” It was close to a snarl and he chuckled into her neck.
Then froze. “I didn’t bring anything. Fuck.”
Blindly she slapped at the nightstand until she found the drawer pull. “In there.”
He lifted up on his elbow to stare over her body into the drawer. Which was full of condoms. What the . . . ? Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Pushing the question aside for later, he grabbed one of the packets and ripped it open.
She took it from his hand, muttering under her breath. “What part of need you now are you missing, Adam?” She sheathed him, then gave his cock a hard squeeze and he almost came right there.
“Fuck,” was all he could say and she laughed breathlessly.
“Yes. Please. For all that’s holy, please.”
So they were smiling at each other when he pushed inside her with one thrust.
God. Oh God. Perfect. She was hot and tight and absolutely perfect.
Planting his elbows into the mattress, he let them take his weight as he hung his head and shuddered. “I missed this. Missed you.” Love you, he wanted to say but held the words in. He knew they were true, but it was too soon to say them.
She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, and he welcomed the burn. She rolled her hips, graceful and mercilessly seductive at the same time. “Feels good. So good. More. Move.”
He obeyed, finding her eyes in the dim light as he moved, as they moved together. He found her hands, one then the other, twining their fingers. Which he hadn’t done the first time. He’d been so overwhelmed by her, by everything about her, so wrapped up in his own miserable head, that he’d forgotten. He wasn’t making that mistake again.
He moved slowly, steadily, and she dug her ankles into the backs of his thighs, meeting him thrust for thrust. Until she pressed her head into the pillow, closing her eyes. Arching her throat. Silently chanting his name.
Incinerating his every good intention of making this last forever, making him curse when the orgasm began to build at the base of his spine.
“Meredith. Look at me. Please.” It was with difficulty that she opened her eyes, but he immediately saw everything he’d needed to see. She was with him, body and mind and heart. His hips jacked up the tempo as he took her mouth in a ravaging kiss, all tongues and teeth, raw need with none of their earlier tenderness.
Her arms tightened around his neck. “Adam.” It was a quiet little moan.
He let go of her hands to grip her hips, tilting her up so that he could drive deeper, and she covered her mouth with her hand, muffling a little scream.
Yes. He remembered her screams. Remembered her screaming his name. “Let me see you come,” he ordered. “Now.”
And she did, giving herself up to him as she had that first night. As she would for nights to come if his wishes came true. Eyes slamming closed, she bit the back of her hand and convulsed around him, her groan muted, but far from silenced.
Hearing her, seeing her, feeling her . . . God. He shuddered again and let go, let the orgasm take him, throwing his head back, only vaguely aware that her hand now covered his mouth.
He dropped his head, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Shaking. He was shaking. And so was she. Her arms wound around him, her hands rubbing big circles on his back, soothing him. Bringing him back.
She’d brought him back in more ways than one.
Gratitude swelled inside him. Thank you. Thank you.
She pressed an openmouthed kiss to his shoulder, then licked the skin. “Mmmm.” She fell back to the pillow, smiling like a cat in cream. “Well?”
He had to laugh. “Well, what?”
Her smile faltered. “Was it what you remembered?” she asked, and there was a thread of vulnerability in her words. Which was fucking unbelievable to him.
“Better,” he said and watched the vulnerability disappear. “Better than better.”
“For me, too,” she whispered and two tears leaked out of her eyes and down her face. “I was a little afraid it wouldn’t be. I’m so glad it was.”
He kissed her forehead, her eyes, the tracks of her tears. Her gorgeous, generous mouth. “Better than better, Meredith. You’re perfect.”
“I’m not, but I’m glad you think so.”
“Perfect for me.” He closed his eyes, dread stealing over him. “I still have things to tell you.”
“Then let’s clean up and you can tell me whatever you think I need to know.” Her thumb caressed his lips. “But I doubt anything you tell me will change how I feel.”
He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t. “Which is how?”
“That you’re perfect, too. Perfect for me.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, December 20, 9:25 a.m.
Meredith’s body was confused—half-sated and half-tensed with dread. They’d cleaned up and were back in bed, clothed as they’d been before making love. And making love was exactly what it had been.
He hadn’t said anything more as he’d pulled his sweats back on, so she’d followed suit, sensing the clothing was like armor for him, allowing him to tell his story outside of the intimacy they’d created. Because now was the time for him to bare his soul and she hoped she was strong enough to hear it. She’d meant what she’d said—she didn’t expect anything he was about to tell her to change how she saw him, how she felt about him, around him or under him, for that matter. But she knew her reaction would matter to him.
Please let me say the right things.
He was stiff as a board beside her, and not in a good way. She cuddled up to him, laying her head on his shoulder, relaxing a little when his arm came around her to pull her closer. She slid her hand across his chest, resting it over his heart.
It was pounding to beat all hell. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “So. We were talking about the fact that you promised to come back to me when your year is up.”
His chest rose and fell with the breath he drew. “Yeah. January sixth.”
“You’ll be my birthday present. A little belated, but that’s okay.”
“What?” he asked, but she had the feeling he knew exactly what she meant.
“My birthday’s on the fourth.” She hesitated. “Why did you go sober two days later?”
He dropped his head back into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “God, I do not want to tell you any of this. But I owe you this much at least.”
She touched her fingertips to his lips. “You don’t owe me anything, Adam.”
He held her hand in place and kissed her fingers. “Yeah, I do. So let me tell you now.” He took a deep breath. “I started drinking when I was about twelve.”
She reared up to stare at him. “Twelve? Why?”
“My dad drinks. Always has. My friends knew we had a well-stocked bar and that my dad’s friends came over sometimes. If we were careful how much we took, he’d just think it was his friends. I stopped when I was in high school—during baseball season, anyway. Told myself I didn’t have a problem, because I could stop whenever I wanted.”
She slid her hand down his arm, twining their fingers together. “I heard you were really good at baseball. Your friend told me.”
“Did Hanson show you that picture of us?”
“Yes. You were very cute.”
He snorted softly. “Thank you.”
“And now you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,”
she added quietly. “I just wanted you to know.”
Heat filled his cheeks, charming her. “The first time I saw you I thought you should be in a painting,” he said, charming her even more.
“The first time you saw me, I was fussing at you.”
“Because I’d brought Faith to the ICU ward covered in a victim’s blood.” The victim had been an FBI agent who’d been killed protecting Faith from a serial killer. “You were mad because I hadn’t given her time to change. You were right, of course. I was not . . . okay that day.” He winced. “I almost said ‘not myself,’ but I was that person then—an asshole to just about anyone unlucky enough to cross my path.”
“Yeah, you were,” she agreed, because she respected him too much to lie to him. “Were you drinking that day?”
“No.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “That’s why I was such an asshole. I hadn’t had anything to drink because I was working with Deacon. I didn’t want him to smell it on me, but goddamn I needed a buzz. I kept telling myself that Deacon would ‘tell on me’ or some such juvenile bullshit, but I think I really just didn’t want him to be disappointed in me. And that just pissed me off even more. As soon as I was done that night, I hit the bar.”
“You were hurting.”
“Because of Paula.” There was pain in his voice as he said the girl’s name. “I still don’t know what her last name was.” And that hurt worse, because Paula hadn’t known it either, not for sure. “What kind of person doesn’t tell their child her last name?”
“One who’d cage an eleven-year-old like an animal,” Meredith said.
He flinched. “I told you that?” he asked, stunned.
“Yes. That first time you came to me. You don’t remember?” she added carefully.
“No,” he admitted. “I was on the edge of totally losing it. I wasn’t even sure I knew how I’d gotten to your house that night.” When he’d ended up in her bed. “I’d overheard you talking to one of your patients, the victim we were guarding, and all I could think was that I needed to hear your voice again. I’m not sure how I knew your address.”