by Dianne Miley
Brett pressed against her, whispering her name. Hot fingers slid over her torso and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Then he pulled away, his eyes wild with passion and his usually perfect hair messy. A flush crept over his cheeks.
“I’d better go,” he said, standing quickly.
She followed him to the door.
He turned to her and ran a hand through his hair. He searched her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. And I nearly forgot where we were,” he admitted.
“I know. We’d better take it slow.” But she hadn’t wanted him to stop, even if they were on her sister’s sofa.
He moved closer, enfolding her in his arms. “I can’t help touching you.” His earnest eyes locked with hers. “But I want to do things right. I promised myself to wait until marriage.”
Her eyes widened. “Me too. I never thought I’d find a man who agreed with that.”
His lips brushed her mouth, ever so gently. “If I stay, I’m afraid I’ll break that promise.”
She nodded, knowing she’d let him too.
One last kiss had her melting in his arms.
When he withdrew, her overheated body felt cold and alone in the hot night, as if part of her was suddenly gone.
“Good night, Laura.” He touched her cheek and slipped out.
Standing at the screen door, she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, missing his warmth. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of his kiss. “Good night.”
As he walked down the stone path, she yearned to pull him against her, to mold her lonely body to his. “Brett,” she whispered, touching the door handle. “Please don’t go—”
Out of earshot, he opened his car door with a hesitant wave and a longing smile. The Corvette’s engine roared to life and its headlights backed out the driveway. She pulled vintage lace from the window and watched red taillights trail down the road. She hugged herself, wishing she could have him—right now and forever. Wishing their future wasn’t so uncertain. Wishing, for the moment, that her morals—and his—didn’t prohibit what she wanted so badly.
Two red dots disappeared around a bend in the road. Chasing after him crossed her mind, morals or not. But she was babysitting. Rachel didn’t get off work at the pizza shop until midnight. Of course, she wouldn’t need a second job if it weren’t for Jake’s drunk driving. She should let him rot in jail.
Snapping on the antique floor lamp, Laura wondered how her sister managed so well on a limited budget. With an assortment of hand-me-downs and flea market finds, Rachel had transformed the tiny cottage into a welcoming home with Victorian flair. A refurbished trunk served as a toy box. Used decorating magazines stuffed a wicker basket on the floor, and an old beige shawl graced the back of a chair. Rose-patterned slipcovers and a hand-knitted afghan showed Rachel’s impeccable workmanship.
Flopping onto the overstuffed sofa, Laura flipped through the television channels and became intrigued by an old love story. She sprawled her bare legs and languished for Brett, wishing he’d come back. When she heard the screen door, her heart leapt with joy. She stretched like a sleepy cat and smiled a come-and-get-me grin.