All she could do for a long time was cling to him, stunned by the intensity of their lovemaking. Still held against his panting body, she wondered if his thoughts were the same, before he eased her back down onto the table.
“I’m sorry, Susannah,” he said, his voice laced with self-recrimination.
She blinked, bringing his face and his words into focus. “Sorry for what?” Thinking back, she couldn’t remember him hurting her or anything else to apologize for—just an explosive experience she didn’t think would ever be matched.
He eased back and turned to rest a hip on the table beside her. “I wanted to make it perfect for you, but I just couldn’t slow down.”
She chuckled at the ridiculousness of saying sorry about something so glorious. “Didn’t it look like I had a good time?”
“I have to admit, toward the end there, I barely noticed.” He winced and she realized how serious he was. “I don’t remember ever losing control like that before.”
She took his lightly stubbled cheeks between her hands. “Let me assure you, Matthew, it was good for me. Excellent, in fact. No—” she grinned “—incredibly excellent.” Despite the frantic rush—or perhaps because of it?—it had easily been the best of her life.
His shoulders relaxed and a slow-burn smile spread across his face. “Even so, I’d like to make it up to you.”
Blissful contentment still permeated every cell of her body, and she raised a playful eyebrow. “You thinking of flowers?”
Without warning, he was on his feet, had hoisted her into the air and was cradling her close. “Nope.”
“Sappy greeting card?” she asked, casually ignoring the sudden change of being held high in his arms.
As they made their way to the staircase, he snatched a kiss. “Not even close.”
“So, tell me, Matthew—” she ran a fingernail across his chest “—how do you plan to make it up to me?”
“I’m going to do it again.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Slower.” A lingering kiss on her lips. “Better.”
Her skin quivered. “I’m not sure I can handle ‘better,’” she said, and meant it. Anything more might make her lose consciousness altogether.
He arched an eyebrow and lifted her higher in his arms. “We’re about to find out.”
At the top of the stairs, her happy mood evaporated as he turned left instead of right—they were going to his room. He’d mentioned his room—his bed—earlier, but she hadn’t put the pieces together until this moment.
His room in the marital house…the room he’d shared with Grace.
Nausea swelled up from her stomach. She scrambled out of his arms and planted her feet on the floor. “Matthew, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
He frowned and glanced downstairs, toward the kitchen. “It’s a bit late for qualms about making love with me—that horse has well and truly bolted.”
The door down the hall taunted her, and she laid a hand over her belly to quell the sick feeling. “I can’t go in there.” Surely he could understand?
Still frowning, his gaze swung from her to the door down the hall and back again. “I don’t see—” Then his eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Susannah, this wasn’t Grace’s room.” He took her hand and led her to the first door, then opened it. It was decorated in deep blues, with a blue-gray quilt. A very masculine room—it reminded her more of the wine cellar than anything else in the house.
“I moved in here after she died. Her room is the next one down the hall—I’ve left it as it was for Flynn. He likes to go in and hold her things.”
Cautiously she took a step farther into the room. An enlarged photo of waves crashing into rocks dominated one wall, cupboards and drawers made from cherry wood on the opposing wall. Dominating the room was a large cherrywood bed. The tension in her belly dissolved. This was Matthew’s room, no doubt about it. And she liked it—it was a room to feel comfortable in, a room that felt like him.
He came to stand behind her and threaded his fingers through hers. She felt his naked body press against her back. “You’re the first woman I’ve brought in here.”
It had been a year since his wife had died. Before she could censor herself, she asked, “Not even—”
“No one,” he said with finality as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Despite knowing that shouldn’t mean anything to her—there was nothing more than the physical between them—it did. She turned in his arms. “I shouldn’t admit it—” to herself or to him “—but I like that.”
“Glad to oblige.” His hands slid from her waist up her rib cage. “Now, back to the conversation we were having earlier.”
As her breath hitched, she wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing his hands free rein. “Which conversation was that?”
His fingers continued their languid journey, down her sides, over the curve of her hips, in crazy patterns across her back. “I have some making up to do.”
“Ah, yes. And not with flowers or a greeting card.” She leaned closer and took his earlobe into her mouth, satisfied when he drew in a sharp breath. Then she leaned back, and found his green gaze again darkened with desire. “So, how do you plan to do it?”
“I thought I’d start by—” he picked her up and laid her out on the bed “—and then perhaps add a bit of—” Holding her ankle, he bent one of her legs up and kissed the inside of her knee.
Everything inside her wound tight, and his tongue lazily traced upward, along the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. When he reached the center of her, raw electricity burst through her body.
“You know,” she said, breathing hard, “I’m not sure slower will actually be better this time.”
He glanced up and grinned. “It’s a shame you think that way. I plan to make this last all night.”
She melted into the pillows behind her and gave herself up to the sinfully delicious prospect.
Six
Susannah stretched contentedly in Matthew’s bed, feeling the heavenly slide of his naked skin against hers. Over the past four days, they’d fallen into a habit of taking the dessert she’d made to his room. Tonight it was a triple-chocolate mousse and, after an hour of eating it both from the glass and Matthew’s body, Susannah lay sated.
“There’s something I need to ask,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest under her ear. He moved one arm behind his head and, with the other around her waist, he pulled her closer against his side.
“Whatever it is, you’ve chosen a good time.” She smiled, feeling much like a cat in the sun.
“I spoke to Flynn’s doctor today, and he said Flynn’s blood work had maintained the improvement. He can come home tomorrow.”
Suddenly her whole body, the room, the world, felt lighter. She pulled back a few inches to see his face. “And you’re only just mentioning this now? That’s fabulous news!”
A smile tugged his mouth. “He’s doing great, and as long as I take him for regular checkups, they’re optimistic that he’ll recover one hundred percent.”
Then another implication of Flynn’s improvement sank in and her stomach hollowed. She wouldn’t be needed as a standby bone-marrow donor. Her reason for being in Charleston, in Matthew’s house, no longer existed. She’d always known this was temporary, and Matthew had said they’d be going into their physical relationship with no illusions, but still, a crazy kind of panic bubbled up into her chest.
Despite being unable to meet his eyes, she was determined to handle the situation with poise and found an accepting smile. “I’ll leave for Georgia in the morning, before he gets home.”
“That brings me to my question.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle and waited until she looked up into his endless green eyes. “I want someone stay with us for a week—just an extra pair of eyes to keep watch on him while he’s in the early stages of recovery. I told him it would be my mother, but he asked if it could be you.”
Stay? She blinked slowly, absorbing the concept. Spend more time w
ith Matthew and his son? They hadn’t wanted to make love in the first place because Flynn would sense something was different and get his hopes up. If she stayed longer, wouldn’t that compound the sin?
Yet a rebel part of her heart—a maternal corner she’d tried to keep silent—wanted desperately to stay a little longer and get to know Flynn. And then there were the extra nights it would allow in Matthew’s bed…
“You think this is a good idea?” she asked tentatively.
He released her chin and shoved a hand through his dark hair. “One of the nurses mentioned that Flynn might find it something of an anticlimax when he gets home, because he’s had so many visitors and staff fussing over him. Home will seem quiet and uneventful in comparison. I have to admit, having someone like you, someone he likes and who would be a novelty would probably help keep his spirits up while he makes the transition. And the hospital tells me that keeping his spirits up is important to his recovery.” There was vulnerability in his eyes, a need to provide this for his child when he’d been blocked from providing so much recently.
Matthew stroked a finger along her spine. “Will the extra leave be a problem?”
They were at the end of the second week of her leave already—she’d extended it with the option of another extension. Her boss had been understanding about the circumstances. In the three years she’d been at the bank, she’d rarely taken leave, so there would be enough to cover this, and her assistant could continue leading the team for another week. And they’d given Matthew’s family a cover story for her stay that would work for another week—that he’d offered Grace’s old friend a place to stay while Susannah applied for jobs in Charleston. He’d told them she wanted to move back from Georgia and Grace would have expected him to help. His family had seemed to accept the story.
But they weren’t the major issues. She laid her head back on his chest. “What about Flynn becoming attached to me?”
“We make sure all the signals project that you’re just a visitor, and we emphasize that you’ll be going home in a week, so his expectations are managed.”
Could it work? Could she spend extra time with that precious little boy without setting him up for hurt? Her mind raced with the possibilities.
“Do you really think we can do that?”
He pulled her closer, flush along his side. “I’m sure we can. Say yes.”
“Yes.” Without thought, the word slipped from her mouth but as soon as it was said, her heart lifted.
“Thank you.” His eyes darkened. “And that’s seven more nights of you in my bed—though we’ll have to pretend you’re sleeping in your room.” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Or we could do it the other way around. I might like the chance to sneak into your bedroom late at night.”
The tantalizing thought sent a shiver flashing across her skin, and brought out her brazen side. “What would you be wearing?”
“A robe. In case I was caught,” he drawled and arched a lazy eyebrow.
“Sensible.” She traced a fingernail over his pectoral muscles and smiled when he shuddered. “And under that?”
“You’d find me as naked as I am now.” His hand slid under the sheet, then feather-soft over her abdomen.
Her pulse quickened. “I’m rather partial to you being naked.”
“Glad to hear it.” His fingers walked a slow, sensual path up her ribs, toward her shoulders. “Because there’s something I’d like to do when I reach your room and it works much better without my clothes.”
“Would I be dressed?” she asked, allowing the sheet to be tugged away when his fingers reached it.
“No, you’d definitely be un—” he placed a kiss in the valley between her breasts “—dressed.”
She reached down, found him ready and one by one wrapped her fingers around him. “As it turns out, we’re both naked now.”
He drew in a sharp breath and the muscles in his neck tightened. “I believe you’re right.”
“Why don’t you give me a preview?” She wriggled, aligning their bodies the way she wanted them, and twined her arms behind his neck.
He positioned himself between her thighs then leaned down on forearms either side of her head to whisper in her ear. “Now?”
“Yeah, now,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist, urging him on.
“It would be something along these lines…”
Ignoring the doubts at the back of her mind, she let herself become lost in this man while she still had him.
As Matt held Susannah’s door open in the hospital parking lot, he couldn’t draw his eyes away from the long shapely leg that emerged. It peeped out from beneath the hem of her long skirt, heating his blood and scrambling his mind. The moment she was standing free, he curled one hand behind her back and one around her neck, then leaned her against the car.
A smile curved her mouth. “I hadn’t realized parking lots had this effect on you.”
“You have this effect on me,” he growled a second before lowering his head and seeking her mouth. She parted her lips without hesitation and he sank into her sweet depths and the sheer oblivion kissing Susannah granted. Her hands crept up to lock behind him, pulling him impossibly closer.
“Any reason for that?” she asked breathlessly when he wrenched away. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
He smoothed the hair back from her face, memorizing everything about her expression in this moment—eyes dark and sleepy, lips rosy and damp, cheeks flushed. He had one more week of Susannah in his bed, and he planned to make the most of it. But for now, things would be more circumspect during daylight hours.
“Once we walk in those doors,” he said, placing a final, chaste kiss on her Cupid’s bow lips, “we’ll be on our best behavior. No clues for Flynn to pick up.”
“So this was like a last fling.” Her hands released their grip behind his back and, with a light touch across his skin, found their way back to her sides.
“Until he goes to bed.”
“I’m looking forward to it already,” she whispered, her gaze focused on his mouth.
For a long moment he considered giving in to his body’s demand for another kiss, but if he did, they might not leave this parking lot for hours. And he was anxious to get Flynn. He’d missed the little guy more than he could ever have predicted before he’d become a father.
He drew in a steadying breath and moved away from the temptation of Susannah. “Let’s go.”
They walked side by side, but his hands itched to touch her. To twine their fingers together, or to place a palm at the small of her back. He resisted—they couldn’t send mixed signals to Flynn and let him think he might be getting a new mommy. The poor kid had enough to deal with right now without the inevitable letdown if that happened then realizing Susannah really was leaving. When Flynn was around, Susannah was a friend of the family, no more. He had to keep his hands to himself.
As they walked past the nurses’ station, one of the nurses waved him over. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid.”
Beside him, Susannah stiffened, and he winced, well aware that they probably looked like a family unit. If anything, they’d look more like a family than when he and Grace had been with Flynn, considering the dimpled chin his boy shared with Susannah. Guilt reared up from the pit of his stomach and swamped him.
No matter how much he, Susannah and Flynn might look like a family, they weren’t. Grace was the one who belonged here. He’d stolen this from her, and he had no right to bring another woman into the equation. It was unfair to Susannah, and a betrayal to Grace’s memory.
“Just Mr. Kincaid,” he said with a smile to soften the correction. “This is Ms. Parrish.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid, Ms. Parrish. I just wanted to tell you how thrilled we all are that Flynn’s going home. He’s become quite a favorite here.”
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to getting him home.” In fact, now he was inside the hospital, he was more than restless to get to his son, a
nd his fingers began tapping away on his thigh.
The nurse glanced down at the chart on her desk. “You’ve spoken to the doctor already?”
“On the phone last night.” The doctor had said he wouldn’t be available this morning, but had passed on instructions for once Flynn was at home, and said he’d see them at their follow-up appointment.
“Excellent,” the nurse said. “I’ve started his discharge paperwork. If you just drop in on your way out and sign the forms, we should be right to go.”
They walked to the anteroom, not needing to stop and gown up this time. Since he was going home, Flynn was ready to interact with people who hadn’t been through the decontamination procedures. The doctor had recommended limiting his contact to just family members for a while longer, and to tell anyone who was sick to stay away. None of which would be a problem—Matt would have moved mountains to make the environment safe for his son.
Flynn scampered to the end of his bed and threw his arms out as they entered his room, his cheeks pink with a healthy flush. “Daddeee!”
Matt picked him up, and held him tight. “Hey, kiddo.”
Flynn returned the hug for about three seconds before he pulled away to announce, “Daddy, I can go home today.”
“I’m counting on it,” Matt said, grinning.
Then Flynn reached for Susannah. “Sudi! I can go home today.”
She put her arms out and Matt passed his son to her, and watched them talk, heads together. Susannah’s face had a beautiful softness, her affection for Flynn shining clearly.
Another wave of guilt engulfed him, making it difficult to breathe. This was Grace’s role—she should be here, bringing her son home. She’d loved Flynn with everything inside her, occasionally to the exclusion of all else. And Flynn had loved her back with the same devotion. It was Matt’s fault they’d been torn away from each other—in pressuring her to take a doomed flight he may as well have killed her with his own hands. He cursed himself to hell and back, as he’d often done since that awful day twelve months ago.
What Happens in Charleston... Page 8