Behind her, the truck’s engine, cooling in the night air, ticked in the silence. “Keys?” she said.
He straightened, took his keys from his pocket, and handed them to her. She shuffled through them until she found a shiny house key. “This one?”
“That one.”
She moved through damp grass to the steps, climbed them and unlocked the trailer door. Sure-footed in the darkness, she dropped the keys and her purse on the kitchen counter.
He locked the door behind them. Paige turned slowly and met his gaze. She would carry every moment, every detail of this night with her for the rest of her life. A wide band of light from the neighbor’s flood lamp spilled through the window, illuminating his face, emphasizing the strong bone structure and the scar at his temple where Doctor Deb had stitched him up. It was crazy; she didn’t believe in this stuff, but she could have sworn that the music crescendoed around her like a choir of angels. Except that there was no music; only what she held in her heart.
He moved toward her, reached for the hem of her shirt, and she let out a soft gasp when he pulled it up and off over her head. Warm hands glided up her arms. He hooked his thumbs beneath the straps of her bra and lowered them, peeling lacy cups away from her breasts. She reached behind her and undid the clasp, and the bra dropped to the floor.
And he touched her. Trembling, she closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle, almost reverent. Knuckles skimmed her belly. Fingertips brushed her ribcage, exploring and mapping her contours. When his palm closed over her breast, she swayed on shaky legs and made a soft humming sound in the back of her throat. She needed to touch him, almost as much as she needed him to touch her. Letting out the breath she’d been holding, she slipped both hands beneath his tee shirt.
His abs were rock hard and sculpted, and she explored every bump and dip. His breath, near her ear, gusted warm and rapid. He released her then, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled it off.
And her mouth went dry.
His body was a work of art. Literally. A simple tribal tattoo wound around each bicep, but it was the Marine Corps symbol, spanning his chest from breastbone to navel, that took her breath away. The eagle, the globe, the anchor. The eagle’s left talon clutched a fluttering Old Glory; its right held a banner that read Semper Fi.
“You’re just full of surprises,” she said.
“Wait. The night’s just getting started.” He scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing and moved toward the bedroom.
Jesus Christ. Could a man with a prosthesis carry a grown woman without killing them both? She didn’t have time to give it much thought; it wasn’t a very big trailer. They were already in the bedroom. Mikey leaned over the bed and lowered her, still very much alive, to the mattress. He removed her shoes and tossed them aside, then unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and tugged them off. Her panties followed, and she lay naked, breathing hard, her eyes locked on his face.
Illuminated by the narrow slashes of light pouring through the slats of the mini-blind, he removed the rest of his clothes, then joined her on the bed. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” Her hand moved restlessly against the smooth skin of his ribcage, his hip. Her voice sounded as breathless as she felt.
“You’re the nicest present I’ve ever unwrapped.” He dipped his head and kissed her shoulder. She moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair as his hands, his mouth, took their time roaming her body. Touching, tasting, exploring. His hands were magic; his mouth excited her, sent her to places she’d never seen. Her heart threatened to explode as he wrought his agonizing, exquisite torture. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, and just when she knew she would die from the wanting, he came back to her, his body a heavy weight atop hers as she lay panting like a dog.
He swept her damp hair away from her face. His breath mingled with hers as they gazed into each other’s eyes. And finally, finally, he found the aching, empty space inside her, inside her heart, her body, the Mikey-shaped space that had been yearning for him since she was fifteen years old.
And he filled it.
Relief. Sweet, sweet relief. She sobbed his name, rolled beneath him, tears spilling from her eyes because love had never felt like this before, and this was the moment, and the man, she’d waited her whole life for, and it was impossible, this thing between them, but she couldn’t stop it and neither could he, any more than they could stop the wind, or the sun rising in the morning.
She locked her legs around his waist. He shuddered, made a faint, guttural sound. Said hoarsely, “I think I love you.”
And then nobody said anything for a very long time.
* * *
“I WANT TO see it.”
Beneath her cheek, his chest rose and fell. “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” he said, his voice groggy. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”
“The leg. I want to see the leg.”
“The prosthetic leg?” He sounded puzzled.
“I realize you’re half asleep, but do you have to be such a guy, Lindstrom? The leg leg.”
Silence. She waited it out. “So, basically,” he said, “you’re asking me to show you the most hideous, damaged, broken part of me.”
“Oh, hell. First of all—” She lifted her head and shifted position in the bed. In the darkness, she could just make out his outline. “—there’s nothing about you that’s hideous, so nice try. Second, yeah, it’s damaged, and third, it’s nowhere near the most broken part of you. You keep the broken parts hidden inside, where nobody can see them. But, yes, basically, that’s what I’m asking.”
“Right now? It can’t wait until daylight?”
“You don’t usually sleep with that thing on, do you?”
“No, but—”
“You must be so uncomfortable. Take the damn thing off, show me the leg, and then we can go to sleep like normal people.”
“You’re very bossy, MacKenzie.”
“I do my best. Is it working?”
The mattress shifted, and the bedside lamp came on. She blinked in the sudden brightness. “Why?” he said. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s time.”
“At two o’clock in the morning.”
“Exactly. So you’d better get right on it, don’t you think?”
He stared at her blankly, then sat up and threw off the covers. Faced with a broad, muscled back as he managed the prosthesis, she tried to give him privacy by focusing on something else. Like the woman’s name tattooed just above his right shoulder blade. Rachel. It led to an obvious question, but she wasn’t going to ask. If he wanted to share, he’d do it when he was ready.
I think I love you. It was an odd thing to say. Was he conflicted? Hell, he should be. She was conflicted, too. If you didn’t count the first fourteen years, this had happened with lightning speed. She had no regrets about what they’d done tonight. No doubts about her feelings for him. This wasn’t casual sex, and they both knew it. But they led separate lives. West Coast. East Coast. She spent months at a time on tour. If she hadn’t even been able to hold a relationship together when she was cohabiting with someone, how could she expect to maintain a relationship with somebody who lived three thousand miles away? It made her uneasy, this uncertainty about her future. She was used to being in charge of her life.
He finished with the prosthesis, leaned it against the nightstand. Naked and vulnerable and broken, he turned to face her.
The leg ended just above the knee. It truly wasn’t hideous. Just odd, because the human brain was programmed to expect more. She reached out a tentative hand and stroked his skin. It felt no different than the skin anywhere else on his body. Hard in some places, soft in others, warm all over. If she closed her eyes, it could have been an elbow, a knee, even a shoulder. What mattered most, the only thing that mattered, was that it contained healthy red blood cells and a multitude of nerve endings. It was a miracle, becaus
e he’d survived.
Her touch had raised goose bumps all over his body. She bent down and placed a tender kiss to the spot where the leg ended. When she saw his face, muscles drawn taut over his cheekbones, she said, “What?”
“You’re the only person who’s seen it. Besides the medical people.”
“Amy never saw it?”
“Amy always managed to be busy with something else when I took off the prosthesis. She wouldn’t look at the leg. I think she found it…distasteful.”
“Amy’s a stupid cow, and I’d like to punch her in the face.”
“If you did, I’d have to arrest you.”
“It would be worth it. Listen, I usually save my eloquence for the songs I write, but I think you need to hear this. I refuse to look at you with pity, because you’re a strong, beautiful, capable man, and you deserve nothing less than respect and admiration for surviving all you’ve been through. My heart breaks for the pain and grief this caused you. I can’t comprehend that pain, because I haven’t been where you’re sitting. But I can understand what my own pain and grief would feel like if we’d lost you. Because even during the years when we weren’t together, you were still with me. In here.” She tapped her chest, just over her heart. “And I need you to know that except for the hurt it’s done to you, it doesn’t matter to me, because the loss of that leg in no way diminishes your worth as a human being. You were the love of my life when I was seventeen, and I let you go because I had to. Not because I wanted to. And now, here we are again. Life’s funny, isn’t it? Because once again, my heart belongs to you. And damn it, now I’m crying—” She swiped furiously at a tear. “—and I wasn’t supposed to. I never cry.”
He’d shown her his most vulnerable self, and she’d returned the favor, had laid out her heart in front of him, all bloody and still beating. She’d never taken a risk like this before. Maybe if she had with Ryan, they would still be together. But of course, she hadn’t done this with Ryan because she hadn’t loved him. She might have thought she did, but it sure as hell never felt like this.
He gathered her in his arms, pulled up the blankets to cover them, and turned out the light. “Do you remember what you said, all those years ago, when you told me you weren’t coming with me?”
“How could I forget? I said it wasn’t our time.”
“And here you are, and here I am. And we’re not kids anymore.”
“Do you think that maybe—”
“It’s our time?” He drew her closer, tucked her head under his chin. “Like you said, life’s funny. And I think anything’s possible.”
And she was finally able to fall asleep.
MIKEY
HE WOKE TO bright sunlight streaming through the blinds and a cardinal trilling its distinctive song outside his window. His bedside clock read 9:37. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. Probably in high school. Years of military life had made him an early riser, and although he owned an alarm clock, he hardly ever used it.
His body ached in places where he’d forgotten he had muscles. Remembering the reason he was hurting all over, he allowed himself a little leeway about the slacking. Stretching extravagantly, Mikey reached out to the other side of the bed.
It was empty. He felt an instant of panic, until he recognized the smell of frying bacon wafting in from the kitchen. That must have been what woke him. She certainly hadn’t found the bacon in his refrigerator; it held little more than milk and bread and the remains of a week-old pizza. Clearly, while he slumbered like Rip Van Winkle, she’d made a trip to the grocery store.
Mikey threw off the covers, fumbled with the prosthesis, and pulled on yesterday’s clothes. He followed his nose to the kitchen, where he found Paige busy at the stove, cell phone propped between her ear and shoulder. “Probably a couple weeks,” she said into the phone. “That should give us plenty of time. I’ve got some ideas floating around. I haven’t just been sitting here wearing sackcloth and ashes.”
She turned, saw him. The smile started in her eyes, slowly worked its way down to her mouth. He felt the impact like a kick to the gut, and it shook the truth free. He was in love with her. He’d probably always been in love with her. How was he supposed to reconcile that truth with his feelings for Rachel? He was a black-and-white kind of guy who found shades of gray inexplicable and difficult to accept. Was it possible to love two people at the same time? It seemed ludicrous. Rachel had been the only thing in his head, his heart, for so long. Had she been nothing more than illusion?
The idea was incomprehensible, too painful to even consider. For the first time in two years, he shoved thoughts of Rachel to the back of his mind. He’d pull them out to analyze later, but not now. Right now, those thoughts had no place in his head or his kitchen. “I have to go,” Paige said into the phone. “I’ll give you a call when I get back.” She ended the call and said, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I’m making breakfast.”
“I can see that.”
“How do you like your eggs?”
“I suppose naked’s not one of the options?”
The flush began at her hairline and spread southward until it reached the open neck of the white cotton dress shirt she’d filched from his closet. It was an amazing thing to watch. Amazing to think he had this kind of power over one of the most unflappable women he’d ever known.
He stepped closer. Removed the phone from her hand, set it on the counter, and took her in his arms. “Let’s start over,” he said, drawing her hips close to his. “Good morning.”
She leaned away from him, against the hands he’d clasped behind her back. “Good morning. Whatever you do, don’t kiss me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t kiss you?”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth. I probably have the morning breath of a rhinoceros.”
“I like rhinoceroses. Rhinoceri? Whatever. I’ve been to war. I’ll try to get through it.”
“Mikey, stop! Mike—”
He silenced her token protest with his mouth, mingling his morning breath with hers. She gave in without much of a fight, relaxed in his embrace, and showed a little more enthusiasm than she’d started out with. “Spend the day with me,” he said when they came up for air.
“I need a shower.”
“You can shower here.”
“I need clean clothes.”
“Which explains why you’re wearing mine.”
“Last night, we swapped body fluids, Lindstrom. I figured that left your wardrobe wide open.”
“Good point.”
“I have to check in with the family, before they think I’ve been abducted.”
“Of course. By the way, the bacon’s burning.”
“What? Oh, shit.” She ran for the stove, turned off the burner before the entire kitchen could go up in flames, and glared at the pathetic, blackened mess in the frying pan. “It’s your fault,” she said. “I have never, ever burned anything. At least not since I was fifteen, when Casey taught me how to cook.”
“How much time do you need for a shower?”
“Forty-five minutes. An hour, tops.”
“Fine. I’ll drive you over to Alfie’s to get your car. You go home, clean up, change clothes. I’ll do the same thing. When you come back, I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“I don’t know if I trust you to shower without winding up in traction.”
“I shower 365 days out of the year. I’ve fallen once. Are you really planning to hold it against me?”
“There isn’t much else to hold against you. You’re too damn perfect. And by the time I get back, it’ll be lunchtime.”
“Then we’ll have lunch. Don’t complicate this, MacKenzie. Just roll with it.”
“Fine. I’ll roll. There’s just one more thing.” She cupped his face between her palms and kissed him, rhinoceros breath be damned. And said, “I’m pretty sure I love you, too.”
PAIGE
SHE MANAGED HER mid-morning walk of shame without bei
ng seen. Apparently they weren’t all sitting around the kitchen table, debating whether or not she was still alive. She said a silent prayer of thanks to God and the universe, then added Emma to the list of recipients, since it was her kid sister, wise beyond her years, who had greased the way for her. If she was lucky, she’d be able to get back out without running into The Interrogator, otherwise known as Dad.
The shower was lovely. She lathered herself up, then leaned, hands flat against the wall, and let all that scalding water pound her back. Like massaging fingers, it worked on her aching muscles. When was the last time she’d been sore after sex? Certainly not with Ryan. Sex with Ry had been so pedestrian. All her moving parts had worked the way they were supposed to, but there’d been no pizzazz. No fireworks. She’d been too busy with her life to really notice the lack. It had been more important to have somebody to come home to, somebody to share her life with, somebody to talk to over the dinner table. All those things had outweighed the lack of skyrockets in the bedroom.
But this thing with Mikey burned so hot it was a wonder she hadn’t wound up blackened and smoking like this morning’s bacon.
The first time Ry had taken her skiing, she’d stood at the top of that mountain, nausea crowding her throat, shaking like an old man with Parkinson’s as she faced certain death on the snowy vertical drop that gaped before her. That was exactly how Mikey made her feel, and if she allowed herself to think about all those reasons—valid reasons—why this was a bad idea, she might end up talking herself right out of it.
She wasn’t running this time. At seventeen, running had probably been the wise thing to do. But she wasn’t seventeen any longer. This time around, she had to give it a chance. See where it led. Was it risky? Absolutely. She could end up crushed and bleeding. Life held no guarantees, especially in matters of the heart. But she’d survived that ski slope, had discovered that the elation outweighed the terror. If destiny really existed, then she owed it to herself to take this ride down the mountain as far as it would go.
Face the Music: Beyond Jackson Falls Book 1 Page 25