Pushing her wet hair back from her face, she focused on the picture of him in her mind—damp hair slicked away from his face, a towel around his waist, a fleck of toothpaste on his mouth, frustration gleaming in his brown eyes. She closed her eyes, zeroing in on the details. What had she said?
It’s not practical. Besides, we don’t always get what we want, do we, Del?
The idea of moving to Atlanta, uprooting the children, giving up her hard-won first teaching position—it hadn’t seemed practical. Looking back, practicality should have been the least of her concerns. I see a man who put his own dreams on hold to make yours come true.
What had she done?
On some level, had she been trying to punish him, to make him pay for the loss of her teenage hopes for her future? She remembered the way the bitter words had tumbled from her during their conversation in the kitchen and the shocked pain as it bloomed in his eyes.
Oh, God, maybe Tori was right. Maybe she’d avoided taking responsibility for her own choices by blaming him, resenting him, slowly cutting him out of her life.
Switching off the water, she swallowed the sob clawing her throat. Wrapped up in her own plans for the future and her bitterness over the past, she’d left him long before he’d moved out.
How on earth could she make up for that? What if it was too late?
She stepped from the shower and reached for a towel, burying her wet face in its plushness. The realization of her own responsibility for their split cut deep.
I want you back.
Lord help her, she wanted him, too.
She wanted her husband back, the father who wrestled with remorse because he’d hurt his daughters, the man who held their son’s hand with unspeakable gentleness. The lover who stared at her with eyes dark and deep enough to disappear in.
And she’d cut him so badly.
Chest tight, she reached for her robe, the rich terry doing little to warm her. She rehung the towel and left the bathroom. Despite her weariness, she’d never rest, not with her mind torn between worry for Blake and going over and over the past. She’d settle for coffee and some clean clothes, then she’d head back to the hospital.
In minutes, the aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. She reached into the cabinet over the stove for a mug. A key turned in the door, and she fumbled the mug, barely catching it before it tumbled to the tile countertop. Clutching the cup, she stared as Del stepped into the room.
The long night showed on him, his features drawn, his clothes wrinkled. One corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked half-smile, but his chocolate gaze remained serious. “Hey. I’ve got good news.”
She couldn’t make her fingers set the mug down. “What?”
“Your son is demanding food.”
A nervous laugh bubbled in her throat. “That’s normal. He’s awake?”
He nodded. “Long enough to ask for breakfast and speak to Mama. Then he drifted back off. She’s going to stay with him until one of us gets there.”
“That’s good.” She bit her lip and put the mug down. She gestured at the coffee pot. “I just made that. Want some?”
“No, thanks. I’m on my way to Tick’s. I just stopped by to get my things and talk to you a minute.” He rubbed a hand down his thigh.
She turned toward the pot, needing something to do with her hands so she wouldn’t be tempted to grab for him. “Are you sure? I could—”
“Barb, we need to talk.” The quiet words near her ear made her jump. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
His deep voice vibrated through her. She turned to find him so close she could see the stubble on his jaw, the fine pores in his skin. His lashes dipped, and he swallowed, the muscles in his throat working. The scent of him surrounded her, and she closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. She swayed and rested her hands on his arms. Muscles contracted under her touch.
He tensed and made a move to pull away. Barbara opened her eyes, tightening her hold. “Del, wait.”
Del froze. The gentle touch made him forget everything but her. She slid her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and neck to cup his jaw. The imprint of her fingertips seared him. He’d waited so long to have her touch on him again, and he was afraid to move, afraid of losing the small contact.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice husky, breathless, the way she’d sounded in the past when he’d kissed her.
There was something he was supposed to tell her, but damn if he could remember his own name when she looked at him like that, her blue eyes slumberous and glowing. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“Do you remember when we used to drive out to the lime mine and toss the sleeping bags on the back of your truck?” Her wistful voice wrapped around him. She traced the line of his chin.
“How could I forget?” A smile tugged at his mouth. He’d told her everything back then, staring up at endless stars, their fingers intertwined.
“When did we stop talking?”
“I don’t know.” He cupped the back of her head, sifting through her damp hair. “Maybe we didn’t stop talking so much as we stopped listening.”
She touched his mouth, outlining his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Eyes closed, she shook her head. “For not listening when you tried to tell me about Atlanta, how important it was to you.”
“Baby, you don’t—”
Leaning up, Barbara covered his mouth with hers, cutting off his words, and he was lost, drowning in sensations he’d starved for the last few months.
She cradled his face, her lips teasing the corner of his. The clean essence of her surrounded him, a mingling of citrus, soap and woman. When she eased her tongue over his bottom lip, he hardened. A groan rumbled from deep in his throat.
“Barb,” he whispered, and as his mouth parted, she darted her tongue inside. At the taste of her, his knees threatened to give. He reached for her, gripping her waist and pulling her closer. Her body aligned with his, fit him with the same perfection as always. “God, I’ve missed you.”
He muttered the words into her mouth, sliding his hands lower to cup her bottom and lift her against him. She moaned and wound her legs around his thighs, the counter supporting her weight. Holding his shoulders, she urged him even closer and sucked his lower lip into her mouth, nipping him lightly. The sensation of pleasure-pain shot to his groin and he rocked into her.
With a rough laugh, he rested his palms on the counter on either side of her. Her head tilted back under his kisses, she tugged his shirt from his jeans. “Take it off.”
“Baby, you know where this is headed,” he murmured between kisses, her fingers leaving trails of fire on his skin. “Are you sure?”
“Take it off, Del.” She shoved the shirt up, helping him shrug out of it. Once it hit the floor, she fanned her hands over his chest, shaping the muscles, tracing the line of his ribcage. She ran a single finger along the scar bisecting his left pec, and he closed his eyes. Over the years, she’d done the same thing countless times, but this once, the simple caress brought tears to his eyes. She pressed a kiss there and he moaned, swaying closer. This wasn’t really happening. In a second, he’d wake up and find it was simply another dream.
He bent his head, seeking the curve of her neck with his mouth, tangling his fingers in the plush robe, pushing the edges aside so he could find her curves. A breathy sigh escaping her, she arched into his touch. The pulsing fire in him burned hotter. He trailed his lips to the hollow of her throat, her pulse beating against his mouth.
He cupped her breasts, her skin still damp from the shower, and nuzzled her shoulder while he brushed his thumbs across her tightening nipples. Her head fell back, a little moan purring in her throat. God, everything she did was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.
“You’re so beautiful.” He muttered the words against her skin. “Sexy.” His mouth caressed the slope of her cleavage. “Perfect.”
> “Hardly.” The word escaped her on a husky laugh. She clutched his hair and massaged his scalp. He swallowed, a groan building in him. “Childbirth and nursing three babies don’t add up to perfect.”
“My babies.” He circled a hardened nipple with his tongue, drowning in her gasp of pleasure. “Our babies.” He flicked his thumbnail over her dampened skin. “You’ve always been perfect to me.”
Using her hold on his hair, she pulled his head up and took his mouth again in the slowest, sexiest kiss of his life. With his palms, he worshipped the line of her body—her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips. The muscles of her stomach jumped against his hand when he stroked his knuckles across her smooth skin. The blonde curls below were soft and damp, and when his fingers found her, she moaned into his mouth. Already hot and slick, she pushed into his touch.
She gripped his shoulders and slid her mouth from his. “Oh, you feel so good.”
He buried his face against her neck, kissing her there, loving the feel of her rubbing his shoulders and back. She knew what he liked—strong, firm caresses, long sweeping strokes of her fingers, the occasional sting of her teeth and nails on him—and he was burning up with what she did to him.
She skimmed his sides with her short nails and ventured beneath the waistband of his jeans, almost but not quite touching him where he needed it most. She brushed him with one finger and he bucked, groaning.
“Del,” she whispered, and he lifted his head. Gripping the counter’s edge with white-knuckled hands, he stared at the wanton picture of her, damp hair tousled, eyes dilated with passion, robe open exposing rounded breasts with rosy, hard nipples, his tan dark against her paler skin. She didn’t smile and a hard knot settled in his chest. Lord, she was going to tell him to stop. The dream was over.
She touched him, curving her hands to his rib cage, thumbs rubbing down the spasming muscles of his stomach, stopping at his jeans. With a slow motion and a teasing smile, she popped the button loose on his fly. He was going to explode, then and there from nothing more than that minx-like smirk and the anticipation of her touching him. Even slower, she slid down his zipper. The jeans slipped on his hips, and one fingertip crept into the band of his briefs.
Explode, hell. He was going to die from the expectancy, but, Lord, what a way to spend his last moments. She pushed the briefs down, stroking him, and he gasped, knees ready to buckle. “Baby, you’re killing me.”
Still caressing him, she wrapped her legs around his hips once more. She kissed him, dancing her tongue along his lips.
“I want you,” she moaned into his mouth. “Inside me.”
Sliding his hands under her thighs, he lifted her against him, ready to carry her off to bed. “No.” She tightened her legs around him, positioning him at the entrance to her hot, wet core. “Here. Right now.”
“Whatever you want, baby,” he growled, pushing forward in a slow, smooth movement. She sheathed him, her satisfied moan mingling with his harsh groan. Tugging at his hair again, she pulled his mouth to hers. He thrust into her, marveling at this Barbara, who didn’t wait for him to take the lead, but knew what she wanted and went after it. As much as he’d adored that other woman, the one who’d accepted his lovemaking, he loved this one.
Loved. Even with pleasure flaming through his body, the cold hard knot grew in his chest. In the past, she’d have been murmuring how much she loved him as he thrust into her body. Now, she sighed of wanting him, of how he made her feel. It wasn’t enough. Even as she tightened around him, moaning his name with her climax, even as his own body reacted, an orgasm exploding through him, he craved those words from her again.
She rested a cheek against his chest, and he trembled, struggling to catch his breath. Throat aching, he closed his eyes.
“Del?” She raised her head, the softness of her hair brushing against his chin.
He lifted heavy lids to find her looking up at him, a slight frown drawing her brows together over troubled blue eyes. Forcing a smile, he pulled her robe close about her. He brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “You’re incredible.”
Her gaze cleared, and she hugged his hips with her knees. “So are you.”
He cupped her face and lowered his head to kiss her. She opened her mouth to him, and renewed arousal stirred in him. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled the hollow beneath her ear. “You always smell so good.”
She tilted her head back, allowing him better access. “Del?”
“Hmm?”
“Didn’t you say you needed a shower?”
He chuckled against her neck. “Yeah.”
“Want to borrow mine?”
“Only if you’re in it.”
*
Applying light makeup, Barbara examined herself in the mirror. Her lips remained a little swollen from Del’s kisses and a lazy satisfaction lingered in her gaze. The air conditioning tingled over her exposed skin and a pleasant ache throbbed between her thighs. She closed her eyes. This was why she hadn’t allowed him to kiss her before, because she’d known her body’s hunger for him would take over.
This time, she’d kissed him. She’d taken the first step to let him back into her life. The first step? Images of their shared shower flickered, water flowing over a lovemaking as slow and easy as their encounter in the kitchen had been fast and hot.
“More like the first thousand steps.” Muttering, she tossed her mascara into the vanity drawer. She pinned her reflection with a look. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Barbara Gail.”
The risk of moving forward with him scared her. He’d been crystal clear about his desires: I want you back. But what exactly did that mean? Their old life, with the passive, needy woman she’d been? Or something new, more of an even give and take? She needed to ask him the questions, find out what he truly wanted, but fear held back the words. What if he didn’t want the new her?
She sighed and reached for her lip gloss. Plenty of time after Blake was well to ask the hard questions. Right now, she needed to focus on her son. She leaned forward, coloring her mouth.
Del appeared in the mirror behind her and her stomach muscles fluttered. He wrapped his arms around her middle, the hair on his arms tickling the bare skin between her bra and panties. He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Gaze locked on their reflection, she caressed his wrist. This was so normal, so familiar, it hurt. “Hey, yourself.”
“I’m going to get some of that coffee you made.” His lips traveled up her neck, leaving shivers in their path. One finger slid beneath her lacy bra strap, a soft caress against her shoulder. “Want some?”
Lord, yes. But not coffee. The tingly spiral of desire spun in her stomach again. She struggled to keep her voice normal. “Please.”
He lifted his head and met her gaze in the mirror. The devilish grin that always took her breath curved his mouth. He knew what he was doing to her, darn him. She straightened and pushed his arms away. He pulled her back and turned her to face him, his eyes serious now as he stared down at her. The expression in those dark eyes set off a different trembling in her stomach. How often had she seen the same look when he told her how much he loved her?
“Barb, I—”
“I need to finish dressing,” she said, pulling away with a bright smile. She wasn’t ready to hear him utter the words, not when she didn’t know which woman he was declaring them to. She urged him toward the door. “Get us some coffee.”
“Baby, I need you to—”
“Go.” She gave him a slight push. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Looking as though he wanted to say something else, he shook his head and walked out.
She pulled on a pair of loose khaki capris and a silk sleeveless top. While she rummaged in her closet for sandals, male voices drifted from the kitchen. Tick. She closed her eyes. Dreading the thought of facing Del’s sharp-eyed brother, she went to the kitchen.
“What is that on your neck?” With
two fingers, Tick pushed Del’s chin up as she entered the room. A slow grin spread over Tick’s face.
“Would you quit?” Del shoved his brother’s hand away with an irritable shrug.
“Morning, Barb.” Tick moved to the cabinet and pulled down a mug.
She darted a glance in Del’s direction. Oh, dear God. She stared at the small red mark just above the collar of his striped buttondown. A hickey. She’d marked him. Flustered, she picked up the mug she’d abandoned earlier. Tick held out the coffee carafe and she took it, flushing under his amused gaze.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked, burying her nose in the strong aroma of less-than-fresh coffee.
The laughter drained from his expression and he looked at Del. “I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to talk to you about Blake.”
Excitement leapt in her. “Did you find out something?”
“Tick.” Del’s quiet voice cut across her words. “Go somewhere for a little while, would you?”
Barbara clenched her teeth, frustrated. “Del, I want to know what—”
“Barb, trust me.” He caught his brother’s steady gaze. “Go smoke a cigarette. I’ll call you.”
“Now, that’s a first.” Tick rolled his eyes and moved toward the door. “Someone encouraging me to endanger my health.”
Leaning on the island, Del waited until the door closed. He ran a hand along his thigh before crossing his arms over his chest. “Barb, I meant to tell you before…”
His voice trailed away, and unease trickled through her, washing away the excitement. “Tell me what? What’s going on?”
“Do you know a kid named Cassie Howard?”
She nodded. “I taught her for half a semester. Rather, I attempted to teach her. She’s one of our truant kids.”
Del’s expression turned grim. “She’s dead.”
“What?” All she could manage was a shocked whisper. “Oh, my God.”
“The body found yesterday at the cemetery? That was her.”
His Ordinary Life Page 13