He lifted one leg across his lap and pulled off her boot and then he did the same with the other. Once her feet were bare, he kissed her toes. All ten of them. One by one.
She giggled and sighed. He laughed low in his throat as he took one of her legs and eased it wider, guiding it around him, so that he was between her knees once again. He bent over her. She gazed up at him, into those shining blue eyes.
And at that moment, in the tiny cot by the old stove, she felt achingly young again. Young in a way she hadn’t felt since the day she first realized she was pregnant with Johnny.
Young. Carefree. Perfectly happy to follow the insistent demands of her yearning body, her hungry heart. Without stopping to think. Without worrying about consequences. Without fear for the future.
It was her ultimate forbidden fantasy. To be with him, in this special, intimate way again. It didn’t seem possible that it had actually happened, that it was real. Right now. Tonight…
She had given him up along with her youth, turned her back on the memory of him, of this—so very long ago.
Yet it was real. It was happening.
His mouth was there above hers, for the taking. And she did take it. She drew him down until his lips touched hers. The feel of him was so good.
So very right.
With the tip of her tongue, she traced his mouth, teasing at the seam between his lips. And when he let her inside, she tasted him as deeply as he had tasted her.
So good. Yes. She had forgotten how good, had made herself forget. For so many reasons.
For her own emotional survival. For the sake of her dear, lost husband—and yes, in a sort of pointless revenge for the long, empty silence this blue-eyed bad boy had put between his heart and hers.
She had purposely forgotten this splendor, this wonder—until the moment she saw him again, coming out of the storm the day her daughter was born. That day, in spite of everything, she had felt desire stirring.
But the specifics remained lost to her.
Until tonight.
Tonight, her eyes were open again. Tonight, she reclaimed every last sweet, ecstatic memory.
The memories belonged to her. As he belonged to her.
“Your shirt,” she demanded, “take it off.” She worked at the buttons. And when they didn’t part fast enough, she sent a few flying. One pinged against the stove. She laughed low in her throat at that and pulled his shirttails free of his jeans.
Finally, he helped her. He lifted away a little and fumbled to get the sleeves down his arms. So much for the shirt.
Next came his jeans. She undid the buttons, opened his fly and pushed them down—along with his boxer briefs, both at the same time.
“Always in such a hurry…” He breathed the words against her throat. “Not that I’m complaining.…”
“Get these jeans off.”
He didn’t argue. He knew better. Between them, they managed to get the jeans down. He’d already kicked off the moccasins he was wearing, but still, in the end, he had to pull away from her and sit on the edge of the cot to get the wadded-up denim past his ankles and off.
She lay back on the pillow and gazed her fill at him, not even caring that her nightgown was all in a bunch at her waist. Unabashed, she stared at him. He was so fine, even with all the scars from the years when he just had to fight any fool who looked at him crossways. His chest was so beautifully sculpted, his belly ridged and flat. His arms were even harder and thicker than she remembered. His hips were so lean, his thighs and legs corded with sharply defined muscle.…
He looked over at her, a look that burned her, although his lips curved in a wry kind of smile. There was no doubt of how much he wanted her. He was so hard, so ready.
She couldn’t resist. She came off the pillow, reaching for him and wrapped her fingers around him.
He groaned at that.
She gathered her knees under her and lowered her mouth to him, tasting him, first with her tongue in long, slow strokes. And then all the way, taking him deep.
He speared his fingers through her hair, clasping, lifting his hips to her as she took him all the way inside—and then, with slow, delicious care, let him out again.
That didn’t last long.
He tugged on her fisted hair—gently but urgently. “Enough of that.” His voice was rough with need. “You’ll push me right over the edge.…”
She sat back on her heels and slanted him a lazy look. “That was pretty much my plan.”
“You and your plans…”
“You said you weren’t complaining.”
“And I’m not. No way.” He still had one hand in her hair and he opened it, spreading his fingers wide to cradle the back of her head. He pulled her closer until a feather couldn’t be slipped between her mouth and his. “Glory Ann?”
“Um?”
“You have no panties on.”
“You noticed.” She smiled against his lips.
“I did. The sight gives me…great pleasure.”
“Good.” She kissed him. She couldn’t get enough of that, of her mouth meeting his. The taste of him thrilled her. And he smelled of the pines and the wind in the spring.
And when he guided her back down to the cot again, she went without hesitation. She still had her nightgown on, but so what? He pushed the light fabric out of his way and he caressed her breast with a careful, light touch—so knowing, so achingly tender.
He made her crave more from him. He made her want everything he could give her—every touch, every kiss, all of it. Now. He stroked the flesh over her ribs and lower, his fingers gliding into the cove of her waist and on down. He caressed the side of her hip.
She couldn’t wait. She was on fire. For more. For all of him. Reaching down, she took his hand and guided it over the top of her thigh.…
And inward. He petted the dark curls where her thighs met. And then he did what her aching body was begging him for. She moaned long and low when he touched her most secret places. Already, she was wet and slick for him. Wanting him.
Yearning…
Finally, he guided her thighs apart and he settled himself between them.
She lifted her hips to him—and he slid home.
Stars exploded. Time hung suspended. Her body gave around him, welcoming him. She sank her teeth into his shoulder at the stunning sensation, at the sheer erotic wonder of having him within her again.
He pressed in even tighter. And then he lifted up on his elbows and gazed down at her, eyes gone dark as the blue at the bottom of the sea.
“Glory…”
“Yes.” She tossed her head on the pillow, lifted her body up to him. “Oh, Bowie. Yes…”
“I like that word. You should say it more often.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes…”
He began to move inside her. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him and let him carry her away.
Into the heart of her own pleasure. Into the absolute center of the fire.
Chapter Eleven
Glory woke to the sound of her baby crying.
She opened her eyes and found Bowie, lying on his side next to her, his head braced on his hand. Watching her.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I was just trying to figure out how I could go get her without waking you up.”
“Not possible. This cot’s too small.” She could feel his every movement, every slightest shift.
Sera let out an angry screech.
“I’m on this.” He was already levering up and climbing over her, all sleek muscles and easy grace. She had to admit, it was a great view. He landed on his feet by the side of the cot. “I’ll bring her out to you.…” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down. “Stay there.”
He pulled the covers up over her, tucked them around her in a conscientious way that made her feel cherished. Cared for.
She tried to argue. “It’s too cold out there for her.…”
“I’ll bundle her up nice and warm.”
With a sigh, Glory gave in and snuggled back under the blankets. “Bring the diaper bag.”
“Don’t worry.” He shook out his jeans and pulled them on. Then he grabbed a sweatshirt from the ancient chest of drawers on the back wall. He was fully dressed and out the door in less than a minute. Glory shut her eyes. But that was pointless. Sera was wailing her heart out. That little girl could wake the dead when she really got going.
But then, from the monitor on the workbench, she heard Bowie. “Hello, beautiful…” The baby quieted instantly, as she always seemed to do at the sound of his voice. “Come on, now,” he told her. “Your mamma’s waiting for you.…” Sera made the sweetest little cooing sound. “What did you do with that diaper bag? Ah, here we go.…”
After that, there was silence. Glory pushed back the covers and reached for her robe. She was just knotting the sash when he brought Sera in.
She sat in the rocker on the far side of the stove and he handed the baby to her. Sera latched right on and started nursing. Glory rocked gently and thought how peaceful and contented she felt.
How, until right now, she hadn’t felt any kind of peace, not in months and months.
Not since Matteo died.
Matteo.
Just thinking his name brought reality sharply, painfully back.
Bowie had picked up his whittling. He sat in the old horsehair easy chair on the other side of the stove, the wastebasket between his moccasins to catch the shavings, as he carved swiftly and expertly at a small piece of wood.
Glory stared at his golden head, which was bent to his work. What have I started? she fretted. How will it end?
As if he sensed her gaze on him, Bowie tipped his head and met her eyes. It was all there in that blue gaze, everything that had happened that night.
The way she had come to him, the comfort he had offered her when she cried—and the pleasure they had shared, too.
He said, so gently, “I’m glad that you’re here tonight.”
She spoke around the sudden lump in her throat. “We have to be…careful.”
He almost smiled. But his eyes were suddenly so somber. “Careful, huh?”
“There’s Johnny to think about.”
“Right. Johnny.”
“He’s a little kid. He wouldn’t understand.”
He put the wood and the knife on the table beside him. “You don’t know that.”
The sweet peace she’d been enjoying before had evaporated. Annoyance sizzled along her nerve endings. “Of course I know. I’m his mother.”
He bent, picked up the wastebasket and set it to the side. “So, then. You didn’t think about Johnny while you were plotting and scheming on how to get in my bed?”
She hardly knew what to say to that. Grudgingly, she confessed, “I did think of him, yes. But maybe not as much as I should have.”
His big shoulders slumped as he let out a long, weary-sounding breath. “Okay, let’s do this. Why don’t you tell me how you want to handle this, with us, and I’ll tell you if what you want can work for me?”
She looked down at her baby, who was nursing so sweetly, and then back up at the man who waited for some kind of answer from her—the man who deserved an answer, she knew that. She said it straight out. “I don’t want to tell anyone. I want to keep this thing strictly between the two of us.”
He laughed then. It was not a cheerful sound. “You’ve got to be kidding. Have you forgotten that we live in New Bethlehem Flat?”
“No one has to know. If we keep it low-key.”
“Low-key.” He shook his head. “What you mean is you want us to sneak around to see each other.”
She longed to deny that. However, what he’d just described, as low and cowardly as it sounded, was exactly what she meant. “It’s nobody’s business what we do in private.”
“No, it’s not. And if somebody in this town asks me what goes on between you and me, I’ll tell them it doesn’t concern them and I’ll say that straight out. But sneaking around to be with you, Glory? That’s lying, pure and simple.”
“It’s not.…”
“It is. I spent a lot of years lying to myself. About how I was going to change. How I would do better—whatever the hell ‘better’ actually means. How I wouldn’t take another drink or get in another fight. How I’d find a job and keep it. I had to learn to give up the lies first of all before I could even start to get sober and stay that way.”
“Bowie.” She spoke with care. She did hope to get him to see her side of it, to understand. “I…well, I know I’ve been hard on you since you came back.”
“That’s okay.” He sounded sincere. “You had a right to be hard on me, if anyone did. I’ve got no issue with the way you’ve treated me. You’ve been fair to me, Glory. More than fair.”
“Well, I just want you to know that I admire what you’ve done, how far you’ve come and how well you’re doing now. But this is not about your staying sober.”
“Oh, come on, you’re a smart woman. I think you have to know that everything I do is about my staying sober.”
The trouble was, she got what he meant. She understood exactly. And she knew he was right. She came straight out with it. “I’m a coward, okay? A big, fat chicken. I just…I don’t want to get my son upset and I don’t want the whole town talking about how you and I are at it again with Matteo not even a year in his grave.”
“If Johnny’s upset, we can deal with that—not that I think he will be. And as far as the whole town talking, what does that matter? You loved your husband, I know that you did. But he’s gone now. If anybody expects you to spend your life all in black, well, that’s their problem, not yours.”
She let out a low sound. “You sound just like Angie.”
He grunted. “I always did think highly of Angie.” And then he rose from his chair and came over to hers. He knelt at her feet, his face tipped up to her, his eyes so clear, his skin healthy and tanned. A good man. An honest one.
Exactly the man she’d always longed for him to be, back in the day when everything was new between them.
She looked down at him and her heart melted. “Oh, Bowie…”
He touched the baby’s head, one gentle stroke. And then he reached up and pressed his palm against Glory’s cheek. She leaned into his caress, wishing they could just stay that way, by the fire, her baby in her arms and his hand on her cheek. Forever.
But it couldn’t last. He took his hand away. “It’s what we think about what we’re doing that counts. And anyway, sneaking around isn’t even going to work. Not in this town. Someone will find out. Charlene probably already knows.”
“Didn’t you say yourself that Charlene won’t tell anyone, that she doesn’t carry tales?”
“Except to my brother. You know she’ll tell Brand.”
“And Brand will keep it to himself.”
“And Angie. Come on, Glory, you know that Angie is going to find out because you’re going to tell her.”
“No, I’m not.” She knew it was a lie as she said it. And she hated herself for being the liar in this painful conversation. His eyes reproached her. “Okay,” she confessed. “Yeah, I probably will tell Angie, but she’s my sister. I tell her everything. It’s different, with her.”
“Different, huh? And you know that she’s going to tell Brett, right?”
“Will you just…not rub it in, please—and what do you want from me, anyway? You want to come and live in my house with me, sleep in my husband’s bed?”
He rose
slowly and stood looking down at her. His eyes were shadowed now and his mouth was set. “No. No, I don’t want that. It’s the last thing I want.”
“Then what, Bowie? What do you want?”
“I want you to be straightforward. Truthful, the way you’ve always been. Yeah, what we do when we’re alone is nobody’s business and I’m good with that. But I’m not going to pretend when I see you in the diner or go to dinner with the family that there’s nothing between us anymore, that it’s all over and done with us and we’re only about doing our best for Johnny. Doing our best for Johnny is important, but it’s not everything. Not as of tonight.”
“It is everything. And it’s not the best thing for Johnny if the kids in school start carrying tales about us that they got from their parents.”
“If they do, he’ll deal with it. He’s a hell of a kid with a fine head on his shoulders. You’re not giving him enough credit.”
“And you’re not listening to me.”
He blew out a hard breath. “Why can’t I ever seem to get through to you, Glory? Someone else, other than Brand and Charlene and Angie and Brett—someone else will see us together and guess what’s going on. It’s just the way things work around here. It’s the way it’s always been. You’re begging for a big, bad surprise if you actually believe you can carry on a thing with me and no one has to know.”
“Because they don’t!” She said it too forcefully. Sera popped off her breast and stared up at her, wide-eyed. “Oh, honey, so sorry…” she soothed in a whisper. She turned her around and put her on the other side.
Bowie waited until the baby was settled and nursing again before he said, “I don’t like it. I don’t like that you want to sneak around to be with me. And I don’t like that you actually think no one’s going to figure it out.”
She knew what they were coming to in this discussion. It was not a good place. And she knew herself to be the dishonest one. It wasn’t right, what she was asking of him. She really ought to have more integrity than this.
33 The Return of Bowie Bravo Page 15