The Complete Series Boxed Set by Julia Kent Page A

her guilty conscience chimed in. You haven’t been as eager in bed with him as you have with Dylan lately.  
    Fuck off.
    The voice skittered away.
    She must have been glaring at Mike, because his eyes narrowed and matched hers. Great concentration was the only way she could relax, and as her face muscles shifted down to neutral he mimicked her subconsciously. Whatever was going on inside him wasn’t intentional—that was helpful to realize.
    Didn’t make this any easier, though.
    Glop delivered and smooshed into the trays, he put the entire mess in the freezer and washed his hands. Was he pretending the conversation was over? Acting like she wasn’t there? Uncertain and confused—and also quite upset—she stood in the doorway. Dylan had Jillian right now, so they could avail themselves of all the time in the world. Talk. Sex. Coffee. Even—God forbid—a few runs d o wn the slopes. Laura hated skiing. Hated it almost as much as childbirth. But she’d do it for Mike.
    She’d do damn near anything for him and Dylan, and he knew it.
    Which made this all the more perplexing. Had she been unfair? Yes. But they’d never treated their relationship as something to be equally doled out, as if each needed exactly 33.3333333333333 percent of some kind of relationship pie. This wasn’t about making percentages add up. Emotions and time and sex and attention weren’t like that. If they’d tried that kind of math they’d have failed long ag o.  
    Instead—she thought—they’d all loosely fallen into a less-distinct process, a more cooperative way of living that involved everyone giving their best and hoping it would work out. Take when you needed to take and give when you needed to give. For nearly a year and a half that had worked, but this breakdown now showed her that clearly, something wasn’t working.
    As his strong back faced her, arms scrubbing furiously as he washed his hands, the scent of orange mint floated over his shoulder, the new dish soap inviting and fresh. Too bad life couldn’t really be as clean and open as that soap seemed to prom i se, as if a scent could make the atmosphere happier than it really was.
    Hesitant, then plunging in, she raised her hands and touched his shoulders, gradually laying her palms flat against the broad crossbar of the T that made up his shoulders and backbone. She expected him to stiffen, knowing that breaking through with Mike could be a slow-to-warm process.
    Having him slump forward and rest his hands on either side of the sink as a slow, deep breath c hanged the landscape of his entire body was definitely a su r prise. This was the act of a man deeply conflicted, of someone grappling with a core issue.
    “ Laura,” he said with the rush of an out-breath, his tone of voice so hard to read. Was that passion? Exhaustion? Discord? That he said anything at all, though, was good.  
    Had she miscalculated? Invalidated his feelings? Misjudged so badly that she’d compromised the very center of what she held dear with him? Tears filled her eyes before either said a word, and as he turned to her there were so many layers of emotion in his face that she could spend an en ti re year alone with him before she could unpack all those messages.
    “I’m not jealous,” he said, the words coming out around a second sigh. His head tipped down and alarm shot through her at the way he said it . The hair on the nape of his neck was a golden brown, the same color as Jillian’s, and much like h e r own blond locks. His shoulders slowly released as he added, “I am hurt.”
    O h.
    Ouch. Her hands would have started to shake if they weren’t firmly flattened against his shoulders. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
    Lean in . Her heart told her what to do. One step forward, so awkward and hard, and she rested her cheek against his spine, her belly pressing into his thigh.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the teardrops mottling the back of his shirt. She reached the middle of