thank me and don't apologize."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Before she could think, before she could reason, Abby reached out and brought his mouth back to hers again.
It wasn't sweet. It wasn't magic. It was solid and strong. She tasted, for the first time in too many years, the flavor of man. She wanted, for the first time in too many years. And wasn't it wonderful just to want again—not to think, not to reason, just to let go and want.
The touch, the taste, brought back no memories of her marriage, of the only other man she'd known. It was fresh and new, as beginnings should be.
Her skin was hot. He felt the yielding he knew came as much from weakness as from passion. Yet he thought, or rather wanted to think, that there was something more, something unique in the way her mouth fit his. So he wanted more. From the kiss alone, desire sprinted out until he wanted everything—to feel her skin, feverishly hot under the thin nightgown, to feel her body melt against his.
There was no artifice in her kiss, no expertise. The gesture seemed to be as pure and as generous as Chris lifting his arms to him. He drew away, reluctant and more than a little puzzled. He was finding that the more he knew her, the less he knew.
She lay back, her eyes half-closed, knowing he was studying her and helpless to slip on any mask. Whatever he wanted to see was there. She had no way of knowing that his own doubts were blinding him.
"That's something else we're going to deal with when you're on your feet, Abby."
"Yes, I know."
"You'd better rest." He put his hands in his pockets because it would be too easy to touch her again and forget
"I will." She closed her eyes because it would be too easy to reach out again and forget. There were children in the next room. Her children, her responsibility. Her life.
When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.
Chapter Six
Contents - Prev | Next
She didn't remember going back upstairs, but in the morning she woke in her own bed. And she woke late. There was something warm and fuzzy against her cheek. Her initial alarm turned to puzzlement, then to love, as she cuddled the ragged stuffed dog Chris prized. He must have brought it to her as she'd slept. Shifting, she saw the big pink sheet of contact paper taped sloppily to the bedpost that read Get Well Mom.
She recognized Ben's slanted, uneven printing, and tears blurred her vision. Maybe they were monsters, but they were her monsters, and they came through when it counted.
Did she? She rubbed Mary absently against her cheek. It was nearly ten in the morning, and she hadn't even fixed her children breakfast.
Disgusted, Abby pulled herself out of bed. Pretending her legs didn't wobble, she yanked her robe out of the closet and headed for the shower. There were things to be done, and she couldn't accomplish them in bed.
After she'd cleared the tub of a convoy of trucks, she just stood under the spray. It beat against aching muscles and feverish skin. She braced her hands against the tile and lifted her face so that the water sluiced over her. Gradually the chill passed and her mind cleared.
Dylan. Was it wrong that when her mind cleared he was the first thing to form in it? Perhaps it wasn't wrong, but it certainly wasn't safe. She'd started more there than she'd bargained for. Alone, she could admit that she hadn't the vaguest idea what to do next. The attraction she felt for him hadn't been in the plans. The wisest move would be to ignore it. But could she? Would he?
Once before, she'd felt this kind of quick excitement. And once before, she'd acted without giving herself a chance to reason. It wasn't a mistake she could afford to make twice. She couldn't say how long it had taken her to get over the hurt Chuck had caused, but she knew she couldn't deal with that sort of pain again. No, she didn't think she would survive to rebuild a second time, so the choice was clear. No involvement was worth the risk of losing. No man was worth the price.
"I wouldn't dream of it." Before she could think, before she could reason, Abby reached out and brought his mouth back to hers again.
It wasn't sweet. It wasn't magic. It was solid and strong. She tasted, for the first time in too many years, the flavor of man. She wanted, for the first time in too many years. And wasn't it wonderful just to want again—not to think, not to reason, just to let go and want.
The touch, the taste, brought back no memories of her marriage, of the only other man she'd known. It was fresh and new, as beginnings should be.
Her skin was hot. He felt the yielding he knew came as much from weakness as from passion. Yet he thought, or rather wanted to think, that there was something more, something unique in the way her mouth fit his. So he wanted more. From the kiss alone, desire sprinted out until he wanted everything—to feel her skin, feverishly hot under the thin nightgown, to feel her body melt against his.
There was no artifice in her kiss, no expertise. The gesture seemed to be as pure and as generous as Chris lifting his arms to him. He drew away, reluctant and more than a little puzzled. He was finding that the more he knew her, the less he knew.
She lay back, her eyes half-closed, knowing he was studying her and helpless to slip on any mask. Whatever he wanted to see was there. She had no way of knowing that his own doubts were blinding him.
"That's something else we're going to deal with when you're on your feet, Abby."
"Yes, I know."
"You'd better rest." He put his hands in his pockets because it would be too easy to touch her again and forget
"I will." She closed her eyes because it would be too easy to reach out again and forget. There were children in the next room. Her children, her responsibility. Her life.
When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.
Chapter Six
Contents - Prev | Next
She didn't remember going back upstairs, but in the morning she woke in her own bed. And she woke late. There was something warm and fuzzy against her cheek. Her initial alarm turned to puzzlement, then to love, as she cuddled the ragged stuffed dog Chris prized. He must have brought it to her as she'd slept. Shifting, she saw the big pink sheet of contact paper taped sloppily to the bedpost that read Get Well Mom.
She recognized Ben's slanted, uneven printing, and tears blurred her vision. Maybe they were monsters, but they were her monsters, and they came through when it counted.
Did she? She rubbed Mary absently against her cheek. It was nearly ten in the morning, and she hadn't even fixed her children breakfast.
Disgusted, Abby pulled herself out of bed. Pretending her legs didn't wobble, she yanked her robe out of the closet and headed for the shower. There were things to be done, and she couldn't accomplish them in bed.
After she'd cleared the tub of a convoy of trucks, she just stood under the spray. It beat against aching muscles and feverish skin. She braced her hands against the tile and lifted her face so that the water sluiced over her. Gradually the chill passed and her mind cleared.
Dylan. Was it wrong that when her mind cleared he was the first thing to form in it? Perhaps it wasn't wrong, but it certainly wasn't safe. She'd started more there than she'd bargained for. Alone, she could admit that she hadn't the vaguest idea what to do next. The attraction she felt for him hadn't been in the plans. The wisest move would be to ignore it. But could she? Would he?
Once before, she'd felt this kind of quick excitement. And once before, she'd acted without giving herself a chance to reason. It wasn't a mistake she could afford to make twice. She couldn't say how long it had taken her to get over the hurt Chuck had caused, but she knew she couldn't deal with that sort of pain again. No, she didn't think she would survive to rebuild a second time, so the choice was clear. No involvement was worth the risk of losing. No man was worth the price.
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