What the Waves Bring by Barbara Delinsky

was a prolonged silence, broken only by some very suspicious and familiar-sounding blips, that finally brought her out of seclusion—not that the time to herself had accomplished anything, anyway! Besieged by guilt and tormented by an emotion she could neither contain nor define, she felt herself floundering. It was a welcome relief to have some source of diversion.
    The sight that confronted her in the living room brought her to an abrupt halt. “What are you doing?” She aimed her question at the broad back facing her. Seated at her desk chair, Heath was deeply engrossed in communion with her Apple.
    â€œDo you play chess?” he asked absently, sparing but a minute’s worth of his attention on her.
    â€œNo, but …”
    â€œThis is fantastic. A worthy opponent!”
    â€œYou are playing chess!” she exclaimed. “How did you ever figure out how to work with the menu and everything?”
    â€œIt was a snap.”

    â€œSnap, my foot!” she cried, coming to stand directly behind him. “It took me weeks to get the knack of using this machine. I still haven’t become totally comfortable with it when it comes to some of the functions I use less frequently. I’ve never worked out the games. And here you are, after a few short minutes, playing it like a pro.”
    â€œShhh. You’re distracting me!” He was clearly enjoying himself. April leaned closer to watch.
    â€œThat’s it, Heath. Perhaps you’re a computer whiz! A program designer! A genius!” In the fun of the moment, she pushed the world of doubts and caution to a far corner of her mind.
    His gruff though playful “Shhh!” was close by her ear, as he turned his head briefly toward her. “April,” he warned, “I’m trying to concentrate.”
    â€œSorry.” Feeling not at all regretful, she felt herself a football widow, yielding her husband to the clutches of the television set for hours on end during long fall weekends. Cautiously at first, then with greater staying power, she studied Heath’s features as he concentrated on the game. As she braced herself with one hand against the back of his chair, she had an angle of sight from which, she assumed, he would not be disturbed. She was wrong, she realized, as she suddenly found herself off-balance. Heath had twirled around on the chair and whipped her onto his lap, locking her into position with an arm around her waist.
    â€œHeath!” she protested, catching her breath. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    â€œThis is more fun than chess any day, darlin’,” he drawled, instants before his lips seized hers with a fierceness that stirred latent fires within her.
    With her hands, she tried to lever him away. With her lips, she was betrayed without a fight. The assault of sensation had taken her by storm, and it was too heady to resist. She opened her mouth willingly for the invasion of his
tongue, playing coyly with it as it ran along the even line of her teeth, then forayed deeper.
    The rapid rise and fall of her breasts, outlined through the close knit of her sweater, pressed against his chest as her arms found their way over his shoulders to the corded lines of his back. When he released her lips at last, his breath was ragged against the flush of her cheeks. “Oh, darlin’, how am I going to make it? I want you in my arms all the time. I may not know anything else, but I do know that!”
    â€œDon’t say things like that, Heath,” she rasped, torn between tearing herself away, the sane course, and begging for more, the sensuous course. Walking that tightrope, she simply held on to him, feeling safe as long as she made token protest—Heath would never force her into doing anything. Mindlessly, she let her lips trail along his forehead to the healing line of the gash that, in all probability, was the source of his amnesia. Her senses absorbed the pressure