“Did I ever tell you how much I loved that you were a cop, too?” she asked in the same soft tone she’d been using since he’d placed her on the bed and tried unsuccessfully to walk away. “I was always so proud to know you were out there upholding law and order, helping people and keeping the community safe.” A shimmer of sadness flashed across her face, but was quickly swallowed up by the small smile she forced to her lips. “It made me feel safe and protected.”
The sexual heat that had been warming his blood by slow degrees over the last several minutes moved to his solar plexus and started to transform into an uncomfortable burning sensation.
All he’d ever wanted was to keep her safe. And according to her, she’d felt safe with him.
So how the hell could things have spun so far out of control? How could they have been married for three years, yet he’d never known she’d secretly wished for a tattoo-something as personal and distinctive as his name, no less? Or that she’d not only approved of but admired his choice of career.
Had she kept herself closed off from him so that he couldn’t have been aware of these things? Or had he been the world’s biggest idiot?
He suspected it was the latter. At the very least, he felt like an idiot. Like a man coming out of a decade-long coma to find that everything around him was strange and altered, and that life had moved on without him.
Was it possible that if he hadn’t been such a fool, his relationship with Jenna might have turned out differently?
His gut said no. Just because he’d been clueless about a couple of things didn’t mean there weren’t still huge chasms of opposing opinions separating them. But she did have him reconsidering some of his previous trains of thought, some of the decisions he’d made and the beliefs behind them.
He raised a hand to stroke her hair, letting the soft black strands sift through his fingers. “All I ever wanted was to keep you safe,” he told her in a rough whisper.
It wasn’t easy for him to admit such a thing, not when he’d spent their entire courtship and marriage-hell, his entire life-being the strong, silent type. But if she could share some of the stuff closest to her heart tonight, in this dark, tiny room in her aunt’s big old farm house, then so could he.
She leaned in, resting her torso against his chest and bringing her face so close to his own, he could feel her breath dusting his cheeks.
“You did. I was never afraid when you were around. Or when you were gone, because I knew you were out there fighting the good fight, and that if I needed you, you’d be there in a millisecond.”
“Faster,” he said past the lump growing in his throat.
She smiled at that, a gentle, angelic smile that reached her eyes and sent them sparkling. “Faster.”
Relaxing across his upper body, she trailed her fingers around to the nape of his neck and toyed with the hair that was just beginning to grow out. Her touch tickled all the way down his spine.
Barely above a whisper, she murmured, “I always knew you’d be there for me if I was ever in danger, if anything was ever wrong.”
He heard the pain in her voice, the words left unspoken, and felt a stab of guilt. “But you didn’t think I was there for you the rest of the time, did you? For the everyday stuff.”
In response, her lashes fluttered in a slow blink, her teeth nibbled her lower lip, and then she nodded.
His chest squeezed. Shit. He’d been such a fool. He’d screwed up their marriage in ways he was just now beginning to understand, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. It was too late. The divorce was final and had been for more than a year. She was lost to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words grating as he forced them past a throat gone raw with emotion.
Her breathing hitched and a sheen of tears brightened her beautiful green eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”
And then she surprised him by covering his mouth with her own.
Purl 12
Gage’s lips were warm and soft and reminded her of a thousand nights spent in his arms.
It should have mattered that they were divorced and had no business being in bed together.
It should have mattered that she’d taken advantage of him last night and he’d since vowed to stick to her like glue until he knew whether she was pregnant or not.
It should have mattered that kissing him, caressing him, making love to him would be the mother of all mixed signals.
It should have, but it didn’t.
She didn’t want to think about any of that right now, not when she was feeling more comfortable and content than any time in recent memory.
He let her kiss him, remaining perfectly still beneath her. His palms cupped her elbows, holding her in place, and his chest rose and fell against her, but he didn’t deepen the kiss, didn’t sit up and take over. Instead, he allowed her to run the show, kept his mouth slack while she nipped and licked and explored.
Oh, how she loved this man. It was like being a diabetic and having an overwhelming craving for chocolate éclairs, but knowing if she ate one, it might kill her.
Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.
It wasn’t better, it was worse. So much worse, because now she knew what she was missing.
For this moment, though, she could have it again.
Last night had been wonderful, but it had been rather one-sided. This time, he was wide awake and would not only be a willing participant, but an active one.
And she didn’t want to go back downstairs to the sofa or kick him out so she could have the bed. She didn’t want to spend the night alone in this house, knowing he was only a few rooms or a stairwell away.
She teased the ends of his prickly, super-short hair, then let her fingers drift around to his neck and face. She stroked his jawline, with its layer of stubble making his cheeks rough.
That same five o’clock shadow scraped her skin as she dragged her mouth from his and began kissing everywhere else she could reach. Light, open-mouthed kisses that allowed her to take in every molecule of his scent and texture.
He smelled the same way he always had-delicious. His aftershave was one of those spicy sandalwood scents that reminded her of deep green pine forests, winter holidays, and isolated ski lodges with blazing fires in the hearth. Thanks to Gage, she was probably one of the only women on the planet who got turned on by Christmas trees.
She’d never told him that, but it was true. It was also the reason she’d jumped his bones in front of the tree each Christmas Eve while they were married, and why so many of their decorations consisted of ornaments bought at after-Christmas sales. Rolling around on a tree skirt and banging into the Douglas fir a few dozen times did tend to result in broken candy canes and shattered bulbs.
And it had only taken her one Christmas morning of pulling those tiny, static-clingy silver icicles out of her hair and clothes and… other regions… to realize the wisdom of switching to a single string of garland.
She chuckled, thoughts of the past making her happy instead of sad for a change. Gage, she knew, had simply counted himself lucky to be getting lucky, and every time she came home with a different batch of decorations for the tree, he’d merely shrugged and chalked it up to one of those “woman at a clearance sale” things.
“What’s so funny?” he asked in a low voice, and for the first time she realized his hands had somehow slipped under the hem of her pink tank top to skim the flesh of her midriff.
She shook her head, knowing she would never be able to explain, not in a few short seconds, and wanting to keep that particular memory to herself for a while longer.
“This won’t change anything,” he said when she didn’t reply. “When we wake up in the morning, all of the same problems we’ve always had will be right there waiting for us.”