Page 51 of Risk of a Lifetime
“That still doesn’t account for the way you acted last night.” She whispered, moistened her lips.
“What do you mean?” Sooner or later, he’d figure this out or the phone would ring or the perp would barge through the door or he’d give up and let her stay here. Which meant he’d stay, too. For now, he enjoyed the fact she was mad because she loved him.
She wiggled her fingers, but her hands stayed on her hips. “I laid there all night, and you didn’t try one little thing. No nudging or coaxing. No hands. No fingers. Nooooo…well you get my drift. All you did was go to sleep and ignore me.”
“I was sick.”
“And this morning?”
Should he tell her he almost crawled back under the covers to be with her? “I went to get donuts.”
“Donuts.” She shook her head. “See, that’s what I mean. All you wanted was donuts.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. Best not say what he’d really wanted. “What can I say? I was hungry, and donuts sounded good about then.”
Damn, he thought he really did something wrong. Had him worried for a second. If she knew how hard ignoring her had been, she wouldn’t be worked up right now. The sense of rejection she felt flooded her expression. She thought he didn’t want her any more.
He kissed her lips, soft and tender and slow. She nipped at his lower lip, and his tongue eased between hers as she invited him, teased him.
“We should talk before we…” He brushed his hands from her shoulders down her arms to her fingers. Slid his arms through the looped stance of her own. “You’re the counselor here. Shouldn’t we take this slow, Marcy? Talk and…” The sensible side of his brain nodded yes, but the rest of his brain fought the idiotic, levelheaded idea.
Her hand slid to the back of his neck and eased into a caress. The pressure he liked. The rhythm he liked. He moaned. His no-make-out plan was quickly going down the drain. Gripping her hair in his fingers, his kiss deepened. He grazed against her mouth, her ear, her neck. Hunger for her flooded his body, right along with any willpower he might still have left. Sensibility lost all meaning. Her head fell back, and she sighed, Marcy’s sign of yes.
Control, he needed to regain control. Her thumb stroked up and down the side of his neck in lazy circles. Without thinking, he dropped his hands to her breasts, stroking and circling, as his mouth found hers again. Her firmness pressed against his fingers, against him, pushed him to the edge even before she slid her hand beneath the bottom of his T-shirt. Warmth from her palm grazed his skin, twitched his nerves all the way to his core. Broke what little resolve he had left.
His breaths were heavy. Hers fast. He lifted her to sit on the counter as she tugged her top upward and off. Definitely not what he planned.
“Aw, hell.” He ripped his shirt over his head and flung it to the corner. “Talking is highly overrated anyhow.”
“Highly…” Her fingers fumbled with the clasp on her bra. “…overrated.”
She fell loose in his hands, and his thumbs made their own stroking rhythms as he took his fill. He’d forgotten how beautiful his wife was. Her moans increased with the touch of his mouth, his tongue. She gripped him to her, her nails biting into his shoulders. He slid her closer to the counter’s edge, and she slipped her legs around him.
Damn. They were still dressed from the waist down. Her thighs gripped against his sides as he fumbled with the top of his jeans. Buttons, zippers, he couldn’t get his mind to think. He realized how long it had been since he tasted her skin, and he couldn’t seem to get his fill. She arched and sagged against him, panting.
Bed. He needed to get her to the damn bed. Get their jeans off. His hands slid beneath her bottom and lifted. She looped her arms around him as he carried her toward the kitchen door, her fingers tight in his hair as she tilted his head back to receive the deluge of kisses she planted on his face.
“Oh, Marcy…Marcy.”
“Yes, JB.” She sucked his ear, nipped. “Yes. You’re back. Nothing’s changed.”
Nothing’s changedblared across his mind. He stopped. Eased her to the floor and unhooked her hands from behind his neck.
Her breathing came in ragged pants as she reached to pull him back. He gently pushed away, took a step backwards. They needed space. Room to feel what was real. What wasn’t.
“What? What did I say?” She grabbed her top from the counter, shimmied it over her head. “What’s wrong?”
“You said nothing’s changed, and you’re right. We’re about to fall right back into each other’s arms.” His own breaths were heavy and deep. “Don’t you see? We can’t do that again. Pretend nothing’s wrong? This time we need to talk.”
She crossed her arms over her sweater. “So talk.”
He recognized her stance. Her tone. She’d already shut down to anything he might say. “Things can wait till you’re in a better mood.” He stepped to reach for his shirt.
“No. Now.” She blocked his path. “You make it sound like it’s all my fault we never talk. How about the times I asked you questions about your childhood? How your day went? How it felt to arrest someone? You evaded every one of those questions.”
She was right. There were things he kept so deep inside himself that they would never see the light of day again. Didn’t mean there weren’t things they needed to face as two people who cared about each other.
“Forget I mentioned it,” he said.
