Page 63 of Risk of a Lifetime
She undid a couple more of the top buttons. All sense of propriety disappeared when the shirt gapped, and the smooth roundness of her breast made him long to reach out. He kept his hands to himself. She was riled. And he was still none too happy about the man’s shirt.
Again, she grabbed the collar and pulled upward, her head disappearing like a turtle hiding in its shell. What was she doing? The hem on the shirttail slid up her legs, all the way to her hipbones. Heaven help him. Staying mad was not going to be an option. Not at this rate. In fact, his groin had already made up his mind for him. He inhaled deep and blew out a long sigh.
She tugged one more iota, and the front of the shirt tail bottom exposed her soft mound. He placed one hand on her hip, easing her toward him. Shifting himself toward her. One hand shouldn’t get him in too much trouble.
“Stop that.” She swatted his hand away, then reached for the collar again.
Maybe it would. Or, maybe he just caught her by surprise. He reached out again. This time she didn’t push him away, so he caressed her upper thighs, creeping higher in small increments. She felt good and warm and, in his Marcy-starved state of mind, almost-willing. He was for sure willing.
Her finger pointed in the general direction of the inside of the shirt collar. Where laundry marks are made. “What does that say on the collar?”
What did it say? At the moment, he didn’t give a darn what happened to be on the collar. Still, he looked. Looked closer. Son-of-a-gun. Fool…that’s what it said. “Says JBB.”
His inter-looped initials, his trademark signature, stared back at him.
“And, what does it say on this side?” She pointed in the same general direction.
“Says NBD.” Never back down.
These letters, along with his initials, were the way he’d marked his belongings since he was old enough to go to the store and buy an indelible marker. His fingers inched higher on her body, and she pulled the shirt back into place. He didn’t remove his hold, even made lazy palm circles on her lower, lower back. Her cute little derrière.
She shoved him away. “Now whose shirt is this?”
“I never had a lavender shirt in my life.”
“This was white until I accidently washed it with my purple sweatshirt.” She kept him at arm’s length, tapping her foot. “Answer my question. Whose shirt?”
Sheepish, he glanced at the floor. “Mine.”
He found his hands empty and shoved them in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. Dang, he wanted this woman. But, from her expression, the irritated look on her face, he wasn’t sure where he stood at this point.
“I kept this shirt when I packed your duffle years ago. And I’ve slept in this shirt more nights than you can imagine.” She wadded the material in her hand, blushed. “Imagined you there beside me more times than I want to remember.”
As he stepped forward, she braced her hand against his chest, and for a moment, he thought she’d come to him. Let him hold her. Make everything right in their world. But, she didn’t. Instead, she pulled her hand away and placed it on her heart.
“I know I’m the one who shoved you away, but I also waited for you, JB. I cried and I yelled and I crawled in our bed alone. Every single night…I slept alone. I woke up alone. I ate alone. I showered alone.” She paused. “I curled up in the swing on our anniversary…alone.”
The look on his wife’s face was agony. He could see how he broke her heart by staying away so long.
She twined her fingers through his, then let them go. Her heat stayed with him. “I called you. Time and again, I called. Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
Yeah, he’d seen her number on his caller ID many times, but he’d only returned the call once. Right before an undercover assignment.
Looking back, he couldn’t believe he’d put her through all those days. No. She’d said he wasn’t good enough…or had she? Not those exact words, but that’s what he heard. And when she set the bag on the front porch and locked the door, it was a blow that took him back to all the doubts he had as a child. Still, that hadn’t been the worst.
The worst he remembered was her turning away from him at night every time he got hurt on the job. Not feeling her warmth against his side had come close to making him quit the force. And being a lawman was what kept him getting out of bed every stinking day. What made him know he meant something in this world. Of course, she was what made him lay down at night.
He stroked his palm through her hair, twisting his finger in the softness. “You sent me away, and I told myself that’s what you wanted. Thought I was making you happy by being gone. Maybe you found someone else. Now I see it was my own damn male pride that kept me away.”
The day he signed the divorce papers she sent had been the first time he felt the coldness of having a hole in his heart. Seeing her in anguish now was worse. Ten times worse.
“I don’t want anybody else.” Her fingertips brushed across his lips, then she closed the distance to his body. “Ever. And, I don’t want to be alone any more. I just want to lay by your side every night. Be your wife.” She laid her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry, JB. I’m sorry I ever threw you out.”
“I’m sorry, too, sugar. For everything.”
His heart felt like it might burst. He scooped her up, nuzzling her neck as she looped her arms over his shoulders. All he wanted was her warmth surrounding him. Every last inch of him. Now and forever.
Pausing only long enough to grab his gun and holster from the table as they passed, he carried her to the bedroom and placed the Glock on the nightstand by the bed. After laying her down, he tangled his fingers through her hair. Spread it across the pillow like a blanket of temptation. A temptation he’d been drawn to since the day the soft, reddish-brown strands had first brushed his cheek as she’d leaned over to help him with an algebra equation.
