Page 25 of Shopping for an Heir
He was here, his mouth against hers, his graceful hands kneading her spine, fingers tracing up as if memorizing. She wondered if he’d sculpted her. Were there statues of the Suzanne she’d been ten years ago? The thought wasn’t preposterous; he’d done stunning sculptures of her, tiny statues he kept in his pocket, the clay hard-baked from the heat in Afghanistan, the tokens emotionally stirring for her.
In his wholly unique way, Gerald viewed her body as a lens through which he saw the world, and his hands recreated a permanent talisman of that vantage point. How could she resist?
His body language was so clear, the eagerness making her heart quicken, the hunger to touch stronger than the need for decency. He broke the kiss first with a breathless hitch, then blinked, breathing hard.
“Come back to my place,” they said at the same time, with the same weight of a decade pulling their words down, into a register where desire had waited to be unleashed.
“You choose,” he insisted, deferring to her in an unnatural way. “It’s only fair.”
“How is that fair?” she challenged.
“Because I never gave you a choice ten years ago.”
She didn’t argue, because really, why?
“My place, then,” she said, pulling his hand toward the T. “I want you to meet someone.”
“Gerald, meet Smoochy. Smoochy, this is Gerald,” Suzanne said as she pulled her keys out of the lock, the half-opened front door to her condo letting the hot air from the non-air-conditioned hall into her living room.
“You have a dog? You? You hate dogs!” Gerald said, his rumbling laughter making his chest shake as the little white puffball sniffed his feet, making him step back and sit down on Suzanne’s couch.
“I do not!” She handed him a beer.
“You did when I knew you. Said we could never have one,” he argued. The little bichon frise climbed into his lap, settled down with her chin on his thigh, and closed her eyes.
“She likes you,” Suzanne noted with a smile. “Smoochy doesn’t like everyone.”
“She has good taste. What made you get a dog?”
“I needed a wingman.”
He was taking a swig of the beer when her words sank in. He damn near choked.
“And I guess I wanted somebody to be here when I got home. I don’t know. I hit the seven-year mark at work and was made partner. My hours lightened slightly.”
“You were lonely.”
“I was lonely. Yes.”
“I keep fighting the urge to apologize. How about I tattoo I’m sorry on my ass?” From another man, that would sound sarcastic.
But she could tell he meant it sincerely.
“That would be fun. You’d moon me constantly.”
He grinned.
“My loneliness is funny?” Her tone made it clear she was inquiring about his grin.
He shook his head. “No.”
She didn’t pry.
“Your loneliness makes me wish I had more clarity back then.” He patted Smoochy’s head. “But this old girl seems to be a good companion. Did you get her as a puppy?”
“Actually, she’s a rescue. Had her for less than a year. Her owner had to go into a nursing home.”
The look he gave her was touching. “That’s really nice of you. To rescue her.”
“You know what they say. Not sure who rescued whom.”
Smoochy sighed again, her body going limp against Gerald.
“I’ll leave you two alone for your intimate moment,” Suzanne said with a laugh. “I think someone has established herself as the alpha female here.”
“My lap’s big enough for two,” he said, patting his free thigh.
Skin shouldn’t warm so quickly, and not from just a few words, a look, a gesture.
But it did.
Her pulse faded, receding, taking with it the steady beat that helped her to know where his body ended and the air began. He met her gaze and they stared. It wasn’t that she was uncertain. She wanted him. He wanted her.
What held them back?
Civilian life had never been part of them. Suzanne and Gerald had known each other for two years, with snippets back home. A trip to meet his mom and dad. A trip back home when his dad had died of a sudden stroke. Their visit to see her mom in Minnesota. Snatches of time out of war zones.
He’d never seen her apartment, nor she his.
Because they hadn’t had one.
“This is so strange,” he said.
She was relieved he took the lead. She sat down next to him.
“I know.” A thousand questions radiated from her, heat seeking his body, drawing him in.
“You’re not in a uniform. I’m not in a uniform. And I’m sitting on your couch in your very nice condo in a great Charlestown neighborhood with your dog drooling on my leg.”
“It’s surreal.”
His voice went rough with emotion. “It’s everything I’ve wanted for years, Suz.”
He leaned in, kissing her softly. Smoochy stirred, sat up, and toddled off, jumping off a very distracted Gerald’s lap.
“Let’s take this,” she said, breathless between kisses, “one step at a time.”
“Define ‘step.’”
“Spend the night with me.”
“I like that step.”
“Make me breakfast in the morning.”
“Is that step two?”
“Sure.”
“I always respond well to a clearly defined set of procedures.”
“How about a map?”
“Even better.”
Neither one moved. The offer, once accepted, was almost enough. Acting on it felt so big. So was he, though. As she crawled into his lap, connected to him by their eager mouths, she pulled her skirt up so she could straddle him, his arms wrapping around her waist. The heat of sinking into him, the intimacy of having his body so close, made her mind rest.
Her body took over.
“You taste so good,” he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding up her spine in tandem, then moving across her shoulders in synchronized perfection to remove her suit jacket. The shiver she gave came less from the temperature change and more from the delicious feel of how he touched her. With Gerald, a touch wasn’t just the stroke of a finger, the brush of a palm, the flick of a tongue, or the thrust into her. Never one to waste movement, he reveled in it, living fully in dimensions she couldn’t even see.
He pulled her shirt out from her waistband just as she returned the favor, seeking the raw warmth of his skin. Her hands flattened against his thick shoulders, the connection grounding, her body moving in a slow, involuntary rhythm against him as he kissed her hard.
So hard.
As he cupped her breasts over her bra, her nipples tightened, the ache spinning down in a spiral, tearing through years of pain and craving. Her breath hitched and his kiss became more urgent, his intent clear. It was so good to kiss a man who knew how to hold her just so, who used a feather light touch where she wanted it, and who pressed where a tighter squeeze made a difference.
Gerald had been joyfully unrestrained in bed, hours of pleasure unending, as if there were no events marking time—no final orgasm, no steps in a schematic—but only the undefined fuzzy logic of imperfect art played out in moans and sighs, in the light stroke of a fingertip against responsive flesh, in the wave of tongue against arched hips and the push and pull of love cried out in ecstasy.
In minutes, they would be back in that dimension.
She shivered with anticipation.
“What are we doing?” she whispered, the tone playful, his hands sinking into her long waves.
“Whatever it is, it’s been a while,” he rasped. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.” His hand left her breast and traveled up, thumb moving from her chest to her chin, her lips closing over his finger with a warm, wet welcome.
“Like riding a bicycle,” she whispered, letting him go. “Except no fish.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shut herself up by kissing him, and within seconds, he was the one doing the kissing, her breath quickening, her blood racing through her, moved by the proximity to him. He was here, in her arms, and she was in his. They were together, finally.
Finally.
He pushed up against her, his erection an invitation, wild heat pooling between her legs, the need for climax rising up in her like a plea. She didn’t just want the release that came from any orgasm.
Joining with him, coming with him was what she wanted desperately.
Him.
“Take me to bed,” she murmured against his ear. He kissed her neck, letting a low growl fill the back of his throat, her body primed for the sound. Unbuttoning his shirt, she rushed, the hurried ache too keen, too great, to wait one minute more.
She needed him, needed to feel him inside her, over her, to have him everywhere at once so she could remember what it felt like to be wanted so badly, to be understood so thoroughly, to let yourself go with abandon and trust until you obliterated the boundaries between one body and another.
He moved her gently off him and stood.
She reached for him, lacing her fingers through his.
And led him to the one place where they could put the past where it belonged.
And where the future could roll out before them, naked and vulnerable, completely fresh and stunningly real.
Chapter 11
“You totally slept with him,” Kari said as she pulled Suzanne into a hug, the mixture of Kari’s perfume, ground coffee, and delivery truck exhaust combining to make Suzanne hold back a tickling sneeze.
