With quiet command, he parted her legs and knelt, separating the folds that hid her sex with gentle fingers. And then he kissed her, using his tongue and lips to push her toward the edge, ignoring her frantic motions to pull him back up until she climaxed hard and arched beneath him. He caught her hips and continued kissing her, until a sob caught in her throat and she begged him, begged him…
He surged upward and paused at her entrance.
“Look at me, Alexa.”
Half drugged, she opened her eyes and gazed at the man she loved with every part of her being, waiting for him to claim her, waiting to take anything he could give.
“It’s always been you.” He paused as if to be sure she heard and understood the words. Intensity gleamed within amber depths. He gripped her fingers, as if trying to speak beyond words.
“And it will always be you.” He plunged and she cried out. Never taking his eyes from hers, keeping her fingers within his, he buried himself to the hilt and began to move. Every time he re-entered, he claimed more than her body. The stakes had changed and he was going for her heart, as he continued to give all of himself, pushing her with slow, steady strokes until she hovered on the edge of the cliff. This time when she fell over he followed, holding her hands the whole time he shared the journey. And when they drifted back, he gathered her in his arms in front of the fire, pressed a kiss to her temple, and lay with her in the delicious silence that settled over them like the lazy snow drifting to the ground. She realized something had changed between them, something he wasn’t ready to say yet, and she held tight to the hope, even as she cursed herself for ever having a thought he could belong to her.
A while later, drowsy in the delicious warmth of his body heat, he whispered to her. “The dog can stay.”
She roused herself for a moment and wondered if she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“It’s my gift to you. The dog can stay.”
Overwhelmed, she searched for the words to express what he’d given to her, and like him, found none. So, she reached for him again and brought his head down to hers and showed him in another way.
…
The next day, Nick looked at his very sick wife and shook his head. “I told you so.”
She groaned and flipped over to bury her face in the pillow, then gave a hacking cough. “You’re not supposed to say those words. I need more Nyquil.”
He settled the tray of liquids including chicken soup, water, and juice beside her. “Hell, no, not with the antibiotics and codeine cough syrup. The doctor warned me. No more nasal spray, either. I read an article about it.”
“I want my mother.”
He laughed and pressed a kiss on her tangled hair. “You have the television and remote. A box of tissues. A romance novel and the phone. Get some rest and I’ll be back soon.”
“I have to get to the bookstore. Maggie sucks at customer service.”
“She can handle it for the day. Think of all the men she’ll charm into buying more books. Eat your soup.”
She grumbled something and he gently shut the door behind him.
Nick jumped into the Volkswagon with an air of satisfaction. With her stuck in bed, he finally had the opportunity to get new tires and an oil change on her rust bucket. He’d personally escorted her to the doctor, gotten the prescription, stopped at the pharmacy for supplies, then settled her underneath the covers.
A piece of him watched the scene from above and noted he acted like a husband. A real husband, not a fake one. The worst part was the deep satisfaction the role gave him.
He dropped the car off, grabbed all the papers from the glove compartment, and settled himself to wait. He hoped she kept the history of the mechanics in the jumbled mess, and began sifting through invoices.
The formal letter from the bank stopped him cold.
He read through the letter and noted the date. Over a month ago. Way after the wedding. After she had got the money. What the hell was going on?
His BlackBerry buzzed. Distracted, he picked it up. “Hello?”
“About time you took my call.”
Memories from his past dragged him back. With long practice, his heart chilled, along with his tone. “Jed. What do you want?”
His father laughed. “Is that the type of greeting I’m warranted from my own son? How’ve you been?”
Nick dropped the letter in his lap and went through the motions. “Fine. Back from Mexico so soon?”
“Yeah, I got married.”
Wife number four. His mother would pop out of hiding to make trouble—that seemed to be the pattern. Maggie and he were only pawns to make the game more interesting. Nausea clawed at his gut. “Congratulations. Listen, I gotta go, no time to chat.”
“I have something to discuss with you, Son. Meet me for lunch.”
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
“I just need an hour, tops. Make the time.”
The warning pulsed through the phone. Nick squeezed his eyes shut as he fought instinct. He better meet him, just in case Jed had some twisted idea to go after Dreamscape and challenge the will. What a mess. “Fine. I’ll meet you at three o’clock. Planet Diner.”
He clicked off the phone and glanced back at the letter.
Why would Alexa lie about her use for the hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Was she involved in something he had never suspected? If she requested a loan from the bank for the cafe and was rejected, where had his money gone?
The questions whirled through his mind and made no sense. For some reason, she didn’t want him to discover the truth. If she really wanted more money, she would’ve asked him to co-sign the loan papers and it’d be a guaranteed acceptance. What the hell was going on?
He waited for the car and took a trip to the office to stall for time. His quick call to check on her confirmed she’d be fine until he finished his lunch with Jed. Temptation urged him to ask some serious questions, but another part of him wondered if he wanted to know the truth. He may be in love with her, but the bottom line still hadn’t changed. He couldn’t offer her stability and children. Eventually, if she stayed, she’d end up hating him. Terror washed over him at the thought.
Jed waited in a corner booth. He studied the man who shared his blood. Money and laziness seemed to agree with him. His hair was highlighted by the Mexican sun, and the deep tan that lined his face gave him a character he didn’t really have. He was a tall man, and wore his designer clothes well. Today he was clad in a Ralph Lauren red sweater, black pants, and leather loafers. His dark eyes held a slight sheen of alcohol-induced humor. Probably a cocktail before confronting his long lost son. As Nick slid into the booth, he noted the similarities in their faces and bone structure. He shuddered. What he dreaded most in life was sitting right across from him. The possibility of becoming his father.