She opened to him. One thrust and he was home at last, at last, his thrusts slow at first until she angled her hips just so, to invite him deeper, and then he was helpless against the tide of desire that built and built until the sun obliterated them both.
Sweet pulses slowly began to fade, leaving them lying there, her head on his shoulder, her fingers playing with his hair, which had somehow come loose. Laughter tremored through him when he realized she was playing with his hair the way she played with his unicorn’s mane.
“The windows are wide open,” she said, her voice husky with sated pleasure. “I guess the high patrol got quite a show.”
Laughter ran through him again, a stream of sheer joy. “They don’t fly this high. Keraunos can’t possibly get up here. If he’s even still around. He might very well have slunk back aboard the yacht.”
“Speaking of.” She rose on an elbow, looking endearingly tousled, though her sea-calm eyes were steady. “I know everything came out all right. And I’m so glad.”
“I noticed.”
A grin flickered, but then she said, “I think I need to apologize for how very close it came to not being all right. I walked straight into the stupidest trap—and it’s not like you didn’t warn me. And I know I worried you. I felt that pulse of fear on my behalf.”
“What was that you said once? First rule in the villains’ playbook,” he said, running his hands over her soft, smooth skin. “Yes, it was an old fear, but it was a reflex of habit. I’ve known since the day we fought Cang’s minions that I did not have to guard you, that we would stand together side by side.”
He felt her own tremor of joy. “Side by side,” she whispered into his neck. “Yes.”
“Besides. If anyone is to blame it would be me. I realized it too late a few nights ago when I ran up the mountainside with you dancing in the air around me, visible from tower to shore. Visible and beautiful—every shifter on the island who saw us knew I had a mate at last, and I couldn’t find it in me to regret it. I wanted to shout about you from this window right here. It would have been a criminal act to try to hide you away for your own safety.”
“I would have gone back to California if you found that necessary,” she admitted, her voice full of regret. “I lived in a box, those last few years with Robert. It seemed right at the time, but it will never be right for me again.”
He sensed that she had made a profound shift in her emotions regarding Robert, but it was for her to bring it up or not. So he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jen was silent, then she said, “Can I tell you what happened?”
“I would be honored if you would,” he said, knowing she sensed his sincerity.
This was one of the many glories of this bond. Lying to one another wasn’t even a possibility. He hated lies, and he knew she would scorn to lie to him. But there would also be no misunderstanding one another, which could be so much more insidious; she had lived faithfully with someone who had loved her, but who had never understood her in all their years together.
She began, slowly, “I could never face that day. When Robert died. I tried to get past it, but for a long time I couldn’t sleep, as I fought for numbness. To forget that day altogether. But my dreams . . .Well, I tried a therapist, who tried to get me to work through that day, and I walked out, angry with the doctor, angry with the world.”
She let out a quiet sigh. “Medusa arrowed right in on it. And she very nearly defeated me. That’s what makes her so terrible, she digs out real feelings, and magnifies them. Distorts them. In a way, I guess I set myself up, four years ago. It clearly didn’t do me any good to keep things bottled up. The guilt I felt, first that I survived, then later little moments of feeling free. Relief. Just little stuff, like not having the news blaring every evening. Then after I threw out all the ketchup, even though it was past the expiration date.”
He tightened his arm around her when her voice got ragged. “I was feeling guilty for beginning to live my life instead of his. But instead of looking for the cause of the guilt, I shoved everything down. I guess it festered. Medusa tried to force me to relive it, but I was still wiggling out—it was my phoenix who got me to go back to that horrible day and see the truth. It’s weird, I know I heard Robert say ‘Live,’ that day. It was his last word. But the meaning escaped me. At the time everything was too raw, and then I couldn’t bear to think about that day.”
“I can understand that,” he said.
“But here’s the thing I’ve come to realize,” she said. “There are so many kinds of love. Maybe I was never in love with Robert, but I did love him, and I admired his life. But it was his life all along. After he died, I felt guilty because of the relief, first those little things, then bigger ones. I no longer had to spend my days and nights with my nose buried entirely in the sordid parts of the news. Robert thrilled to the chase. I never did. I was always happiest after a piece was done and turned in, and maybe the bad guys got caught. Robert loved the process. He was a crusader for good, and I felt guilty because I wanted to take time for the beautiful things in life. And I could, once he was no longer there.”
“Like you should be carrying on his work, though it was never your work, it was always his?”
Her eyes widened. “
Exactly! That’s exactly right. It was always his work. He picked the gigs, and I was his helpmate. And it was fine—until I hit fifty. Even before he died I felt it was disloyal to feel boxed up when Robert began turning down travel gigs in favor of projects that let him sit at home doing research on the net. I wonder if he wasn’t feeling right that last couple years. He went for regular checkups, but he was never really in touch with his body—to him it was merely the suitcase that carried his mind. Well, you get the idea.”
“I think,” he said, tugging her close, “we should go back to your appreciation for how there are many kinds of love. And you should not feel guilty for whatever love you were able to give.”
“I know. I see it now. My phoenix insisted I look, and it was like I finally had clear vision, and then, oh, and then we were in the core of the mountain.”
As she described what happened, her words came more rapidly, at first raw, then lilting with happiness when she described her phoenix’s and her union. He realized he should have seen that before—that her phoenix would respond to the pieces of the sun in the earth’s core. Maybe she might even have united earlier.
No should have, his unicorn hummed, and higher came the phoenix, All is well.
“Our animals are smarter than we are,” Jen commend with a soft chuckle.
“They’re certainly more direct,” he said, still running his hands along her skin.
She snuggled up against him, and when she slid one knee up his thigh, there he was, ready again. Her hand promptly moved across his stomach, caressed up and then, down, down, and . . .