Shades of Gray

by Vicki Hinze

  A strong shudder racked through his body. The vibrations from it coursed up to her elbow, and he let out a massive sigh that heaved his chest. “I tried, Laura. I tried. But I’m too weak to fight us both.”

  He embraced her to her silent refrain, giving thanks. “Hurry.”

  Lips melding, hands hasty and clutching, they stripped off their clothes and made their way down the hall, pausing time upon time to indulge and invest in hungry kisses that just couldn’t wait. By the time they reached his bedroom, they were naked and needy, far too eager to satisfy to endure the delay of catering to tender, gentle needs. Those, Laura promised herself, she’d share with him later. Now, she had to stop this heat—feed it, satisfy it, and stop it, before it consumed her.

  They fell onto the bed in a full embrace, and he quickly, fluidly filled her. She let out a shuddery moan and rocked against him, legs stretched, knees bent, and back bowed. She lost herself in the lush sensations of sweet heat and driving friction, of long and hard kisses and hungry nipping ones, opening herself to him in ways she’d never opened herself to anyone.

  Jake reveled in the feel of Laura loving him, of her clenching her muscles to caress him in a fisted grip, and he fought hard to hold part of himself back from her. They had only tonight, only this once, and he had to persevere to survive whatever tomorrows they had together. But he couldn’t refrain or withhold. He wasn’t a green kid. He was a twice-married man with a son. And though it’d be easier on him if he could say his reaction to her lovemaking was normal for a man who’d been celibate during the course of their marriage, he couldn’t. It’d be a lie. It was her. Her sharing with him, demanding he share with her, letting him see her eager and needy. She was vulnerable and irresistible. And his. He was lost to her.

  Heat radiated from his bare skin, warming her, inciting luscious quivers that rippled through him in waves of scorching heat. She trailed burning kisses from his chin to his shoulder; he throbbed in response, groaning and savoring every tremor curling his arms around her back and straining, furiously pounding flesh to flesh, unleashing the explosion of passion taking him by storm.

  The force of it stunned Laura and elated her. She let him feel it in her response, lifting to meet him stroke for stroke, clutching the wadded sheets in her hand at her side, and crying out in little moans of sheer pleasure. His gaze blazing the depths of his desire, he murmured her name and withdrew from her, ignoring her protests that he stay. He rolled over and tossed a pillow that had dared to get in his way onto the floor. It clipped the lamp, then landed on the carpet with a thud, and he rolled again, with her, from the spill of light streaking across the bed from the hall into the deep shadows.

  The sheets were cool, but her body was on fire. He captured her aching breast in his hand, then claimed it with his mouth. Every nerve in her body felt it; strung tight. She closed her eyes, clenched her hands into fists on his shoulders, and let him do what he would. His muscles shivering, shuddering at her slightest response, he marked every inch of her skin with lips and mouth, adding tinder to the fire raging inside her, sparking a fevered blaze in her core, and, when she swore she’d burn straight to ash, he let out a feral growl and arrowed into her with slamming thrusts that drove her to sanity’s door.

  “You’re mine,” he whispered on ragged breaths, sweat sheening on his pale golden skin. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

  Her body and heart at one with the man in her arms, she smoothed her hands down his sides, then curled her fingers into his damp flesh and held tight, cresting, tumbling, then cresting again, watching his sleek muscles ripple and bunch, his buttocks hollow and round. Caught in the grip of the vicious climax claiming him, he rammed into her body, stiffened and stilled, and then shuddered, letting her carry him over the edge.

  When rapid gasps calmed to even breaths, and shudders calmed to ripples, she remembered her promise. Longing to give him the gentle, tender caresses that only he had given to her, she raised her hand to his chin, urging him to lift his face from the curve of her neck and look at her.

  Agony flooded his eyes.

  And memories of their agreement, of their friendship, ripped through her mind. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  What in the name of God had she done?

  The phone rang, rousing Jake from a restless sleep. He cranked open an eye, hoping he’d dreamed he made love with Laura and hadn’t actually done it, but the smell of sex hung heavy in the room, dispelling that possibility.

  How could he have been so stupid? So out of control and selfish and stupid? Out of habit, he checked the clock. Four A.M. When the phone rang again, he grabbed the receiver, then grumbled, “Logan.”

  “Major Logan, this is Lieutenant Harvey, Clare Air Force Base Ops Center. You need to report to General Connor’s office at 0800, sir.”

  The autopsies were back. A little fissure of anticipation opened in Jake’s stomach. “Fine. Thanks for the call.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “The general recommends Mrs. Logan accompany you.”

  After last night, “Mrs. Logan” would probably file for divorce since they’d now negated the possibility of an annulment. Likely, before noon. “Thanks.”

  “Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

  Hearing the dial tone buzz in his ear, Jake stretched to hang up the phone and pursed his lips, more than a little curious. Now why would Connor want Laura there, too?

  A soft knock sounded on his bedroom door. It had to be Laura. Only they were at home. And that she’d come back after leaving him so abruptly surprised Jake. “Come in.”

  She opened the door far enough to lean against its frame. “Everything okay?”

  Everything was shot to hell. But she’d meant the phone call, not their lives in general. “The autopsies are in. We’re to report to Connor at eight.”

  She looked as uncomfortable as Jake felt. “We?”

  Glancing across the room at the shadow of the antique oak dresser, he again reeled mentally. He’d actually made love with Laura. He had to have lost his mind. “Mmm-huh.”

  “Why?”

  She shifted on her feet, and he caught a whiff of her perfume—subtle undertones of mystery and musky seduction. She’d always worn that scent, and no other had ever set him on fire so quickly. He resented that. In fact, at the moment, he resented everything about her. She scared the hell out of him. He’d lost total control. Never before had he lost total control when making love with a woman. And what the hell was going to happen between them now?

  He loved her, and she wanted and deserved more. But that didn’t include more heartbreak, and, until he nailed ROFF and survived, no matter how much he wanted her, he had no right to encourage her to love him. Encouraging her was heartless. Selfish. Wrong.

  Sober, regretting that things had to be this way between them, and mourning what could have been, he sobered. “General’s orders.”

  “Probably a kink in communications.” The door opened a little wider, and he glimpsed what she was wearing.

  His T-shirt.

  Only his T-shirt.

  God help him, why? And why did it hit him as being sexier than silk?

  Damn it, here he was worried sick, and she was strutting around wearing his T-shirt, talking about communication kinks? “He didn’t say. All I know is we have to be there.” Jake knew his voice was sharp, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Nothing in his life had prepared him for making love with Laura. But their relationship—their entire lives—had changed drastically, and he didn’t know if they could ever go back to what they’d had before. He could take losing a lover. But he couldn’t take losing Laura. He thought he might just hate her as much as he hated himself for even risking it.

  “Jake?” She tilted her head to look at him, and swept her sleep-tossed hair back from her face. “I’m sorry about last night. I acce
pt full responsibility.”

  He yanked the covers up over his chest. At least she was uncomfortable about this shift, too. If she hadn’t been, he’d have been furious. He shouldn’t have to go through this hell alone. “It was my fault, too.”

  Her eyes that stormy blue, she dropped her voice to a strained whisper, as if she wanted and needed to know, but was afraid to ask. “Do you regret it?”

  Regret it? Making love with a woman he loved, even if he knew he wasn’t supposed to love her? It had to be the most awesome experience imaginable. But he couldn’t have her. And now he’d glimpsed what he’d be missing. His stomach furled. “Yes, I regret it.”

  “Me, too.” Her tone turned adamant. “It was wrong.”

  It had been. Laura wasn’t in love with him. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—forget that. And he wasn’t supposed to love her. They had an agreement, damn it. And no future.

  Yet seeing her standing there in his T-shirt, looking so soft and sleep-tumbled and sexy, he knew that with so much as a hint of encouragement, he’d make love with her again. And that lack of discipline and control scared him in ways little else could.

  He wouldn’t lie to himself about it, and that was the best he could say for himself. He would have sworn it impossible, but he wanted her now even more than he’d wanted her last night. Knowing it was wrong and could only lead to disaster for both of them didn’t seem to matter, and yet it did. The man who was human, who understood he wasn’t just a warrior who attempted to do what was right, came face to face with the demon in him who was a selfish, self-centered bastard, who would put what he wanted before what was right. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny it was there. And, God, but its pull was strong.

  With the taste of her still on his lips and the feel of her indelibly imprinted on his mind, he’d play hell denying it. He didn’t want her in her room. He wanted her with him, in his bed, in his life, loving him. And at that moment, he resented everything and everyone keeping them apart.

  Yet knowing how destructive those kinds of thoughts could be and the power negative emotions could wield, he mentally shook some positive sense into himself. “I’ll wake you in time to get ready,” he said, wanting to end the conversation and get her out of here before he went over and brought her back to his bed.

  She closed the door, and he heard her footfalls in the hall fade.

  God help him. He didn’t want to want her. But there were no guarantees either of them would be there tomorrow, or even five minutes from now, and he wanted whatever time he had left to be spent with her.

  Selfish bastard. The costs of that would be steep, and Laura would be the one paying them. Hadn’t she said she couldn’t take losing him? Hadn’t she sacrificed enough?

  There was a hell of a lot of difference between losing a best friend and losing a husband. Nothing could hurt more than losing a beloved spouse. If he pulled this selfish stunt, she would lose him, and she would suffer. And he wouldn’t be there to help her pick up the pieces.

  Was it selfish? To want the right to love someone? To love her and to love the way she touched him? The sensations against his skin felt great, but he loved the underlying messages in her touch even more. I like the way you feel. I want you to know you’re here with me, and I’m glad. You’re important to me . . .

  Hell, what man wouldn’t love that? Better than anyone, he knew she could be an angel or a stubborn cuss—often simultaneously. He loved that about her, too. And he hated it, because it touched him in places he didn’t want to be touched.

  What the hell had happened to them? When had they started noticing each other romantically? Why hadn’t he stopped them last night by just remembering the agreement before they’d made love instead of afterward?

  And why, when he felt it so strongly himself, did Laura’s regret burn him like acid?

  Hungry.

  No, nothing so mundane as hungry.

  Starved.

  He’d loved her as if he’d been starved for her. And, this morning, he’d noticed her wearing his T-shirt.

  If he’d asked why, she would have answered with a “Do you mind? It’s, um, comfortable.” She was becoming a pro at navigating through these little gray areas and opting for alternate truths. She’d been fully prepared to give him a truth, but not the truth. The agony in his eyes had devastated her, and she’d needed comfort. But he hadn’t asked.

  Making love with him had been electrifying. Magnetic. Magnificent. But it also had been a huge mistake.

  Laura stood under the shower, letting the hot water sluice over her body, hoping to heaven it took some of her regret down the drain with it.

  That regret had been inevitable, she supposed. He didn’t love her, but she did love him. And something had happened when she’d moved in with him this time. Something . . . different. Right from the start, this time, she’d seen him as an attractive man and not as a friend.

  “Stupid.” She grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it roughly over her tender body. It had been stupid, considering their bargain. She’d blown it big-time. He’d warned her, too. I won’t ever love you. And I won’t forget it—not for a second.

  Yet in his arms, she’d felt loved. Loved and adored. She’d felt far from alone, and definitely not like an outsider. She’d made love before, but never like that. Never like that.

  He doesn’t love you.

  He didn’t. He never would. And, from the expression on his face just moments ago, she had no doubt he felt nothing but regret. Oh, why had she done it? Why did something that felt so beautiful and good hurt so damn much?

  True, she’d had a hellish couple of days, and she really did need to feel close to him, to feel cherished and comforted. And all the crazy fantasies of him she’d been having for the past three weeks hadn’t helped. Who could fight a constant barrage of sizzling fantasies? She was flesh and blood, a normal woman, not a machine, and certainly not a nun. Hearing that sexy Celtic music he played every night before going to sleep hadn’t helped, either. It only enhanced those damn fantasies to the point where she’d lay awake for hours, thinking of him. Imagining . . .

  She rinsed off, grabbed the shampoo and squirted some on her hair, then worked it into a rich lather. Okay. Okay. So she was human. A hungry woman who had followed her heart and made love with her best friend: a man who also happened to be her husband, even though they’d agreed to remain only friends. Fine.

  But now what?

  That she hadn’t considered beforehand. And it was that frightening question she now wished fervently she had considered thoroughly.

  Suddenly cold, she cranked the water hotter. Would he want a divorce? Most likely.

  Would he treat her differently? Highly probable.

  Would he withdraw? Become cold and indifferent? Most definitely.

  And all of that would hurt like hell.

  But maybe she deserved that. She had lied to him, and after last night he had to know it. How could he not know she’d crossed the line, taken the chance, and fallen in love with him? She’d melted in his arms.

  And, God help her, agreement and honor or no, she’d do it again.

  Distance between them was for the best.

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, slumped against the stall, and positioned her head under the shower spray. The water hadn’t washed away any regret, but she prayed it would rinse some of the pain from her heart. Feeling as she did about him and knowing he would never love her, made parting really best for them both.

  They had no future.

  “Judge Barton?” Surprised to see him of all people standing on her doorstep at 5:00 A.M., Laura tightened the belt of a thick robe and opened the door, grateful the security crew had replaced the broken glass last night so she wouldn’t have to explain it. “Come in.”

  “Call me Bear,” he said, stepping i
nside. “I’m sorry for coming at this ungodly hour, but I urgently need to talk with you, Mrs. Logan.”

  “Laura, please.” She motioned him to the living room just as Jake entered it from the hallway wearing khaki slacks and a pale yellow pullover that did wonderful things for his eyes. “This is my husband, Jake,” she said. “Jake, this is Judge Bear Barton.”

  They shook hands. “I’m sorry to intrude,” Bear told Jake, “but this couldn’t wait any longer. Grab a cup of coffee, then we can talk.”

  “I’ll get it.” Jake headed for the kitchen.

  “It’s made,” Laura called out, hoping Bear would hold off disclosing any bad news until Jake returned. She ushered Bear to the sofa. “Please, sit down.”

  He looked different in a navy suit than in his judge’s robe. Though he still had a commanding presence. What in the name of heaven could he want?

  Cups clinking, Jake came back and put one on the table beside Laura’s chair, then handed another to Bear. “What’s wrong?”

  Bear took the cup. “Last night, an attorney came to see me at the office about you, Laura. I tried calling you then, but—”

  “We were at the base,” Laura said, watching Jake sip from his coffee cup. From the tense squaring of his shoulders, he too realized Bear’s visit wasn’t to deliver good news. “What did the attorney want?”

  “He represents Madeline Drake Logan,” Bear said. “I’m afraid she’s filing a petition to have the adoption overturned.”

  Perfect. Laura resisted a powerful urge to toss up her hands and just weep. What else could go wrong? “We were afraid she might.”

  “I’m sorry to have to say it, but there’s more.” Bear grimaced, knitting his thick brows. “Laura, Madeline claims you ran her off the road on Manzanita Street.”