by Dawn Atkins
Judith was coming down to meet her. “We’ll be fine, Tara,” Judith said, her voice kind.
“I have to get my car,” she said, still shocked by her mother’s words.
“Go on then,” Judith said.
Tara climbed into the front seat, numb and stung, grateful when Dylan drove off without a word. They were silent as they drove, though she felt his eyes on her often. She clenched all her muscles, fisted her hands, holding in her emotions. Her mother wanted her gone. She would not bend, would not forgive.
Dylan pulled up beside her car in his driveway. “Stay with me, Tara,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “Don’t go back there tonight.”
He wanted her with him, she knew that, but she was certain he was afraid she’d go back and confront her mother, and that would be a disaster.
“I’ll tell Judith,” she said, pulling out her phone.
“You’re smart to stay,” Judith said, then added softly, “I don’t know what got into her. I really don’t. She’s glad you’re here. I know that.”
Things were pretty bad when Judith felt the need to comfort Tara.
Inside the house, Tara turned to Dylan. His gaze held kindness and concern. “There’s a guest room, if you’d like. It’s got workout equipment, but the sheets are clean.”
She shook her head. “I want to sleep with you.” Tonight she needed to be held, to feel loved, to feel alive. She might lose her sister. She’d lost what little bit of her mother’s love she thought she’d had. She wasn’t about to lose Dylan, too. She needed him, needed his touch. In his arms, she would feel safe, she would fit, she would be home.
Dylan pulled her close and kissed her, sweeping her away from her fear and sorrow. Duster dropped to his belly beside them with a sigh.
Tara melted into the moment, lost at last in the physical intimacy of finally being with Dylan again. The embrace felt old and new at the same time. Dylan’s lips were warm and giving. She welcomed his tongue, the slow slide of his lips on hers, the urgency of him against her stomach. Her body responded, aching, tingling, burning.
It was such a relief not to fight this anymore. Dylan broke off the kiss, still holding her close. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure.”
“Good.” Dylan bent and swung her into his arms, then turned for the hall. Duster rose and followed them. In the door to his bedroom, Dylan stopped. “I have condoms, if—”
“I’m on the pill,” she said. She’d loved that Dylan always made sure they were protected, no matter how wild or frantic they were. He’d been that way with her. No matter how high she flew, Dylan was a steady hand on the kite string.
He leaned down to kiss her again. She closed her mind against the near loss of her sister, her mother’s cruelty, the accident, the troubles at Wharton, everything but her body coming alive in Dylan’s arms—the man she still loved, who loved her still.
She breathed him in—his spicy cologne and that sweet smell of his skin, stronger now, as if physical desire drew honey from his pores.
Desire flooded her in slow, thick waves, dissolving every ounce of resistance.
This was Dylan, who understood her, who knew her body as well as his own, who knew how to please her. She could let go, trust his mouth and hands and body to give her what she wanted. She yearned to be part of him, for him to be part of her, so close they hardly knew where one body ended and the other began.
* * *
DYLAN HAD MEANT only to offer Tara a safe place to stay after her mother’s verbal attack. Instead he was taking her to bed. He held her sweet body in his arms, kissed her soft mouth. It seemed crazy and utterly right at once.
In his room, he set her on her feet, then helped her out of her top and slacks. Tara kicked off her shoes. He drank her in—beautiful, long-limbed, wearing white lace panties and bra. Her eyes glittered, her lips were puffy from his assault. He wanted her now, all of her, more than he wanted his next breath.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the swell of her breasts above the lace, or the way her stomach muscles shivered, anticipating his touch. He whipped off his shirt, tossed it away.
She held his face in both hands and pressed her lips there, sliding, teasing, her tongue easing in, exploring him. “I’ve missed your taste and the sweet smell of you.” She kissed him more intently, pulling at him, as if to draw life itself from his mouth. At the same time, she undid his zipper, then pushed his pants and boxers down with her hands, then her foot.
He kicked his pants away, and pulled her closer, spreading his fingers to hold more of her ribs and back.
Tara jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He cupped her bottom and turned for the bed, reaching down to rip the covers out of the way. He laid her on the sheet. She was in his bed, the woman who’d filled his dreams, whose body was heaven to him.
Leaning over her, he unclipped her bra and cupped her impossibly soft breasts, the nipples pink, pebbled with arousal. He lifted one to his mouth, ran his tongue around its surface, while she shuddered and gasped.
“That feels...so...good,” she said.
He wanted to be inside her, to make her come, to come himself. It was a pulse in his head, a throb along his nerves. He fought to get control, to take it slow. He ran his fingers over her through her panties.
She moaned, then reached for him, her fingers tight around his shaft, making him hers.
They moved in rhythm, fingers and lips and hips, like they’d been together all this time, as if they’d never stopped making love, taking each other higher and higher. Somewhere in his half-gone brain he knew he was carried away, making far too much of the moment, but he didn’t care. Lust surged through him, unstoppable as the blood in his veins.
“Get...inside...me.” She was struggling to get her panties off. He helped her, throwing them to the floor. She bent her knees and guided him between her thighs. He looked into her eyes, saw how much she wanted this...wanted him. She used to whisper in his ear, You’re my home.
He’d wanted to be. The idea swelled in him, enflaming the primal need to protect her, to keep her safe and well, to sacrifice his own life for hers if he had to.
With that thought, he thrust into her soft slickness, feeling a pleasure so intense he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Oh...” She closed her eyes, her lips parted. “I remember this,” she whispered, then opened her eyes. “I remember you. All of me remembers all of you.”
He fought to respond, but words failed him. All he could think about was merging with her, becoming one with her. He pulled out, then pushed in, amazed that each time he felt more.
Dylan forced himself to go slow, to focus on every sensation. He wouldn’t miss a single gasp, a blink of her blue eyes. He would feel every muscle twitch, drink in every kiss, hear every mew and sigh.
She made him want to do more, take her higher, make it last longer. She wrapped her legs around him, digging in with her heels, lifting her hips with each thrust. He knew she was close, so he went still to let the pressure build, make the release more intense.
She gripped his backside with both hands. She never wanted to wait. She pushed down as she lifted her hips, again and again. He couldn’t resist, not after all the waiting and wanting he’d endured already.
When he kicked into gear, she bucked up, eyes wide, pupils huge and black, giving herself over to him. That was the hottest part. That Tara, so scared to be close, so slow to trust, trusted him, let go with him, only him.
Her breath hitched. She was nearly there. His body picked up the cue and tightened for the last push over. There it was, that look she got when she came. He’d missed that, dreamed of it far too often. “Oh, I’m...” She gasped.
“I know you are,” he said as she exploded. Her release caught him, carried him with her, the rushing wave almost too much to stand.
He couldn’t believe the wonder he felt, the joy of sharing this with Tara, the girl he’d first loved, the woman he still did.
* *
*
TARA’S CLIMAX HIT so hard that every inch of her body, every fiber of her being felt it, throbbed with it. This. This was what stopped hearts, launched ships, made the world go ’round. She felt it in her body and in her heart.
They’d climaxed together. She’d forgotten how natural that had always been for them.
She felt like she’d returned home from a harrowing trip. In a way, she had. All of it—Faye’s coma, her near death, her father’s death, her mother’s harsh words, even the old pain of losing Dylan—rose up in a huge wave of emotion, which broke free in a sharp sob. She had held back so much for so long, hidden the pain even from herself, that she couldn’t help the outburst.
Dylan pulled her onto his chest and rubbed her back in slow circles, and let her cry. He didn’t ask her what was wrong. He let her be. However she was, that was fine with him.
Tara lifted her head to be sure he still wore that look, that tender acceptance of her, no matter what. Yeah. There it was. “I thought I made it up,” she said, still choked up. “That look you have.” She couldn’t even describe it, except that it made her feel loved and safe and known.
“I know what you mean.” They stayed like that for a few minutes. Abruptly Dylan’s eyes went distant. Was he pulling away?
No. Don’t. Not yet. Her heart turned over in her chest. She wasn’t ready to back away. She needed him too much right now.
“You want to call the hospital?” Dylan said. “Make sure nothing’s changed. I don’t want you to worry.”
Oh. Whew. He’d merely turned his thoughts to their situation. He wasn’t backing away, leaving her. No cause for panic.
“Yes. My phone’s in the living room.” She started to get up.
“I’ll get it. I need to get you food anyway.” He kissed her forehead and climbed out of bed. He was gorgeous in the lamplight, broad shoulders, prominent muscles, graceful movements.
“You remembered how hungry I get?”
“I remember everything about you, Tara,” he said roughly, his eyes glistening with longing...sorrow...regret. As if he hadn’t wanted that to be true, but was helpless to prevent it.
She knew exactly how he felt.
What now? She couldn’t keep the thought from her mind. Being in Dylan’s bed tonight was about Faye nearly dying, about the turmoil of these days in Wharton, and about the love they still held for each other.
She couldn’t count on this. She shouldn’t.
She squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed back that thought. They deserved this moment, this pleasure and relief, the feeling of being understood, loved, the feeling of home.
I get to have this. We both do. No regrets.
What about tomorrow? And the day after that? If they worked at it, could they get past the pain they’d caused each other? Could they start fresh?
She felt so right in his arms; she didn’t want it to ever be wrong.
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, Dylan balled up the last cupcake wrapper and tossed it onto the nightstand before settling back around Tara. Against all odds, he had her in his bed. He tucked her more firmly against his chest, one hand on her breast, breathing in her smell, feeling every inch of her body against every inch of his. He hadn’t been wrong about how good they’d been together. Now he felt fully alive, fully awake for the first time in years.
Now what?
He’d been so clear before that being with her would only arouse impossible hopes. Their relationship was a dead-end. A dead-end wrapped in pain.
But they loved each other. That had been important. And making love had been healing. Could they end it with that? Stop now? Let that be enough?
Who was he kidding? He’d never get enough of her. He pushed away the thought. For now, he had her in his arms. He would enjoy that for all it was worth. He’d deal with tomorrow tomorrow.
He woke to Duster licking his face, the smell of Tara in his bed and a note: Gone to see Faye. Thank you for last night. I’ll call from Wharton. Tara.
Thank you for last night? Like he’d done her a favor? Damn.
At least he didn’t have to wonder whether they’d be together again tonight. Clearly that was that.
His cell phone rang. It was her.
“Faye’s back in her room, Dylan. She’s stable again. It’s such a relief. You have no idea how much better I feel.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his anger fading in the face of her delight.
“Me, too. I can breathe again. And think. I’m on my way to Wharton to set up that field trip to Ryland. Let your guys know, okay?”
“Okay...”
“Is something wrong? Was my note too terse? I didn’t mean it to be.”
“No. It was fine.” He sighed. He couldn’t be angry at her. She didn’t know how to handle this any better than he did. They’d figure it out together.
“So, can we meet for lunch and talk?” she asked.
He thought through his day and realized it wasn’t possible. “I’m sorry. I have a meeting.” He had to convince Troy Waller not to run for mayor, to wait for Dylan to hire him. The man seemed to doubt Dylan’s commitment to his plan.
“Oh. Then...supper?”
This was the day he usually stayed late to go over production figures before he met with Victor and his father in the morning, but he didn’t want to disappoint Tara again. “Sure. Supper at my house.” He’d throw together spaghetti. He owed them both that much. And after supper? Would she stay the night? He’d see if she brought a suitcase.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TARA BLEW OUT A BREATH. It was 6:00 p.m. She needed to get over to Dylan’s for the dinner he’d offered to make her. Her main accomplishment today had been to convince Jeb Harris to take a crew to Ryland Engineering the next morning for a field trip.
She’d coordinated with Dylan, who’d sounded mildly hopeful, though it was hard to tell after that awkward phone call in the morning. She hadn’t been able to figure out what to say in her note about their night together, so she’d been breezy and Dylan had sounded hesitant.
They’d had reasons to be together last night, but now? Did they dare continue? The very fact she was so freaked out told her they should back off. Maybe you never got over the pain of the past. Her mother certainly wasn’t willing to, and maybe Tara was kidding herself that it was possible for her and Dylan.
Where could a relationship between them go, anyway? She’d leave and he’d stay. Long-distance romances were hopeless. She never wanted to feel the hurt of their first breakup again, so why prolong the end and risk more hurt?
As she headed down the hall, she noticed Joseph’s office light was on. He’d come in at noon, after spending the night at the hospital with Faye.
She tapped on the door, then peeked in.
Joseph was slumped in his chair, tie open, a pint bottle of Wild Turkey on his desk beside a few paper cones from the water cooler. He held one, she saw. “Still here?” he asked her, head wobbling, clearly drunk. “Aren’t you the dedicated consultant. Cheers.” He lifted the cone, sloshing whiskey on his desk, then drank it, making a face.
“Whiskey neat is no fun,” he said. “It looks so manly in the movies when men drown their sorrows. Maybe if I bought the good stuff like Abbott, but that’s...not...me. Guard the pennies and the dollars take care of themselves.” He balled up the cone and tossed it toward the trash can, missing by a mile.
“Did something happen, Joseph?” she asked.
“It’s about to,” he said, picking up an iPhone near his hand. “This is Faye’s phone. I’ve been carrying it around since they gave it to me at the hospital, scared to look at it. But last night she almost died, soooo I charged it up. I hadda see.”
Tara sank into a chair. “Why are you afraid to look at her phone?” Her neck hairs began to prickle.
“Because as long as I didn’t look, I could pretend she still loved me. The proof she doesn’t is right here.” He shook the phone.
“What kind of proof?” A chill raise
d goose bumps.
“Messages, texts, the guy’s number.”
“What guy?”
“She was having an affair,” he said, getting choked up.
“No way,” Tara said. “Not Faye.” Faye was steady and loyal. She would never do such a thing.
“She hadn’t been herself. Distant. Preoccupied. Hardly talking to me except to argue.”
“What did you argue about?”
“The taxes. I delayed payment. Abbott and Faye were angry about the penalties and the interest. They never listened to me. Never. I told them we should kill the Ryland contract, cut our losses, but no, it’s too damned symbolic. I told them we should outsource, that manufacturing was too expensive. Oh, no, gotta be loyal...town’s counting on us...whatever.” He shook his head.
“I disappointed her,” he said grimly. “I let her down. That’s it. That’s why. She wanted kids. But I had...problems.”
“Like what?” she asked gently. This might tell her more about the accident. She held her breath, her heart pounding.
“Number one...slow sperm... Number two...recessive gene for a neurological disorder. That’s what did it. The straw that broke my back. She talked to a gen...et...ics counselor. Then she stopped talking to me.” He was slurring, spacing out syllables, running words together. He tried to pour himself another drink, but couldn’t get the cones pulled apart.
“So she found a guy with better genes and better sperm.” He waved the phone. “It’s all here.”
“What makes you say that? Is there a message?”
“Two new numbers. So far, I called one. It’s a divorce attorney.” His face crumpled. “She didn’t even try. She gave up on me just...like...that.” He snapped a finger.
That made no sense to Tara, not with the kind of person Faye was. “And the other number?”
“Has to be him. I got drunk before I called him. Figured I could give him hell that way.”
So he was only guessing. At least that.
