by Sharon Sala
“I feel safe with you now,” she said and made no apology for saying how she felt, even if it did sound as if she was begging.
“That’s because nothing has triggered an episode. I haven’t been pushed or felt the need to push back,” he said, and then brushed his mouth across her lips.
She sighed and he read that as uncertainty.
“So I guess I’d better be leaving.”
“We never did eat that ice cream,” she said.
He was at the front door by then, but he looked back and saw the want in her eyes.
“Lainey?”
“What?”
“Love you.”
There was a good six feet between them. She hadn’t heard that vow in over ten years, and he was getting ready to walk out the door? Oh, hell no!
“Damn it, Sam!”
He blinked. “What? What did I do?”
“I waited for you for ten years. When you came back, you didn’t come back for me. You came back because your mother was murdered. We’re back together now by accident, and I keep thinking to myself that it still might be too late. So don’t you dare walk out on me. You can be all proper and protective and in charge, and whatever the hell else you feel like being, but tomorrow. Right now you need to take me to my bedroom, where we will get naked and make love until the sun comes up.”
His eyes widened, and then he locked the door behind him and took off his coat. He tossed his Stetson on the sofa and picked her up in his arms and started toward the back of the house.
The hall was in shadow. Her bedroom was dark. But he could see where he was going by the glow of the security light at the far end of the yard as it slipped through the blinds.
He set her on her feet and within seconds had her naked. Without giving her time to think about what was happening, he backed her up to a wall and slid a hand between her legs.
His name was a sigh upon her lips. She grabbed on to his shoulders to steady herself, and within moments her legs were shaking, her heart was pounding and she felt herself coming undone. It had been too long; she’d been without him for so many years. There was no filter on her senses. No control button to slow anything down. A rush of heat rolled through her, spiraling downward to what he was doing with his hands.
She moaned.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Come for me, baby.”
And she did, in an explosion of sensations so strong she would have gone to her knees if he hadn’t held her upright. She was still shaking when he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
She watched from the shadows as he slipped out of his clothes. She saw the size of his erection and shuddered as lust crawled through her belly. She wanted that. She wanted him.
He paused and pulled a condom out of his wallet. She watched as he rolled it up his penis, and then he crawled onto the bed and straddled her legs without touching her.
When she reached for him, he stopped her.
“All in good time,” he whispered.
She sighed. “Make love to me. I want to feel you inside me. Let me give you pleasure. Let me love you, Sam.”
He parted her legs, and then settled between them. “You’re so fragile I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you,” he whispered.
“I was hurt when you didn’t come home. I need this from you. You need this from me. It will heal us, Sam. Make love to me now.”
She was warm and wet when he took her, but it was caution that made him pause, allowing her to adjust to his size as he kissed her. Her hands were locked behind his neck, her legs around his waist, pulling him deep, and he began to move.
The wind had settled, but the rain was still falling, peppering the roof and the windows as Sam made love to his girl, stroking her body, making promises to her of how he was going to make her feel. She rocked beneath him in perfect rhythm, a reminder that she was made for his love.
Time ceased. There was nothing but Sam and Lainey and the passion building between them. When he began to feel the contraction and tremors within her, he knew she was racing toward climax. He began stroking harder, pushing deeper, getting his own high from the sound of her satisfaction. As she began to breathe faster, he drove harder. When every muscle in her body tightened and he heard her moan, he let go and rode his own climax all the way to the end in a rocky crash and burn.
Spent and shaking, he rolled onto his back with her still in his arms. Now she was lying on top of him and he was still inside her, unwilling to let go of their connection. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, and he could feel the thunder of her heart against his chest. As he slowly stroked his hand up and down her back, he was painfully aware of the bones he could feel beneath her skin.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“Lord, no! If I could, I would be purring,” she mumbled.
He smiled, satisfied that she was still in his arms. They lay without moving until he was hard inside her again. And this time he took her deep and fast through a climax that left them shaking.
She fell asleep in his arms as the rainstorm passed. He didn’t mean to sleep, but he did, dreaming of bombs about to explode, too close for him to get to safety.
* * *
He was mumbling in his sleep when Lainey woke. It was instinct that made her move off him as quickly and quietly as she could. She was wrapped up in a robe and sitting in her rocker when he cried out, then flew out of bed with both hands curled into fists.
She reached over and turned on a lamp.
“You were dreaming,” she said calmly.
Sam’s heart was hammering. The fact that she wasn’t in bed beside him scared the shit out of him. Had he hurt her? Was she afraid of him now?
“Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I heard you talking in your sleep, so I just got out of bed.”
“Jesus,” he whispered, then sat down on the side of the bed and shoved his hands through his hair.
She moved from the rocker to the bed and curled herself around him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.”
He was still trying to wrap his head around being here with her and not under fire. Then she tossed her robe aside and crawled back under the covers with him.
“Lie down with me, Sam. It’s cold.”
He eased back onto the pillow and she rolled toward him, pillowing her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his chest.
“You’re so warm,” she said softly.
Sam caught her hand and held it like a lifeline as she settled against him and fell back asleep.
He lay without moving, absorbing the sweetness of being beneath the covers with the only woman he’d ever loved. She’d seen his body and not been disgusted, and now she knew that he never really slept. Awake, Sam Jakes lived in this world, but when he closed his eyes, the devil took him back to the desert. He hadn’t realized how tired he was from fighting battles day and night until a little bit of heaven brought him home.
He was suddenly conscious of holding Lainey too tight as she shifted in her sleep. He eased his grasp, and then kissed the curls at the top of her head before pulling the covers up around them. The rain on the roof was like the feet of a thousand running children. He closed his eyes, and when he woke it was morning. The house was warm. The aroma of brewing coffee was in the air, along with the smell of bacon.
He dressed quickly and followed the scents all the way to the source, then kissed the back of Lainey’s neck as he entered the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
The deep voice in Lainey’s ear sent a shiver all the way up her spine. She’d gone down the hall twice since she’d been up just to reassure herself that last night had not been a dream. Seeing Sam Jakes in her bed each time had given her heart a sweet jolt.
“Good morning,�
�� she said. “I didn’t wake you. I was hoping you didn’t have early plans.”
“My early plans are you,” he said, and snitched a piece of bacon from the plate and popped it in his mouth. “What can I help you do?” he asked.
“Umm, put butter and jelly on the table, and then make some toast?”
“I can do that,” he said, and then picked up another piece of bacon, but instead of putting it in his mouth, he lifted it to hers. “Open wide, pretty girl.”
She grinned and took a big bite. “Trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?”
“Just helping you follow doctor’s orders,” he said, and then headed for the refrigerator.
A few minutes later they sat down to eat. Lainey was reaching for the butter to put on her toast when Sam paused and looked at her from across the table. Like Lainey, he was still pinching himself that this was even happening. And the sad part of it was, she’d been right. If his mother hadn’t been murdered, he would never have come home. He would have settled for less.
Lainey saw the expression on his face and laid down her fork. “Are you okay?”
He blinked. “What? Oh, yes, baby, I’m fine. I was just thinking of how easy it is to be derailed by life. Last week you were with me only in dreams, and now here we are. I shared a bed with you last night and a meal with you this morning, and as shattered as we are about my mother’s murder, I haven’t been this happy since before 9/11.”
For a moment Lainey had been afraid he was regretting last night, and now she breathed an easy sigh of relief.
“If it helps, I know how much Betsy wanted us back together. She told me so more than once.”
Sam reached across the table to hold her hand.
“My only reservation is scaring you or making you afraid of me,” he said.
She shook her head in denial.
“I love you. You love me. We’ll figure it out as we go, Sam.”
“Deal,” he said and gave her hand a quick squeeze.
* * *
Greg Standish was contemplating calling in sick. It wouldn’t be a lie. He was literally sick to his stomach from the stack of bills before him. But he was the president of the bank, and unless he was dead or dying it was his job to be present, so he pushed the bills aside and went back to his room to get ready for work.
He had showered and was shaving when he heard the bedroom door open, and then the sound of footsteps moving across the carpet. Expecting someone to call out, he was surprised when everything stayed quiet. On impulse, he opened the door just a crack to see who was in the room and saw Carly going through his wallet.
He threw his razor in the sink and came out of the bathroom, shouting, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, young lady?”
Carly jumped like a scalded cat and began shrieking, “Daddy, Daddy! I just need to—”
“You didn’t ask!” he shouted. “You were stealing from me! How many other times has this happened? Huh?”
“Well, Mama does and—”
“Oh, my God! Like that’s supposed to make it right?” he roared.
She covered her face and cried louder. She was still wailing when Gloria came rushing into the room. She took one look at Greg half-naked, with only a bath towel wrapped around his waist, and her daughter backed against a wall screaming her head off, and added her own shriek to the mess.
“Gregory! What is the meaning of this? What did you do to Carly?”
He froze.
Carly was still screaming, and his wife was about to accuse him of some immoral act. He could see it in her eyes.
He pointed at his daughter. “Shut the hell up!”
She sucked in the last shriek, and then hiccupped on a sob.
“Don’t talk to our daughter like that!” Gloria screamed.
Greg pointed at her next.
“And you shut the hell up, too! I’ve about had it with the both of you. I am trying to get ready for work and find my daughter in our bedroom going through my wallet like the sneak thief she is!”
Gloria’s indignation sputtered like a quickly doused fire, but her husband was just getting started.
“And do you know what her excuse was? Mama does it! Do you, Gloria! Do you steal from me, too? Have you no shame?”
Gloria’s face reddened. “Carly, go to your room!” she snapped.
“Oh, hell no!” Greg said. “She’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.” He pointed to the foot of the bed. “Sit, the both of you, and listen, because I’m not going to say this but once.”
Gloria grabbed her daughter and shoved her down on the bed, and then plopped down beside her, muttering something to the effect that it was all Carly’s fault.
“So talk,” Gloria said.
Greg grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wiped the shaving cream from his face, and then tossed the towel on the floor at their feet, well aware it would tick his wife off that it was there.
“Here’s the scoop,” he said. “We’re broke! I earned it. You spent it. It’s gone. I cannot earn enough to cover your debts if you never spent another penny for the rest of this year. You are both selfish, wasteful and unappreciative, and part of that is my fault for letting it go this long.”
Carly’s mouth had dropped open when she heard the word broke, and it had yet to shut.
Gloria had a hand at her breast, as if ready to feign illness, and Greg saw it.
“If you die, you’ll be buried in a pauper’s grave, so I’d advise you to get over it.”
Gloria gasped, and then started to weep.
“Cry all you want. It’s not going to change the facts. This house is going on the market today. We will be renting, and you better pray to God I don’t get fired. Every credit card is being canceled today, so don’t try to use them, because you’re going to be very embarrassed when they’re rejected.”
“No, no,” Gloria wailed. “How will I face my friends?”
Carly added to the racket. “You can’t, Daddy! I need a dress for the Harvest Ball!”
Greg just stared at them.
“You’re worried about your friends,” he told his wife, then said to his daughter, “and you are actually sitting there telling me you need a new dress, when I’ve just explained that we’re broke—as in ‘can’t buy food’ broke! I’m done. Both of you...get out! If you so much as open your mouth and argue with me again, I’m stopping off at the lawyer’s office on the way to work and filing for divorce. It would be an utter relief to be rid of the both of you.”
“You’ll have to pay me alimony!” Gloria shrieked.
“And child support!” Carly wailed.
“With what?” he shouted. “Get a job! Both of you! Now leave!”
Carly flew out of the room, but Gloria stood, still unwilling to yield the floor.
“Why are you still here?” Greg drawled, and then dropped the towel. “Or is it this? I’m willing to be late to work if you’re up for a quickie.”
“Cover yourself,” she yelled, and stomped out the door, slamming it shut behind her.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, then picked up his wallet and took it with him into the bathroom to finish shaving.
It was a hard thing to accept after all the work he’d gone to in an effort to realize his dream of being mayor, but that dream clearly wasn’t going to come true.
Nine
Marcus Silver was waiting on a conference call and had wandered into the library of the family mansion to study the portraits of his paternal ancestors. It was something he did when he felt unsettled, a way of connecting with his past and strengthening him to handle what needed to be done.
His four times great-grandfather, Jarrod Silver, who had emigrated from England, had been a big, strapping man with a square jaw and a steady gaze. The dog at
his side was a mastiff. Marcus knew its name had been Zeus from reading family history.
The portrait of Geoffrey Silver, his three times great-grandfather was hanging next to Jarrod’s. The artist had captured the intent and determination in Geoffrey’s wide face and high forehead, considered a sign of high intelligence in those times. The dog at his feet was a large bloodhound named Thunder that, according to family history, had been used to track down runaway slaves.
He shoved his hands into his pockets as he gazed intently at the next portrait. Aaron Silver, his two times great-grandfather, was displayed as grandly as the others, but he had a severe underbite, which left him with a less than commanding appearance. Marcus smiled. This grandfather had invested heavily in railroads, which had contributed greatly to the family coffers, proving looks were no predictor of success or failure. The dog in the portrait with him was a cocker spaniel, a beautiful dog but without the macho cachet of the first two.
He turned to the opposite wall, where the portrait of his great-grandfather, Delacroix Silver, was hanging. Delacroix had lost a good deal of the Silver fortune during the stock market crash early in the last century. But instead of bemoaning his losses, he’d soon replenished the family coffers by turning a blind eye to the law, buying and selling illegal whiskey and then delivering it to the speakeasies in the bigger cities of Chicago and New York. By the time prohibition had ended, the Silver fortune was healthy once more. The English pug in Delacroix’s lap looked as defiant as its master.
A quick flash of tears blurred Marcus’s vision as he moved to the portraits of his grandfather, Montgomery Silver, and his black Lab, Striker, then to his father, Thomas John Silver, and his English setter, a dog named Royal. Marcus remembered many happy hours playing with old Royal when he was a boy.
Marcus knew it wasn’t manly to be enamored of one’s own appearance, but seeing his portrait hanging next to his father’s gave him a huge sense of pride. He came from good blood. The dog in his portrait was a German shepherd named Hunter. They never replaced him after he died. He and T.J. weren’t all that keen on pets.
