by Mary Campisi
Damn, he could use a drink right now but what was the use of dulling a pain that would never leave? He might as well get used to Glenview Manor minus its mistress. He pulled off one boot and then the other and opened the door adjoining the master suit. A faint whiff of lilac clung to the room. Just a hint but it was enough. Noah clutched the silver brush Emily had forgotten in her haste to get away from him and eased onto the bed. A few golden hairs had caught in the bristles and he pulled one out and closed his eyes. The pain in his heart was real and pure and like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He breathed deeply, willing the lilac to fill him and bring Emily back to him—if only in his dreams.
Moments or perhaps hours later, something brushed his forehead, then his cheek. He swatted at the unknown nuisance, desperate to fall back to dreams of Emily. Another brush, this time on his lips. “Damn it.” He opened his eyes and found himself face to face with his wife. “Emily?” It was her. How could it be her?
She glanced at the brush in his hand and said, “You found my brush.”
He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “I did.” He clutched the brush tighter. What was she doing here?
“Good.”
Was that hope he saw in her eyes? Dear God, let it be so.
“What are you doing in this room?” she asked.
He could save embarrassment and tell her he was overtired and couldn’t make it to his own bed but that would be untrue. “It’s where I feel closest to you.” He avoided her gaze as he admitted the rest, “Sleep eluded me last night until I lay on this bed, surrounded by your scent and memories.”
“Ian gave me the letter you wrote me shortly after our wedding.” She touched his cheek, traced his lips. “I wish I’d read it sooner.”
He nodded, tiny shreds of hope seeping through him. “I wish a lot of things had been different.”
“They can be.” She clasped his hand and moved closer. “I want them to be.”
He crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. “I don’t deserve you but I can’t give you up. You’re a part of me. Please don’t leave.”
“I love you, Noah. I’ve never stopped loving you.” She brushed aside a lock of hair and kissed his temple. “From this moment on, we must be completely truthful with one another. Agreed?”
He lifted his head and brushed his lips over hers. “Agreed.”
“Completely,” she repeated against his lips. “When I swell with our babe and ask if I resemble a cow, you must tell me the truth.”
Noah pulled away and cupped her chin. “You will never resemble a cow, Madame wife.”
Her brows knitted as she considered his answer. “Even when I waddle to and fro and can’t see my feet for the size of my belly?”
He trailed a hand from her neck, to her breast, to her belly, envisioning her ripe with child. “Most especially then,” he said, tracing circles over her still flat belly. “You will always be beautiful, Emily.”
Her lips curved into a delicious smile. “Well then, I do believe I could grow accustomed to such truthfulness, especially when I’m waddling about.”
“I’ve another tidbit of truth for you.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I long to be inside of you. This very minute. Without pretense or—”
She flung her arms around his waist and pulled him on top of her. “I share your longing, dear husband. I have dreamed of this even when I dared not hope. Your beautiful nakedness inside of me.” She wet her lips. “Deep and hard and oh, so very wonderful.”
“I am ever at your service, sweet wife.” He rather liked such truthfulness and looked forward to many more confessions beginning with all the delicious ways he could please her. He had one particular method in mind, involving his tongue and her—
“Come to me, Noah. Fill me and love me.”
“Yes.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “Yes,” he murmured as their lips met, forging unspoken promises, pledging truths, offering a glimpse of forever. Grasping freedom. At last.
A word about the author...
Mary Campisi should have known she'd become a writer when, at age thirteen, she began changing the endings to all the books she read. It took several years and a number of jobs—including registered nurse, receptionist in a swanky hair salon, accounts payable clerk and practice manager in an OB/GYN office—for her to rediscover writing. Enter a mouseless computer, a floppy disk, and a dream large enough to fill a zip drive. The rest of the story lives on in every book she writes.
When she's not working on her craft or following the lives of five young adult children, Mary's digging in the dirt with her flowers and herbs, cooking, reading, walking her rescue lab mix, Cooper, or on the perfect day, riding off into the sunset with her very own “hero” husband on his Electra Glide Classic.
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