What Mattered Most

by Linda Winfree

  A finger touched her collar bone, and she startled. A trail of fire followed the line of the silver chain, traced the pendant’s outline between her breasts. Her nipples tingled, hardened.

  “Open your eyes.” Even his whisper burned.

  She lifted her lashes and looked into his face. He stared at her, his gaze on the necklace. Bending his head, he followed with his mouth the path his finger had taken. Her hands clutched at his shoulders for support.

  He moved lower, his lips worshipping her, caressing the stretch marks, stroking over the scar. His finger danced over the tiny square patch above her hipbone, and he grinned against her thigh. “Different precautions, baby?”

  His finger moved over the skin of her inner thigh, and a gasp trembled on her lips. She burned already, and he hadn’t even touched her, not really. “Look what happened the last time we used a condom.”

  “Yeah.” His teeth grazed her skin, a light, nipping caress. “Isn’t he great?”

  She never got a chance to reply because his tongue touched her, stroking, devouring, and her knees buckled. He laughed, a low sound of pure male satisfaction, and held her to him. His mouth moved against her stomach. “Let me take you to bed. I want to make love to you.”

  Her hands tangled in the dark thickness of his hair. “Yes.”

  With a swift motion, he stood and lifted her against him. Lanie wrapped herself around him, holding on, ignoring the nerves fluttering in her stomach. This was more than just sex, and the sense of exposure was worse than offering her virginity to the boy she’d never given a chance to break her heart.

  He laid her on the bed, hands in her hair, his leg between her thighs. In the dim light, he stared down at her with a crooked grin. “I’m scared to death. I’ve never done this.”

  She knew what he meant, but she wanted the words. “Done what?”

  “Made love like it matters.” He lowered his head and feathered his mouth over her. The simple caress tingled all through her body, intensifying the ache between her legs. “Made love to the mother of my child.”

  The words alone did more than any touch to her body, although he took his time about that, too. He worshipped her with his hands and mouth, stroking, caressing, turning her to molten heat. His hands slid down, skimming her curves, stroking her thighs apart. He moved, erection hot and intimate against her.

  Cupping her hips, he slid inside, a slow, deep movement that took her breath. His eyes closed, opened, stared into hers. Pleasure tightened his face, and he moved within her. Fire and tension built, grew, flared in her. “Made love to the woman I love.”

  “Oh, John.” The words curled in her, joining the fiery pressure that coiled and tightened until she came apart and burned in his arms. Above her, he gasped and pushed deeper, a groan rumbling next to her ear.

  He collapsed, his elbows keeping most of his weight from her. Breathing hard, Lanie closed her eyes. Enveloped by him. Shattered, sheltered, and secure.

  John opened his eyes, blinking at a familiar ceiling. Tentative rays of dawning sunlight poked into the room. His body ached deep in the muscles, but a hazy satisfaction curled through him. Still asleep, Lanie sprawled on his chest, a leg thrown over his thighs. She held on to him, possessing him.

  He loved it.

  Threading his fingers through the dark silk of her hair, he kept his touch gentle near the ridge of her incision. She shifted in her sleep, moaning into his chest, thigh brushing his early morning erection. The sensation shot through his body, and he smothered a groan. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this bed with her.

  However, the hell on earth known as the Houston P.D.’s records division awaited him, as well as the commute into the city. Another groan, one of disgust rather than pleasure, rumbled in his chest.

  Lanie moved, her fingernails digging lightly into his ribs. Her lashes lifted, and she smiled at him. A catlike stretch pressed her body closer. “Good morning, O’Reilly.”

  He made a noncommittal sound. With her looking at him like this again, even desk duty didn’t seem so bad.

  Her hand eased down his side to his hip. Her eyes drifted closed again, and she sighed. “What time is it?”

  Everything she did drove him crazy. That little sound she purred in the back of her throat made his erection jerk like it had a mind of its own. He gritted his teeth. “Time for me to get up if I’m going to be on time for work.”

  Her sultry laugh was that of the naughty lover he remembered. She brushed him with her knee, and arousal shot through his gut. “Feels like you’re already up.”

  He wanted to give in. “I’ve still got to drive into the city, take a shower, get dressed—”

  “You can shower here.” Her mouth moved along his stomach. “One of your suits is in Sonny Buck’s closet.”

  “I’m supposed to be in uniform.” He gasped out the words as her mouth had moved lower, eradicating his ability to breathe.

  Her fingers stoked his inner thigh. “Any other excuses?”

  His fingers dug into the sheets. “You’re going to make me late.”

  “Do you care?”

  “God, no.”

  In the end, he was only five minutes late. He busted every speed zone between Cutter and Houston and arrived in the precinct wearing his charcoal suit instead of his uniform. Almost feeling like his old self, he grinned at Joyce Haynes, the bitter-because-she’d-flunked-out-of-the-academy records clerk. “Morning, Haynes.”

  The woman hated his guts. She glared at him. “You’re late. And where’s your uniform?”

  He decided not to point out that technically he was in charge and he didn’t give a damn about her opinion. He gestured at her overflowing in-box. “Want some help?”

  She cast him a suspicious look before handing over a third of the stack. John flipped through them—wants and warrants to be entered into the system. He ached for a good, cold case to sink his detective’s fangs into. Joyce crossed her arms over her skinny chest. “You’re in an awful good mood.”

  A grin quirked at his mouth. “Yeah. I am.”

  As the morning progressed, some of his good humor faded. The repetitive, mindless task of entering data allowed him too much time to think, too much time to remember. By twelve o’clock, a nameless dread had taken up residence in his gut.

  The night before, he’d been too focused on Lanie, on showing her how he felt. The second time they made love, he’d whispered “I love you” over and over, wanting to imprint the words on her skin, her mind, her heart. She’d responded with passion and eagerness. The intimacy of the experience had blown his mind. Only now was he coming back to reality.

  You idiot, O’Reilly. Don’t you see what’s wrong?

  Muttering a curse that made Joyce turn around and glare at him, John rubbed a hand over his face. He’d given Lanie everything last night—his vulnerability, his body, his love. He’d already had her vulnerability. She returned the gift of her body. He told himself that she loved him, that she wouldn’t have let him back into her bed without it. He told himself he was being an idiot, that he was looking for trouble where it didn’t exist. She loved him. She had to.

  She just hadn’t given him the words.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Naked, Lanie lay sprawled in sheets that still bore John’s scent. Beyond the window, sunlight sparkled off the water, and although Sonny Buck would be up soon and she should shower while she had a chance, she didn’t move. John’s scent was still on her skin, too, and she didn’t want to wash it or the memory of his touch away yet.

  Arms wrapped around his pillow, she hugged it close, warmth and satisfaction surging through her. I love you. He’d whispered the words over and over, a mantra against her skin while he made love to her once more. Even more than the words, his actions—sharing his old hurts, returning to her, making love to her the way he had—proved it. She closed her eyes, dreaming of a future with him.

  Her fingers drifted down, playing with the edge of the birth control patch. Another baby. She s
miled at the thought, envisioning a little girl with those navy blue eyes and long dark lashes. The image jerked her musings to a stop. Another baby? No. What they had between them now was more than she’d hoped for. This was their future—being together, raising their son, nothing but love to bind them, nothing to make John feel trapped.

  “What are you doing, Falconetti?” she whispered into the pillow. “There you go again, rushing, without looking where you’re going.”

  With reluctance, she rolled from the bed. The baby she had now would be awake any time. She needed to shower and get ready for the day, which stretched ahead of her, the empty hours offering plenty of time for daydreaming.

  After breakfast, she put Sonny Buck on a pallet in the living room floor to play. On his stomach, he lifted his head and grinned when he saw her. His comical pushups made her smile. She brushed her fingers over his head. “You are scintillating company, my boy.”

  She sighed and stretched out on the floor facing him, her chin resting on her hands. He was just over two months old. If her pregnancy and delivery had gone as planned, she’d have already returned to work. Light duty, surely, but work just the same. And as much as he fulfilled her, she still missed the excitement of being a road cop.

  That wasn’t in her prospects anymore, and she didn’t want to face indefinite desk duty. What would she do when she was completely well? That part of her future stretched before her, dark and hazy. She shrugged off the cold knot of worry. She was alive. She had a healthy child and a man who loved her.

  The rest would fall into place.

  The afternoon mail killed her optimism. Tucked in with her electric bill and a credit card offer was a statement of her hospital charges. The total amount kicked off a sick wave of nausea in her stomach.

  Oh, good Lord. Her entire college education cost less. Facing unemployment, and her level of unsecured debt had just grown by an obscene amount. She leaned against the wall and stared at the numbers again.

  Suddenly, sinking her inheritance from her mother into this house so she could afford the luxury of living on the ocean didn’t seem like such a good idea. She looked at the statement again and tried to figure out what would be left to pay after her insurance plan paid its percentage. Damn it. Basic math. Why can’t I do freakin’ basic math anymore? Her mind refused to wrap around the numbers, and she leaned her head against the wall, frustration and insecurity washing through her.

  She couldn’t do this to John. She wouldn’t burden him with her debts, her deficiencies. She’d be his equal or nothing. Images of being in his arms flashed through her mind. His deep voice whispered over her again. The idea of giving that up, of never having that intimacy with him again, sent a stab of actual pain through her stomach.

  The hazy daydreams of a future with him evaporated—an oasis that didn’t exist and never really had.

  John slammed the racket into the ball and watched it ricochet off the practice wall. He smashed into the return, and the impact jarred all the way up his arm. Thoughts jumped around his mind, echoing the movement of the bright yellow ball on the court.

  She wore the damned necklace again. Wasn’t that enough?

  Another crashing forehand. Sweat trickled down his brow.

  No. He wanted the words. He wanted to hear her say she loved him.

  The ball bounced back at him. Don’t push so hard. Give her time.

  Impatience added force to his return. How much time? He had a vision of Sonny Buck in a graduation gown and himself with gray in his hair, still waiting for Lanie to confess her feelings. What should have been funny, wasn’t.

  The yellow missile veered to the left, and he had to run for it. As much as she needs. Remember what she’s been through. And not just with Mitchell. All of it. Her parents, everything. She needs you. Aren’t you the guy who prides himself on meeting his responsibilities?

  He missed the ball, and it bounced away, dribbling to a stop by the net. Dropping his racket, he leaned forward, hands on his knees. His lungs heaved, a slight ache in his barely healed ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut. What if he failed her? What if he wasn’t enough? What if she couldn’t ever give him the words?

  Straightening, he shook off the doubts and focused on what he had, what he could hold on to. He went to pick up the ball. She was wearing his necklace again. For now, that was all he had. That would have to be enough.

  As much as possible, Lanie let the myriad tasks of motherhood soothe her jangling nerves, but always in the back of her mind was the hospital statement lying on the kitchen counter and her lack of employment prospects. But once early evening came with Sonny Buck bathed and in bed for the night, all the worries rushed back in like waves on the beach—one right after the other.

  She had a huge debt hanging over her head.

  She didn’t have a career anymore. Disability insurance didn’t last forever either.

  She had a son who was going to learn more about math in the third grade than she could do now. Lord, she hoped he was a math whiz like her father. Heaven only knew what math tutors cost.

  She would have to turn away from the man she loved. The man who said he loved her, who touched her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.

  Options. She needed options. If nothing else, she always had the equity in the house. As much as she loved the ocean, she could always sell the house and rent somewhere.

  There was always her father.

  “Oh hell,” she whispered, digging her fingers into her hair and sending a mild ache along her scar. “I’m not that desperate. Not yet anyway.”

  You could ask John for help. Really share your problems with him. Let him be a true partner.

  She shied from the idea. Somehow, dumping her burdens on John was worse than asking her father for money. She needed to come to him as an equal. Being the one who needed more in a relationship was not an option. Hadn’t she seen that with her mother? Her father had held all the power in that relationship, and ultimately her mother’s neediness had led to her destruction.

  Her teeth worried the inside of her cheek, the metallic taste of blood spreading in her mouth.

  A muffled knock at the door jerked her out of the miserable reverie, but a peek through the security hole sent her stomach plummeting. She opened the door, and John grinned at her, his hands occupied by a large pizza box and a small stack of video tapes. He leaned forward at an awkward angle and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Hi. God, I missed you today.”

  Her fingers clutched the doorknob until her knuckles ached. His hair fell over his forehead, and the boyish grin made her want to drag him inside and wrap around him. All the cravings he’d reawakened and which now she had to rid herself of. “Hi, yourself. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

  His smiled faltered, and uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s not a visitation night, is it? I guess I should have called first.”

  She forced her voice to a noncommittal tone and stepped back from the door. “Well, you’re here, and you’re bearing food. Come on in.”

  A slight frown between his brows, he didn’t move. “Lanie, I don’t have to stay. I thought… well, I thought you might want to see me, too.”

  The vulnerability in the words slammed her in the chest. She fought for the breath he’d just taken away. Not yet. She didn’t have to give him up just yet. Forcing a smile, she took his arm and pulled him into the foyer. “Of course I want to see you. It’s just been a weird day. I’ve got a wicked case of cabin fever.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he let her steer him toward the kitchen. “Sonny Buck down for the night?”

  “He is.” She pulled plates from the cabinet and sodas from the refrigerator. “You should see him holding up his head.”

  His low whistle cut through the room, and she turned to find him holding the hospital statement. “Is this for real? No wonder you’re freaked out.”

  Resisting the urge to slam the plates on the counter, she set them down, placed the sodas next to them
and reached for the statement. “Yes, it’s for real.”

  He held on to the paper. “Forty-two dollars for an ibuprofen tablet?”

  “Write your congressman. Express your outrage.” Lanie dragged the paper from his fingers.

  His gaze didn’t waver from her face. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re upset about the money.”

  A harsh laugh escaped her. “It’s a lot of money, John. I’m worried about it. I’m basically unemployed, remember?”

  “Baby, we’ll handle it.” Hands gentle on her shoulders, he pulled her closer. “Together.”

  She shrugged away from his easy hold. “Don’t you get it? It’s not just the money. I have no idea what I’m going to do. The simplest math throws me off; I can’t dial a right number to save my life—”

  “That reminds me!” John snapped his fingers, a grin crossing his face. “I ordered speed dial for you today. All we have to do is program in the numbers you need most, put a list by the phone, and you’re covered. Don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.”

  Frustration curled in her, burning. He pulled a short list of printed instructions from his pocket and laid it by the phone. Lanie sighed, running a hand through her hair. “That’s great, John, but that doesn’t solve the big problems.”

  Flipping open the pizza box, he shrugged. “So we’ll handle them as we come to them."

  His lackadaisical attitude irritated her further. Didn’t he get that this was her life they were talking about here? Speed dial wasn’t going to make her a cop again. Without a career, she couldn’t be secure. Security was essential—never would she make her mother’s mistake of being dependent on anyone.

  She picked up a slice of pizza and dropped it on the plate. “I’m glad you’re so confident.”

  The look he shot her was wary. “What?”

  She shoved the plate away. “You act like it’s nothing, no big deal.”