by Donna Alward
His good arm came around her and pulled her flush against his body. Even fully clothed, she reveled in his strength and size. Perhaps he’d been off work with his arm, but there was no denying that his daily conditioning left him in splendid shape. Willow kissed him back, giving herself over to the sensation, committing to the moment with everything she had. Ethan tightened his arm and lifted her a few inches off the ground, and then walked forward through her door and kicked it shut behind him.
A dark thrill raced through her body.
The lights were still off, but gray shadows lit the room through the large front windows. Willow shrugged off her jacket and dropped it to the floor, then reached for his and unzipped it before sliding her hands inside and around his ribs. Then they were kissing again, this time with her pressed against the wall next to her front door. God, his hips were pressed against hers and a feeling of utter carnality swept through her. This was no quick kiss good night. This was foreplay. Was she ready for that? Was he?
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said roughly, lifting her again. She didn’t even think; she simply obeyed, and he carried her to the small kitchen and the countertop there and deposited her on it. Now the apex of her legs was pressed close to his navel, and he ran his mouth over the taut tendon in her neck.
Visions of making love right here in the kitchen filled her brain and she moaned, as the muscles between her legs clenched in anticipation. She was a physical person, in tune with her own body, and it had been a long, long time since she’d been so sexually stimulated. She tightened her legs around him and gasped as he slid his hand beneath her top, reached around and undid her bra, and cupped her small breast in his hand.
His thumb grazed the nipple and she swore she saw stars behind her eyelids.
“Ethan,” she whispered, completely overwhelmed and yet clamoring for more. “Oh.”
He replaced his thumb with his mouth. The fever burned just as hot, but not as fast. Instead he gentled his movements, tasting her skin in savory licks rather than ravenous bites. She looked down at his dark head, touched her fingers to the mahogany hair as his head moved slightly. Oh, sweet mother. She was in so much trouble. Because it wasn’t just desire right now, at this moment. It was tenderness. And something big and scary and wonderful.
He lifted her shirt and pulled it over her head. “I want to see you,” he said softly, dropping the pale pile of fabric to the floor. He covered her breast, his palm so large that the whole of her breast was encompassed in the warmth of his hand. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “The curve of your neck … Willow, let your hair down. Please.”
She lifted her arms and he stood back. Something like feminine pride swept through her as she worked the topknot loose, knowing that her raised arms lifted her breasts to his hungry gaze. She shook her hair and let it fall, haphazard, over her shoulders, the tips of the blond and pink strands kissing her collarbone.
“Like this?” she asked.
He came close again, ran the backs of his knuckles down over her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, along her sternum, and the faint hollow between her breasts. “So beautiful,” he murmured, leaning forward and kissing the hair along her temple. “So perfect. So…”
He stopped. Willow paused and held her breath, simply in response to him freezing up over whatever he had been about to say.
“Ethan?”
He didn’t move for a few seconds. “Willow. I’m sorry. I can’t … shit.”
She swallowed tightly, wishing she had her shirt back so she could at least cover herself. “Was it something I did?”
“God, no.” He stepped back and met her gaze, but the naked heat of earlier was replaced with an expression she could only read as guilt tinged with embarrassment. In the shadows she couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not, but the set of his jaw and his awkward posture spoke volumes.
“I got carried away,” he explained, his voice strained. “But I’m not being fair to you. It’s just … it’s too fast.”
Okay. That she could deal with. She was pretty sure that when the fog of passion lifted, she’d be feeling like it was a bit speedy, too. Just not right now, when certain parts of her body were still throbbing with want.
She tried a smile. “Well. At least we know there’s a spark.”
He laughed, though it was a short, brief choke of a laugh; one of surprise and perhaps understatement.
“There was a spark the day we kissed. I knew it. I avoided it. I really was just going to kiss you good night at the door, and…”
“And here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“About ten steps away from my bedroom.”
“Yeah.”
“But we both agree it’s too soon.”
“You think so, too?”
There was such relief in his voice, she answered with a half-lie, because her brain and body were sending her two different messages. “We were both nervous about even going on a date tonight. Sex is quite a leap, don’t you think?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to.”
“Nor I.”
The words settled through the kitchen. That was it, then. They wanted each other. Willow slid off the countertop, her breasts jiggling a little as her toes touched the floor. Was it crazy that she felt both exposed and sexy at this moment?
She reached for her shirt and pulled it on, leaving her bra in a tangle on the floor. “Whew.” She tried to keep her voice light. “Not bad for a first date.”
A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips before disappearing. “I thought I could do this. I thought I was ready. And then…”
Willow knew where this was going. She’d felt the same when that wave of emotion had overtaken her. The things holding them back didn’t just magically disappear in the heat of the moment.
“You thought about her, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Just that … Wil, you’re so different. You’re … you’re like a fairy, with your hair and your eyes and you’re so graceful and … well, Lisa was different from you. And I caught myself comparing you in my head and that’s not fair.” He stepped forward and cupped his left hand around her jaw. “When I’m with someone, I don’t want to be thinking about anybody else.”
Willow covered his hand with hers, filled with both understanding and sympathy and, yes, a bit of hurt that he had, indeed, been thinking about his wife while feeling her up. “You’re not ever going to forget her, you know,” she advised. “And that’s okay. It is what it is.”
“But … I thought … Oh hell. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
She smiled and squeezed his fingers. “You’re right, you know. I don’t want you to be thinking about someone else, either. And it’s not jealousy. I just wish your heart didn’t hurt so much, Ethan.”
“And I you,” he answered, dropping his hand.
“Okay. Then let me just say thank you for a lovely evening. Because it was. The drive-in, the movie, the popcorn … all of it. This part, too.”
“You’re too good a person for the likes of me, Willow Dunaway.”
“Now you are talking crazy.” She smiled up at him as the heat of desire waned. Left in its place was a restless affection that needed time to sort itself out.
She walked him to the door. He paused in the doorway and frowned. “You said ‘first date’ earlier,” he said. “Does that mean you’d go on another?”
Was she afraid? Yes. Maybe the physical attraction was off the charts, but tonight had proved that neither of them were ready to leap into anything serious. But had it been good? God, yes. She needed to live. Take chances. If he asked her right now, she’d say yes.
“You’ll just have to ask me and see,” she replied.
“Willow? Will you come over next Sunday and have dinner with me and the boys?”
Ah. A safe date because the kids would be running interference. “That would be nice.”
“Okay. See you then.”
He leaned forward and dropped a kiss
on her forehead, a kiss that was quick and impersonal. Willow almost laughed. If he’d tried kissing her lips again, who knew where they might end up? He was scared, and playing it safe. It gave her a small measure of comfort.
When he was gone, she slipped back inside, brushed her teeth, went into her room, stripped, and got into bed. She ran her fingers over the tips of her breasts, remembering the feel of his fingers and mouth, filled with a longing so intense she curled up in the sheets to hold it close.
It had been years since she’d felt so feminine. Years during which she’d denied her own sexuality, focusing instead on her spirit and body and pretending those needs and callings weren’t important. That she was somehow “above” desire and passion, and she was better for it.
And she’d been wrong. She was human, and she was meant to love and be loved. To feel joy and ecstasy. It was not something to fear, but something to rejoice.
And while she knew that stopping was the right thing, she rather wished she’d been able to rejoice a little longer tonight.
* * *
Dinner with “the boys” wasn’t a dress-up occasion, so Willow left the café in Emily’s capable hands and was at Ethan’s door at six sharp. The moment she rang the bell, she heard the stomping of feet and excited voices.
“Willow!”
“Wil-low!”
Oh my, their sweet faces. “Hey, guys. I brought dessert. I also have a little something for you in my bag. Let’s go in so you can have it.”
Connor was off in a flash, shouting, “Dad, Dad! Willow brought dessert and presents!”
Ronan grinned up at her and held out his hand. Her heart did a solid thump as she took it and let him lead her into the house. Both boys were 100 percent energy, but there was a sweetness to Ronan that caught her right in the feels. It was like something had happened that day they rocked in her suspended chair. A strange but lovely bond had been formed.
Ethan was at the stove, stirring something in a big pot. The kitchen, to her surprise, was spotless. She tended to be a bit of a messy cook, but the only indication that there’d been a mess at all were a handful of dishes drying in a rack in the sink.
She looked at his hand as it stirred and her mouth dropped open. “Your cast is off!”
He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Yes, I’ve got two working arms again.” His gaze touched hers and she felt heat rise up her chest. His comment might have been completely innocent, but now a crooked grin sat infuriatingly on his lips.
Then he placed one arm beside the other. “I have major tan lines.”
She laughed. Sure enough, one arm was tanned and muscled from working in the sun over the summer, while the other was pale and slimmer. She considered making a joke about building up the muscles in his right arm, but there were little ears about.
“Dad made ’sgetti. It’s our favorite.”
“I love spaghetti.” It wasn’t something she made very often, but when she was a kid, the few times her mom had cooked a special dinner it was usually spaghetti and garlic bread.
Of course, by the time she was in her senior year, she’d spent more time in the bathroom purging than actually eating. Adjusting her perspective to thinking about food as fuel and a way to honor her health changed everything. That mindfulness was a constant part of her life now.
“I’ll confess I make it mostly from a jar and add my own extras,” he said, putting the lid on the pot. “But I did buy organic.”
She smiled. “Am I converting you to my tree-hugger ways, Ethan Gallagher?”
“Maybe. More like I wanted to make a good impression.”
The boys were dancing around her feet, and she realized she was still holding the container of brownies and their “presents” in her bag. She put the brownies on a nearby counter and knelt down before them. “Okay, guys. Don’t get too excited. It’s just a few things.”
She’d been shopping for new kitchen towels for the café and she’d popped into a Dollar Store on impulse. She took out the bag now, and withdrew two small bottles.
“Bubbos,” Ronan said. His slight mispronunciation only made him more adorable.
“For you, too, Connor,” she said, handing over the other bottle. She reached inside the bag. “I got one for your daddy as well.”
“Thanks,” Connor said, not quite as enthusiastic about the surprise as she’d hoped. She supposed bubbles probably weren’t so exciting for a five-year-old boy who was used to wreaking havoc.
“I got this, too. I thought it would be easier for Ronan to catch than using a glove.” She took out a bigger package. Inside was a red tennis ball, and two paddles covered in Velcro.
“Oh, cool!” Connor took to this present better, opening the package and taking out one of the paddles. Willow helped him slide his hand into the strap on the back, and tightened it to fit more snugly. Then she took the tennis ball and stuck it to the Velcro.
“How about you, Ronan? You want to try?”
She took the second paddle and adjusted it to Ronan’s little hand. “There. All set.”
Connor ripped the ball from the Velcro and gave it a toss. Instead of hitting Ronan’s “glove,” it smacked him right in the forehead.
“Ow! Connor!” Ronan’s little brow puckered, and he started to cry.
Great. She’d brought presents and the immediate result was a wailing child. Good job.
“Suck it up, big guy. It’s a tennis ball.” Ethan’s voice was steady and calm, and he knelt down before Ronan. “It’s not even going to leave a mark.”
Ronan’s lip wobbled, but the wailing ceased.
“You two take that outside. No balls in the house. And Connor, toss it underhand. No split-finger fastballs aimed at your brother.”
“Aw, Dad…”
Ethan lifted one eyebrow.
“All right.” Connor let out a dramatic sigh. “Come on, Ronan.”
Ronan sniffled and asked, “Can I bring the bubbos?”
“Sure.”
The two went out the patio door into the backyard, leaving Willow and Ethan alone in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Willow offered, feeling out of her depth. “I thought it would be fun. I didn’t mean for Ronan to cry.”
Ethan laughed and slid noodles into the pot of boiling water. “That? Oh, that’s mild. Ronan tries to keep up with Connor. Connor gets impatient. And they’ve got lots of energy. Tears and frustration are par for the course.”
“I don’t know much about raising kids.”
He looked over at her and smiled. “No one does, until they become a parent. And then they learn as they go. Like I said, no big deal. They’ll have fun with that until one of them gets frustrated, then they’ll break out the bubbles or something.”
He was so relaxed about it, and yet he’d been firm with the boys. “You’re a good dad, Ethan.”
“I try. But … it’s hard. Doing it alone. I just kind of muddle through.”
“Then you’re very good at muddling.” She smiled up at him. “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?”
He looked out the patio doors briefly, then back to her. “Just this,” he said softly, then took a step forward and with both gentleness and confidence, touched his lips to hers.
She melted against him. That was simply it. He touched, she melted. There was no thought, no pros and cons, no restraint … it was just as simple as a flower bending in the breeze.
When their lips parted, she had to find a way to breathe again. He was so good at that.
He spun to find a strainer for the pasta and she swallowed, trying to clear her fuzzy mind. While he worked around the kitchen, she realized that she was here, in the house that he and Lisa had shared together. They’d probably brought their babies home here. Made love here. Had plans for the future. It was lovely and welcoming, but she couldn’t stop the feeling that she didn’t belong.
“You’re very quiet,” he commented. He put a bowl of salad greens on the counter.
“It’s nothing.” Lisa
had stood between them the other night. She didn’t want the same thing to happen today.
“I don’t think so. Are you still bothered about the boys? Trust me, it’s already been forgotten.”
She met his gaze. Goodness, he was so good-looking, even when his eyebrows pulled together and his lips pursed. He seemed to be taking this much more in his stride than she was.
“I just … oh, it’s silly. Let’s just eat.” She moved to the counter and picked up a bag of croutons. This was her problem, not his. Clearly he wasn’t that bothered that she was in his house. And it was just dinner, for heaven’s sake. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If he wasn’t bothered, she shouldn’t be, either.
He called the boys back inside and sent them to wash their hands, then drained the pasta and started filling little bowls with noodles, sauce, and cheese. They scrambled into their chairs and Willow laughed as they dug into their pasta with enthusiasm while she and Ethan were still filling their plates.
“They are not fussy eaters,” Ethan commented. “Thankfully. I think they inherited the ‘iron gut’ gene from the Gallaghers.”
They sat down at the table and Willow took a first bite of pasta. It was good. Not fabulous, but the three of them wouldn’t starve with Ethan doing the cooking. She loved to cook, and thought about her own marinara with fresh tomatoes and herbs from the garden behind the café, but this wasn’t bad. She sprinkled some fresh Parmesan on the top and reached for the salad.
It was all so familial. They chatted about the boys’ soccer teams, swimming at their grandparents’ pool, and Ethan’s anticipated return-to-work date, which he was hoping could be after the September long weekend, as long as his physiotherapist said his arm was strong enough. She laughed at Connor’s slurping of noodles, and knowing he had an audience, he made a big show of sucking in a particularly long piece of spaghetti. The end of it whipped up and left a trail of sauce along the side of his nose, which made Ronan laugh and try to keep up by sucking on a strand so hard his cheeks hollowed out.
Ethan issued a gentle reminder about table manners and handed them each a napkin.
When the meal was over, Ethan washed hands and faces and sent them back outside for a while, then he started clearing the table.
