by Kelly Moran
Tension creased his brow. “I want you. But I’m trying really hard to prove I don’t want only one thing from you.”
She held his jaw, his outgrowth scratching her palms. “I know that.”
And damn did she admire the hell out of him for it. But they weren’t taking that ultimate physical step until he was ready and showed her, without a trace of doubt, that he truly was there. It had been four years since Heather died and, due to her illness, five since he’d been intimate. Plus, his wife was the only woman he’d ever been with. Except, the way he was behaving, it seemed like he was putting on the brakes more for Zoe’s benefit.
Biting her lip, she debated what to say next. “You’re nothing like other men, and I’m not asking you this to pressure you. Are you sure? It’s been a long time since—”
“It’s not as if I don’t know what I’m doing, Zoe.” Frustration bit his tone, but damn if there wasn’t doubt in his eyes, making her suspect this all might be a lack of confidence. “I may not have your experience, but I know what I want. I just don’t…” He sighed and pulled out of her grasp, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t want the act of us sleeping together to be a reason for you to believe you’re a rebound. I know what some people are saying and I know how guys have treated you.” He reached up and touched a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “You’re not a catalyst for me to move on and I’m not using you as one.”
God, this man. “I know that, too.”
“Do you?” His penetrating gaze wouldn’t allow her to look away when instinct was telling her to abort. “Understand me, honey. I’m with you because I want to be.” He swallowed and laced their fingers together. “And yes. It’s been a long time.”
She blew out an uneven breath. “For the record, it’s been just about as long for me.” What a pair they made. “My offer stands. We should make out at your house. Slowly work our way back on the saddle or whatever.”
He flashed a grin, exposing the dimple on his left cheek. “How about this? Spend the night with me and we’ll see what happens.” His smile slipped. “The conference in Portland is next weekend.” He looked away, his expression indicating he wanted to say more.
After a silent crackling moment, she understood. He wanted to take the next step with her then, while they were far from everything and everyone they knew, making sex just about them. It made sense his first time with someone else should be away from home. An act rather than a pressure-filled decision.
She squeezed his hand. “Portland.”
His gaze whipped to hers. Held. Emotions filled his eyes, too many to track. Finally, he nodded. Rising, he held out his hand.
An hour later, they were cuddling in his bed watching a violent action movie she couldn’t remember the name of and making fun of the actors. Fully dressed and on top of the covers, they’d done nothing inadvertently sexual, and she was okay with that. This had been the best date ever.
Drake lay on his back, one arm behind his head. His other hand idly played with her hair while she rested her cheek on his chest. Their legs were tangled and she adoringly breathed in his scent of warm male. Comforting and arousing in the same breath.
Gunfire exploded on the screen and his chest vibrated with a chuckle. “I love how the bad guys are standing ten feet away and still can’t hit their target.”
She hummed. “Or how, in a fist fight, they go after the lead one at a time.”
“Why are we watching this again?”
“You picked it. Besides, heckling cinema is my favorite pastime.”
He laughed. “We could put on something else.”
“Naw. I’m good.” Very good. As in, she never wanted to leave this bed. She bit her thumbnail. “Is this awkward for you?”
“What? Us in my bedroom?” His hand stilled over her head. “No. Honestly, all I see in here now is you.”
Crap. She set her chin on his pec and looked at him. “That wasn’t my intention. If you want to redecorate again, we can.”
He glanced around as if considering. “I don’t want to change it. I like having traces of you in here. Besides, I have an original Zoe Hornsby on my walls. The trees are really cool.”
True, but what happened if the blood test came back positive or they didn’t work out? Then she’d be all he’d see in here and that wouldn’t work either. He’d moved on from Heather, but he’d have to redecorate to move on from Zoe. She should’ve just left things alone.
Determined not to upset him, she let it go for now and focused on something else as the credits rolled on his flat screen. “I don’t have anything to sleep in. Or a toothbrush.”
He kissed her forehead and climbed out of bed. Opening a dresser drawer, he rummaged around and pulled out a white tee. He handed it to her and jerked his chin toward the adjoining bathroom. “I think there’s an extra toothbrush in the cabinet. Have at it.”
She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. After washing her face, she changed into his shirt and checked the vanity. Not seeing a toothbrush, she opened a drawer and froze. A small stack of photos were neatly tucked next to toothpaste and shaving cream.
Grabbing the pictures, she sat on the toilet lid. The first was her and Drake dancing at Cade’s wedding, followed by another of them retreating from the church after the ceremony. She paged through, finding a couple of her playing ball or painting. The last one was a shot of them kissing after the parade. He had to have downloaded it from the internet and printed it.
Hands shaking, she blew out the breath she’d been holding. Why did he have these? And in the bathroom? Had he stashed them quickly when their plans tonight had changed and she’d come over? She wondered if he planned to frame them and…put them in his bedroom.
Or maybe she was just being paranoid. Yes, it was strange, but he’d just redecorated and that could account for misplaced items.
Like photos of her. And him. And no one else.
Screw it. “Drake?”
He opened the door and poked his head in. “Find a toothbrush?”
“Not exactly.” She stood and held up the stack.
Brows furrowed, he stepped deeper into the room and examined the pictures. A smile teased his lips at the last one. “Aunt Rosa gave me these a couple days ago. I had ’em in my pocket and forgot I dumped them in here.” He met her gaze and his smile died after taking in her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Everything. Damn it. “I just…jumped to conclusions.”
Setting the photos aside, he wrapped his arms around her back. “What kind of conclusions?” When she didn’t answer, he nodded slowly in understanding. “You thought I was going to go psycho boyfriend and put them all over my house?”
“Maybe.”
A grin lit his eyes. “I already have pictures of you downstairs on my mantle. Those are staying, mind you, but the kissy couple ones can wait. Feel better?”
Embarrassed as hell, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled her in for a hug, setting his chin on the top of her head. “I know you feel uncertain, and until you take the test, that feeling isn’t going to go away. No matter what, we’ll go at our pace, Zoe. Not my family’s or our friends’ or what the town deems fit.”
Before she could apologize again, he stepped away and grabbed the pictures. “I am pretty fond of this one.” He held up the shot of them kissing at the parade and gave her an eyebrow waggle.
“Shut up.” Laughing, she smacked his arm.
Sobering, he reached in the drawer and passed her a toothbrush. “I’m going to let the dogs outside. Take your time in here.”
She understood loud and clear. Meaning, take whatever time she needed to get her head in order. He’d wait. He left, and she glanced around in an attempt to calm he
rself.
The bathroom was massive compared to hers at home and sported white tile floors, sage green in the whirlpool tub and surround, and a his and hers vanity. Glass doors to the corner shower stall were frosted with a leaf pattern. This room, too, had been altered after Heather had died. The first one in the house, done about two years ago.
She took a cleansing breath and brushed her teeth. Drying her mouth, she glanced at herself in the mirror and blinked. She’d grown accustomed to the purple hair color. As she fingered the strands, she realized it was time to dye it again. Not only because the color was fading, but because she was used to it. That was her pattern.
What next? Blue? Red? Green? Or…brown.
She stood, contemplating. They did have that conference next weekend. Going back to her natural brunette color would be more professional and… She sighed. It was time.
Out of a sense of preservation, self pity, and grief, she’d been hiding behind a rainbow of box colors instead of facing facts. Mama wasn’t going to get better, but Zoe could still live her life and do what she loved. Time might be at a minimum, but Drake had been right. She wasn’t alone. If that test did come back positive, she should snag every bit of joy before the worst happened.
A calming sense of relief filled her. She might not have any control over genetics or fate, nor could she promise Drake anything more than right now, but she could take a corner of her life back.
Starting tomorrow, she was going to paint every day, and when Mama got out of rehab, at least two hours a week. She’d also make plans to go to Shooters with the gang once a month instead of every blue moon.
And she’d stop dyeing her hair.
Chapter 20
Lying in bed, Drake flipped through TV channels and waited for Zoe to exit the bathroom. It had been fifteen minutes since she’d run water or made a sound. He stared at the door as if that would make her come out faster. Worry twisted his gut.
Those pictures had obviously upset her. There was nothing he could change about that or her circumstances. Best he could do was be with her, offer support, and pray to all that was holy her genetic testing came back negative. Even if it didn’t, he’d be here, where he’d always been.
Sighing, he set the remote aside. He had the sinking suspicion she planned to dump him if she got a positive result. She’d fought the idea of dating so adamantly before she had a clue if her mom’s condition was even a factor. Knowing Zoe, she’d shut down, back off, and wait out the impending storm alone. Not that he’d let her.
The door clicked and she stepped out wearing his white tee. It fell to her knees, offered no hint at the curves beneath, but hell if his heart didn’t pound. Nothing was sexier or more intimate than a woman in a guy’s shirt.
She set her clothes by her purse on the chair and sat at the edge of the bed facing him. She stared at his chest, her throat working a swallow. He waited her out, but she said nothing, nor did she move. Perhaps tonight had been too much for her.
He sat up and covered her hand with his. “Do you want me to take you home?”
Her gaze flicked to his and away. “I can walk, if you prefer I leave. I just need to say a few things first.”
Like hell he’d let her walk. And the pounding of his heart from moments before stopped so fast he flinched. “Stay.”
Closing her eyes, she took a second as if to compose herself and then looked at him with gutting, visceral torment. Yep. She was preparing to rip the rug out from under him. There it was in her expression, plain as day.
He shook his head, pissed off as hell. “Is this the point where you tell me you’re gone if that test is positive? You’ll just walk away as if what we have together is nothing?”
“It’s not nothing, and that’s the problem.” She ran a shaking hand over her forehead. “If you were in my place, wouldn’t you do the same?”
Staring at her, he ground his molars. For her benefit, he thought it over. “No. You might think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is making decisions on my behalf. After Heather died, I didn’t think about the months she was in bed hooked up to IVs. It was the years we had prior that I chose to recall. Our high school dances, our wedding, the time she had with you.”
She bit her lip. “My condition wouldn’t be months, but years, Drake.”
“I understand that. And I’d rather have the chance for a few years with you together like this or as friends than none at all. You’re trying to take the choice away from me.”
“You’re right.” Her gaze locked on to his, potent and definite. “That’s not fair to you. While in the bathroom, I made the decision to stop hiding. I’m going to hang out more with my friends and paint and not waste what time I might have left.”
“You need to consider something else.” He watched her, hoping he could break through. “You’re basing a lot of this condition on your mother’s case. Our circumstances are different than hers. If you do get sick and your memory regresses, who’s there? Me. My brothers. Your friends. We go way back, Zoe. As in, all the way. I’ll make sure you’re not scared. If nothing else, you’ll remember me.”
Her expression softened. “I care about you so damn much. And you’re the kind of man who goes all in. Before Portland, before this thing with us goes any farther, you need to seriously ask yourself if this is what you want. We have the opportunity to call it quits—”
“It’s what I want. You’re what I want.” He searched her gaze, rammed home his point by not looking away. “You’re correct about the all in part. I have been from day one.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers. “Last week, when it dawned on me your true reason for keeping me at a distance, my first thought was not her. Not you, Zoe. My second was to get to you as fast as humanly possible. Be here with you. I can’t and won’t shut down that desire. Not as a friend or a potential lover.”
Trembling, she studied him. She had the same look in her eyes as she did the day Heather had been diagnosed, the same agony as when his father had passed away. Helpless. Her lower lip quivered, and her teeth sank into it even as her eyes filled. Blinking, she quickly looked away with a nod.
He could tell she had other doubts, more roadblocks but, for now, she was submitting. At least she’d not only heard him this time, but listened. “Stay,” he said again.
In an extremely rare gesture of weakness, she flopped onto the bed with her head in his lap, her fingers still clutching his. He paused in shock, then used his other hand to brush the hair away from her face. She was so damn beautiful his chest threatened to cave. This tender, soft side of her wrecked him every time it was exposed.
She stared, unblinking, at something across the room and released a ragged exhale. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Christ. She slayed him. “Then don’t.”
He slid his arms under hers, laid on his back, and hauled her up his body so she was sprawled across him. For good measure, he pulled the blankets over them, creating a cocoon.
She wrapped herself around him like a bandage, burying her face in his throat. “What now?”
“The way I see it, we can do one of two things. Make out like teenagers as you suggested earlier, or go to sleep. I’m up for either but, given a choice, I take door number one.”
She went utterly still, and then—thank Christ—she laughed, just as he intended. Hard enough to shake them and the mattress. Lifting her head, she stared down at him. “Once again, you are improperly dressed for bed. Since you’re still wearing your clothes, I assume you don’t want to sleep.”
Smiling, he pushed her hair away from her face, loving the banter between them. “You would be correct. I’m not very subtle, am I?” He took in her huge hazel eyes, barely noticeable freckles on her nose, and pouty mouth. “You’re quite beautiful, you know that?”
She blinked. Then blinked again. “You have got to stop with the reduce-me-to-puddle talk. Seriously, you had me wi
th your body.”
“I’ll have you know, I was serious.”
“So am I.”
And before he could retort, her mouth was on his. No coaxing on her part. She just went right at him with deep strokes of her tongue, sending him from want to need in the time it took him to thread his fingers through her hair.
Her hands started to wander and his heart relocated ribs. Down his arms, across his chest, over his stomach… Fire licked his skin from her path. Unsure how far to take things, he settled his hands on her waist and squeezed. In retaliation, she shoved hers under his shirt and tugged the material up as if she wanted it off.
Jackknifing, he sat up, taking her with him, and she pulled the tee over his head. Then...hers followed, and hell, he didn’t dare look anywhere but her face. Their chests crashed and they stared at one another, panting.
“Boundaries,” he rasped. He slammed his eyes shut. “I need to know boundaries, Zoe.”
She brought her lips to his and spoke against them. “We agreed to Portland.”
His lungs refused to cooperate, not with her warm, soft skin against his, her breasts crushed between them, her lavender scent invading his nostrils, and her breathy voice. “Right now. What are the boundaries right now?”
Fingernails raked lightly down his back. “We can use our hands.” Dipping her head, she licked his neck. “And our mouths.”
Sweet mercy. “Where?”
She nipped the other side of his neck and soothed the ache with her hot tongue. “Everywhere.”
That was all the intel he required. He crashed his mouth to hers and grabbed her thighs. She ground against him until he was so hard he throbbed.
Quick as a flash, it dawned on him he was doing this. He was with someone other than... Hell. Other than Heather.
He’d talked this to death with Zoe, and his feelings for her were separate from what he’d had with his wife. Unique. New crashing with old. Friendship meshing with more. They were two completely different women in personality and physical stature, at two different periods in his life. Until right this very second, getting intimate with Zoe had been rhetorical. There was an instant heat, attraction, and chemistry, but also a bond. He tried to dissect deeper meaning and couldn’t because nowhere amid his emotions were...
