My gaze jumped back to his. We stared at each other, the space between us vibrating. My hands began to tremble with the agony of months of wanting to touch him. Slowly, he unfolded his arms. His hands hovered in the air a moment before scooping under my hair to grasp my face. He ran his thumbs over my jawline, and when I didn’t move away, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. We sat that way for a long time, both breathing until he puckered his lips gently.
When he pulled back, it was to rest his forehead on mine. “I’ve been dreaming about that for almost sixteen weeks,” he said quietly.
I laughed in a gust of breath at his attention to detail. I felt his cheeks with my hands, relishing the rough, bristly spots. I ran my fingers through his obsidian hair, even silkier than I remembered. I traced his lips reverently with my fingertip. “Why can’t I forget you?” I whispered.
He leaned in and pecked me on the lips twice before nuzzling his nose into my neck. “The way you smell,” he said into my hair. “It’s irreplaceable.”
I hugged him, feeling the muscles of his back through his shirt. He brushed his mouth down my cheek until reaching my lips. They parted for him, and he kissed me with careful movements, allowing me to appreciate every slide of his tongue and tremor of his lips. He tasted fresh but warm; he tasted like home.
As we kissed, he molded my arms around his neck to lift me by my waist so we were eye-level. I felt safe in his arms again, hidden from the outside world in our own private one. He untucked the back of my blouse and slid a hand underneath. It was a simple act, his hand skating over my back, but comforting. And then it was sensual, dizzying. Without disconnecting our mouths, he set me on my feet and unzipped my skirt so it fell to the ground.
I pulled his shirt from his pants and undid the buttons with tremulous hands. I slid it over his shoulders, his hard and coarse pecs under my palms. I kissed them, breathing in the fresh, woodsy smell that had been muted by his shirt.
He undid my top button deftly. After each button, he glanced up and looked me squarely in the eyes. His hands glided under the fabric to hold my waist. We looked into each other’s eyes, my body securely in his grip as if it were made to be there.
He pulled me to his bare torso and wrapped me in strong arms. A hand over my hair pressed my cheek to his chest. Between his heartbeat and mine, I heard nothing else.
My desire grew, and my skin burned with the need to meld with him. I remembered how he’d felt inside of me, driving me to the edge with the entirety of his focus. When I was sure I couldn’t stand another minute, he let go.
Confusion cut through my euphoric haze. “What are you doing?”
He stepped back suddenly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know,” he said up to the ceiling. “I wanted this . . .”
I stood staring at him, wavering with my skirt pooled at my feet. The blood drained from my face. “Wanted?”
“Want. I want it. I can’t stop thinking about you, about that night, Olivia. But you really fucking hurt me when you ran out, and I told myself I wouldn’t . . .”
I knew what he’d say—he’d already said it at the wedding. He’d promised himself he’d stay away from me, as I would him. “Iwantthis,” I whispered so softly, I wasn’t sure he heard.
I wanted it, too, but once it was over, I would leave again. And I’d be haunted by the hurt in his eyes.
His face still pointed upward, appealing to a higher power, maybe. Avoiding my gaze, he took my open blouse, lingering at the bottom button a long second before closing it. We both watched as he re-dressed me.
He crouched down and picked up my skirt. Methodically, he tucked in my blouse, smoothing his hand over my stomach, and reached around to zip me up. I just stood there as his smell taunted me, tempting memories on the verge. His fingers combed through my hair. They went to touch my lips, but he leaned in to kiss me desperately instead. I was still shocked into immobility, but my body responded on its own. My arms wrapped around his neck, and my mouth gave in to him. I did not wonder why he’d stopped this. I did not wonder whyIcouldn’t stop. I blocked the thoughts from my brain and melted into his hands in my hair, his breath with mine, a kiss that was a different kind of passionate than I’d ever experienced.
But we broke apart when he tore his lips from mine. I fixated on the rising and falling of his chest, trying to catch my own breath. My arms slithered down from his neck, and he caught my wrists. “I can’t do this because I care, not because I don’t,” he said. “I can’t do this again to myself or to you, and I don’t think you can, either.”
He was wrong. I could do it. The realization came with a painful constriction of my heart. He had me so wound up in him that I saw nothing else. But his words made sense, so I nodded.
He dropped my wrists and backed away. I watched, transfixed, as he re-buttoned his own shirt and shrugged on his suit jacket. Watching him dress himself in clothing I couldn’t touch—a chest, a face, hands that I couldn’t feel—put my entire body on edge. I had almost been allowed to show him how much I had missed him, but it had been dashed away, disintegrating under my fingers.
My phone chiming from my purse relieved me of my torture. But relief quickly drained away, and my jaw fell as I read Bill’s text message.
Bill:Called Jeanine. Gave her our offer! Champagne tonight, babe.
David was leaving the room when I finally looked up from the screen. I’d just thrown myself at another man. And worse, I’d realized only minutes before, that Bill’s and my problems might be deeper than I thought. That with him, this was a house, but with David, it could be a . . .
David stopped short in the doorway. “Jesus,” he said, peering at his phone. “The appraiser already e-mailed.”
“I know.” I walked toward him, and he cocked his head at me. Before he could ask, I said, “Bill just made an offer.”
David’s expression morphed from curiosity to confusion. The grandfather clock chimed. It was as if every thought that passed through his mind was trying to break free, but his mouth remained set in a rigid line.
“David?” I asked as he stared down at me in silence. “Are you all right?”
He cleared his throat and fixed his gaze over my head. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
He gripped the knob of the front door and hesitated a moment. I waited for him to speak, my eyes darting between his face and the handle. Instead, he turned it and stepped out onto the broken walkway. I followed him to a sleek, silver Mercedes-Benz.
