Page 112 of When the Smoke Clears

“Stop.” He grabs my other wrist, restraining both hands between us.

“Don’t!” I giggle, closing my eyes and wrinkling my nose when he rubs his soapy face against mine.

His lips pass mine once.

I wriggle in his hold.

They pass me twice.

I stop wriggling. Will stills with his cheek pressed to mine. Then he slowly turns his head again, brushing his lips across mine for a third time, but this time he stops, and we kiss. He releases his hold on my wrists and slides his fingers along my neck like he always does until his fingertips brush my nape.

His lips leave mine, ghosting along my cheek to my ear. “Tell me you’re leaving tomorrow,” he whispers. “Then I can tear off your clothes now.”

My eyes drift shut because his touch intoxicates me. “If only,” I murmur.

“We should finish the dishes,” he mumbles between kisses while he works his way down my neck.

“Uh-huh,” I say, sliding my hands up the back of his shirt, curling my fingers into the thick muscles along his back.

“But it’s only Sunday. And I won’t want you here after we have sex.” He palms the back of my legs and lifts me off the floor.

“It’s only Sunday,” I echo, not really registering what he’s saying or what it means as he carries me to the bedroom.

Our mouths collide the second he closes the door. My shirt hits the floor first, followed by his. Then he cradles my face, kissing me again because mere seconds feel too long without his lips on mine. My back meets the wall next to the door. We’re so close to the bed, yet too far at the same time. His calloused palm skates down my neck to my chest, pulling my breast from my bra. Squeezing it until I feel it everywhere.

“Shh,” he whispers in my ear, and I realize I’m moaning.

I quickly nod half a dozen times. I’ll be quiet. If he wants me on my knees, hands tied behind my back, scarf around my mouth, I’ll do it and sort through my unhealthy obsession with him later.

It doesn’t feel like eleven years since I fell for him. It barely feels like eleven minutes. He’s all-consuming, and I can’t get enough. If this fireman wants to eat me for all three meals a day, I’ll be the sacrificial lamb to keep him satiated.

We perform a clumsy dance of discarding the rest of our clothes on the way to the bed. He guides me to straddle his lap and lies back as we kiss. When he fills me, I close my eyes and still for a minute. My crippled heart aches with every beat. I’m so in love with William Landry, but I don’t know if his heart feels anything, even when he’s inside me.

He wants a release, a chance to let go. I want a connection, a chance to hold on.

Will hugs me and sits up, our bodies intertwined. His face ghosts along my neck the way my fingers feather down his back.

It’s different. More intimate.

“I love you . . . I’m sorry,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

Someone should take my medical license. How can someone with my level of infatuation possibly help anyone else?

Will pauses, punching me with regret. Tears burn my eyes as I rest my chin on his shoulder. When he says nothing, I turn my head and press my lips to his neck.

He cups the back of my head in his palm and kisses the shell of my ear. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”

I blink, releasing tears that are too big to contain. I thought I was okay with unrequited love—until now. Beautiful has never felt so ugly. On the heels of my declaration of love, this feels like a participation ribbon.

So I close my eyes and move with him, tucking every feeling into the nooks and crannies of my memory. Someday, I might need these beautiful memories to get me through the loneliness if IHOP goes out of business.

Minutes later, we lie on our sides, his front spooned to my back.

This is not about me. I repeat it over and over in my head until I fall asleep.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Will