Back Where She Belongs

chapter FOURTEEN



DYLAN PUSHED THE SUV above the speed limit, but Tara leaned forward, silently urging him to go faster. He roared through yellow lights and took turns so fast his tires squealed. It was warm in the car, but Tara was shaking with chills, gulping big breaths, her vision edged with gray. Every muscle was tight, as if her body believed that as long as she held on, Faye would, too. Don’t die, Faye. Don’t die. Please don’t leave me. The words were a mantra, a prayer in her head.

“If I lose her, I don’t know what I’ll do,” she said, staring straight ahead.

“She’s getting the best care there is. They’ll save her if they can.”

Tara hung on to his words, needing them to be true. Hurry! Hurry! She twisted her fingers in her lap as if that would make the wheels turn faster. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, she gulped more air, but it didn’t seem to help. She felt like she was breathing for Faye.

Dylan parked near the emergency entrance and they dashed inside, then had to wait for the elevator. She kept jabbing the call button as if that would make the slowest elevator on the planet get there sooner.

Dylan took her hand and squeezed it. “Whatever you need from me, you’ve got it. Anything.” His eyes brimmed with worry...and love.

Throat too tight to speak, she nodded. She felt abruptly steadier, stronger somehow, and her breathing evened out. She wasn’t alone. Dylan was with her.

In the ICU waiting room, Joseph and Rachel rose from their chairs to greet them, both ghostly pale.

“They found an aneurysm,” Joseph said. “She’s in surgery now.”

“How long?” Tara’s voice cracked.

Dylan put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed.

“No idea. We’re waiting for the surgeon to come out,” Joseph said.

Dylan walked Tara to a chair and they sat together. There were a half-dozen people in the waiting area, talking, reading or looking dazed. Dylan still held her hand. He rubbed slow circles on her back. That contact seemed to be the only thing that kept her sane.

They waited, the minutes ticking by like hours. Tara’s mother stared stonily ahead, her hair trembling from the tension in her thin body. Joseph fidgeted and paced, arms and legs disjointed as if he couldn’t feel them.

Finally a man in green scrubs stepped into the waiting area. “Joseph Banes?” He spoke to the room. Joseph stopped in his tracks. “That’s me.”

The rest of them jumped to their feet.

“It went as well as we could expect,” the doctor said. “She’s stable for now.”

“Is she still in danger?” Tara asked, her voice a thin thread of sound.

“Not immediately, no.” That was as encouraging as the man was going to get, Tara realized. Faye was alive. Tara had to hang on to that. As long as Faye breathed, there was hope.

“Can we see her?” Tara asked.

“Briefly, yes. If the ICU nurses give you the go-ahead.”

Joseph and Rachel went in first, her mother’s movements almost zombie-like. When they returned a few minutes later, Tara and Dylan took their place at Faye’s bedside. She looked terrible, her skin gray, all makeup gone, an elastic mark outlining her face from the paper cap she’d worn during the surgery. The gauze pad across her collarbone was stained with blood and Betadine. As if he could read Tara’s discomfort, Dylan folded under a blood-streaked section of sheet.

Tara picked up Faye’s hand. “Fight your way back, Faye. Don’t die. Please, don’t die.” Her voice trembled. She sounded like a desperate child, but she didn’t care. When the nurse asked them to leave, she let Dylan guide her into the empty hall.

“What if she dies?” she asked him.

“You’ll handle it,” he said, brushing her hair from her cheek. “You’re tough and brave. You’ll do what you need to do. And you have me. Don’t forget that. I’m here. Always.”

“You are,” she said. His steady gaze, his calm support made her feel like she could handle anything. “You are here.” Her heart filled up and spilled over. “I love you, Dylan. I never stopped loving you.”

He sucked in a breath, startled. “Same here. The more I deny it, the more I know it’s true.” They held each other’s gaze, letting their words sink in, grab hold, change everything between them.

When they rejoined the others, Joseph stood. “Your mother needs to go home,” he said to them. “Would you take her? I’ll stay the night.”

Tara saw that her mother looked ready to collapse. She made Joseph promise to call if anything changed, then they took her mother to Dylan’s Land Rover. Her mother seemed totally wrecked. All the way back, Tara tried to get her mother to talk, but nothing worked. At the house, Tara went around to help her mother step down from the SUV. She shook off her arm and got out shakily.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Tara said. “We’ll get through this together.”

“No, we won’t. I won’t have it. Not from you, I won’t.” Her mother’s eyes flashed fire. “I won’t have you hovering over me, pitying me. You don’t want to be here. You don’t belong here. Please go. Leave me in peace.” She stalked up the stairs.

Judith was coming down to meet her. “We’ll be fine, Tara,” Judith said, her voice kind.

“I have to get my car,” she said, still shocked by her mother’s words.

“Go on then,” Judith said.

Tara climbed into the front seat, numb and stung, grateful when Dylan drove off without a word. They were silent as they drove, though she felt his eyes on her often. She clenched all her muscles, fisted her hands, holding in her emotions. Her mother wanted her gone. She would not bend, would not forgive.

Dylan pulled up beside her car in his driveway. “Stay with me, Tara,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “Don’t go back there tonight.”

He wanted her with him, she knew that, but she was certain he was afraid she’d go back and confront her mother, and that would be a disaster.

“I’ll tell Judith,” she said, pulling out her phone.

“You’re smart to stay,” Judith said, then added softly, “I don’t know what got into her. I really don’t. She’s glad you’re here. I know that.”

Things were pretty bad when Judith felt the need to comfort Tara.

Inside the house, Tara turned to Dylan. His gaze held kindness and concern. “There’s a guest room, if you’d like. It’s got workout equipment, but the sheets are clean.”

She shook her head. “I want to sleep with you.” Tonight she needed to be held, to feel loved, to feel alive. She might lose her sister. She’d lost what little bit of her mother’s love she thought she’d had. She wasn’t about to lose Dylan, too. She needed him, needed his touch. In his arms, she would feel safe, she would fit, she would be home.

Dylan pulled her close and kissed her, sweeping her away from her fear and sorrow. Duster dropped to his belly beside them with a sigh.

Tara melted into the moment, lost at last in the physical intimacy of finally being with Dylan again. The embrace felt old and new at the same time. Dylan’s lips were warm and giving. She welcomed his tongue, the slow slide of his lips on hers, the urgency of him against her stomach. Her body responded, aching, tingling, burning.

It was such a relief not to fight this anymore. Dylan broke off the kiss, still holding her close. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure.”

“Good.” Dylan bent and swung her into his arms, then turned for the hall. Duster rose and followed them. In the door to his bedroom, Dylan stopped. “I have condoms, if—”

“I’m on the pill,” she said. She’d loved that Dylan always made sure they were protected, no matter how wild or frantic they were. He’d been that way with her. No matter how high she flew, Dylan was a steady hand on the kite string.

He leaned down to kiss her again. She closed her mind against the near loss of her sister, her mother’s cruelty, the accident, the troubles at Wharton, everything but her body coming alive in Dylan’s arms—the man she still loved, who loved her still.

She breathed him in—his spicy cologne and that sweet smell of his skin, stronger now, as if physical desire drew honey from his pores.

Desire flooded her in slow, thick waves, dissolving every ounce of resistance.

This was Dylan, who understood her, who knew her body as well as his own, who knew how to please her. She could let go, trust his mouth and hands and body to give her what she wanted. She yearned to be part of him, for him to be part of her, so close they hardly knew where one body ended and the other began.

* * *

DYLAN HAD MEANT only to offer Tara a safe place to stay after her mother’s verbal attack. Instead he was taking her to bed. He held her sweet body in his arms, kissed her soft mouth. It seemed crazy and utterly right at once.

In his room, he set her on her feet, then helped her out of her top and slacks. Tara kicked off her shoes. He drank her in—beautiful, long-limbed, wearing white lace panties and bra. Her eyes glittered, her lips were puffy from his assault. He wanted her now, all of her, more than he wanted his next breath.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the swell of her breasts above the lace, or the way her stomach muscles shivered, anticipating his touch. He whipped off his shirt, tossed it away.

She held his face in both hands and pressed her lips there, sliding, teasing, her tongue easing in, exploring him. “I’ve missed your taste and the sweet smell of you.” She kissed him more intently, pulling at him, as if to draw life itself from his mouth. At the same time, she undid his zipper, then pushed his pants and boxers down with her hands, then her foot.

He kicked his pants away, and pulled her closer, spreading his fingers to hold more of her ribs and back.

Tara jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He cupped her bottom and turned for the bed, reaching down to rip the covers out of the way. He laid her on the sheet. She was in his bed, the woman who’d filled his dreams, whose body was heaven to him.

Leaning over her, he unclipped her bra and cupped her impossibly soft breasts, the nipples pink, pebbled with arousal. He lifted one to his mouth, ran his tongue around its surface, while she shuddered and gasped.

“That feels...so...good,” she said.

He wanted to be inside her, to make her come, to come himself. It was a pulse in his head, a throb along his nerves. He fought to get control, to take it slow. He ran his fingers over her through her panties.

She moaned, then reached for him, her fingers tight around his shaft, making him hers.

They moved in rhythm, fingers and lips and hips, like they’d been together all this time, as if they’d never stopped making love, taking each other higher and higher. Somewhere in his half-gone brain he knew he was carried away, making far too much of the moment, but he didn’t care. Lust surged through him, unstoppable as the blood in his veins.

“Get...inside...me.” She was struggling to get her panties off. He helped her, throwing them to the floor. She bent her knees and guided him between her thighs. He looked into her eyes, saw how much she wanted this...wanted him. She used to whisper in his ear, You’re my home.

He’d wanted to be. The idea swelled in him, enflaming the primal need to protect her, to keep her safe and well, to sacrifice his own life for hers if he had to.

With that thought, he thrust into her soft slickness, feeling a pleasure so intense he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Oh...” She closed her eyes, her lips parted. “I remember this,” she whispered, then opened her eyes. “I remember you. All of me remembers all of you.”

He fought to respond, but words failed him. All he could think about was merging with her, becoming one with her. He pulled out, then pushed in, amazed that each time he felt more.

Dylan forced himself to go slow, to focus on every sensation. He wouldn’t miss a single gasp, a blink of her blue eyes. He would feel every muscle twitch, drink in every kiss, hear every mew and sigh.

She made him want to do more, take her higher, make it last longer. She wrapped her legs around him, digging in with her heels, lifting her hips with each thrust. He knew she was close, so he went still to let the pressure build, make the release more intense.

She gripped his backside with both hands. She never wanted to wait. She pushed down as she lifted her hips, again and again. He couldn’t resist, not after all the waiting and wanting he’d endured already.

When he kicked into gear, she bucked up, eyes wide, pupils huge and black, giving herself over to him. That was the hottest part. That Tara, so scared to be close, so slow to trust, trusted him, let go with him, only him.

Her breath hitched. She was nearly there. His body picked up the cue and tightened for the last push over. There it was, that look she got when she came. He’d missed that, dreamed of it far too often. “Oh, I’m...” She gasped.

“I know you are,” he said as she exploded. Her release caught him, carried him with her, the rushing wave almost too much to stand.

He couldn’t believe the wonder he felt, the joy of sharing this with Tara, the girl he’d first loved, the woman he still did.

* * *

TARA’S CLIMAX HIT so hard that every inch of her body, every fiber of her being felt it, throbbed with it. This. This was what stopped hearts, launched ships, made the world go ’round. She felt it in her body and in her heart.

They’d climaxed together. She’d forgotten how natural that had always been for them.

She felt like she’d returned home from a harrowing trip. In a way, she had. All of it—Faye’s coma, her near death, her father’s death, her mother’s harsh words, even the old pain of losing Dylan—rose up in a huge wave of emotion, which broke free in a sharp sob. She had held back so much for so long, hidden the pain even from herself, that she couldn’t help the outburst.

Dylan pulled her onto his chest and rubbed her back in slow circles, and let her cry. He didn’t ask her what was wrong. He let her be. However she was, that was fine with him.

Tara lifted her head to be sure he still wore that look, that tender acceptance of her, no matter what. Yeah. There it was. “I thought I made it up,” she said, still choked up. “That look you have.” She couldn’t even describe it, except that it made her feel loved and safe and known.

“I know what you mean.” They stayed like that for a few minutes. Abruptly Dylan’s eyes went distant. Was he pulling away?

No. Don’t. Not yet. Her heart turned over in her chest. She wasn’t ready to back away. She needed him too much right now.

“You want to call the hospital?” Dylan said. “Make sure nothing’s changed. I don’t want you to worry.”

Oh. Whew. He’d merely turned his thoughts to their situation. He wasn’t backing away, leaving her. No cause for panic.

“Yes. My phone’s in the living room.” She started to get up.

“I’ll get it. I need to get you food anyway.” He kissed her forehead and climbed out of bed. He was gorgeous in the lamplight, broad shoulders, prominent muscles, graceful movements.

“You remembered how hungry I get?”

“I remember everything about you, Tara,” he said roughly, his eyes glistening with longing...sorrow...regret. As if he hadn’t wanted that to be true, but was helpless to prevent it.

She knew exactly how he felt.

What now? She couldn’t keep the thought from her mind. Being in Dylan’s bed tonight was about Faye nearly dying, about the turmoil of these days in Wharton, and about the love they still held for each other.

She couldn’t count on this. She shouldn’t.

She squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed back that thought. They deserved this moment, this pleasure and relief, the feeling of being understood, loved, the feeling of home.

I get to have this. We both do. No regrets.

What about tomorrow? And the day after that? If they worked at it, could they get past the pain they’d caused each other? Could they start fresh?

She felt so right in his arms; she didn’t want it to ever be wrong.

* * *

A HALF HOUR LATER, Dylan balled up the last cupcake wrapper and tossed it onto the nightstand before settling back around Tara. Against all odds, he had her in his bed. He tucked her more firmly against his chest, one hand on her breast, breathing in her smell, feeling every inch of her body against every inch of his. He hadn’t been wrong about how good they’d been together. Now he felt fully alive, fully awake for the first time in years.

Now what?

He’d been so clear before that being with her would only arouse impossible hopes. Their relationship was a dead-end. A dead-end wrapped in pain.

But they loved each other. That had been important. And making love had been healing. Could they end it with that? Stop now? Let that be enough?

Who was he kidding? He’d never get enough of her. He pushed away the thought. For now, he had her in his arms. He would enjoy that for all it was worth. He’d deal with tomorrow tomorrow.

He woke to Duster licking his face, the smell of Tara in his bed and a note: Gone to see Faye. Thank you for last night. I’ll call from Wharton. Tara.

Thank you for last night? Like he’d done her a favor? Damn.

At least he didn’t have to wonder whether they’d be together again tonight. Clearly that was that.

His cell phone rang. It was her.

“Faye’s back in her room, Dylan. She’s stable again. It’s such a relief. You have no idea how much better I feel.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his anger fading in the face of her delight.

“Me, too. I can breathe again. And think. I’m on my way to Wharton to set up that field trip to Ryland. Let your guys know, okay?”

“Okay...”

“Is something wrong? Was my note too terse? I didn’t mean it to be.”

“No. It was fine.” He sighed. He couldn’t be angry at her. She didn’t know how to handle this any better than he did. They’d figure it out together.

“So, can we meet for lunch and talk?” she asked.

He thought through his day and realized it wasn’t possible. “I’m sorry. I have a meeting.” He had to convince Troy Waller not to run for mayor, to wait for Dylan to hire him. The man seemed to doubt Dylan’s commitment to his plan.

“Oh. Then...supper?”

This was the day he usually stayed late to go over production figures before he met with Victor and his father in the morning, but he didn’t want to disappoint Tara again. “Sure. Supper at my house.” He’d throw together spaghetti. He owed them both that much. And after supper? Would she stay the night? He’d see if she brought a suitcase.