“Very glad,” she continued earnestly. “As one nation, we’re strong.”
“I hid my music, but when I came back…I wanted so badly to see more of it published. But I was always ill…my niece looked after me. When I died, she met a fine young lad. He’d lost a leg at Gettysburg, but he was still a fine man, a whole man, even minus a limb. I was glad to watch them here. To see their children grow.” He stopped reminiscing and looked at her again. “May I tell you about my music?”
“Of course,” she said.
Joe set the article down, thinking he would pick it up again later. Whatever it said that he hadn’t seen before, he wasn’t getting it now, either. He’d have to try again, with fresh eyes.
He ran through his e-mail, but as he’d expected, it didn’t contain anything useful. He went into the bathroom that connected the office to his bedroom and quickly showered, shaved and threw on a change of clothes, then walked out to the living room.
Leslie didn’t notice him at first. She had moved to the chair and was looking animatedly at the sofa. If he hadn’t known it was empty, he would have sworn she was deep in conversation with someone sitting there.
“Leslie?”
“Oh!” Startled, she turned toward him.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure.”
Puzzled, he pressed on. “Was…someone here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never let anyone into your house.”
He took a seat on the sofa, directly opposite her. She wasn’t sitting back in the chair but was perched on the edge, the way she would have been if she’d been talking to someone sitting exactly where he was now. He reached for her hands. “Leslie…”
“I’m fine,” she said very softly, then pulled one hand away and touched his cheek. He felt his heart flutter. She was close. Her scent was alluring. The light in her eyes was enchanting. The dip of her scoop-neck knit dress was arousing.
And she was Matt’s woman.
But Matt was dead.
And she was touching him.
He caught her hand. It was a delicate hand, with long, elegant fingers, clean and soft despite the fact that she spent her days digging in old earth. He held her palm against his face, feeling the thunder of both his heart and his libido.
It would be easy, so easy, to draw her to him, hold her close. Kiss her lips, feel the silk of her tongue. Touch her. Know her naked flesh. He’d known his share of women over the years. If Nancy had lived, he would have stayed in love all his life, he thought. But she hadn’t. There had been times after that when he would meet a woman, and he wouldn’t really want to know her name, but he would learn it, anyway, just for the sake of decency. Then there had been the years when he hadn’t been quite as much of an asshole, but there had never—until now—been a time when he had wanted someone the way he was discovering he wanted Leslie, wanted her with every carnal impulse he possessed, with a longing to know not just her face but her soul, the way she thought and everything she felt….
He inhaled. She was close, and coming closer. Her fingers moved over his cheek.
He threaded his own fingers through her hair as they leaned closer, both of them perched on the edge of their seats. His lips touched hers. They were soft, pliant and molding. Her mouth was sweet fire. She knew how to kiss, how to move her lips, teeth…tongue. Hot, wet, closer…it was the kind of kiss that set the blood to raging, filling the mind with visions of each step that should follow.
And then…
They broke apart. Moved back. He didn’t know which of them had realized first that they were going too fast.
She began to apologize. “I…wow, I’m sorry. I’m not ready—”
“No. I’m sorry. I look too much like Matt. But I’m not Matt. I’m Joe. And I want…but not…not until you’re ready.”
She rose abruptly, walking to the media cabinet. “What if…what if I’m never ready?” she whispered, and the words sounded so pained that he rose and, fighting every sexual instinct within himself, set his hands on her shoulders and drew her against him.
“You will be,” he told her. “You will be. Although maybe it won’t be with me.” Hell, it had better be with him. He wasn’t half as decent as he was trying to pretend, he thought, mocking himself. “Time…well, time has to pass.”
“I’ve seen widows start dating again in less than a year,” she murmured.
He pulled her more tightly against him. “Time and pain don’t seem to pay much attention to the calendar,” he told her. “You’ll be okay.”
She turned into him, leaning her head against his chest. He smelled the clean fragrance of her hair, felt it tease him. He prayed that she would move away.
She did.
She took a step back and looked at him. The tension in the air was palpable. She looked alarmed.
“Hey…” He lifted his hands.
“You…you’re amazing, Joe,” she murmured.
No, I’m a rat. And I know the only way I’ll ever get to be close to you is to keep my distance. Wait. Bide my time. Pray.
“Leslie, it’s all right.”