Bowie’s blood was racing. He wanted her, all of her—and now—but he paused, giving her time to adjust.
Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and whispered in his ear, “Love me, Bowie. Love me like you used to.”
And so he did.
All the emotional pain they had been suffering slowly turned into passion. The more time that passed, the hotter the heat grew within them. The act became a desperate chase for the climax that stayed just out of reach.
Talia had lost all consciousness of self and was focused on that blood rush with every sense she possessed. When the climax happened, it came between one breath and the next, rolling through her in waves, and leaving her weak and spent for the aftershocks that followed.
The moment Bowie felt her muscles contracting around him, he let go, riding out the shattering spasms of release that followed. Just before he lost the ability to think, he rolled onto his back to keep from crushing her and took her with him. They savored the aftermath in silence, with Talia stretched out on Bowie’s chest and his arms holding her gently in place.
Finally, she rose up enough to look at him and smiled. This was just as she had remembered him. Dark hair framing that strong, beautiful face and a look of love in his eyes.
“Are you okay, baby?” Bowie asked.
“So happy,” she said softly, then frowned as her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and rolled off him to answer.
He could tell by her one-sided conversation that she was setting up a time for the hospital bed to be removed from her house. Life had intruded.
He rolled out of bed and went across the hall to the bathroom. When he came out she was already getting dressed. He grabbed his clothes and started putting them back on.
“They’re going to pick the bed up in the morning, around ten,” she said, and then glanced toward the window. Even though the shades and curtains were pulled, she could hear the rain still blowing against the house.
“I told Mama I was staying with you tonight,” Bowie said.
Talia’s heart skipped. It was wonderful news, but she felt guilty for keeping him away from his family in the midst of all their troubles.
“Is it okay? I mean, don’t they need you?”
Bowie smiled, and combed the unruly strands of her hair away from her face, “My three able brothers and their wives and a bunch of relatives are on hand. Mama said Samuel and Bella are spending the night, so, no, she doesn’t need me tonight. And even in the middle of her grief, like me, she was worried about you. I’ll go home in the morning. I would ask you to go with me, but I know you have things to do here, funeral arrangements to make.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Talia said. “Everything was decided months ago, but I still need to stay here, and your mother doesn’t need guests when she’s grieving.”
“The offer stays open,” Bowie said, as he finger-combed his hair and fastened it back at the nape of his neck. “I’m getting hungry. How about you?” he asked.
“A little,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of groceries in the house, but we could make omelets.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said, then leaned down and kissed the smile on her face. “You’re perfect, too.”
Talia was still smiling as she led the way to the kitchen.
*
Dinner at the mansion alternated between sardonic discourse and silence. The storm was making more noise than they were. When a nearby flash of lightning made their lights flicker, Justin cursed.
“Oh, hell, yes. Let’s add to the mood by winding up in total darkness.”
Nita glanced at her younger brother.
“Who tied your tail in a knot today?”
Justin looked up and then at the family seated around the table—everyone except Jack. Acknowledging his presence, even for propriety’s sake, wasn’t happening. He wasn’t going to let go of being bitch-slapped.
“All of you. None of you. One of you. I am so weary of having the police on our ass from sunup to sundown that I can’t think. If my sister wasn’t such a royal bitch, this wouldn’t be happening.”
“No, if your sister’s husband hadn’t lived long enough to point a finger at his killer, this wouldn’t be happening,” Nita snapped. “And that means the killer is the one who fucked up, and I’m tired of hearing you whine. Someone at this table caused this. Not Leigh. Not Stanton. Not the cops. One of us,” Nita said, and then picked up her spoon and tapped it against her water glass until the maid came in. “We’re ready for the dessert course,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said, and hurried out of the dining room.
The whole family stared as one at Nita.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you ever have serious thoughts?” Jack asked.
“I’m serious about dessert,” Nita snapped, and then clinked her spoon against the water glass one more time purely for the sake of aggravating him.
Fiona rolled her eyes.
Blake ignored her.
The lights flickered.
Justin glared up at the chandelier.