“No more regrets,” I repeat.
“And yeah, it was hard. Though probably not in the way you’re thinking. It was hard coming home. Knowing I was leaving my guys behind to face it without me. Always wondering who could have lived if I’d stayed. I left them there,” he says.
“I’m sure they understand,” I say.
“Of course they do, they’ve got families and all, but when you’re there, the guys you’re with become your family.”
“Do you ever think about going back?”
He’s silent for a few seconds, then he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I do, sometimes. You should get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” I say into his chest. “For being here.”
“Any time.”
A few days pass and we fall into a routine. One of us gets the boys ready and takes them to school or practice, the other picks them up and takes them home. We all eat together, goof around, then we go to sleep. Waking up to find Jack in bed with me is quickly becoming my new favorite pastime. At first, I don’t realize where I am and in those few seconds of bewilderment, I don’t panic like I normally would, afraid and alone in the dark. My body recognizes, even if I don’t, that he’s near, that I’m safe.
I open my eyes to a broad expanse of chest, rising and falling with each soft inhalation. My arm is wrapped around his waist, my head still cradled on his shoulder. The T.V. is off, and the only light in the room comes from the pre-dawn glow through the thin curtains.
For a moment, I’m frozen, staring up at his sleeping face. The years had done him good. I always knew he’d be the type of man to carry age well. In twenty years he would probably still be sexy as hell. Maybe a little bit of gray will streak along his temples. Maybe a few laugh lines around his mouth or the corners of his eyes. A woman would be lucky to have him by her side. Damn lucky.
I give in to the impulse to feel his hair between my fingers and run a hand back from his temple and down past his ear to his neck where his pulse beats steadily against my fingers. He turns his head to me and nuzzles against the caress, causing my fingers to slide down to the firm line of his throat.
My breath catches in my throat, the contact more illicit than the past ten years’ worth of my sexual experiences combined. I can feel the bead of his nipple against the palm of my hand. He shifts again, and I retract my hand, though, I can still feel him like a brand.
I retreat to the far side of the bed and hope that the cool air will calm my burning face. When that doesn’t help, I snatch up the water bottle from my bedside table and press it against my forehead.
Then I catch a glimpse of my clock and notice I slept so deeply with him beside me that I slept through my alarm. I jump out of bed and immediately stub my toe on the dresser before I make it to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I say, whimpering from the throbbing in my toe. I rush through my morning routine, brushing my hair, swiping on makeup, and dragging on a basic black dress to cover my hurried preparations. I’ve got another meeting with HR and the last thing I want to do is be late.
He watches me from the bed, the sheet pulled up to his waist and his chest bare which helps to distract me from the pain. “Still graceful as all hell, Sof.”
“Shut up,” I tell him, hoping my makeup covers the blush spreading across my cheeks. “The dresser was just in the wrong place.”
“Wrong place,” he says with a grin on his lips.
“Need coffee,” is the only response I can come up with by way of an explanation.
“C’mere first.”
I turn to face him. “What?”
“Just c’mere.”
I walk across the bedroom, trying to gauge his mood after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days. When I get close enough, he surges up, sifting one hand through my hair and causing it to fall in a curtain around us as he yanks me down. My fingers twitch against his skin and when he turns, rolling me onto my back, I laugh into his mouth as he presses a kiss to my lips that feels as natural to me as breathing.
Present
THE FIRST TASTE of her is intoxicating. Better than even my most explicit fantasies. Even more sexy than her sweet lips pressed to mine, is the laughter bubbling in her chest. She keeps her hands between us, pressed against my chest—the last vestige of her resistance—but I don’t let it deter me from sampling her mouth.
“You had your hands on me this morning,” I say against her lips. “I don’t think just friends touch me the way you did.”
She starts to pull away, a flush already spreading across her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”