So Now You're Back Page 26

  He moved closer and brought both his hands to her shoulders to squeeze and caress and drive her closer to the edge. His erection butted her hip, shooting the ripple of excitement right where she needed it to be.

  ‘I didn’t want to have the hots for you, either, Hal. But after spending half the night wide awake getting blue balls in that tent, it occurred to me this really doesn’t have to be all that complicated,’ he said. ‘We’re both grown-ups. We’re both unattached at the moment. And I for one have some very hot memories of our sex life.’

  She licked her lips, clinging to sensible by her fingertips—because her impulse control was now officially dead in the water. ‘But what about those repercussions you mentioned yesterday? What if they come back to bite us on the butt?’

  ‘Hal, didn’t you know that what happens in a hot tub in Tennessee—’ his voice became gruffer, rasping across her nerve endings ‘—stays in a hot tub in Tennessee.’

  Her heartbeat butted her throat, anticipation and need making every one of her pulse points throb in unison with her rabbiting heartbeat.

  ‘What do you say?’ he coaxed, his lips virtually on hers now, his fingers lifting into her hair to pull her closer still.

  Her shoulders relaxed as she inhaled the salty, musky scent of him and acknowledged the sharp tug of yearning, which had been torturing her for days. And the last of the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this floated away on the hot stream of lust surging through her bloodstream.

  Oh, bugger it. It’s only sex.

  ‘OK,’ she murmured.

  His lips covered hers, the kiss new and hot and avid. And yet achingly familiar. She opened for him, flattening her palms against his ribs. His shiver of response echoed in her sex, their tongues tangling in a battle for supremacy. She delved deep, scraping her nails through the rough hair on his cheeks. His hands lowered to cup her breasts through the tight spandex, his thumbs rubbing her straining nipples. With their mouths fused, he slid his fingers under the cup and drew her breast out. He dropped his head and took the swollen nipple into his mouth.

  The hot suction had her lifting off the bench, her hands falling from his face. The shock of arousal, the delicious ache in her breast almost pain.

  She fisted her fingers in his hair and tugged him away. ‘Stop, Luke, give me a minute.’ She adjusted the swimsuit to cover her pouting nipple, her insides sparking with desire and panic.

  How could the attraction still be so combustible? Because what had felt light and flirtatious had swiftly become very … serious.

  ‘Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind, or I may die.’

  She laughed, his horrified expression breaking the tension.

  This is about now, not then. It’s just sex. You’re both adults in dire need of an endorphin fix. That’s why it’s intense.

  ‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ she said, because nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse was liable to stop her now. ‘But no way am I having sex in a hot tub. Because …’ She shuddered. ‘Just eww.’

  He let out a harsh laugh. ‘Thank Christ for that. I was worried you might actually be trying to murder me.’

  He stood, sending water cascading over the rim of the tub, and she got an eye-level view of that magnificent erection outlined in clinging wet cotton. He hauled her up and stepped out of the tub. ‘Let’s go, before I explode.’

  He dragged off his wet boxers and the erection bounced free, long and wide and bowed up towards his belly button. He slung a towel round his waist and she laughed, her eyes meeting his flushed face. The towel stood out at a weird angle, doing nothing to disguise the tumescence beneath.

  ‘That looks ridiculous,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, no mocking the substitute. He might wilt from performance anxiety.’

  ‘Doubtful, I think you could bat for England with that thing,’ she teased, grabbing a towel. But as she went to wrap it round her shoulders, he whipped it out of her hands.

  ‘Not so fast. Take off the swimsuit. I don’t see why I should be the only one open to ridicule.’

  His grin was quick and feral and entirely too pleased with itself.

  She glanced across the screened porch to the dense woodland beyond that hid them from view. The prickle of apprehension not welcome. She wasn’t shy or embarrassed. She looked good for her age. But that didn’t alter the fact he hadn’t seen her naked in sixteen years.

  ‘I’m not stripping off where anyone can see me.’ She made a grab for the towel.

  He hiked it out of her reach. ‘Unless there are bears out there into cross-species kink, what you’ve got to show off won’t interest anyone but me.’ Slinging the towel over his shoulder, he stepped closer, the bulge at his waist butting her belly. ‘The swimsuit comes off.’ He pushed a thumb under her strap, eased it down.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Luke.’ She placed a hand on her shoulder, too late—he’d already dragged the cup off her breast. The heavy flesh spilled out, the cool air making the nipple tingle and swell. ‘I’d rather do this inside.’ In the dark, if possible.

  His thumb traced the edge of the areola. Her breathing sharpened, the tug of sensation arrowing down, as he rolled the engorged tip and stretched it out.

  ‘You know, you’re very cute when you’re shy, Hal.’

  ‘I’m not shy.’

  ‘Uh-huh, then this won’t be a problem, will it?’ His eyes met hers, the challenge in them searing her to the core, as he pushed aside the other strap and dragged the wet Lycra down to her waist.

  His nostrils flared, accompanied by the guttural groan of appreciation. ‘You’re so bloody gorgeous,’ he said. ‘And frankly, these tits are a work of art.’

  Her breath came out on a staggered laugh as he bent to lave one straining nipple with his tongue. His large hands spanned her waist, holding her captive, as he captured the tip, nipping and squeezing it with his teeth. At last, he covered the swollen peak with his mouth, the hot suction lancing through her.

  Her body trembled as he lifted his head, then she became suddenly weightless as he scooped her into his arms.

  ‘Luke, put me down, what the hell are you doing?’ The gesture was so over the top and yet so romantic it was making her heart beat in an unsteady rhythm.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? I want to go worship these on a bed.’ He carried her through the porch doors into her bedroom. Laid her down. He grasped her swimsuit and wrenched the sodden fabric past her hips and off her legs.

  He dragged his towel off as he joined her on the bed. The powerful erection bobbed against her belly as he climbed on top of her. Her thighs quivered, her whole body alive and throbbing with the tremor of excitement, of sensual adventure, the anticipation almost as irresistible as the cheeky grin spreading across that handsome face.

  ‘I’m not as young as I used to be. And I’ve been harder than a tent pole for the better part of a week.’ His thumb parted the folds of her sex, circling the perfect spot. ‘So we may have to do hard and fast first, and slow and detailed later. How do you feel about that?’

  ‘Uh … that works for me.’ She reached for his erection, brushing her thumb across the broad tip to spread the moisture around the bulbous head, desperate to wrestle back control. The old Luke had been eager and enthusiastic and generous in bed; the new Luke appeared to be confident and experienced and a bit too good to be true.

  Blood pulsed beneath her hand, his erection as firm as she remembered. She stroked the thick shaft and smiled, triumphant, as his breath rasped against her ear. But then he thrust one thick finger inside her, still caressing the sweet spot at the apex of her thighs with his thumb.

  She cried out, undone.

  He dragged her hand off his penis and shifted down to lick her belly button, then trailed his tongue along the sensitive seam at the top of her thigh.

  Her knees dropped open, her back arching as she surrendered, offering herself up to the delicious torment. He flicked at the needy bud and she bucked off the bed. The battle lost.

 
‘Easy,’ he said, holding her thighs apart.

  Arrows of sensation shot through her torso as he got back to work, teasing and torturing her with his tongue. Two fingers thrust inside her, feeding the frenzy for release. She sobbed, the spiral of need winding tight, as she struggled to hold on to her orgasm.

  Then he fastened his lips on the swollen bud of her clitoris and suckled.

  She screamed, the wave cresting and sending her crashing over the white-hot peak. Exquisite pleasure rippled out, making her shudder as he licked her through the final throes of her orgasm.

  Her hoarse sobs subsided as he rose to settle between her spread thighs, the broad head of his erection nudging her sex.

  ‘You’re still crazy beautiful when you come, Hal.’

  She tried to focus, but the wide smile looked more sweet than smug in the daze of afterglow, reminding her of a boy who no longer existed. The sharp dart of stunned emotion pierced her heart.

  ‘And you’ve learned some crazy new skills.’ She pushed the words out on a husk of breath, forcing down the foolish nostalgia.

  Just sex. And just mind-blowing sex. It’s all good.

  ‘I aim to please.’ He chuckled. ‘I hope you’re ready for round two.’

  She nodded, but as the thick erection stretched tender flesh, she slapped unsteady palms on his chest. ‘Wait, Luke.’ Her arms shook as she held him back, poised on the brink, her dazed mind finally engaging. ‘We need a condom.’

  It took a moment for understanding to register on his face.

  ‘I’m clean, I swear. I aced all the tests a year ago for my insurance. And I’ve never done it without.’ His lips stretched into a thin smile. ‘Except with you.’

  ‘I’m clean, too, but I’m not using any form of birth control. I haven’t had a sexual partner for over a year.’ She began to tremble. ‘Do you have some condoms?’

  He cursed and dropped back on the bed, his erection thrusting up, thick and hard. He covered his face with his arm, his breathing ragged. ‘What if I told you, you won’t get pregnant?’

  ‘Oh, shit. You don’t have any?’ He’d started this without even thinking about protection? With their history? Was he nuts?

  So much for Mr Confident-and-Experienced.

  He dropped his arm. ‘No, I don’t. I wasn’t prepared to be consumed with lust on this trip. Sorry.’

  ‘But surely you get into these situations a lot?’ she accused. After sixteen years, she felt like a horny teenager again. And, while she might have had a misguided, misty-eyed moment over that lost boy, she so was not up for a return trip to the sexual frustrations of her youth.

  ‘Apparently not,’ he snapped.

  She looked at his erection, desperate to feel him inside her. But at least she’d had an orgasm. ‘I guess we’ll have to settle for doing it without penetration.’ She wrapped her fingers round his shaft, felt it leap in her palm.

  But, to her astonishment, he dragged her hand away. ‘No, we don’t. Listen to what I’m saying. If we’re both sure we’re clean, we don’t have a problem. I can’t get you pregnant.’

  Her eyes nearly crossed with frustration. ‘Yes, you could. I’m only thirty-six. I have not gone through menopause yet. Granted, it’s less likely than it was when I was eighteen, but there is no way on earth I’m taking that risk. Especially with you.’

  He straddled her, grasping both her wrists to push her into the mattress until they were nose to nose. ‘There is no risk with me. I’m sterile. Firing blanks. Get it? I had a vasectomy nearly nineteen years ago.’

  She stopped struggling, her whole body going slack with shock as understanding dawned. ‘How many years ago?’

  ‘Shit.’ He let go and rolled off her.

  ‘You had a vasectomy right after I got pregnant?’ She sat up, crossing her arms over her breasts, feeling hideously exposed when he didn’t deny it. ‘Why?’

  He swore under his breath, his expression tight. ‘Because I never wanted to get anyone accidentally pregnant again.’ The curt revelation felt like a blow. He caught her wrist. ‘Please tell me we’re not going to talk about this now.’

  ‘Of course we bloody are.’ She tugged her wrist out of his grasp.

  He slapped a pillow over his lap. ‘So much for batting for England. At this rate I may never get another stiffy again.’

  She walked over to the dresser, ignoring the pained tone. She pulled out a T-shirt and put it on, her fingers shaking. She knew the black hole opening up in the pit of her stomach was an overreaction. But overreaction or not, she couldn’t seem to stop it.

  ‘What do you want me to say, Hal? I panicked, OK? I was terrified of becoming a father. That was who I was then. That’s not who I am now. I spent two years in therapy after that breakdown getting myself straight. I made a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes, but I can’t go back and undo them now.’

  Firm hands settled on her shoulders, and he turned her to face him.

  He stood close, the towel tucked back around his waist. ‘So what’s the point of dredging it up all over again?’

  She stared into his eyes. And saw regret and confusion.

  How was it possible that he really genuinely didn’t get it?

  ‘The point is, I still don’t know why you left me.’ Her voice sounded surprisingly calm, she realised, considering the way her heart was battering her ribs. ‘I understand you had a breakdown, but now I know exactly how terrified you were of becoming a father. Enough to go out and do something that would ensure you would never become a father again.’ She gulped down a breath, forced to finally voice the fear that had haunted her but she’d never been strong enough to say then. ‘Did you think I’d tricked you? That I’d got pregnant deliberately? Is that why you didn’t trust me enough to talk about it?’

  To know now how much he hadn’t wanted to be a dad, though, brought all the old guilt rushing back. Guilt she’d refused to acknowledge for sixteen years but unfortunately had just found out was still there, festering under her breastbone.

  She’d adored being a mum. Because loving Lizzie had been so much simpler and more rewarding than loving Luke. If Lizzie cried or fussed, fixing the problem was easy. With a cuddle, or a fresh nappy, or a quick schlurp of breast milk, or a dose of gripe water and a jiggle until she burped. When Luke looked haunted or hunted and eventually became more and more remote, she couldn’t fix it, because she didn’t know how. Until eventually she stopped caring enough to try.

  ‘Jesus, Hal, no, of course I didn’t. I knew it was an accident. That’s not it at all.’

  He drew his thumb across her cheek, his hand trembling, and the painful sting of tears lodged in her throat.

  She caught his hand, pulled it away from her face, the tightness in her chest refusing to go away. ‘Then why did you have to keep so many secrets? Why couldn’t you just be honest with me about how you felt? I spent months after you left torturing myself, convinced it was all my fault. That I’d shut you out somehow after Lizzie was born, that I hadn’t done enough to keep you, and it nearly destroyed me.’

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, ran his thumbs across her collarbones. His face was a mask of so many conflicting emotions—confusion, frustration, pain.

  ‘Then I’m sorry for that, too. It was never your fault. And I swear, it had nothing to do with you. You’ve got to believe me. It was me. It was what I came from. It just all became too much, OK?’

  ‘No, it’s not OK.’ She shook her head, folding her arms around her midriff, the black hole still huge in her belly. ‘What was so horrific you couldn’t tell me about it? I loved you, Luke, and you abandoned me. If it really wasn’t me, or Lizzie, or even another woman, then what was it?’

  Panic clawed at Luke’s throat. She didn’t look angry or bitter or even resentful. That he could have handled. And deflected and ignored. She simply looked devastated.

  And that he couldn’t ignore. Not any more. Because unlike all the other women whom he’d slept with but had been so careful never to get too clos
e to, with Halle the sadness mattered.

  He thought he’d healed himself. He thought he’d picked up the pieces and remade himself from the ground up. And finally become a man, ready to own up to his responsibilities, instead of a terrified kid.

  But how could he have? When he’d never been able to own up to how much pain he’d caused her?

  Time to man up, Best. Because you’ll never stop running until you do.

  He strode away from her to slump down on the bed, his body rigid with tension and shame. He couldn’t look at her and say what he had to say.

  ‘I guess the reason why is pretty simple really. My parents were both chronic alcoholics,’ he said. ‘She mostly drank to escape. But he was a mean drunk who couldn’t control his temper any more than he could control his drinking.’

  ‘He hit you?’

  ‘Occasionally.’ He shrugged, remembering the backhanded slaps across the face, those nasty little jabs to the belly that would leave you retching, the mean pinches, the vicious kicks. The parade of everyday abuse that he had lived in fear of as a child but had eventually become as accustomed to as breathing. ‘Generally, he pounded my youngest brother, Curt, though,’ he said. ‘Curt was small for his age and weedy, the runt of the litter. Plus, he had a real knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He pretty much used to wet himself every time Brian …’ He stopped, amazed that he still couldn’t call the guy by anything but his given name. ‘Every time my old man was in the same room. Which would probably explain why Curt was forever pinching my clean underwear.’

  Bloody hell, how could it still be so tough to talk about? Even after all these years and the thousands of euros’ worth of therapy? Why did the old ghosts still have the power to make his palms sweat and his head hurt?

  But then she sat down beside him, the mattress tilting, and placed her hand on his thigh. Warm through the damp towelling. ‘Why didn’t social services intervene?’ she said.

  ‘They didn’t know.’ He thrust shaking fingers through his hair. ‘The therapist said, when you come from that, you learn not to tell. You learn to keep secrets, because that’s your normal, your reality. And you convince yourself your thoughts, your feelings, don’t matter, because they fucking didn’t. The place was always a tip. Soiled nappies everywhere. Rotting food on the plates piled in the sink. The smell of cigarette butts and stale Special Brew still makes me gag to this day. They didn’t hug us, or care about us, or look after us. And a part of me always believed it was our fault, not theirs.’