A Husband She Couldn't Forget Read online

  Cat said gently, “Aly. You’ve made your point.”

  Aly gave an elaborate shrug. “I don’t think so, not really.”

  “Shut the hell up anyway,” her mom commanded.

  They left it at that.

  * * *

  Before heading back to Connor’s that evening, Aly detoured to the Staples up in Warrenton. Her phone buzzed with a text as the clerk was bagging up her purchase.

  It was Connor. You okay?

  Was he worried about her? She felt all warm and fuzzy at the thought and texted back, Sorry. I should have let you know. I’m at Staples buying a new laptop. Be there soon.

  I’ll wait to put the steaks on.

  Thanks.

  Such an ordinary exchange to make her feel so pleased with the world and everything in it. She beamed the clerk a giant smile as he handed over her new Microsoft Surface Book 2.

  * * *

  They ate on the small deck off the kitchen. It was nice outside, a little breezy, the air cooling as evening came on.

  She felt so good, just to be with him. He seemed relaxed and happy to be spending time with her, too.

  She asked him how things were going at Valentine Logging. He explained how the business had grown in the years she’d been away.

  She sipped her red wine slowly and thought about the past. “You didn’t want to leave Daniel, did you—I mean, when we split up?”

  He sat back in his chair and looked anywhere but at her. She thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he said, “When we lost my parents, Daniel was a rock—a boulder. A damn mountain.”

  “I remember,” she said softly. Daniel had been eighteen when George and Marie Bravo died. Connor was fifteen. It was the same year she and Connor shared that first forbidden kiss—but the Bravo family tragedy had happened earlier, in the spring.

  At the loss of their parents, Daniel had stepped up—in every way. He married his high school sweetheart, became like a second father to his siblings, and ran Valentine Logging with the help of their great-uncle, Percy Valentine.

  Connor said, “It wasn’t Daniel’s fault that I refused to go to New York, not in any way.”

  “I know. That’s not what I meant. I meant that he’d done so much for you and your brothers and sisters. You didn’t want to leave him to run the business alone.”

  He stared at his half-finished glass of wine, but didn’t pick it up. “We were a team, Daniel and me—still are—when it comes to the business. The others might pitch in, work for a summer, whatever. But he and I were the only ones who wanted to keep it going, to expand the operation, make it more than when our dad ran it and our mother’s dad before him.”

  “You liked working with your brother and you also felt an obligation to him.”

  He looked up from the glass and straight into her eyes. “I didn’t want to go, Aly. I didn’t want to go, but I wanted you. Always. I was a dumb-ass, selfish kid and I blew it. I knew you loved me. A lot. And I loved you. We were happy. I liked being happy with you. It was just...easier, not to get into it. To pretend I wanted what you wanted. I thought that when I finally had to admit to you that your dream and my dream weren’t the same, I could use your love for me to make you do things my way.”

  A burst of laughter escaped her. “Connor. Have you met me?”

  “Yeah, well. How many ways can I say it? I had my head up my ass in a big way.”

  She set down her wineglass. “I’ve thought about it a lot this past week and you know what? I forgive you, I really do.”

  He gazed at her kind of doubtfully. “Now I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Start working on forgiving yourself. Also, think about making up with Dante.”

  He braced his elbows on the chair arms and folded his hands together over his lap. “You don’t ask much, do you?”

  “Think about it, that’s all I’m suggesting. You made up before, back when you and I finally got together. He swore he would kill you and he ended up being your best man.”

  “You’re dreaming if you think that your brother and I will ever be friends again.”

  “See? That.” She pointed her finger at him. “That’s pure fatalism talking. You need to give that crap up and start thinking positive.”

  * * *

  It was fun, Connor decided.

  Too damn much fun, being with her.

  He’d forgotten how good it was, doing all the simple, everyday stuff—cooking and eating and sticking the dishes in the dishwasher. Every single mundane activity kind of had a glow around it when he and Aly did it together.

  They streamed a movie. She sat beside him on the sofa. They kicked off their shoes. Before it was over, she was leaning on him and he had his arm around her.

  He shouldn’t have let her get so close.

  But it just felt so good. So right. She smelled so amazing. He kept nuzzling her hair, just to feel the thick silk of it against his skin and breathe in the scent of her.

  A little later, they turned off the downstairs lights and walked upstairs together—well, she led the way. He followed close behind, trying not to stare at the gentle sway of her amazing butt, those full cheeks cradled in skinny jeans that probably ought to be outlawed to save all men from descending into sexual insanity.

  At the top, she turned to him.

  They stood facing each other on the landing, having sex with their eyes.

  He wasn’t really sure how it happened. One second she was a foot away, and the next, she was plastered up against him and his arms were banding around her.

  That kiss.

  Her kiss.

  It was as good as the kiss last night—scratch that.

  Better.

  Her mouth tasted of coffee and the Twizzlers she’d snacked on during the movie. He could kiss her forever, their tongues sparring and twining, the feel of her exactly right, soft and hot and lush and curvy under his roving hands.

  It was a long kiss. But still, it ended way too soon.

  He did that—ended it—at that last possible second before he would have scooped her high against his chest and carried her to his bed.

  “Not gonna happen,” he muttered, breathing fast, pressing his forehead to hers, exerting every ounce of willpower he possessed not to claim those plush red lips again.

  She was the one who stepped back. She gave him one of those scorching looks from under the thick fringe of her black eyelashes. “Let me know if you change your mind.” And then she turned and left him. Strolling off along the upstairs hall, hips swaying maddeningly, she disappeared into her room.

  It took him a really long time to get to sleep that night.

  * * *

  She cooked breakfast for both of them the next morning. She was cheerful and sweet, chattering away about her new laptop and how she was thinking of reaching out to a girlfriend or two in New York.

  He tried not to stare at her with his tongue hanging out, not to picture her naked. He didn’t succeed.

  That night, he ate his dinner fast and made excuses about having some work to catch up on. She didn’t argue or try to stall him to keep him with her longer.

  “I’ll clean up,” she said with a bright smile. “You go ahead.”

  And suddenly, he wanted to argue with her, to pick a fight, even. Anything for an excuse to stay downstairs and watch her bustling around his kitchen, wiping down counters and putting things away.

  Somehow, he managed to turn and leave her there.

  Upstairs in his home office, he sat at the desk and stared at his laptop, doing squat for a really long time. Eventually, he went through his email and checked his calendar for tomorrow.

  Then he played video games until ten, at which time he got up and poked his head out the door.

  Everything was quiet. The lights were off downstairs and the door to her room was s
hut, a sliver of golden light showing underneath.

  Disappointment dragged at him. He’d wasted the evening hiding in his office when he could have been with her.

  Except it was too dangerous, being with Aly. Every day it got harder to keep his hands to himself.

  Every day, all the reasons he shouldn’t have her in his bed again became a little less clear to him—less clear and more wrong somehow, just sad, weak excuses not to get closer when getting closer was all he longed for.

  He wanted her. She wanted him. So why the hell not?

  Yeah, okay. She wouldn’t be here forever. Valentine Bay just couldn’t contain her. He would lose her again, same as he had seven years ago.

  But in the meantime, why shouldn’t they just do what came naturally? She seemed to want that—she’d made it more than clear with her smoking hot kisses. She’d even said it right out loud. She was pretty much pulling out all the stops, actively trying to drive him out of his mind with lust.

  And damn. It was working. He burned for her, always had. He wanted her so bad.

  That night, when he finally did get to sleep, she filled his dreams. He dreamed of the two of them rolling around naked—on the floor, on the bed, up against the wall. In his dreams, they made love everywhere, including several hazy encounters outside.

  In the forest on a bed of lacy ferns. In the crashing waves near the shore on Valentine Beach...

  The next morning, he woke sporting serious wood. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom to take care of the problem.

  He stood outside the walk-in shower, fiddling with the controls to get the side jets and the rain shower exactly to his liking, when she spoke from behind him, “Good morning.”

  He whirled to face her. She lounged in the doorway that led to the bedroom. Her hair was a sexy, wild tangle and she wore itty-bitty sleep shorts and a clingy cropped T-shirt that showed a tempting slice of her upper belly. No bra...

  His heart rate accelerated. “Boundaries.” He growled the word at her. “You lack them.”

  Those eyes, forget-me-not blue, did a lazy pass from his face, down his naked body to his feet and back up again. “Aw. You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” And she straightened, grabbed the hem of the sleep shirt and ripped it up and off over her head, revealing those beautiful, heavy breasts of hers. She dropped the shirt to the floor and then shoved down the shorts.

  They stood facing each other, both of them naked as the day they were born. Slowly, shamelessly, making a show of it, she licked her lips.

  “You’re pushing it,” he muttered, the words scraping like sandpaper in his throat, his body aching so bad for her he was approaching the detonation point.

  “Oh, really?” she taunted. “You always longed for a shy girl, all sweet and submissive, the modest type? Hmm. And yet you married me...”

  “Aly,” he said. At that moment, every other word in the English language seemed to have deserted him.

  She stalked toward him. “Go ahead. I dare you.” And she stopped right in front of him. “Tell me no. Say you don’t want me. Ask me to leave.”

  “Aly.” It came out on a rough husk of breath. “Are you sure?”

  Chapter Seven

  “I am so sure,” she whispered, her voice tender now, her eyes soft and hopeful, trained on his. “Never have I ever been more certain of anything in my whole life, I promise you that.”

  She was so close, inches away. So close he could count every shining black eyelash, so close the tips of her breasts brushed his chest with each breath. So close that all he had to do was reach out and gather her in.

  She was all he’d ever wanted, too much to deny.

  He stuck out an arm and wrapped it around her. A hungry little sigh escaped her.

  Yes.

  He put his other arm around her, too, bringing her in, until all that softness and beauty was plastered to the front of him. The sweet scent of her engulfed him and his erection was pressed right where it needed to be, against the giving curve of her smooth belly.

  “Connor.” She bent her head and scattered little kisses across his chest. Her scent mingled with the steam from the shower he’d left on behind him.

  “Get that mouth up here.” He took a big fistful of all that midnight hair, the long strands knotting, coiling down his arm. Pulling, he tipped her head back and crashed his mouth down on hers.

  There was nothing in this world as good as holding Aly, kissing Aly...

  He stepped backward, taking her with him into the open stall. The wide rain showerhead poured water down on them, drenching them. The side jets made certain they were wet head to toe.

  She groaned into his mouth, a sound that turned into a gleeful, throaty laugh.

  He deepened the kiss and she wasn’t laughing any more. Her hands were all over him. He returned the favor, managing to extricate his fingers from her soaked, tangled hair so he could skate his palms out over the lush curves of her shoulders, down her strong, soft arms.

  Everywhere.

  He needed to touch her everywhere.

  He cupped the full globes of her bottom, pulling her in, pressing his hardness more firmly against her belly. She gave a low, pleasured moan, encouraging him to go further. Holding her tight with one arm, he brought the other around to the front of her, easing his hand down into the cleft between her fine, full thighs, touching the core of her.

  She was silky-wet, drenched, and not just from the shower. He dipped a finger inside and then another and a third. She moaned into his mouth, her body rocking into him as he stroked her, using his thumb right where she liked it as his fingers filled her up.

  Always a true multitasker, she wasn’t content to let him do all the work. Her soft hand kept moving, gliding down the center of his chest, over his belly until she found him.

  Her clever fingers closed around him.

  He groaned into her mouth at the feel of her holding him, stroking him.

  Again. At last. After all these years and years...

  He bit her lip and she bit him back. They kissed like their lives depended on it, moaning together, stroking each other.

  It didn’t take long. She hit the crest with a wild cry, calling his name like she was begging him.

  He felt her inner muscles clutching, closing on his fingers, grabbing and releasing in the hot, insistent rhythm of her completion.

  It was too much. He couldn’t last.

  He went over, too, losing it, shooting his finish against her soft belly, the water from the showerhead pouring down over them, washing it all away.

  And then...

  Well, they just stood there, clinging to each other as the water continued to cascade over them and pulse at them from two sides. They went on kissing, a desperate kiss that slowly turned lazy and teasing and sweet.

  With a sigh, she let her head rest against his chest. He stroked her streaming hair, traced concentric circles on her skin, his finger spiraling down the delicate bones of her spine.

  It was good. So good, to be with her like this again, to have this magic only she could make, to hold her so close in his arms, skin on skin.

  “Come on.” He turned off the water and took her hand.

  She followed him, sweet and docile now as an obedient child, standing on the rug by the sinks, allowing him to dry her off, starting with her hair, moving lower until he knelt at her purple-painted toes. Carefully, he ran the towel over the scar on her knee and then continued all the way down the smooth curves of her calves and ankles to her little white feet.

  When he rose again, she took the towel from him and returned the favor, tossing it away after she dried his hair and grabbing a fresh one, then taking forever, smiling to herself as she dried his chest, his arms and lower down.

  But the time she finished, he was growing hard again.

  On
her knees, she leaned forward and gave him a long, slow lick from base to tip.

  He caught her face between his hands. “Wait. I want to be with you this time, really with you.”

  She sank back on her heels, so beautiful that the breath fled his lungs in a long, hard sigh. “Yeah.” She gazed up at him, her mouth trembling a little, her eyes deep enough to drown in. “That would be good. That would be really good.”

  He reached down and pulled her up to stand with him. “You still sure about this?”

  “I am, absolutely. You?”

  Was he? Should he stop this craziness, call a halt now?

  To hell with that noise. “Yeah. I want you, Aly. So much. I always have.”

  “Good, then.” She went on tiptoe to kiss him—a light kiss, a brush of her lips on his. “How long until you have to leave for work?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  She kissed him again. “Let’s not waste a minute.”

  * * *

  In the bedroom, he took a condom from the bedside drawer and set it within reach. Then he pulled her down onto the bed with him.

  The kissing and the long, slow, perfect caresses started all over again. He had her breasts in his hands, in his mouth, sucking hard the way she liked it, which just happened to be the way he liked it, too. She cried his name and every time she did, something deep within him answered.

  “Do that again,” she whispered, and then cried, “Again! Oh, Connor. Yes, that! Exactly that...”

  When he reached for the condom, she took it from him the way she used to do all those years ago, took it from him and put it on him, her hands swift and sure, her cheeks pink, a tiny smile curving her kiss-swollen lips.

  He rose above her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him down.

  Everything flew away. All the doubts, the loneliness without her, the dragging sense of getting through the days, one after another, doing his time.