Instant Attraction
Page 76

“No, let me get this out, before I can’t.” He took a gulp of air. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve been right here. All along, I’ve been right here.”
“I know. And it was my shame that I didn’t get that. That what you wanted wasn’t your freedom from me, but something else entirely. The opposite, really.”
“Yes,” she whispered, feeling her throat tighten. Oh God, he did get it. Now that it was too late. “The papers-”
“I missed you, Annie,” he said again, his voice gruff and thick with emotion. “I miss you in my bed, and in my life. What happened to us?”
“I don’t know. We stopped communicating.”
“Stopped seeing each other,” he said softly, her words.
“Yeah.” She tried to smile. “It got so…out of control.”
“I don’t know how, but yeah.” He cupped her jaw, then smiled at the flour now on his fingers. “And I know you’ve been trying. I was afraid you’d stomp on my heart. But forget the fears, I want another shot. I can make you happy again, Annie, I know it.”
Her heart squeezed hard. She swiped her hands on her apron, but they were still messy and sticky, and she made a sound of frustration when he came in for a hug. “No, don’t. You shouldn’t. Look at me. I’m a mess.”
“I see it. I’m seeing you, Annie. And I don’t care about the mess.”
“Well, you should.” She ran her gaze down him. “You’re actually wearing a clean shirt.”
He smiled at her, his self-deprecatory, crooked smile. “I’m sorry I’ve been so slow and self-absorbed and…”
“Stupid,” she supplied helpfully, trying to control the wild, crazy seed of hope that had taken root within her belly.
“Stupid,” he agreed.
“Yes, well, we’ve both been that.”
“Maybe. I’ve been locked in my own self-misery at the fact that you wanted a divorce. And then you started in on that whole ‘seeing you’ thing, and I didn’t get it. But then you started paying attention to me.”
“I started seeing you,” she whispered.
“Yeah, it took me a while. At first, I didn’t even notice that you were trying to fix things all on your own. But you’re not on your own, Annie. You never were.” He picked up the file and opened it, showing her the signature line, where he hadn’t signed. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the huge great room, where he tossed the entire file into the fireplace. It went up in flames with a little whoosh, and as it did, he pulled her close, touching her face, his thumb grazing over her cheek. “I see you. You’re covered in flour and you’ve never looked more beautiful to me, not even when you were sixteen and smoking hot.”
“Don’t.” Embarrassed, she pushed his hand away. “It’s at least twenty years and twenty pounds. I know I don’t look anywhere close to that cute young thing you seduced in the back of your truck.”
“Is that what this is all about? Your looks?”
“No, of course not.” She shifted uncomfortably under his direct, patient gaze. “Okay, maybe some. It’s ridiculous, I know.”
“Annie, I don’t want you to look the same. We’ve laughed and loved and lived, and how we look reflects that. Every single line on our faces.”
“Yes, but your lines make you look better. You look just as good as you did when you were seventeen and coaxing me into the back of that damn truck.”
He flashed a grin.
“It’s a little annoying, actually.”
“Yeah?” He put his hands on her hips, then bent so that his mouth could nuzzle near her ear. “Well, then, let me try to unannoy you…”
He was doing a damn good job already. Her ni**les hardened and her thighs quivered.
“You look good enough to eat,” he whispered against her ear. “Especially with that flour and sugar all over you. I think I’ll start at the top and nibble my way down…”
Her knees wobbled some more. Nearly forty years old and her knees were wobbling. “I thought we were going to…communicate.”
“Uh-huh.” His voice was husky. Like a man completely confident in the knowledge that he was about to get lucky.
And he was. He so was…
“Can you think of a better way to start communicating than with our bodies?” he murmured, his mouth already quite busy.
No. No, she couldn’t. “But it’s the middle of the day.”
“Yeah.” He lifted his head and flashed a wicked smile, the same one that always had her naked in under two minutes.
He reached behind him to latch the kitchen door, eyes flashing with all sorts of erotic ideas. The lock tumbled into place and so did her heart. “Here?” she whispered. “Now?”
“Here.” He lifted her to the counter, putting his hands on her thighs, pushing them open so that he could step between them. “Now.”
When Katie woke up the next morning, her shoulder was stiff and sore from her fall, her heart hurt like a mother, and the storm had moved in.
By four o’clock that afternoon, it was pitch-dark outside. The winds were whipping up a good howl at over sixty miles an hour and climbing, and the snow was coming down thick and fast.
When the lights flickered a few times and the subsequent power surge made her computer act all wonky, she gave up. She shut down for the night and headed to the kitchen, which was uncustomarily empty.