Heartache Falls (17 page)

He’d groaned low in his throat, then reached a hand up to cup her breast, and it was … different. It was wrong.

She wasn’t Ali.

In that moment, bone-deep shame replaced desire. He’d released her, stepped away, made an awkward excuse, and fled the scene of the near-crime against his family. Because, separation or not, cold, empty bed or not, he was still married. It didn’t matter what Ali did or did not do with her sheriff. He would not surrender the moral high ground in this war with his wife. He refused to do anything that would make looking his children in the eyes difficult. He was not a cheat.

Though he had come damned close.

It was during his drive home that night that he’d made up his mind to go to Eternity Springs. This limbo he’d been living in didn’t work for him. Not any longer. Ali had asked for time, and he’d given it to her. She’d asked for space, and he’d let her have that, too. Now it was her turn to accommodate him. He needed answers. He needed direction.

He needed to get laid.

She needed to help him with that, one way or another.

So he’d adjusted the court schedule, and now, finally, he was on his way. With the top down and hard rock blaring from the stereo, he downshifted the Porsche, gunned the engine, and began the climb into the front range west of Denver. Anticipation hummed in his blood, and Mac wondered how Alison would like the surprise.

An hour outside of Eternity Springs, he stopped to put the convertible’s top up, locking it into place mere seconds before the sky opened up and rain fell in sheets. This part of the state had been drenched in recent weeks, and the terrain still appeared soggy.

The rain slowed his pace and the hour left in his journey stretched to an hour and a half, but finally the sky cleared just as he drove into Eternity Springs on Friday afternoon. For some reason he didn’t explore, Mac hummed the theme song to
High Noon
, the mental echo of Tex Ritter’s voice entreating his darlin’ not to forsake him rolling through his mind.

In the darkened Firehouse Theater, Ali laughed at the final line of the play, then stood with the rest of the audience in singing the Colorado state song. The cast took their bows and exited the stage as the lights came up. Ali clapped hard and cheered Lori’s performance as a nineteenth-century ingenue, but declined Sarah’s invitation to join the Reeses and their friends at her house for after-the-play dessert. She’d had a long day, a long week. She wanted a burger, a bath, and a bed, in that order.

Besides, despite the fact that she liked the Raffertys and the Callahans a lot, she wasn’t in the mood to be around the happily married couples.

Her day had started before sunrise with the yoga class at Angel’s Rest that Rose had talked her into. Then she and Celeste had met the contractor at the Bristlecone for an inspection of the work and afterward spent more than two hours discussing plans for the restaurant’s grand reopening. Ali had kept her appointment at the beauty shop, however, because she’d spied new strands of gray hair at her temples, and she’d decided to indulge an urge for highlights and allowed her hairdresser to talk her into lowlights, too. At that point, she decided to go hog wild and get a mani-pedi.

As a result of the spruce-up, she’d perked up and arrived at the theater brimming with energy. But as the play progressed, that energy drained away and exhaustion once again lapped at the edges of her soul.

She was tired and sad. Very, very sad. And lonely. Sobbing-in-her-empty-bed lonely. Tired and sad and lonely enough that she’d lain awake for hours wondering if she should throw in the towel and go home. The effects of the pep talk Rose and Celeste had given her weeks ago had begun wearing off. She missed her favorite coffee cup. Missed her favorite radio station.

She missed her favorite man.

She could go home. He would let her. That would make the kids happy. It might even make Mac happy. It was even possible that going home would make her happy, too. At least for a little while.

Except she couldn’t honestly say anything had truly changed. Mac was still ignoring her, only now the distance between them could be measured in miles, too. For her part, she still nursed a resentment against her husband that she couldn’t define or understand.

Maybe she should consider going back on antidepressants. If this mood lingered, she’d make a doctor’s appointment.

In recent weeks she’d been doing all right. She had found a happiness here that provided a soothing balm to her soul. She’d made friends. Bringing the Bristlecone back to life was an enjoyable challenge. Tonight, however, she had a real case of the blues. It must have shown, too, because on the way up the aisle, Sage gave her a measuring look. “You okay, Ali?”

“Yes. Just tired. I’m going to call it an early night.”

Ali filed out behind Rose and the Raffertys as they
exited the theater. Thinking that a call to Caitlin might cheer her up, she was digging in her purse, not looking where she was going, when Colt Rafferty stopped abruptly and said in an admiring tone, “Now, that’s a car.”

His sister-in-law’s tone matched Colt’s. “And that’s a man.”

Ali looked up from her purse to see what her friends were talking about and froze. “Actually, that’s my husband.”

He leaned against the passenger-side door of a Porsche parked in front of the theater, his arms folded, his legs crossed at the ankles. He wore faded jeans, the solid brown sport shirt she’d given him for Christmas, cuffs turned back twice as was his habit, hiking boots, and a look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in months.

Her mouth went dry. Her pulse began to pound. Everything inside her seemed to swell. “Mac?”

“Hello, Ali-cat.” He pushed off the car and stood with his legs wide, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans, his hips cocked forward. His heavy-lidded stare locked on her.

Oh. Oh, wow. Oh wow oh wow oh wow
.

She knew that look. Knew that tone. That name. She knew what he wanted—and what he intended.

The dark cloud that had hung over her for months evaporated in a hormonal burst that left her itchy and anxious and wet. He sauntered toward her, ignoring Rose, ignoring the Raffertys. His focus was on her and her alone, and Ali wanted to shout and jump for joy.

He wanted sex. With her. Now.

Hallelujah!

Halting an arm’s length away, he held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Wishing she’d worn perfume today, thrilled she’d made the mani-pedi decision, trying to remember if she’d shaved her legs when she showered that morning, Ali put her hand in Mac’s. He tugged her toward the car, opened the door for her, then reached down to fasten her seat belt. Another time, she’d have considered that overkill, but tonight she liked having his hands on her.

He walked around the car, opened the driver’s door, then slid into his seat. Without looking at her, he started the car.

She waited nervously for him to speak, but he didn’t say a word. Finally the tension got to be too much for her. “Mac?”

“Wait. Just … wait.”

When he turned the corner, she wanted to know where he was taking her, but she believed she’d figure it out soon enough. When he turned into the drive that led to the Creekside Cabins, she caught her breath. He’d rented a room. Rented a bed.

Thank you, Lord
.

He shifted into park and shut off the engine. For a moment he sat without moving, then he twisted his head, pinned her with his gaze, and said, “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”

Despite the demands of her neglected hormones, Ali gave the question a moment’s thought. Did she have reservations? Was this the right thing to be doing when they still had an ocean’s worth of problems?

He’d come for her. He wanted her. It had been so long. She licked her lips. “I want …”
This. It. You
.

He climbed out of the car as she fumbled with her seat belt with shaking fingers. By the time she undid her belt he was there opening her door. He took her arm, tugged her up and out, then slammed the door and backed her against it, his hot gaze boring into hers.

Then he clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her, pressing her against the car, holding her there with the weight of his body, grinding his groin against her as he blistered her mouth with his kiss. In his passion, she tasted temper and frustration and need. Dark, glorious need.

She kissed him back just as hard, with just as much frustration and an equal amount of need. What followed amounted to battle.

Fast, furious, and—but for the shield of a stand of fir trees—public. She was on fire and knew she surprised him with the force of her response. She tore at his clothes even as he tore at hers. She wanted naked skin against naked skin right here, right now, or she thought she just might die.

She yanked at the button of his jeans as he ripped the front hooks of her bra and her breasts spilled from confinement. When his mouth fastened over her nipple, she cried out in sweet relief.
Dear Lord in heaven
.

Her hand found him. Thick and hard and wet at the tip. He groaned against her breast as she gripped him with one hand and tried to shove the other down his pants.

Then he tore his mouth away, muttered a curse, and grabbed her by the wrist. “Wait.”

She whimpered. Now that she finally had him, she didn’t want to let him go.

“Dammit, Ali. We can’t.” He tugged her hand out of his jeans, then scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the cabin.

Crazily, it made Ali want to cry. It was the most romantic thing he’d done in five years. Ten years. Maybe their entire marriage.

The cabin’s locked door interrupted the romance of the moment, and while she’d have loved him to make the grand gesture of kicking in the door, Mac was, after all, a federal judge. Couldn’t risk a charge of public lewdness or destruction of property.

Nevertheless, he did a fine job of maintaining the urgency of the moment, shoving her against the door and going at her again as he dug in his pocket for the cabin key. When he got the door open, she stumbled back inside, losing her balance. He caught her before she fell and literally threw her on the bed.

He fell on her, kissing her over and over, all over, until she was feverish with desire. He stripped her naked; she tore his clothes away from that firm, hard body. She skimmed her hands over him until he dragged both of her arms above her head and captured her wrists in a single large hand.

His other hand went exploring where she needed him most.

Mac still knew her body as well as she did herself, and his fingers found the exact spots with the perfect amounts of pressure and speed. He knew when and where to be rough, when and how to be gentle. He
knew exactly what to do to make her whimper, quiver, and surrender. “Mac, please.”

Mac released her hands and rose above her, his dark eyes glittering. “Mine,” he murmured as he pressed inside her, stretched her, filled her. “Mine.”

Yes. Always
. She wrapped her legs around him and her body clenched, gripping him hard. She met him thrust for thrust, matching his rhythm, the restless need building higher. Higher. She’d missed him. Oh, how she’d missed him.

He hissed. He growled. He groaned. He canted her hips, adjusting the angle so that he reached deeper inside her. That glorious pressure built, lifting her, sending her whirling, twirling, shooting to the stars.

All the way to heaven.

Yours, Mac Timberlake. And you are mine, too
.

Mac collapsed on top of Ali, tried to catch his breath, and thanked the good Lord that he hadn’t had a heart attack. It had been months since he’d been that worked up. Years. Hell, decades.

As was their long-standing habit, when he could move again, he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, keeping her tucked against him. For the first time since he’d seen her walking out of that theater, the red haze had cleared from Mac’s vision.

Beside him, Ali started to giggle. He cocked open one eye and arched a brow. She pointed toward his feet.

He was still wearing one sock. One corner of his mouth twisted up in a rueful grin, and he toed the sock off as Ali sighed and snuggled up against him. He trailed a finger slowly up and down her back and
steeped in the pleasure of holding his wife in his arms again.

They didn’t speak. The peace between them was something to treasure, a fragile gift, and it appeared that neither of them wanted to shatter it. She smelled familiar yet new. Fresh. He wondered if she’d begun to use a new lotion or if it was the mountain air and sunshine that made the difference.

From out of nowhere, a pang of sadness cut through him. Why had it come to this? What had happened to them?

This was the first sex they’d had in months. The first good sex they’d had in over a year. But had it solved anything other than his case of blue balls? It would be great if he could believe it had, but he knew better. There was more to this drama of Ali’s than drama.

When the questions began to multiply, he shut them off. He refused to let the doubts and worries ruin this moment. Plenty of time for that later. Right now he wasn’t done with her.

Mac nuzzled her neck, then sucked her earlobe into his mouth and nipped at it. She shivered in response. Ali’s ears had always been near the top of the list of her erogenous zones. With the urgency out of the way and Ali cuddled against him like a kitten, he decided to please them both by revisiting each of those spots on her delectable body at a more leisurely pace. So that’s exactly what he did.

When it was done, when she lay languid and sated in his arms and he drifted toward sleep, savoring the sweet exhaustion of sweaty, earthy sex, her hesitant voice asked, “Mac? Are we going to talk?”

Everything within him rebelled at the thought. “Could we wait? Could we take tonight, maybe tomorrow, too? Just, I don’t know, be together?”

A long minute ticked by before she said, “I’d like that.”

“Me too. I need it, Ali-cat. We need it.”

She nestled against him, sighed with pleasure, and absently played with the hair on his chest. “Are you hungry?”