Love Me Like That (26 page)

“London.” His voice holds something it never has before. He’s cupping my cheeks and his eyes enrapturing me to him. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. I see pain, acceptance, and possibly even love in them.

Say it
, I want to whisper.
Say it and I’ll say it back.

He doesn’t; he’s not ready yet. I bite my tongue to keep myself from blurting it out. The demons he’s fighting are much stronger than mine. I can’t open my heart to him completely until I know he feels the same way. I can’t handle being the only one in love again. If I could, I would’ve stayed with Trent.

The feeling didn’t last long when he woke up in
my
arms screaming for Savannah. I know there’s no timetable for grief. I also know there is no way I can ever expect him to forget her. I’d never even ask. He loves her; he’d spent seventeen years of his life dedicated to her, but it didn’t lessen the sting I felt when he left my bed that night and didn’t return. The hurt was amplified when I woke up the next day, and he was already gone to work.

It’s now Saturday morning, and since he got home from work Thursday evening, we’ve ignored the subject, acting like it didn’t happen, and went right back into the routine we’d established. I’m not certain if that is the best thing or the worst thing that we can do, but apparently it’s not something either one of us going to bring up.

“What do you want to do today,” I whisper against his chest, loving the way the trimmed, crisp hair feels on my face.

I know we’ve slept in some, but the faint shadows cast by the sun through the window tell me either we didn’t sleep in late enough, or the weather outside is bad.

“This,” he whispers holding me tighter against his chest after gently kissing the top of my head.

“Mmm,” I hum. “Great idea.”

We spend almost every second together on Saturday. Even when we weren’t in bed together, we always found ourselves looking for a reason to be in close proximity if not actually in each other’s arms. It was exactly like the last few days at the cabin. We cooked together, ate together, and showered together. Our bodies met more times than I’d openly admit to anyone.

I’m certain we’ve christened every surface in the condo. When that thought struck, self-doubt and unworthiness accompanied it. I’ve yet to step foot in his bedroom, and I’m not the only woman he’s made love to here. With that came shame knowing that I’m jealous of a deceased woman, knowing had he not lost her I wouldn’t be spending my time in the arms of what I’m beginning to accept as the most incredible man I’ve ever met. At first, I was disgusted with myself but accepted that I’d give him up in a second if it meant he could have his one true love back. Realizing that was when I knew I was in trouble.

“Fuck, London. Too fast,” I groan and grip her hips a few seconds too late. I throw my head back as my cock repeatedly pulses deep inside of her. “Keep going,” I bite out and rub circles on her clit with my thumb as she bounces up and down on me. The sensation is incredible just after my orgasm, but once again she’s sent me into oblivion too fast, and I owe her.

Less than a minute later she tumbles into sweet bliss as well. “Holy shit,” I grumble as her hips slow, and her orgasm clutches at my still erect cock. I can’t help but chuckle as she dramatically collapses on my chest, her panting breaths tickling the hair there.

The urge to admit that sex with her is the best I’ve had hits me hard. I don’t because that seems all kinds of wrong, especially in a room decorated by my late wife. I wonder if my feelings for her would have grown as much as they have if we weren’t having spectacular sex. I force the thought out almost as immediately as it creeps into my head, knowing that almost since day one she’s been more to me than sex. If anything, she’s my savior and she doesn’t even know it.

Thinking about her in that capacity reminds me of the relationships I’ve only begun to try to rebuild this last week. Several I need to work on the most include my parents.

“Hey,” I whisper. I feel myself slide out of her wetly as she shifts her body so she can look me in the eye. I love how wet I make her. “I have a late meeting this evening.”

She looks at me without expectation, “Okay.” There’s no disappointment in her voice, and I suddenly feel like shit lying to her. “I can catch up on my reading.”

The truth is I’m planning on finally joining my family for Sunday dinner at my parents’ house, and I know taking her along would mean answering questions I’m not ready to answer. It would foster hope in my mother I’m not willing to provide just yet. Then there’s always my Uncle Scott, who’s inappropriate even on his best behavior. I couldn’t handle having her meet my folks and deal with him at the same time. I’m certain the combination would have me snapping his neck before dinner is even served.

If I tell her my actual evening plans, I know it will hurt her feelings when I don’t ask her to come along, and that’s not something I want to do either. The lie only causes me distress, and that’s the way I’ll keep it. I can’t explain to her how much I want her there with me without making certain declarations. Bringing her along would make declarations to my family as well, and I’m not ready for that either. I’m right where I always seem to find myself lately between the rock and the hard place.

“Let me make you breakfast,” I say as a consolation for breaking my promise to spend the entire weekend with her.

My making breakfast consists of warming bagels in the toaster oven and offering a choice between regular or strawberry cream cheese. She eventually pushes me out of the way and makes fried eggs and sausage links. I dice some fruit while she does her magic at the stove. I love the sound of her laughter when I drag a cube of pineapple up her neck and lick the juice away. I can’t keep my hands, or mouth for that matter, off of her; she seems the same way with me.

I cherish the fact that she doesn’t seem to want to change me or force me to talk about what the future may hold. I know part of my falling for her is her ability to let things go and just be with me. Most days I’m okay, but then a memory hits me of Savannah, and I’m right back in the middle of the emotional hurricane I can’t seem to move past.

My first appointment with the therapist is on Tuesday, and I’d be a fool not to admit that I’m looking forward to it. Well, as much as one can look forward to knowing they’re walking into a situation that’s going to be a catalyst for the tempest they’re barely touching on their own. I do know; however, that it’s the best thing I can do not only for myself but for the woman standing in my kitchen that I’ve grown to accept that I may need in my life. I know this with as much conviction as I know that I’ll never touch another drop of alcohol. Just another thing she’s managed to save me from without even knowing.

“I found a couple places I plan on taking resumes to tomorrow,” she says as she sets our plates on the dining room table and turns back to grab the glasses of milk I poured on the counter.

I’m still not happy that she’s decided against working for me, but I’m doing my best not to let it show. I set the bowl of fruit on the table between our plates for us to share and wait for her to sit down before I take my seat.

“Anything specific you’re hoping for?” I ask before popping a grape in my mouth.

She shrugs and finishes chewing a bite of eggs before speaking. “Not really but I’ll take what I can get.”

“You don’t have to settle, London. In fact, Cole International offers an excellent benefits package.” I wink at her, and she smiles noncommittally back at me. Maybe she won’t find anything she likes and will still end up at the office with me.

I have to remind myself that he’s family, and I’ll have to deal with him eventually when I pull up to my dad’s house and my asshole Uncle Scott’s car is parked out front. Hopefully, my aunt will be here and can keep him under control.

Since my warm welcome last week I don’t feel like a stranger anymore, so I just walk in once I get to the front door. I head directly to the kitchen to see my mother. I say a quick prayer of thanks when I see my Aunt Diana sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a glass of wine talking to my mom.

“Ladies,” I say and walk to my aunt and kiss her forehead and give her a hug.

My mom turns from the stove and closes the distance between us. I can tell she didn’t know if I’d be back and she’s surprised and very happy to see me again so soon. I don’t dwell on it long because I know things are different now, and the distance was temporary; I have every intention of making my way back to my family completely.

“Hey, mom.” I hug her back with as much enthusiasm as she’s clinging to me with.

She loosens her grip on me, and I see her swipe at her eye with the back of her hand as she turns her attention back to the stove.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Can you go grab the guys and have them start to make their way to the dining room?” She asks as she pulls a pot of boiling pasta off of the stove, walking it to the sink to drain it.

“Sure.” I walk out of the kitchen and head to Dad’s office, knowing that’s where everyone will be congregated at.

I walk in on the ass-end of a filthy joke I’ve heard my uncle tell more than I’d like to admit. I smile at my dad when his face lights up at seeing me. I love that man and pray one day I’ll have the chance to be just as awesome a father as he has been with us.

Kegan, of course, is on the other side of the room laughing hysterically egging my uncle on purposefully. He thinks it’s riotous to keep him going, only because he doesn’t take anything serious. I narrow my eyes at him, telling him I’m in no mood for Scott’s shit tonight, and he better quit while he’s ahead. He grins at me and scratches his nose with his middle finger.

I shake my head at him with a smile of my own.
Shithead
.

“Mom says dinner is almost ready and to get your old asses to the dining room.” My uncle’s face sours immediately.
Come on fucker say something about my mom.

“I know better than that!” My dad says as he stands from his spot on the leather sofa. “I don’t think I’ve heard your mom cuss since those bastards flew the planes into the World Trade Center.”

He’s right. My mother doesn’t use that type of language, insisting anyone who does needs to increase their education level. We guys do our best to watch our mouths when we’re around her. Uncle Scott is not very considerate of anyone around him. Each one of these dinners I wonder when my mom is finally going to have enough and ask him not to return, knowing it hasn’t happened yet merely because my mom loves Diana so much.

Dinner was going great. We talked about future plans and vacations my parents want to take now that Dad is semi-retired. That all changed when dessert was being served, and Kegan got that look in his eye.

“So, KayKay? You told mom about the woman you have living with you yet?” Kegan says like it’s just another piece of everyday news to discuss at the table.

From the corner of my eye, I see both of my parents’ heads snap up and look at me. Center of attention, a position Kegan has always been better at than me. This is his payback for not spilling it about London when he asked. My mind is already thinking of things to do to get back at him; that’s if I don’t strangle him first.

I narrow my eyes at him before speaking. “I do have a house guest,” I respond with as much nonchalance as I can muster.

“Houseguest,” Kegan huffs.

“She’s in the guest room,” I reply and look at my mother. My explanation does nothing to keep the happiness off of her face. Seems I’m as transparent to her as I am to Kegan, and she didn’t show up at the house like he did and see her braless in a tank top and yoga pants.