Only His (9 page)

She climbed the stairs to her apartment and unlocked the door. When she opened it, she reached to the right and flipped on the lights.

They came on, but instead of seeing her familiar
living room, she saw another place and time. Cat standing in the doorway of her dorm room.

“It's over,” the other woman had said, her dark eyes bright with mischief. “Tucker and I. It's done. I know you're in love with him. He needs you tonight, Nevada. You should go to him.”

Being around Cat was like looking at the sun. It was difficult to see anything else, to focus. The rest of the world blurred.

It took Nevada a second to process what she was saying. Embarrassment poured through her as she frantically wondered who else had guessed her secret. Did Tucker know? Did he pity her? Because that would be the worst.

“I don't understand,” she whispered.

Cat grabbed her arms and shook her. “He needs you. Go to him. He's at home right now.”

“I…”

Before she could say anything else, Cat was gone, leaving a trail of exotic perfume fading at the door.

Nevada spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out what to do. Go to Tucker? Could she? He loved Cat. He couldn't see anyone or anything else. But if they'd broken up, then he was available. And hurting.

In the end, her heart had won the battle. She'd grabbed her car keys and fled down the stairs to the parking lot by her door. Sooner than she would have thought possible, she was at Tucker's door, knocking.

He opened it almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for her. But when he saw her, the expectation on his face faded to disappointment.

“I thought you were Cat,” he said, his words slurred.

“I heard what happened.” She followed him inside.

“She left me.”

He collapsed on the sofa, rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

“She left me,” he repeated, as if he couldn't believe the words.

Nevada had never been to his place before. She knew where he lived, as she had picked him up here a couple of times, but she hadn't gotten past the parking lot.

Now she quickly took in the leather sofas, the carved tables. The room was elegant. More
GQ
than bachelor pad. The artwork looked original and expensive. There was a metal sculpture in the corner, and she had a feeling it had been done by Cat.

In fact, the whole apartment screamed Cat's name. Not just in the pale gray walls or the textured drapes, but in the stack of books in French and Italian. The
London Times
resting on the coffee table.

Jealousy twisted Nevada's stomach. Had the other woman lived here? She didn't want to believe it was true, but couldn't ignore the evidence. If Cat wasn't here permanently, she had spent enough time to leave her mark.

“I can't do this,” Tucker muttered.

Nevada crossed to the sofa and sat next to him.

“I can't live without her.” He turned to stare at Nevada, his eyes bloodshot. “She's my world. Without her…” Pain tightened his features. “I never want to feel this way again. Love blows. But I couldn't help myself, you know? Not with her.”

“It's okay,” she told him, tentatively touching his
shoulder. “I know it hurts now, but you'll find someone else.”

“No. Never. There's only her.”

His pain ripped at Nevada, leaving her desperately wanting to fix him. She ignored her own ache, hearing the man she loved declare his feelings for someone else.

“There isn't.” She put her hand on his face and turned him toward her. “There isn't just her.” She drew in a breath, dug deep for courage and blurted, “There's me.”

His brows drew together in confusion.

“I love you,” she said quickly, before she lost her nerve. “I have for a long time. Cat doesn't care about you. She can't care about anyone. But I do care, Tucker. So much.”

She kissed him, her mouth bumping his awkwardly.

He didn't respond. He didn't pull away, but he didn't kiss her back. Instead he sat there, immobile. She ignored the humiliation, the voice screaming at her to run while she still had some pride left.

“Tucker, please,” she whispered against his lips, then grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast.

She'd never done anything like that before in her life. Part of it was that she'd never had sex before. While she'd dated in high school, the farthest she'd ever gone had been a boy lightly stroking her breast over clothes.

But this was different. This was Tucker and he was her world. As much as he thought he loved Cat, Nevada knew she loved him more. Her love was great, bigger and stronger. It would survive anything.

Suddenly he started kissing her back. His hand
closed over her breast, squeezing so hard it hurt. His tongue pushed into her mouth as he shoved up her shirt and fumbled with her bra.

He never got it unfastened. Instead he pulled her breast out of the cup and rubbed the nipple.

Everything was so strange, she thought, trying to figure out what to pay attention to. He tasted and smelled of Scotch, which wasn't exactly what she was used to. And while the hand on her breast no longer hurt, she didn't have time to decide if she enjoyed it or not. Because just when she thought she might have felt a tingle, he was grabbing her around the waist and sliding her down on the sofa. His hands moved between them.

She felt fingers on her belly, then her jeans and panties were being lowered. He pushed one pant leg off, taking her sandal with it, but left the other on.

It was everything she wanted and it was happening too fast. A voice in her head whispered she hadn't imagined it like this. Not on a sofa with him drunk and her…

“Tucker, I…”

Even as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say, he shifted back on the sofa and bent between her legs, pressing his mouth against her intimately. Before she could figure out what was happening, he was kissing her
down there!

She'd read about it, had heard friends talk about it, but nothing had prepared her for the deep, slow kiss. His lips were so soft and, when he moved his tongue like that, back and forth, she thought she was going to die.

It was perfect, she thought, sinking back on the sofa and giving herself up to an unfamiliar tingling surging through her. Better than perfect. This had to prove that Tucker cared about her. He couldn't do this to her if he didn't love her.

He licked her over and over, making her squirm. She felt tense and aware, not sure what was supposed to happen next. Something beckoned and she knew she wanted more. She parted her legs as much as she could and did her best to hold in her whimpers of pleasure.

He straightened and looked into her eyes. “I want you,” he breathed. “Do you want me, too?”

“Yes,” she breathed, “more than anything.”

She felt a rush of longing, of need, and drew him close. He moved toward her, positioning himself between her legs.

His first thrust took her by surprise. She went from arousal to uncomfortable in a second and had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

He continued moving in and out, slowly at first and then faster. Nevada had just started to feel the first tendrils of pleasure again when he cried out, “It's always been you, Cat. Only you. God, yes. Just like that.”

She was too stunned, too broken to say anything back.

He didn't even know who she was.

That thought tumbled over and over in her mind, cutting her with each repetition. She lay still as he pushed into her a couple more times, then stilled with a groan.

When he was done, he pulled out. She gritted her teeth against the unfamiliar sensation. He shifted away and stood, then fastened his jeans. She lay there a sec
ond, waiting for him to realize what had happened. Despite everything, she wanted him to make it okay.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Be right back,” he promised, then walked toward the bathroom.

Nevada lay there, one pant leg on, one off, tears beginning to leak into her hair. Finally she got up and dressed.

All her hopes and dreams and love crashed in around her and she sat back down on the sofa, sobbing into her hands. Everything she'd imagined was gone—broken by reality. Tucker didn't care about her in a romantic way. He never had. He was in love with Cat. To him, she was nothing more than his friend's little sister. She'd misread kindness as affection and had built a fantasy out of nothing more substantial than sand.

Still fighting tears, she got up and went back to her dorm. After spending an hour in the shower, she still felt awful. Worse, she felt stupid. She'd been a fool and she had no one else to blame.

She'd spent a long night lying awake, wallowing in self-pity, wondering how long it was going to take until she would get over her first love.

The next morning, she'd gone to class just as if nothing had happened. She'd talked to her friends, had fake-laughed at all the right places, had acted as if she was fine.

It hadn't helped.

Two days later, Cat had called.

“Was it wonderful?” the other woman asked. “What?”

“Your night with Tucker. You were in love with him so I wanted you to have him.”

Nevada pressed her fingers against her temple. “I don't understand. You said you broke up with him.”

“That's what I told him, too. He wouldn't have slept with you otherwise. It was my gift to you, Nevada. We're friends. That's what friends do.”

Everything about that night returned to her. How drunk he'd been, how he hadn't even known it was her. At least, not at the end.

“Does he even remember what happened?” she asked, hating herself for wanting to know.

“Bits and pieces.” Cat laughed. “He was pretty hungover when I talked to him. He confessed all, expecting me to be angry. I wasn't, of course. Having you with him was my idea. And now he's grateful I'm taking him back.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I told you. I gave you your night with him. So, tell me everything. Was it wonderful?”

Nevada shook her head and returned to the present. To the living room she'd remodeled and decorated herself. To the life she'd made.

Ten years ago she'd hung up on Cat and had never spoken to her again. Never spoken to Tucker, either. She'd managed to move on with her life, to heal. But she'd never forgotten that night. The humiliation of it. She would have told anyone who asked that she was over Tucker Janack. Now she had the chance to prove to herself that she wasn't lying.

 

D
ENISE
H
ENDRIX SAT
in the family room, the morning paper spread out on the coffee table in front of her, knowing she was flirting with disaster. At her age,
skipping her yoga class wasn't something she could afford to do. She was at risk of getting creaky or worse, and there were all those scary commercials about bone loss and hip replacements.

But the thought of spending an hour trying to perfect downward dog wasn't appealing. Nor were any of her usual activities. She felt restless and on edge. It was like being a kid and knowing Christmas was only a few days away. Anticipation made focusing on anything impossible. The difference now was she didn't know what she was waiting for.

Her children were all happy and successful. Her friends were healthy, her investments sound. She'd had the furnace checked for the winter, the gutters cleaned and there was plenty of food in the refrigerator. So, what was she waiting for? She needed to get on with her life.

The doorbell rang, saving her from further introspection. While she was excellent at understanding everyone else's lives, she'd never been very good at ruminating over her own. She preferred to be going and doing. A good thing, considering she'd raised six children.

She walked through the living room, toward the front door, and pulled it open. Only to find herself staring at a man she hadn't spoken to in more than thirty-five years.

To the day, she thought, realizing the source of the restlessness. This was the anniversary of the last time she'd seen Max.

Max Thurman had been her first love, her first lover, her first everything. She'd thought she would love him
forever, until she'd met Ralph Hendrix. The two men couldn't have been more different. Max had always been wild. He rode a motorcycle, was a troublemaker. Ralph had been responsible, with plans to go into his father's business.

She'd impulsively accepted a date with Ralph during one of her frequent fights with Max. She'd expected to be bored but had instead been charmed.

Max had left town a few weeks later. No one had known where he'd gone. About a year ago he'd reappeared. She'd carefully stayed out of his way, not sure how she felt about her old boyfriend returning to the scene of the crime.

He looked good, she thought absently. His blond hair had gone gray, but it suited him. The blue eyes were as piercing as she remembered, the smile as easy, the body as muscled.

“Hello, Max.”

“Denise.”

She stepped back to invite him in.

As he walked past her, she felt a remembered thrill, as if all that time hadn't passed. It was kind of comforting to know she could be as foolish now as she had been at nineteen.

They faced each other.

“It's been a while,” she said. “How are you?”

“Good. I moved back last year.”

“So I heard.”

“I've seen you around town a time or two.”

She nodded, then looked away. “I've avoided you.”

“I noticed. I figured you needed time.”

She laughed. “It's been thirty-five years. How much more time were you going to give me?”

He smiled and it was just like it had been back then. Her knees went weak and her heart fluttered.

“Until today,” he told her.

She didn't know what he wanted or what he expected, but none of that mattered. This was Max. Her Max.