Stephanie watched the clock impatiently. It was 11:27. She and Nash had agreed she would head downstairs at 11:30. After some debate they'd decided it would be easier for her to explain her presence going up to her own floor than for him to say why he was heading down from hers.
In theory there was no reason to sneak. While it was best her children didn't know that she and Nash had become intimate, would it really matter to his parents? Not that she was going to suggest they spill the beans. In a way, having to wait heightened anticipation. She was already trembling slightly at the thought of seeing him and there was a definite heaviness low in her belly. One would think they had made love enough times for some of the thrill to be fading, but one would be wrong.
Two more minutes passed. At exactly 11:30, shepicked up her shoes, a travel alarm set for four in the morning and tiptoed out of her room. She made it down the hall to the stairs without making a sound then headed to the floor below.
At the third stair from the bottom, she stepped as close to the wall as possible to avoid the creaky step, then reached the second level and headed for Nash's room.
The door was already open. She stepped inside, prepared to remind him that she had to make it back to her own bed before anyone was stirring, but she wasn't given the opportunity to speak.
He'd been standing in the center of the room, just out of the pool of light given off by the bedside lamp. As she entered, he crossed to her and pulled her close. As his arms wrapped around her body, his mouth settled on hers. The deep, sensual, demanding kiss turned her bones to liquid.
She melted against him. Wanting flooded her, barely giving her enough time to drop her shoes and set the clock on the dresser. The door closed with a soft thud, then Nash's hands were everywhere-her back, her hips, her waist, her breasts.
They'd been together enough times that he knew what she liked, what she loved and what made her scream with delight, and he used that knowledge to reduce her to a quivering shell of need. His long fingers gently massaged the curves of her breasts, moving closer to her already tight nipples without actually touching them. Anticipation built inside her.
She squirmed closer, silently begging him to touch her there, but he was slow to respond. Closer and closer still until his thumbs lightly brushed over the tips of her nipples. One brief caress, then he was gone.
She groaned her frustration. Determined to tease him as much as he teased her, she withdrew from the kiss and began to suck on his lower lip. At the same time, she cupped his rear, digging her fingers into the firm flesh and bringing his arousal more closely in contact with her stomach. They both caught their breath.
“I want you," Nash breathed. "Naked." His words increased her need, delighting her. In a smooth dance they'd performed before, they broke apart and quickly tugged at their clothes. She finished first and slid onto the cool sheet. Nash followed.
They lay facing each other, his leg between hers, his thigh pressing against her swollen dampness. As they kissed, he cupped her left breast. Their tongues stroked and played. When he retreated, she followed. His taste, his heat, his hardness all inflamed her. She could not be naked enough with this man. She wanted to be vulnerable, hungry and bare to him. Yes, she wanted the pleasure to follow, but for now it was enough to want him.
When he urged her onto her back, she went easily. He broke the kiss and knelt between her thighs. His mouth settled on her chest. As his tongue swept over and around the tight nipple, his fingers matched the action on her other breast. Her muscles tightened as pleasure poured through her, trickling down to increase her growing ache. She felt herself swelling, readying. Already she wanted him inside her, but that was for later. First Nash would want to make her beg.
He kept his attention on her breasts until she was close to breaking. Tension filled her body, making every muscle stiffen. When she nearly vibrated with need, he moved lower, placing openmouthed kisses on her belly, then lower still.
He reached for her hands and brought them to her center, where he had her part herself for him. She drew her knees back and dug her heels into the mattress. Her eyes were closed, but she knew he was close-she could feel his warm breath fanning her dampness. She was ready, so ready. Ready and aching. Her hips pulsed in silent invitation. And still he waited.
At last he moved close and pressed his tongue against her. Fire shot through her, making her jump and gasp. The single, slow lick was followed by another and another. Gentle, easy strokes that drove her to the edge of madness. He didn't go fast enough to take her to climax, but he didn't let the tension fall off, either.
She strained to get more pressure, she rocked her hips to get him to go faster. Neither worked. She tried begging.
“Nash, please." She felt the rumble of his laughter. In response to her plea, he inserted a finger inside her then curled it slightly, so it seemed to stroke her from the inside as his tongue did the same from the outside. He moved them in tandem. Slowly. Gently. Thoroughly. Bottom to top. Top to bottom. Over and over. Like the ticking of a clock. Ever so steady. Ever so slow.
Her entire body clenched. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but focus on that incessant rhythm. Over and over. Tension grew and grew until she thought it would split her in two. More. She needed more. She needed He stopped completely. For the space of three heartbeats he hovered above her, not touching, not moving. Nothing. The wait was unbearable. Then he kissed her again, but more firmly this time, and faster.
She climaxed without warning. The release swept through her at the speed of sound, flinging her into paradise and making her cry out. Muscles contracted, her entire body spasmed in perfect pleasure. She was out of control and she never wanted that to change.
He continued to touch her, gentling the contact, until she had nothing left.
She opened her eyes and saw him smiling at her. She had to clear her throat before she could speak.
“That was more amazing than usual," she told him. "Which is saying something."
“You're easy to please."
“I'm glad you think so." She lowered her gaze and saw that he was still hard. Her stomach clenched.
“I want you inside me," she said.
Words to live by, Nash thought as he reached for the condom he'd left on the nightstand. As he slipped it on, he studied the flush on Stephanie's chest and cheeks. The physical proof of her orgasm pleased him. He wanted her to enjoy their time in bed.
When he'd put on the protection, he slowly pushed into her. She was hot and wet. As he filled her, her muscles contracted around his erection, testing his control. He forced himself to hold back. He wanted her to come again.
Still kneeling, he shifted his weight off his arms so he could reach out to touch her breasts. They were always exquisitely sensitive after her first release. Just lightly brushing her nipples was usually enough to get her going again. He wanted to feel her rippling contractions and watch her face as she experienced wave after wave of orgasm. Her mouth would part slightly, her eyes would widen as she tried to keep looking at him. Sometimes he would swear he could see down to her soul.
Sure enough, with the first touch of his fingers, she gasped. He felt the tight clenching of her body. He thrust into her again and contractions massaged him. Blood surged into his arousal, pressure built in his groin, and still he held back.
Their gazes locked. With each rhythmic release, she sucked in a breath and whispered his name. Over and over, as if in prayer. He was getting closer, too, but he wanted this to go on as long as they both could stand it.
In and out, in and out. He got harder and harder. Deep inside everything collected for the surging release that was as inevitable as the tide. She continued to climax, massaging him, drawing him in deeper. Her breathing increased. He surged in faster and faster. They were both gasping.
At last he had to release her breasts and grasp her hips. He held onto her as he pumped in and out. She half raised off the bed. Her head dropped back as one massive contraction clenched around him…and he was lost.
His release exploded in a vortex of heat that forced the air out of his body. He pushed in deeper, wanting her to take all of him. Her dampness continued to convulse around him, drawing out the bliss until there was nothing left for either of them but to fall together in a tangle of arms and legs.
Stephanie woke with a sense of contentment. She rolled onto her back and smiled. Last night had been amazing. More amazing than usual, which was saying something. But her feeling of happiness didn't just come from a night of great lovemaking. It also came from the recent changes in her life.
She liked Nash. Okay, she liked him a lot. She liked being around him and talking to him. She liked his parents and his brothers and their families. She liked the impact he'd made on her world. She liked how he was with her sons. Man, oh man, did she have it bad. Because liking him wasn't the problem.
She wanted more.
Stephanie sat up and tossed off the covers. "Don't be ridiculous," she said aloud. "There is no `more' in this situation. You knew that when you started the affair." But knowing and believing were two different things, at least in her world. She could list all the reasons it would never work-distance, her reluctance to trust a man to act like a partner and not a child, his emotional withdrawal from life since the death of his wife. Those were really big problems to get through. While they could be solved if both of them worked at it, so far she hadn't seen any indication that Nash wanted to change the status of things. Nor was she going to.
In a few days, when his vacation was over, hewould leave, and she would let him. No matter what, she wouldn't make a scene. It wasn't right to change the rules at this late date.
Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself. When Nash left, she would go on with her life and she would do just fine. Sure she would miss him, but she would get over it… wouldn't she? Stephanie didn't want to think about any of that. She stretched and swung around to put her feet on the floor. As she did so she glanced at the clock. And actually screamed.
It was eight-thirty. In the morning. Her alarm had been set for six-thirty. What had happened? Even as she fumbled for the switch and realized she'd forgotten to turn it on, adrenaline rushed through her body, galvanizing her into action. She raced into the bathroom where she quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth. A shower was going to have to wait. She had guests to feed.
In less than six minutes she was relatively groomed, dressed and racing down the stairs. The boys were already up-their doors were standing open-and she could hear voices from downstairs. Wincing at what Nash's parents must think of her, she jogged toward the kitchen and burst inside.
“Hey, Mom," Brett said from the table.
“Mommy!" the twins said together.
They were also at the table. They were eating breakfast. Pancakes and bacon from the looks of it. She stared around the room and saw Nash standing at the stove. The man was cooking!
“Morning," he said with a smile.
While it wasn't as unbelievable as having aliens land on her roof, it was darned close. Helping out was one thing, but cooking? Marty had always acted as if she were threatening to cut off his right arm if she ever suggested he prepare a meal himself.
She felt numb with shock. "I, ah, overslept," she said. "I forgot to set my alarm." Nash's expression didn't change, but his eyes brightened with amusement. "You probably had other things on your mind." That was true. She'd been so concerned about setting her travel clock so that she could get back to her own bed, that she'd forgotten about her regular alarm.
“My folks are in the dining room," he continued. "They have coffee, fruit and the newspaper. Howard wanted oatmeal which I've already fixed. Mom is raving about your scones and complaining about the weight she's going to put on. I have another batch in the oven." He nodded at the stove. "I was fixing some eggs for myself. Do you want any?" She'd slipped into an alternative universe. "Um, thanks."
“Okay. Oh, when I took the uncooked scones out of the freezer, I didn't know which to use, so I took a bag off the top shelf. I hope that's okay."
“It's fine."
“Brett told me what oven temperature to use." She glanced at her oldest. "Thanks, honey." He shrugged. "Nash said you were tired and we should let you sleep." She could feel her cheeks getting hot. Nash was the reason she needed her rest.
“Coffee?" the man in question asked.
She nodded. He poured her a cup, then added milk and sugar, just the way she liked it.
Her throat was tight and her eyes burned. She had a bad feeling she was way too close to tears for comfort. Which made no sense. So he'd been nice-was that a reason to cry? Sense or not, Nash's actions touched her in a way nothing had for years. Maybe ever. He'd taken care of her. Just like that, with no expectation of getting something back. She hadn't known that men like him existed. He made her feel she could count on him.
“You okay?" he asked.
She nodded again, knowing it was impossible to speak.
Just then she heard the sound of several cars pulling up.
“What's that?" Jason asked and got down from his seat. He ran toward the front of the house. "They're all here," he called.
“Who?" Adam asked as he, too, left the kitchen. Brett was on his heels.
“Right on time," Nash said, glancing at the clock.
“On time for what?" she asked, her voice only a little scratchy.
Nash grinned. "You'll see." Howard came through the swinging door. "Seems that the gang has all arrived. Ready to assign chores?"
“Sure." Nash slid the scrambled eggs onto a plate, along with a couple of pieces of bacon. "Eat up," he said.
“You're going to need your strength. I'll be right back." He walked out of the kitchen, heading toward the front door. Howard followed. Stephanie glanced from the plate to the door, and decided to see what was going on.
What she found stunned her nearly as much as seeing Nash cooking. Most of the Haynes clan had descended. All the brothers were there, along with Austin and several of the wives. There weren't as many children as usual. Instead of carrying food or drinks, this time everyone had gallons of paint, toolboxes, ladders and other building supplies. They gathered by the gatehouse, as if waiting for instructions. Nash stood in the center of the group.
As she approached, she saw that he held a list in his hand and was assigning tasks.
“Upstairs in the master, there's some ugly wallpaper in the bathroom. Did anyone bring the steamer?"
“Sure." Kyle patted the machine he'd set on the driveway. "I'll have that off by noon. Then we can put up the new paper."
“We'll do that," Elizabeth said as she put her arm around Hannah. "It's a floral pattern and we're going to care more about getting it right." Travis groaned. "Any of us could do just as good a job."
“Sure you could, but do you want to?" He kissed her. "Not on a bet." Several people laughed. Stephanie felt as if her feet were nailed to the grass. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't protest what was happening. She watched as everyone trooped into her gatehouse and began to work. Nash finally noticed her and walked over.
“You okay?" he asked.
“No. What are you doing?" He stood facing her. "You'd ordered the paint and wallpaper already," he said. “I didn't pick it out."
“I know, but why are they here?"
“They're helping out because I asked. I know you've been working on the gatehouse for a long time. You want to move in there so you can get the rest of the house renovated. I want to help. I'm leaving in a few days and I would like the gatehouse done before I go. I guess I want to know that you're going to be okay." He spoke the last bit defiantly, as if he expected her to be furious. She supposed she should be-he'd been high-handed in arranging all this. But the truth was, she was even closer to crying than before.
No one had ever wanted to take care of her before. No one had ever worried about her. They all assumed she was so damn competent that she didn't have doubts, didn't get tired, didn't sweat that it was going to come out right.
She ached down to her bones. Not just because he was being so sweet and nice and making her want to beg him to never leave, but because what he was doing was proof that he was leaving. If he'd considered changing his mind and staying, he wouldn't want to have the gatehouse finished.
“You mad?" he asked.
She shook her head because she couldn't speak. "Is it okay that I'm doing this?" She managed a slightly strangled, "Yes."
“Will you be okay if I go help out?"
“Sure." He touched her cheek, then walked toward the gatehouse.
Stephanie stood alone on her lawn and listened to the sound of people working and talking and laughing. She knew that she had to help out the others. It wasn't fair to leave everything to them. But first she had to get herself under control.
In that moment, when she'd realized what he was doing, something inside her had given way. It was as if some protective wall had crumbled to dust, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
How could she help loving him? He wasn't even everything she'd ever wanted-he was more. A partner, a friend, a warm, caring lover who was as solid as a rock. He was her hero. A one-in-a-million kind of man.
A man who was leaving. And she didn't have a single right to ask him to stay.
By midafternoon, most of the rooms had been painted. Stephanie walked through the downstairs carrying cans of soda and bottles of water. The twins were circulating with granola bars and cookies.
The transformation of the dark old house into something bright and charming amazed her, as did everyone's friendliness. These people might be a part of Nash's family, but they made her feel welcome.
She handed Craig a bottle of water and started toward the kitchen. On the way she found Brett carefully sanding a baseboard in the hall.
“You're doing a great job," she said as shestopped and crouched next to him. "That's pretty detailed work." Her twelve-year-old looked up at her. His blue eyes were dark and troubled. "Nash got his whole family to help."
“I know. That was really nice of him, huh?" Brett didn't answer. Instead he folded the sandpaper in half and twisted it in his hands. "He's still leaving, right?" As much as Stephanie wished she could say otherwise, she had to agree. "Of course he is, honey. He has a life in Chicago, remember?"
“He's not so bad, you know?" Brett's voice sounded small. "He's not Dad, but that's okay." Her stomach dove for her toes. When had her son let go of his resentment of Nash and why hadn't she seen it happening? She hadn't wanted any of her children to connect too closely with Nash because she hadn't wanted them hurt by his leaving.
“Brett, Nash is a really great guy. He's been fun to have around, but it was always temporary. You knew that." She winced at her own words. Of course he knew. Reminding him wasn't going to make Nash's leaving easier.
“But he likes it here," Brett said, staring at the sandpaper rather than her. "I bet he'd want to move here if you asked him to."
“I know it seems like that to you. I agree that he's had a fun vacation, which is good. But he has a regular life waiting for him. He has a job and a home and friends." But not a woman. She knew he'd been alone since his wife's death. And yes, the sex was great, but was it enough to get him to relocate? She didn't think so.
“You could ask," Brett repeated.
“I could." But she wouldn't. Not only did she not want to put Nash in the position of having to refuse her, she wasn't sure she would survive actually having to hear him say no.
By five the gatehouse was nearly finished. Nash walked from room to room, pleased with all that had been done. All that was left was the new carpeting. As soon as Stephanie had that installed, she and the boys could move in. They'd have their own place, away from the guests. She would be safe.
He could see her here-her furniture, the boys' books and toys. They would make the small house into a home.
Could he see himself here? The question brought him up short. Did he want to be here? Did he want to stay with Stephanie and her sons? That would mean getting involved. Emotions weren't safe, he reminded himself. Emotions were messy and couldn't be controlled. If life was out of control His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and pushed Talk.
“Harmon here."
“It's Jack," his boss told him. "We have a situation." Five minutes later Nash turned off the phone and jogged toward the main house. He found Stephanie in the kitchen with Brett. She took one look at his face and blanched.
“What's wrong?" she asked.
“My boss called. There's a hostage situation in San Francisco at a bank robbery gone bad. Shots have been fired. A helicopter's on its way to pick me up." He glanced at his watch. "It's coming from the army base and should be here in about six minutes." He'd wondered how she would react to the crisis, but except for the loss of color in her face, she was in control. "Do you need me to get you anything? Most of your family has left. Your parents took the twins to the park. I'll tell them when they get back."
“I appreciate that. I don't know how long I'll be gone. These things can take time. Then there's paperwork afterwards." She dismissed his comments with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry about that. I'll pack your things and you can call us and let me know where you want them sent." Her assumption that he wouldn't be coming back surprised him. Yes, he only had a few days left of his vacation but
“I'm glad you're leaving," Brett said fiercely. Nash turned to the boy and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes. Hell.
He knelt in front of Brett. "I'm sorry I have to go, but this is important."
“I don't care."
“I care very much. About my work and about you, your brothers and your mom."
“Then don't go." The words shouldn't have mattered to him, but God help him, he liked hearing them.
“Some bad men are holding people hostage. I have to go. If I don't some of them might die.”
“Then promise to come back." Stephanie put her hands on Brett's thin shoulders. "Honey, don't. Remember what we talked about? Nash has his own life and it's not here." They'd talked about him? He stood and tried to read her expression. "Stephanie…" He wasn't sure what to say.
She shook her head. "We both knew this was temporary, right? So it's ending sooner than we thought. At least we're saved from having a long, painful goodbye. It's like ripping off a bandage. Faster is better."
“Faster hurts more," he said.
“But it's over quicker." He wanted to tell her he would come back. He wanted to tell her that he didn't want to go in the first place. But to what end? Before he could figure out what words were right, he heard a familiar sound. "The helicopter's here." Outside several sheriff's cars had blocked off the street. Nash saw Kyle talking to one of the helicopter pilots.
Nash bent down and hugged Brett. Then he straightened and pulled Stephanie close.
“Take care of yourself," she said as she stepped back. There were tears in her eyes.
He felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. There were a thousand things to say and no time left. His heart heavy, his chest tight, he jogged to the helicopter. Kyle slapped him on the back as he climbed in.
“Don't get dead," he called.
Nash gave him a thumbs-up, then yelled at the pilot to take off. He watched out the window until Stephanie and Brett were no more than specks. When he couldn't see them anymore, he watched anyway, knowing they were still standing there.