She unbuttoned his shirt, moved her hands over his muscles, and she felt like it was the first time all of a sudden. So hyperaware of everything. Of the way her hand looked against his chest. The way his skin felt against hers.
Then suddenly, the control wasn’t hers anymore. His kiss became hard, intense. He stripped his clothes off as he moved them back toward the bed, pressed her down into the mattress. He kissed her neck, down to her breasts, moving his way down between her thighs. He loved to do that. She arched up off the bed when his tongue met with the most sensitive part of her. She had never been the biggest fan of this—it always felt like a lot of pressure to her—but there was something about the way he enjoyed it that made her own pleasure in the act feel that much more intense.
He brought her to the edge, over and over again, but he didn’t let her have release.
Usually he did, as many times as she could. But not this time. He kept her there, poised on the edge, torturing her. Until her skin was beaded with sweat, and she was panting, her version of begging because she couldn’t even speak. She needed it to end, but she didn’t want it to. She wanted to stay right there, where his mouth and hands were playing havoc on her sanity, and they were caught in the whirlwind forever.
Because release was wonderful, but that meant it was over.
Well, until next time. But still. She was caught in the glory of being suspended here.
When he pressed himself inside of her, she tried to stop herself from going over the edge. But she couldn’t. When he thrust in, hard and deep, she unraveled.
She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he thrust hard and without rhythm. Before she could catch her breath, another climax took hold of her, and she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, her whole body on fire.
He found his own release on a harsh, feral growl and she let out her own in response, feeling more animal than human in this beautifully sophisticated hotel room.
Then when it was over, she pressed herself against him, and put her hand over his raging heartbeat.
She wanted to sleep with him like this forever.
She had thought of a lot of different scenarios for her future. Going back to sleeping with Will. Sleeping alone.
But this was the one that felt right. This was the one that felt real.
She wanted him. Whether it was in a tent in Glacier or a roadside motel in Tahoe, she wanted him. She would have him back in their hometown. She wanted him. She fell asleep knowing that. Also knowing that she couldn’t say it. Because she could feel the hesitance in him, even if she didn’t know why.
She and Logan had had a whole lot of honesty. But there were some stones left unturned. She knew that if they were going to do this, she had to be ready. Had to be absolutely ready to turn them over, and she would. But not right now. Right now, she was just going to sleep. Rest with him, and enjoy the certainty she felt in her own soul, because she had a feeling that when she got Logan’s soul tangled up in her certainty, it wasn’t going to be this simple.
TWENTY-EIGHT
This time when they arrived at their destination, she went with Logan to present the car to its new owner.
On the other trips, she had been committed to that moment when they finally got some breathing room from each other. Even though she could sense that Logan actually wanted some space, she didn’t want it.
She could feel the walls going up around him, and it was frustrating her, because it was like he was preparing himself for an end that they hadn’t discussed.
They were both going back to Oregon. Her in first class—and she assumed that he would be in coach, and that was his prerogative. But the point was, they weren’t separating, not necessarily. He knew that she wasn’t going back to Will. He knew that she was headed toward the end of her marriage, not a new beginning. So why in the hell he wasn’t just talking to her rather than shutting down she didn’t know.
And in the past, she would’ve let that go. But this wasn’t the past.
Now, though, they had an audience. An older woman whose eyes lit up with absolute joy when the red Corvette convertible was presented to her.
She smiled, her eyes shining with tears. “This was what Howard and I used to drive around. Back when we were in high school. It was brand-new. Beautiful.”
Samantha’s heart ached.
This car represented something bigger than a car. It was tied up in her love. For Howard.
“How long were you and Howard together?” she asked.
“We were married for sixty-five years. Before he passed.”
The way that the woman spoke of it, still with such a look of electric joy on her face, even in spite of the fact that there was grief there. Of course there was grief.
Samantha wanted that. To speak of the love of her life with that level of joy.
It was the kind of joy she felt when she was with Logan. Really even when he was being kind of a closed-off difficult piece of work.
