Drunk on the taste, the smell, the feel of her, he wasn’t sure he could have stopped even if a stop sign had bopped him in the face. He certainly didn’t want to stop. As he thrust inside her, her body closed around him like a tight glove. It took everything to hold back.
Andrew wanted this to last. For her. For him.
He slowed the pace, scattering kisses down her neck, murmuring sweet words as he did so, licking the sensitive area behind her ear and watching her respond with a mew of delight.
Before long, it felt as if they were racing headlong to the finish line at Suffolk Downs with a clear track ahead. Her hips pistoned, keeping pace with his thrusts.
When she cried out and went over the edge, Andrew dived headfirst after her, not wanting to let go of her, not wanting the connection to end.
Sylvie had never had an out-of-body experience. But as she lay on the bed with Andrew’s warm, naked body pressed against hers, she wondered if she was having one. For the first time in months she was at peace. If this was what an out-of-body experience felt like, bring it on. For now she would relish the comfort it brought to her.
Gently she glided her hand down his silky hair, then stroked his neck. Sylvie had always loved his body with the broad shoulders and tight abs, the lean hips and muscular legs. The slight patch of chest hair now tickling her breasts was familiar and comforting.
She’d missed him. She’d missed this closeness. She could admit that now. What was the harm? After all, this wasn’t really happening, so she could indulge without guilt. He was her personal two-pound box of chocolates.
She planted a kiss against his neck and sighed. There had been only one man before Andrew, a boy in high school. That mistake had steered her away from intimate relationships for many years. Until Andrew had strode into the bakery where she’d been working.
Sylvie remembered that day as if it had just happened. The second she saw him, the air that had smelled of cinnamon and yeasty goodness had begun to sizzle. She’d been so taken aback by the unexpected sensations flooding her body that she’d barely spoken. He came back the next day and the next. After a week they’d been conversing easily and indulging in some flirting.
When he asked her out to dinner, she’d said yes. It had been the beginning of a free fall she’d been powerless to stop.
If she’d only known then what she knew now, would she have had sex with him that night?
She started to sigh and then realized she couldn’t quite draw a deep breath.
“I’m crushing you.” The deep voice sounded near her ear, and suddenly the pressure against her body was gone, along with the comforting warmth.
Sylvie’s blood turned ice-cold. She blinked once. Blinked again. Those piercing gray eyes remained focused on her face.
With a hand that trembled slightly, she reached out and touched his bare shoulder. Only then was she forced to accept he wasn’t an apparition but a flesh-and-blood man.
I slept with Andrew.
Desperately needing to put some distance between them, she placed both hands against his chest and gave a hard push. To her amazement he tumbled off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thud.
She’d forgotten the size of the bed and hadn’t considered that the only place for him to go was off the side. Lifting herself up on one elbow, Sylvie leaned over.
A wry smile lifted Andrew’s lips as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “If you’d wanted me off the bed, you could have just asked.”
“You are really here.”
He smiled. “As opposed to...?”
Warmth flooded her face. “This.” She gestured with one hand between her and him. “It felt like a dream.”
A look she couldn’t quite decipher—and wasn’t convinced she wanted to figure out—crossed his face. Before saying another word, he rose to his feet and began pulling on his clothes.
She took the opportunity to do the same.
“The sex was always good between us.” He tossed out the comment and finished buttoning his shirt.
She tugged on her shoes. No point denying the obvious. “It was.”
As if wanting to relax the suddenly tense atmosphere, Andrew took a seat on the rickety chair and gazed unsmiling at her. “Tell me why you left.”
Though he hadn’t come right out and said “tell me why you left me,” the accusation hung in the air between them.
Feeling already a little weak in the knees, Sylvie plopped down on the edge of the bed and turned to face him. “I sent you a text—”
“We were engaged to be married and you sent me a text.” Despite his calm demeanor, ice-cold fury underscored the words.
Sylvie resisted the almost overpowering urge to wring her hands. And her second impulse, which was to flee.
You’re getting real good at running, he’d told her. The words—and her fear they might prove true—had her staying put.
“Leaving that way was my only choice.” She lifted her chin, met his steely-eyed look with an unflinching one of her own. “I was concerned if we spoke face-to-face you might change my mind.”
“Were you?”
Sylvie shivered at the coldness in his tone, at the hot anger in his eyes. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him like this before. The Andrew O’Shea she knew was always so affable. An easygoing guy with a warm smile.
He wasn’t smiling now.
“Don’t you think, after all we shared, you owed me more than a text?” He spit the last word as if the taste was bitter as anise on his tongue.
“I wasn’t the woman you thought I was,” she said. “You fell in love with someone who didn’t—doesn’t—exist.”
The fact that he’d been willing to sever relationships in his family for her sent a chill down Sylvie’s spine.
“You’re right about one thing.” Andrew leaned forward. He rested his forearms on his thighs, his gaze never leaving her face. “I don’t know you. The woman I thought I knew would never have walked away from me without an explanation.”
Anger resonated strongly in his voice, but it was the hint of hurt she heard that had shame coursing through her veins like milk gone sour.
“You owe me an explanation.” Abruptly he sat back. “I’m not leaving without one.”
This was good, Sylvie reassured herself even as panic threatened. It was best they clear the air, so they could both move on. The trouble was, how much to tell?
As if he sensed her hesitation, his gaze sharpened. “The truth, Sylvie.”
Her laugh, intended to sound casual, reverberated with nerves instead. “Do you want me to put my hand on a Bible and raise my right hand?”
“Don’t be flippant.”
Sylvie didn’t feel flippant, just incredibly weary. And sad. Sad that their once bright and shiny relationship had become tarnished with guilt and recriminations.
She straightened her shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. Hadn’t she always told herself she couldn’t go wrong telling the truth? But if she told him about the conversation she’d overheard, he might be angry with his father.
No, she didn’t have to tell