Mother by Fate. Tara Quinn Taylor
“Maybe because I’m not.” Her honesty disarmed him.
Hit him where only his closest friends and family had ever been.
“You want to talk about it?” He wasn’t there to care if she had troubles.
Or to do anything about them.
“I can’t.”
Filled with an uncomfortable urge to help her—this stranger who was nothing to Mari or him—he said, “Anything I can do to help get you through the night? I’d offer you a glass of wine, but I don’t have any.”
He knew why he’d asked for this meeting—but had no real idea why she’d agreed.
Except as a woman who had interest in a man. That was how things got started. You met someone. Found something attractive during the meeting. Asked her out and pursued it from there.
“I have wine, but I don’t want it badly enough to go get it.”
He couldn’t drink. He was working.
“Besides,” she said, before he could get straight to business, “I think the combination of exhaustion, hot water, wine and you would be dangerous.”
Michael found himself fighting the overpowering sense that he had to have this woman. Had to sink himself all the way to her core. To know what that felt like, meeting her at her deepest level.
But his interactions with her thus far had been nothing but lies. As soon as she found out the truth, all the invitation he saw in her eyes would be gone.
“Am I being too forward for you?”
“No! Hell no.” He sat frozen in place, while his penis bounced with the bubbles, reminding him that it was there and had gone without attention for a painfully long time.
“You’ve probably already figured out that I have no idea what I’m doing.” The woman made his situation more difficult with every word she uttered.
She was beautiful. And from what he’d seen, completely unpretentious. None of which mattered.
The fact that he was interested in her, feeling things like regret and concern mixed with the sexual attraction, was what had him off his game.
“Don’t worry. I won’t take advantage of your low moment,” he said, trying desperately to keep them on course.
Or get them there.
“That’s not what I meant.” Her gaze was knowing and clear as she looked at him. “I don’t have as much experience as you would probably expect when it comes to relationships with men.”
He’d never met anyone like her. Innocence and knowing all mixed up together. He had to stop this.
“I don’t have any preconceived notions about your experience.” Not that he’d be opposed to finding out just how experienced she might be. She’d been married after all.
But he had to expose his lies and get on with the job.
“I haven’t been on a date in over a year.”
“I find that hard, if not impossible, to believe.”
“I know, right? I just realized how long it had been this afternoon, and I don’t know if that makes me more pathetic or less.”
“So I’m your first attempt to fix your pathetic dating state based on newly realized self-knowledge?”
“No. I don’t need a man in my life. I just need...”
Sex? Something more? He needed her to finish the sentence.
He hadn’t had a date since Shelley’s murder.
Which made them two thirtysomething adults who had both been...without...for an unnaturally long time.
Making them mutually needy?
“You need a little...diversion?” His voice was low. Rough. It was man-turned-on-in-spite-of-knowing-better.
“Maybe...”
Her eyes were slumberous as she turned her head. And for a split second, he was on this date with her—not a liar manipulating her so he could get what he wanted.
He let the water move him just slightly. His lips met hers. And he felt her moan.
* * *
HIS LIPS DIDN’T just touch hers. They were getting to know her. And Sara wanted more.
She was a woman spending her life alone. By choice now.
But there had to be more to life than women who were afraid of the men they loved. More than men hurting the women who loved them.
Logically she knew there was.
But she’d been separated for so long from the part of life where men loved and honored their women.
“Mmm.” She heard herself. The sound embarrassed her. And she wanted more.
His lips were thicker than hers. Harder, and compelling in their differentness. Her nipples tingled against the tight spandex of her suit.
She needed to escape reality, to know that being with a man still felt good, and he was giving her a way.
He hadn’t touched her other than with his lips. And was turning her on, making her not care about anything but the moment, like never before.
Sara’s breath bubbled in unison with the water holding them.
“Oh, God, what have I done?” The searing, pain-filled tone reached her first. His words filtered in with the realization that rather than pulling her closer, he’d pushed away from her instead.
It was a new experience for her—having sex stop once it had begun. Not that she’d ever gone in for a one-night stand before. Or for having sex before dating for a while first. But...
The pulse in her private area wasn’t gone. Her nipples still yearned for his touch. And the wounded cry spoke straight to her heart.
“It’s okay, Michael. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Nothing happened here.”
He was sitting across the pool from her. The jets were on a timer and would be shutting down soon.
“It’s not okay.”
She should go. Take care of herself so she’d be ready to face tomorrow. But right now, all she wanted was to sit with a man she’d only known a few hours. Sit with him until he felt better.
What did she know about Michael Edison? That he ran a kennel for rescue animals. And lived in her complex. Certainly not enough to have had such a strong reaction to him.
“Do you want to talk?”
His gaze as he sought hers was raw. Intense. “No. I want to move inside you until neither one of us can form a thought, let alone talk.”
She should have been embarrassed. Maybe offended. Instead, his honesty turned her on.
“But that’s not okay,” she said, repeating his words back to him.
“No.”
By his tone of voice, the strength of it, she’d guess whatever his problem was, it was a big one.
“You said you’re no longer married.”
“I’m not.”
“Is there someone else?”
Just because he was divorced didn’t mean he didn’t have a significant other. He’d been single for three years, he’d said. Plenty enough time to develop something with someone else.
Not enough of something to be living with her, though, she surmised. Michael didn’t strike her as the type of man who’d ever step out on his woman. But then, what did she really know about him?
Other