Christmas Where They Belong. Marion Lennox
just the problem,’ she whispered. ‘There’s nothing crazy about the way I feel about you. That’s what makes it so scary. But, scary or not, for tonight, Rob, for the last time, I want to be your wife.’
* * *
For those tense few minutes when they’d first seen each other, when they’d come together in the house for the first time in years, they’d made believe it was the first time. They were strangers. They’d relived that first connection.
Now...it was as if they’d pressed the fast forward on the replay button, Rob thought, and suddenly it was the first time he was to take her to bed.
But this was no make-believe, and it wasn’t the first time. He knew everything there was to know about this woman. His wife.
But maybe that was wrong. Yes, he knew everything there was to know about the Julie of years ago, the Julie who’d married him, but there was a gaping hole of years. How had she filled it? He didn’t know. He hardly knew how he’d filled it himself.
But for now, by mutual and unspoken consent, those four years didn’t exist. Only the fierce magnetic attraction existed—the attraction that had him wanting her the moment he’d set eyes on her.
They hadn’t ended up in bed on their first date, but it had nearly killed them not to. They’d lasted half an hour into their second date. He’d gone to her apartment to pick her up...they hadn’t even reached the bedroom.
And now, here, the desire was the same. He’d seen her in her flimsy nightgown and he wanted her with every fibre of his being. And even if it was with caveats—for the last time—he tugged her into his arms and she melted.
Fused.
‘You’re sure?’ he asked and she nodded and the sound she made was almost a purr. Memories had been set aside—the hurtful ones had, anyway.
‘I’m sure,’ she whispered and tugged his face close and her whisper was a breath on his mouth.
He lifted her and she curled against him. She looped her arms around his neck and twisted, so she could kiss him.
Somehow he made it to the bedroom door. The bed lay, invitingly, not ten feet away, but he had to stop and let himself be kissed. And kiss back.
Their mouths fused. It was like electricity, a fierce jolt on touching, then a force so great that neither could pull away. Neither could think of pulling away.
He had his wife in his arms. He couldn’t think past that. He had his Julie and his mind blocked out everything else.
His wife. His love.
* * *
She’d forgotten how her body melted. She’d forgotten how her body merged into his. How the outside world disappeared. How every sense centred on him. Or on them, for that was how it was. Years ago, the moment he’d first touched her, she’d known what marriage was. She’d felt married the first time they’d kissed.
She’d abandoned herself to him then, as simple as that. She’d surrendered and he’d done the same. His lovely strong body, virile, heavy with the scent of aroused male, wanting her, taking her, demanding everything, but in such a way that she knew that if she pulled away he’d let her go.
Only she knew she’d never pull away. She couldn’t and neither could he.
Their bodies were made for each other.
And now...now her mouth was plundering his, and his hers, and the sensations of years ago were flooding back. Oh, the taste of him. The feel... Her body was on fire with wanting, with the knowledge that somehow he was hers again, for however long...
Until morning?
No. She wasn’t thinking that. It didn’t matter how long. All that mattered was now.
Somehow, some way, they reached the bed, but even before they were on top of it she was fighting with the buttons of his shirt. She wanted this man’s body. She wanted to feel the strength of him, the hardness of his ribs, the tightness of his chest. She wanted to taste the salt of him.
Oh, his body... It was hers; it still felt like hers.
Four years ago...
No. Forget four years. Just think about now.
His kiss deepened. Her nightgown was slipping away and suddenly it was easy. Memories were gone. All she could think of was him. All she wanted was him.
Oh, the feel of him. The taste of him.
Rob.
The years had gone. Everything had gone. There was only this man, this body, this moment.
‘Welcome home, my love,’ he whispered as their clothes disappeared, as skin met skin, as the night disappeared in a haze of heat and desire.
Home... There was so much unsaid in that word. It was a word of longing, a word of hope, a word of peace.
It meant nothing, she thought. It couldn’t.
But her arms held him. Her mouth held him. Her whole body held him.
For this moment he was hers.
For this moment he was right. She was home.
* * *
He’d forgotten a woman could feel this good.
He’d forgotten...Julie?
But of course he hadn’t. He’d simply put her in a place in his mind that was inaccessible. But now she was here, his, welcoming him, loving him.
She tasted fabulous. She still smelled like...like... He didn’t know what she smelled like.
Had he ever asked her what perfume she wore? Maybe it was only soap. Fresh, citrus, it was in her hair.
He’d forgotten how erotic it was, to lie with his face in her tumbled hair, to feel the wisps around his face, to finger and twist and feel her body shudder as she responded to his touch.
The room was in darkness and that was good. If he could see her...her eyes might get that dead look, the look that said there was nothing left, for her or for him.
It was a look that had almost killed him.
But he wouldn’t think of that. He couldn’t, for her fingers were curved around his thighs, tugging him closer, closer...
His wife. His Julie. His own.
* * *
They loved and loved again. They melted into each other as if they’d never parted.
They loved.
He loved.
She was his.
The possessive word resonated in his mind, primeval as time itself. She was crying. He felt her tears, slipping from her face to his shoulder.
He gathered her to him and held, simply held, and he thought that at this moment if any man tried to take her his response would be primitive.
His.
Tomorrow he’d walk away. He’d accepted by now that their marriage was over, that Julie could never emerge from the thick armour she’d shielded herself with. In order to survive he needed to move on. He knew it. His shrink had said it. He knew it for the truth.
So he would walk away. But first...here was a gift he’d long stopped hoping for. Here was a crack in that appalling armour. For tonight she’d shed it.
‘For tonight I’m loving you,’ he whispered and she kissed him, fiercely, possessively, as if those vows they’d made so long ago still held.
And they did hold—for tonight—and that was all he was focusing on. There was no tomorrow. There was nothing but now.
He kissed her back. He loved her back.
‘For tonight I’m loving