I rained kisses down her throat as her hips thrust against me. “Aaron, yes,” she hissed.
I pulled her breast into my mouth again, sucking hard as I let her guide the now-punishing rhythm she was setting.
“God, Aaron, I’m—” she broke off, then shuddered as the orgasm took over.
“There we go,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.” I brought her down from the climax, kissing her forehead, then temple, cheek, and finally her lips.
Stay with me. I love you. I looked into her eyes, a dark blue in the night. “I would do that for you every day,” I said, my voice thick, “if you would let me.”
She swallowed and closed her eyes, breaking eye contact. “I know,” she whispered. “Hold me, Aaron.”
So I held her. And when she asked me to take her to bed, I did that, too. I gave her everything she wanted. And with each kiss, each stroke, I gave her every part of me, seeking a connection she seemed determine to withhold. We brought each other to climax after climax, but it wasn’t enough.
Afterwards, when she thought I was asleep, she slipped out of the bed. She pulled up her jeans and threw on her shirt, then leaned down to grab her bra and underwear. She tiptoed out without a second glance.
The front door clicked shut, and a few minutes later, I heard a car approach and the door open. Probably Wanda. Woman never slept. The door shut, and as the headlights swept across the top corner of the ceiling, I pretended the hollow feeling in my stomach would go away.
26
DEVON 3 MONTHS, 13 DAYS TO GO
IF THERE WAS a worse word in the English language than coward, I didn’t know what it was.
What was I doing? I’d bolted from Aaron’s bed like a criminal, and why? Because it felt so good to have his arms around me, to feel the weight of him on top of me, and to finally breathe again even as he took my breath away?
No. Not because of that. But because I didn’t deserve any of it. Not really.
I’d been in love before. Obviously. Whatever this was with Aaron, it was…different. I might have loved him, but if it was love, then why couldn’t I open up all the way?
Whatever it was, it hurt. It felt like something was squeezing the air out of me and the only time I could really breathe was if I were near him. And that didn’t feel like love. I’d felt love, and it’d been tender and sweet. The way I felt with Aaron wasn’t like that. It was heated, laced with something I couldn’t name. Desire, knowing.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by a familiar woof. I wrapped Gigi’s robe tight around me—this old house was drafty as hell—and headed to the front door. “Mrs. Withers?” There was no keeping the surprise out of my voice.
The woman stood on the porch, clad in a coat with a scarf wound around her neck to ward off the cool, not cold, morning, and stared up at me with something approaching…kindness? Curiosity? Whatever it was, it wasn’t her usual sneer of dislike. Even still, I couldn’t bring myself to invite her inside, so I stepped outside. I rubbed my arms against the chill. “How can I help you?”
“Have you been taking care of this dog?”
Straight to business, naturally. No hello, how are you, none of that. I took my time answering, bending to scratch the little dog’s head as he pawed at my kneecap. “Samson? Yes. He won’t leave me alone, so really, I’ve had no choice.” A thought occurred to me. “Is he yours?”
A rueful smile crossed her face. “I don’t think Samson’s in the market for anyone to ‘own’ him, but I did raise him from puppyhood for a while.”
I couldn’t help the delighted laugh that bubbled out of me at the idea of a puppy Samson. “I would never have guessed he was yours.”
She tittered. Actually tittered. “Well, no one told him he was owned by someone, that’s for certain. He took off and ingratiated himself into the community, and never looked back.”
I wanted to look around to see if I was being pranked. In what world did Mrs. Withers show up on this porch and good-naturedly laugh about a puppy?
Samson turned his attention to Mrs. Withers, allowing her to pet him before finally dipping his head to the nearly empty water bowl on the porch. I knew he’d unleash those big brown eyes on me for his breakfast in a few moments.
“No one seems to know he’s yours. Is…is that why you’re here? Do you want to take him home?”
She waved her hand in the air. “Oh, gracious no. He’s not mine. He’s no one’s, really, but he does seem to have taken a liking to you,” she said wistfully. “But he’s not why I’m here.”
I stiffened and waited for her to turn back into the mean old lady I’d known my whole life.
“I’m here to check on you. How are you?” Her eyes held nothing but open curiosity and kindness as she spoke. No narrowing of her mouth, or hardening of her stance.
“I…I’m fine,” I stammered, defaulting to my normal answer. If I hadn’t reached out to my own brother to admit near-defeat, then I had no business blurting my issues to Gigi’s oldest enemy.
“Good,” she said softly. “That’s good. I’ve heard that this house is giving you quite a run for your money, and I’m guessing that’s not at all what you expected.”
I blinked away the tears that’d popped up at her kindness. “Um. Well, yes. It’s a lot.”
She nodded. “You probably think I’m here to gloat, but I’m not. I realize that I’ve put you in a terrible position, and I want to apologize for that, and at least explain why I’ve done what I’ve done. If you’ll allow it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I should invite her inside, I knew I should, but the ghost of Gigi still wouldn’t let me, apology or not. “Thank you. Sit?” I gestured to the rocking chairs that remained in desperate need of a fresh painting.
Mrs. Withers settled herself and sighed. “Did you know I used to live next door?”
“Where Mrs. Savage lives?”
She shook her head. “No. To the right.”
I let out a low whistle. The property next door was beautiful, two full stories with intricate wooden details on the outside of the house. The yard was immaculate. A white, wooden picket fence stood guard all around the front, and thick hedges shielded what I assumed was a perfect backyard.
“How long ago?”
“When I was a child. Your grandmother and I were best friends.”
