didn’t come and sit down to listen. He didn’t blame her.
He hoped, though, that she heard enough of what he was telling them that she would know how much he regretted what had happened.
He said, “You remember that story even if you forget all the rest.” Then he stood up. “Time for bed.”
Charlie hugged him fiercely. Emma said, “Don’t go, Gabe. Don’t go.”
But as he gave her a goodnight kiss, he said, “I have to.”
They went upstairs and he gave them each a last hug, then left Freddie to say her goodnights to them. He went back down and stood for just a minute, looking around, letting it all seep in. The memories. The children. The woman.
Then he picked up his duffel bags once more.
“Gabe?”
He turned. Freddie stood on the stairs. She looked pale, fragile. Breakable. Hurt-because of him.
“Please. Wait.”
He didn’t want to wait. Didn’t know how much more he could stand.
But Freddie came down the stairs. Her fingers knotted together. “You said you were sorry. But I’m the one who should be saying it. It’s just… I think about Mark. He did foolish things. Risky things. He…died! Charlie…”
She broke off. The tears that had been threatening since the moment Emma had pounded up the drive with the news spilled over now. She put her hands to her face. “Oh, help.”
He had no choice. He dropped the duffel and went to her. “Charlie didn’t die,” he said thickly. “And he won’t try it again. He won’t do what Mark did, either. He’ll learn. We all do stupid stuff as boys. It’s part of the definition.” He took hold of her arms, but that didn’t seem enough, so he wrapped them around her, drew her in. “He was up a tree, Freddie. Scared, but safe. He learned his lesson.”
“But you…you could have…”
“I should have gone up the tree, too,” Gabe said wryly, “but I didn’t want you having to call out the fire brigade. How would that have looked? What a British version of a cowboy I would have been!”
He saw the faintest hint of a smile touch her mouth. She looked up into his eyes. “You’re a wonderful cowboy. The best. Thank you.”
He snorted softly. “Don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”
“You saved Charlie. And-” she faltered for a second “-you taught me a lesson, too.”
He looked at her blankly.
Freddie went up on tiptoe. “That there are some risks worth taking,” she whispered and she touched her lips to his.
He only meant to comfort her. Truly. He only wanted to share on a deeper level all that they had shared today.
It was, perhaps, the one time in his life he’d held a beautiful woman in his arms and had not been hoping for more.
But somehow comforting and sharing turned to touching, to caressing, to kissing, to loving. And when Freddie took his hand and led him back up the stairs to her room, he didn’t say no.
He’d wanted her forever. Couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t gone to sleep thinking of Freddie Crossman and awakened with thoughts of her in his mind.
But still he had to ask. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
The last thing he wanted was to have her wish it had never happened. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. You’re overwrought because of what almost happened to Charlie.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” And then she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.
There was tenderness in this kiss-as there had been in the earlier one. But now there was desire, too.
Gabe knew about desire. Knew about desperation. His whole body seemed to throb with it, with his need of her.
“Freddie,” he warned, voice shaking as he gave her one last chance. He still had-he hoped-a thread of control.
Until she tugged his shirt loose from his waistband and slid her hands up underneath, caressing his heated flesh, making the blood pound in his veins. And he was gone. Lost.
He kissed her hungrily, eagerly. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She made quicker work of his, then peeled the shirt off his shoulders and ran her hands over his chest. Then, as if she hadn’t already lit his fire, she pressed a dozen tiny kisses here and there.
He muttered. He stumbled trying to shed his jeans and get out of his boots. With her hands Freddie both soothed and excited him.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” And if there was the barest hint of emphasis on the word
But not now. Later.
In the morning.
Not yet.
They tumbled onto the bed, and then, as if by some unspoken accord, their movements slowed, became languid, their touches gentled.
Gabe was no young buck, desperate to fulfill his body’s urgings. He wanted her, yes, desperately. But he could take his time-enjoy, appreciate, savor the softness, the smoothness, the suppleness that was Freddie Crossman.
He stretched out on the bed and leaned up on one elbow to survey her.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Ah, yes.” With one finger he traced a line from the tip of her nose across her lips to her chin, then down between her breasts. His fingers lingered there. His mouth touched there. Freddie shivered. She clutched at him.
“Gabe!” Her voice was urgent, needy.
He smiled. But it was a strained smile because he was needy, too. Needing Freddie. He kissed each breast. His fingers moved down, found her-slick and soft and ready for him. She squirmed under his touch.
He shut his eyes. Bit his lip. Held his breath.
“Come to me, Gabe!” She reached for him, ran her hands over him, found the hottest, hardest part of him, making him exhale harshly.
“Freddie!”
“Now, Gabe,” she urged. And then she brought him home.
That was what it felt like. Home. Where he was warm and safe and loved. Home-where he belonged.
Sex had always been fun for Gabe. It had never made him want to weep before. Now it did.
For love. For joy. For the pure unadulterated beauty of the way they fit together-body and soul.
And then because even that could be better-and he knew it-he began to
