known what to expect…but what stunned her most was how each stroke pushed her orgasm on a little more. She came again and again, trembling in rhythm with his thrusts, sure this was going to kill her, but what a way to go.
She was still climaxing when he shuddered and was still. He collapsed on his side, pulling her with him. They lay there, a tangle of arms and legs, breathing hard, holding on to each other as if they were never going to let go.
THE SUNRISE STARTED shortly before six. Claire knew because she and Wyatt were already in the kitchen, making coffee. She wore one of his soft, warm plaid shirts and nothing else. She felt sexy and wicked and more satisfied than she’d ever felt in her life.
She leaned against the counter while he turned on the machine, then put his hands on her waist and drew her close.
“You’re always beautiful,” he murmured as he kissed her. “Even first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you,” she said, knowing she wasn’t. Not really. But if he thought she was, she wouldn’t do any complaining.
He slipped his hands under the shirt and touched her bare waist. She began to tingle in anticipation. But instead of exploring further, he released her and tucked her hair behind her ears.
“You’re going to have to be careful when you go back to New York,” he said.
“Go back?”
“Won’t you? Eventually?”
She’d never thought about it specifically. “I guess. My apartment is there. My career.” Her life had been, until recently. Now she was less sure.
“You’ll need to learn how to protect yourself. You’re going to be dating and when the men you go out with find out about your financial success, you run the risk of them wanting to take advantage of you. You’ll need to be careful.”
Claire didn’t know what to say. There were so many assumptions in his little speech, where was she supposed to start?
“I don’t know that I’ll be dating,” she said, finding that the easiest one to address.
“What man could resist you?” he asked.
Good answer, but still. “Why would I pick someone like that?”
“Some men are good at hiding that they’re bastards.”
“You’d never want my money.”
“Agreed. But I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about the next guy.”
Next guy? Because they weren’t going to be going out anymore?
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m the guy you met on vacation. I live in Seattle. I have a kid. You live in New York and travel the world.”
Meaning, what? They had nothing in common? It would never work? She felt a sharp pain in her chest and it had nothing to do with being scared or worrying about a panic attack.
“I want the best for you,” he told her. “I don’t want you to get hurt or have regrets.”
Too late for that, she thought, as the truth crashed into her. She was already in a world of pain. Wyatt had been straightforward with her from the very start, and now he was trying to do the right thing and take care of her. It didn’t occur to him that she wanted more. Someone who would care about her enough to insist she stay, no matter how difficult it might be to work out the logistics. Someone who would love her…the way she loved him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NICOLE DID HER BEST not to spend the morning sulking, but it was hard. She was tired of being stuck in the house, tired of being the one left behind. Last night Claire had gone off to conquer her fears so she could return to her exciting life in New York. She’d also had fabulously hot sex with Wyatt. It wasn’t that Nicole cared about Claire sleeping with Wyatt specifically, it’s just that she was soon-to-be divorced, unlikely to trust a man with her heart anytime soon and therefore not going to ever have sex again. She wasn’t the type to simply take a man to bed, not that they were lining up, asking. All she had to show for the last three months of her life was a cheating ex-husband, a stealing, backstabbing baby sister and two ugly scars.
She slumped down on the sofa and tried to tell herself the news wasn’t all bad. She and Claire had reconciled.
“Now that I like her, I know she’s going back to New York,” Nicole muttered, feeling crabbier by the second. “Then I’ll be all alone again.”
She hated feeling like this and was willing to risk watching daytime television to change her mood. But before she could reach for the clicker, she heard a knock at the door.
Nicole pushed herself up onto her crutches and walked to the door. She opened it, expecting to see the mail carrier, or a package delivery. Instead Jesse stood on the front porch.
Nicole’s first emotion was relief, followed by a rush of love. She hadn’t seen Jesse in weeks and despite everything that had happened between them, she’d been worried. Which just went to show Claire wasn’t the only one flirting with crazy.
Nicole was careful not to show any emotion as she said, “What are you doing here?”
“I heard about your surgery.” Her baby sister shifted on the porch. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
The initial rush of affection quickly faded. All of Jesse’s betrayals lined up in her head, making her want to lash out. She didn’t care that her sister looked tired and contrite and even a little sad. She wanted revenge.
She also wanted to talk to Jesse. Damn.
“I’m fine,” Nicole said at last. “Healing.”
“Can I come in?
Instead of answering verbally, Nicole stepped back. She led the way into the house, two parts hoping things could go back to how they’d been before and two parts knowing some wounds took more than a few weeks to heal.
Nicole sank onto the sofa. Jesse stayed standing. She looked around. “The place looks the same.”
Nicole shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about decorating.
“I thought maybe we could talk,” Jesse mumbled.
“About?”
Jesse sucked in a breath. She raised her head. “I’m sorry,” she snapped. “I’m really sorry and you’re not making this easy.”
Nicole pushed down the hope that sparked inside of her. “Making it easy isn’t my job.”
Jesse rolled her eyes. “When are you going to stop taking every opportunity to teach me some stupid moral lesson?”
“When you stop needing them. Come on, Jess, convince me.” It wouldn’t take much, but Nicole wasn’t about to admit that.
“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry you got upset.”
The hope died and anger grew out of death. “How about ‘I’m sorry I stole from you?’ or is that too much like accepting responsibility?”
“It’s a family recipe. No matter how much you might not like it, I’m still a part of this family. The bakery is half mine. I had the right to take it.”
Nicole wasn’t going to admit that. “The recipe belongs to the business. Instead of talking to me or trying to make some equitable arrangement or even ask, you just took what you wanted, then set up a Web site almost exactly like the bakery’s.”
“When was I supposed to talk to you? You threw me out of the house.”
If Nicole had been even a week further along in her healing, she would have stood up to face her sister without crutches, but there was no way her knee would support her.
“You’re right. I wasn’t talking to you. Why is that? Oh, yes, I remember. You slept with my husband. In my own
