It was fast this time, hungry and passionate, hot enough to set the place on fire. And when Pierce drove home the last time, Jacquie’s nails digging into his back as she came with a cry again, he heard himself roar with satisfaction.
He leaned his head on her shoulder, listening to his heart thunder as he tried to catch his breath. “If that was less,” he whispered. “Sign me up for another round.”
Jacquie rolled him to his back, angling herself over him as she laughed and laughed.
She only fell silent when he kissed her again.
“What are you doing?” Jacquie asked when she returned to the kitchen. She’d washed and changed, and felt about ten thousand times better than when she’d left work. She loved this time of the evening when the city fell into darkness and the lights came on—it was even better with Pierce in her kitchen. She stood beside him, knowing she shouldn’t have been surprised that all the ingredients were lined up in neat rows on the counter.
“They call it mise en place. It means you get everything measured and ready before you start, then you can assemble the meal faster.”
She nodded, leaning over to look at the recipe. “My mom never measured anything when she cooked. That’s why I never learned. It seemed too subjective.”
“Subjective?”
“Take enough butter and add flour until it looks right.” She shrugged, as mystified by those directions as ever. Pierce indicated the quantities on the recipe card and she had a look at it. “This, I might be able to handle.”
“But you don’t have to.”
“Good, because I’ve been known to make terrible cakes from mixes.”
“Is that even possible?”
She nodded. “Trust me.”
Pierce’s smile flashed then he surveyed the kitchen. “A heavy saucepan?”
“There.” She pointed and he opened the cupboard, choosing a pot and setting it on the stove.
Pierce was in a better mood than Jacquie had ever seen him, more at ease but just as confident and purposeful.
Her mood was pretty good, too.
It felt right to have him in her home.
She felt terrible that he’d thought even for a moment that she was imagining herself to be with Mitchell, or that she was still in love with her husband. It had been a long time—and the truth of it was that sex with Mitchell had never been as good as it already was with Pierce.
Why wasn’t it becoming routine? Why wasn’t it less? Was it just the novelty? Was it his technique?
Of course, they’d end up taking each other for granted. Of course, they’d lose the spark. It was only a matter of time. Jacquie didn’t intend to stay in the relationship long enough to find out.
She wondered how long Pierce thought this adventure would last, but didn’t want to talk about that in the rosy afterglow. She’d take it a day at a time, and treasure each one.
The phone rang again, but they ignored it by silent mutual consent.
“Is it good or bad that you have kids?” Pierce asked, flicking a glance her way. Obviously he knew who was calling.
“Good, of course!”
“I mean, do they remind you of Mitchell? Do they keep the heartache fresh? Or give power to your ghosts?”
All fair questions. Jacquie drummed her fingers on the counter, weighing her answer. “You need to give me a job. I have to do something. I’m not used to standing aside.”
“Or being spoiled,” he teased and she smiled.
“Guilty as charged.”
Pierce poured oil into the saucepan and added a bit of butter. “Stir so the butter doesn’t burn,” he said, giving her a wooden spoon. “Stirring was the only credential on your kitchen resume so I’m going with it.”
“We don’t need toast?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Or boiled eggs.”
She smiled back at him and stirred. They were standing beside each other and she was keenly aware of the heat of her beside him, the ache of wanting more. It was becoming more not less, which defied everything Jacquie knew to be true.
Lack of experience on her part, no doubt.
“Yes and no,” she said finally, answering his questions about her kids. “They’ve given me purpose and a reason to keep on going when things looked bad—although the future never again seemed as dark as it did that morning at the morgue.”
Pierce grimaced. “Been there and done that,” he said softly. “Those memories never fade.”
Jacquie nodded agreement. She’d love to wipe that sight from her memory. “I see him in them sometimes. A gesture or a look. It’s funny because Cole resembles him the most but really didn’t know him. So, that’s poignant. Cole makes a joke and gestures just the way Mitchell would have done, and it kind of stabs me in the heart. It’s not as strong as it used to be or as surprising.” She stirred a little harder. “But for a long time, those moments made me furious, too.”
“How could he leave you?”
“How could he choose to miss out on them?”
Jacquie could hear the outrage and disappointment in her own voice, and knew that some of her anger would always remain.
“Why that sugar bowl? Is it important?”
“His mom gave us her china when we got married. The other pieces were all chipped over the years, but we kept using them. But Ashley hated them.”
“Not you? It doesn’t seem your style.”
Jacquie laughed. “I couldn’t say as much then, but no, I didn’t like the pattern either. When Ashley got her first job, she bought a new set of plain white dishes for us. Those are the ones we’ve used ever since. She insisted that the old ones
