Every time he spoke to her, he thought of his son. Sean would be eight now, but when he'd died, he was just a little older than Kelsie. It wasn't the little girl's fault, but every giggle and innocent question felt like someone ripping the scab off a wound. He wasn't ready to be around kids, that much was certain.
With a muttered curse, he turned his attention back to the task at hand, and pushed against the toe of the boot to loosen it. The effort caused pain to pulsate through his shoulders and he lost his grip on the boot. It thudded to the floor.
“ Sam?” Molly hurried into the room. Her skin glowed from the heat and steam of the bathroom.
He ached to caress it. “Sorry. Just dropped my boot.” The pain in his back forgotten, he tried not to stare at the damp spot on the front of her shirt. It caused the fabric to cling in all the right places.
Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because her cheeks turned rosy and she backed down the hallway before she ducked into the bathroom again. “Hurry up and brush, Kels. You're already up past your bedtime.”
For the next twenty minutes, Sam sat in the li ving room. He pretended it was because his back and leg hurt too much to move, but the soft murmurs and giggles coming from Kelsie's room sounded like the sweetest music to his ears. Despite the ache centered in his chest, he relished the memories that rushed to the front of his brain. He saw himself making his son’s breakfast, supervising his baths and best of all, tucking him in at night. On evenings like this, Sean would play outside until the last ray of sunlight had been swallowed by the horizon, and then he'd fight sleep. It was as if he was so afraid he'd miss something that Sam would have to corral the boy and throw him over a shoulder kicking and hollering. By the time they reached Sean's room, the child would be belly laughing and pounding on Sam's back.
Sam would toss him like a sack of potatoes on the bed, then he'd tuck him in. He inhaled, remembering the scent of his son's hair. It was a sweet mixture of little boy sweat, sunshine and fresh air.
His breath caught as his throat swelled. It hurt so damn bad. He bent his head and tried to swallow the knot of pain. Tears sprang to his eyes and he blinked them away. He was a grown man, for Pete's sake.
The sofa cushion dipped and he felt Molly sit beside him. Embarrassed, he refused to look at her. He hadn't cried since the funeral. Now, in the space of a few hours, he'd been reduced to tears twice for no reason.
Molly' rested her hand on his forearm, stroking gently. She didn't speak, just touched. Her fingers , feather-light, seared a path on his skin. He held his breath when her hand dropped to his leg. She applied more pressure, running her hand up the outside of his thigh.
Grief and desire collided, merging into a supernova of emotion. Sam stood and pulled her up against him. She offered no resistance as he covered her mouth with his own. His hands roamed her back as they kissed. He shivered as her fingers ran through his hair. She tasted so good, and he couldn't get enough. He soaked up her touch and taste like parched earth in a summer storm. He slid a hand beneath her shirt and thrilled at the shudder that swept her as he cupped her breast. Her skin was smooth and warm. She offered her neck to him as he trailed kisses to her collarbone.
“Wait. Not here.”
Sam dragged his mouth away. “What?”
“ My room. Not here.” Molly tugged his hand and led him down the hall.
He admired the fit of her jeans as she led the way. Inside, she shut the door and pressed him against it with a kiss as she worked at the buttons of his shirt. Surprised, but turned on more than he thought possible, he allowed her to do what she wished. He groaned when she licked his chest and grinned at the impish gleam in her eyes.
He decided two could play this game as he reached for the hem of her polo and tugged it over her head, tossing
With a muttered curse, he turned his attention back to the task at hand, and pushed against the toe of the boot to loosen it. The effort caused pain to pulsate through his shoulders and he lost his grip on the boot. It thudded to the floor.
“ Sam?” Molly hurried into the room. Her skin glowed from the heat and steam of the bathroom.
He ached to caress it. “Sorry. Just dropped my boot.” The pain in his back forgotten, he tried not to stare at the damp spot on the front of her shirt. It caused the fabric to cling in all the right places.
Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because her cheeks turned rosy and she backed down the hallway before she ducked into the bathroom again. “Hurry up and brush, Kels. You're already up past your bedtime.”
For the next twenty minutes, Sam sat in the li ving room. He pretended it was because his back and leg hurt too much to move, but the soft murmurs and giggles coming from Kelsie's room sounded like the sweetest music to his ears. Despite the ache centered in his chest, he relished the memories that rushed to the front of his brain. He saw himself making his son’s breakfast, supervising his baths and best of all, tucking him in at night. On evenings like this, Sean would play outside until the last ray of sunlight had been swallowed by the horizon, and then he'd fight sleep. It was as if he was so afraid he'd miss something that Sam would have to corral the boy and throw him over a shoulder kicking and hollering. By the time they reached Sean's room, the child would be belly laughing and pounding on Sam's back.
Sam would toss him like a sack of potatoes on the bed, then he'd tuck him in. He inhaled, remembering the scent of his son's hair. It was a sweet mixture of little boy sweat, sunshine and fresh air.
His breath caught as his throat swelled. It hurt so damn bad. He bent his head and tried to swallow the knot of pain. Tears sprang to his eyes and he blinked them away. He was a grown man, for Pete's sake.
The sofa cushion dipped and he felt Molly sit beside him. Embarrassed, he refused to look at her. He hadn't cried since the funeral. Now, in the space of a few hours, he'd been reduced to tears twice for no reason.
Molly' rested her hand on his forearm, stroking gently. She didn't speak, just touched. Her fingers , feather-light, seared a path on his skin. He held his breath when her hand dropped to his leg. She applied more pressure, running her hand up the outside of his thigh.
Grief and desire collided, merging into a supernova of emotion. Sam stood and pulled her up against him. She offered no resistance as he covered her mouth with his own. His hands roamed her back as they kissed. He shivered as her fingers ran through his hair. She tasted so good, and he couldn't get enough. He soaked up her touch and taste like parched earth in a summer storm. He slid a hand beneath her shirt and thrilled at the shudder that swept her as he cupped her breast. Her skin was smooth and warm. She offered her neck to him as he trailed kisses to her collarbone.
“Wait. Not here.”
Sam dragged his mouth away. “What?”
“ My room. Not here.” Molly tugged his hand and led him down the hall.
He admired the fit of her jeans as she led the way. Inside, she shut the door and pressed him against it with a kiss as she worked at the buttons of his shirt. Surprised, but turned on more than he thought possible, he allowed her to do what she wished. He groaned when she licked his chest and grinned at the impish gleam in her eyes.
He decided two could play this game as he reached for the hem of her polo and tugged it over her head, tossing
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