A Gift for All Seasons (16 page)

She returned the favor, skimming her fingers over the scarred tissue, only to frown when he flinched again.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, plucking back her hand.

“No.” He took her hand, kissed it. Put it right back where it had been.

“Then why do you keep flinching?”

His laugh was low. “Why do you think?”

Okay, she might catch on yet. Hopefully before they both died of old age. She pressed her own kiss to his chest, then laid her cheek against it as she wrapped her arm around his rib cage, shoving aside his shirt, inhaling his scent. His strength and courage and goodness. Trying not to think of anything but that. “How long has it been,” she asked quietly, “since you’ve been touched?” She lifted her face. “Like this, I mean?”

The heat kicked on, the draft like a caress. “Too long. You?”

She did a little flinching of her own. True, things seemed to be going pretty well, there didn’t seem to be any reason to tell him. Wouldn’t want to ruin the flow and all that. That said, neither did she want to outright lie...

“It feels like forever,” she said, blowing out a sigh of relief when Patrick got to his feet, then hauled her to hers before leading her to the bed. Where he posthaste removed the rest of his clothes, then—with equal speed—removed the rest of hers, at which point it occurred to her he might not exactly be in the mood to go slow. Not after however many months it had been.

This could be an issue, since she had no idea if she was going be able to keep up. Or open up fast enough to not get hurt.

So tell him....

He pulled her against him, naked to naked, the sensation so incredible she might’ve passed out if she hadn’t already been lying down.

Then he started to do things.

“What do you like?” he said, somehow kissing her, touching her, everywhere at once, and through the haze she thought,
Aw, thoughtful.

“What you’re, uh, doing right now—” whatever that was “—is great, thanks...”

Hel-
lo, was he really going to...?

He really was.

And she was
really
going to let him, oh, yes she was, she thought, lifting her hips and basically—with an enormous sigh that made him laugh—giving in to The Force that was Patrick Shaughnessy’s mouth. His warm, soft, amazing mouth. Which she could feel smiling against her.

Funny how she’d always thought she’d find this a little, well, awkward. If not embarrassing. Especially making these noises with an audience. But no. What this was, was...fun.

And becoming more fun by the second, the moans turning into pants...and she gasped, clutching at the bedclothes like she was going to fly off if she didn’t, and then...
bam
.

Bammity-bam-bam-
BAM
.

Holy cow
.

Patrick laughed, which is when April realized she’d said that out loud. Which is when she also realized—as her brain cells began to float back into place—that it was
her turn
. I mean, that was only fair, right? Except, um....

Hmm.

“Listen,” he murmured into her ear, holding her close, “don’t feel obligated to return the favor, I didn’t do it for that reason.”

“N-no?”

He chuckled. “Nope. I mean, if that floats your boat, fine. But if it doesn’t, I’m sure we can figure out something else to keep us occupied. Although...” He kissed her hand, then pressed it to his chest again, “feel free to go where the spirit leads.”

Man as Ouija board, heh,
she thought, as she started to explore, frowning only briefly when she realized how much scarring there was, how much pain he had to have been in for so long. In a weird way, though, it gave her an out, that he’d think she was getting used to
his
body instead of getting used to a man’s body, period. It was amazing, though, how quickly she picked up on his signals—
his
moans and sighs, the changes in his breathing patterns, his sighs of obvious pleasure. Heartened that she might be able to pull this off after all, she got bolder, touching places she’d never seen except in pictures or the occasional cable flick, amazed at how natural it felt, with the right person.

Oh, yeah, the spirit was leading, all right, his parts right into hers, if his flipping her onto her back was any indication. Not to mention the hardness of a certain body part which she’d made quite the close friend by now.

Although not as close as they were about to get, she thought, trying not to tense as he leaned over her, grabbing a condom off the nightstand. Oh, heck, what if he wanted her to put it on? She
knew
she should’ve picked up some bananas at the store...

She heard the package rip, some snapping—and grunting?—then he was between her legs, and again, instinct took over as she opened to him, almost crazy with anticipation from wanting him inside her.

And then he was, with a single thrust that caught her by surprise, making her cry out—and not in a good way—pushing him off her before she even knew she was doing it.

Chapter Eight

“O
h, Patrick...I am
so
sorry.”

Her words barely registered.

Feeling like he’d been knocked clear into an alternate universe, Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, his mood—among other things—rapidly deflating. And it had been a good mood. The best damn mood he’d been in since he couldn’t remember when. Her laughter, her no-holds-barred responses to his touch, the way she made him feel like nothing else mattered but what they were doing, right at that moment. To say it’d never been like that was an understatement. Except then, right before his mood got even better, she’d screamed, shoved him away. And in that split second afterward, he’d been horrified, confused, thinking it’d been too long, that in his eagerness to please her, to please both of them, he’d been too rough, he’d hurt her...

Another split second later, it hit him. That it hadn’t been him.

“You’re a virgin,” he said dully into the darkness, too stunned to even be incredulous.

He heard her sigh. “Was. I think. Technically.”

“How is that even possible! You were
married,
for cripes’ sake...”

“Technically,” she said again.

He turned to see she was backed against the headboard, facing the window with the sheet bunched at her breasts, and he silently swore. Yeah, he still felt like he’d been clobbered with a baseball bat, but in hindsight, there’d been clues, hadn’t there? That he’d had to show her where—and how—to touch him, a certain...amazement in her reactions, like someone seeing the ocean for the first time. But in the back of his mind—way in the back, thinking hadn’t been his top priority right then—he’d chalked it up to them being new together. Or that’d it been a while since her husband.

Then she lifted the edge of the sheet to wipe her cheek, and chagrin flooded through him, diluting the frustration. If not the confusion.

He reached for her hand, his heart constricting when she grabbed his back. “Are you okay?” he asked, wishing she’d look at him. More than half glad she didn’t. “Did I hurt you?”

She licked her lips. “It was...a surprise. I thought I was ready. I mean, I wanted...” Her eyes squeezed shut, then opened again. “I must’ve tensed or something...it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry,” she whispered again on a little sob, shaking her head. “That was stupid, I should’ve listened to my instincts and told you. But the girls said...”

“The girls? Your cousins, you mean?” When she nodded, he pressed, “The girls said what? That it was better
not
to tell me?”

Another nod. “They said you’d freak.”

“Like I’m not freaking now?”

Finally, she looked at him. “You don’t sound like you’re freaking.”

No, he’d done that before, hadn’t he? When he’d insisted on doing this in the dark. Because if they hadn’t, he probably would’ve picked up on those clues, seen in her face that something wasn’t right. So how could he fault her for not being totally honest with him?

Patrick shut his eyes. Damn. “So...that, uh, other thing we did. Was that—?”

“What can I say, it’s a night of firsts.”

Exhaling loudly, he stood, patting the nightstand for the box of matches he’d seen before they turned out the light. The box found, he opened it, her soft, surprised gasp that he’d changed his mind barely louder than the whoosh of the match when he struck it.

“What are you doing?” she said when he touched the flame to the already burned wick on the scented candle, then another, and another, until the room gently pulsed with the warm glow.

“Shedding a little light on things,” he said, shaking out the match and pinching the tip with his fingers to make sure it was out before tossing it in the trash can on the other side of the stand.

“Turn around,” she said gently.

He did, his hands curled at his hips. Nobody had seen him naked since Natalie, when he’d been dumb enough to think it wouldn’t matter to her. That as his wife, she’d pledged to stick by him, be with him, no matter what. Right?

With obvious relish, April’s eyes slowly grazed his body, inch by inch, a smile gradually curving her lips.

“Go ahead, take your time, I’m in no hurry,” he said, and she laughed.

“Can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

“April, don’t—”

“I’m serious.” Then she held out her hand and whispered, “Get over here.”

Patrick hesitated, then climbed back into the bed to take her in his arms, laying his cheek on top of her rumpled hair. A large part of him wanted to believe he was only being kind. Or that she was. But another part—the part he didn’t want to hear from—knew it was more than that. That he was here because he wanted to be here, that holding her felt good. That he felt genuinely bad about what had happened, and not only because
he’d
been gypped.

“I still can’t believe...that you and your husband...?”

“Nope.”

“
Why,
for Pete’s sake?”

“It’s a long story. Which I really don’t feel like talking about right now. Suffice it to say we had an unconventional marriage.”

“Ya think?” When she sighed, he said, “Did you know this going in? That you wouldn’t—”

“Yes.”

“And you actually agreed?”

“I did.” She paused. “In writing, even.”

He remembered her...enthusiasm, those sweet little sounds she made in her throat, her
joy
...

How could she have willingly denied that part of herself?

Why not? You have
.

“Are you angry?” she whispered, shattering his thoughts.

He thought. “Now that I’m mostly over the shock...no. Although it occurs to me if you’d warned me, I would have done things, well, differently.”

“Really?” She lifted her head to look up at him. “Not run off screaming into the night?”

“Once we were naked? Probably not.”

“I see,” she said, and he chuckled.

“What can I say, timing is everything.”

At his own words, Patrick shut his eyes, glad April couldn’t see the ambivalence crawling back out of the dark corners of his mind, nipping at his fragile peace. A large part of him did want to run, to get out of here while he still could. Before this gal wrapped herself around his damaged heart as tightly as she’d wrapped her legs around his hips, when he’d lifted her up in the hallway. All that trust...that
giving
...he couldn’t handle it.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her, not yet, not until he knew she was okay.

His stomach muscles jumped when that soft, smooth hand trailed over his abs, then lower. Not quite to bull’s eye but close enough to get things stirring again.

Figuring this time—if, indeed, that’s what this was—it would be nice if they were both on the same page, he grabbed her hand, holding it flat against his belly.

“What are you doing?”

She paused, then slipped her hand out from under his and continued her journey. “Finishing what I started?”

He sucked in a breath. Shut his eyes. He forced out, “You don’t have to do th-that—”

“Just hush and show me what to do.”

So he did, forcing himself to watch her face as he tutored her, almost laughing when her brow puckered in concentration. Suddenly, she stopped, shaking her head, and he almost cried.

“What are you—”

“Get another condom. Now.”

Again, it took a moment for the words to register. Then he was frantically slapping the nightstand for the packet—

“Can’t find it—”

He felt a brisk breeze as he heard the sheet whip back. “Top drawer.”

Thinking,
You have condoms?
Patrick yanked open the drawer so hard the whole thing came out, scattering little foil packets all over the floor like an X-rated piñata. He stared, momentarily transfixed. “How many guys were you expecting?”

“They were for you, I didn’t know what to get, just
pick something, for Pete’s sake!
”

One quick riffle later, he was suited up and ready to go, only to have his breath leave his lungs when he turned to find April on her back.

In-freaking-credible.

He knelt over her, stroking her hair off her cheek, now realizing the real reason why he’d wanted to make love in the dark before—not so she couldn’t see him, but so he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see the trust, the ingenuousness. Because if he couldn’t see it, it couldn’t get inside him, could it?

Too late,
he thought as he said, “I’m going to go real slow, okay? You let me know if—”

“Got it.” Her eyes squeezed closed. “Just...go.”

“Not until you relax.”

“Relax. Okay.” He saw her take in a breath, let it slowly out. Still with her eyes shut.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he said, even as the “sweetheart” ricocheted in his brain. Her eyes popped open, and he laughed. “Are you sure...?”

“Yes, sorry. Although I think it was easier when I didn’t know what was about to happen.”

“Shh...” He stretched out over her, holding her hands in his as he kissed her, about to go crazy from her scent as he gently sucked at her neck, then her breasts, until her breathing changed and he knew she was in The Zone.