Strangers in Paradise (37 page)

Rather than fighting him, as an hour ago he'd have predicted she would, Cassie leaned into Sam, resting her head on his shoulder. And suddenly it dawned on him that he might not be the only one in need of rescuing.

His strong, valiant, beautiful ex-wife was fighting battles, too. Was she searching for a way out of her private agonies? Just like he was?

Peering around him at her attractive, well-ordered house, at the furnishings that looked as if they were straight out of a decorating magazine, Sam had a tough time matching Cassie's surroundings with the vivacious young woman he'd known her to be.

Where was that woman? Behind the career she seemed to live by? Underneath the showcase rooms? Hidden by the television shows that were so much a part of her life?

Could
Sam help her find her way out?

Once, he would've been sure of it. “Cass?”

“Shh.” She slowly moved her head against his arm as if saying no. But she didn't back away.

He pulled her hand between both of his. Her fingers were cold. “Are you okay?”

“Just give me a minute.”

Glancing down, all he could see was the top of her head. Because, after ten years away from her, he wasn't sure what she needed, he did the only thing he could. He listened to his instincts.

His arm stole around her shoulders, and he settled her against his chest, in a position so natural to them, it was as though they'd never been separated. Still holding her hand, he brought it close to his body, running two fingers up and down her forearm.

The minute she showed any resistance, he'd let her go. But if she needed this connection—this intimacy—anywhere near as badly as he did, there was no way he could deny her.

“Remember the night Jamie Littleton died?” he asked a few moments later.

“Yeah.”

It had been terrible for both of them. Jamie was the youngest son of some friends of Sam's parents'. The two of them had baby-sat Jamie practically since he was born. As teenagers, they'd pretended a time or two that Jamie's house was their own, that he was their son, that they were raising him together. They'd been practicing for the day they both knew was coming, when they really would have a home and children of their own.

And then one morning Jamie's mother had called to say she'd just come from the doctor. Jamie had leukemia.

The day he'd died had been the darkest either Sam or Cassie had ever known. It had been their first experience with life's harder realities. The fragility of it all. Their first realization that they weren't invincible. That there were things they couldn't control. Things they couldn't prevent, no matter how zealous they were.

Over the two years of Jamie's illness, they'd managed to raise a lot of money for the leukemia foundation. They just hadn't managed to save Jamie's life.

“I was feeling pretty hopeless the night he died, and scared to death,” Sam admitted, remembering back. “And then you came over....”

“You held me, just like this.”

“And, although I was still just as sad, I felt so much better...”

“...like even though there were horrible things in life, there'd always be good things to help you through.”

Sam had other memories of that night. Some of the most beautiful memories. “We made love for the first time....”

Cassie was silent, but he knew she was remembering, too. Her palm was still against his stomach, her fingers moving lightly against his shirt.

There was so much more he needed to say to her, to explain. He needed her to know how much he'd loved her that night. He needed her to know that the feeling had never stopped.

“Is it too late for us, Cass?” he whispered, tilting her face up to his. “Does it have to be too late?”

He couldn't read the expression in her eyes as clearly as he'd once been able to. She'd learned how to hide her thoughts. Or perhaps they weren't clear even to her.

She didn't answer him, just continued to look up at him, pleading.

“What?” he asked. “What can I do to make you happy again?”

Her lips trembling, she opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.

“I'll do anything to make you happy again,” he whispered, knowing in his heart that even if it meant leaving her forever, he would do so. His years away had taught him the value of what Cassie had once given him so openly.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried to blink them away. They spilled down her cheeks, and Sam lowered his head, gently kissing her face, kissing away her tears.

Cassie's moan was filled with need. With regret. And pain.

Sam's body throbbed, responding automatically to the cry it recognized. Her head turned, and her lips met his in a kiss that stopped his world from spinning so crazily out of control.

And spun
him
out of control, instead.

She tasted so perfectly right. So familiar. And so, so hungry. Hardening instantly, Sam welcomed her kiss. “Cass, are you sure?” he asked throatily, barely able to get the words past his own hunger.

“Don't talk, Sam,” she begged. “Please, don't talk. Just love me.”

He wanted to talk. He needed to know that being there, doing this, was as right for her as it was for him. He'd told her he thought they had a second chance.

Had she decided they did, too?

Her hands, roaming freely over his body, were telling him with unmistakable clarity what she wanted. Her words had told him the same thing. Sam could deny her nothing.

With a heavy groan, he rolled her over, down to the floor, and kissed her as he'd never kissed her before. Like a mature man kisses the woman he loves.

For the first time in ten years, his life felt right again.

Chapter 13

C
assie couldn't slow down. Couldn't slow her rapidly beating heart, her panting, the blood racing through her veins or the heat burning in her belly. Her body was trembling, groping. She'd been starved for so long.

She was strong. Had been strong all these years, battling emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. And Sam's familiar hands holding her, his lips on hers, felt—right.

It was so long since she'd been touched. Forever. A lifetime ago.

“You are beautiful,” Sam whispered against her neck. His lips trailed downward, leaving little kisses in their wake. Along her neck, pushing against the ribbed top of her T-shirt to reach her collarbone.

He pulled the elastic out of her hair, spreading the long strands around her.

“Mmm.” Cassie hardly recognized the sounds she was making. She wasn't herself. Wasn't in control. No thought. No conscience. Just instinct.

She explored Sam's body eagerly, the solid masculine shoulders a delight. And so much larger than she remembered. His ears were the same as she recalled them, though. Cassie's tongue flicked across the lobe. He liked that. He'd always liked that.

She was a sensual woman, with a woman's desires. And no man but Sam had ever touched her.

He lifted the bottom of her T-shirt, and Cassie raised herself from the floor long enough for him to pull it up. She couldn't let him do this. Had to stop him.

Sometime.

She was so tired of fighting. Of being strong. Of being lonely.

His hands slid along her belly and up, until he found her unfettered breasts.

Cassie gasped as his hands took possession of her, squeezing gently, molding, stroking.

“You have no idea how many dreams I've had about these,” Sam growled, lowering his head to suckle her nipple.

Sensation shot through Cassie, making her wild with need. For more. She spread her legs, lifted her hips, whimpering.

They'd first made love when they were seventeen, and after they were married it was often twice a day. The hunger had never lessened. Cassie had known, from the very first time, that it was her destiny to be sexually connected with Sam. It was as though their bodies instinctively recognized each other.

“You've grown a little,” Sam muttered as his mouth moved to her other breast. “But your shape is still as perfect as ever.”

He cupped both breasts, looking at them with hungry eyes. “God, I've missed this....”

Afraid of what else he might say, afraid she might have to think, Cassie lifted her hips again.

“I'm getting there, my love,” Sam said, grinning. “I'm just enjoying the journey.”

His grin melted her all over again. “You're overdressed.”

Sam slid her T-shirt up and over her head as he stood up. The air was cool on her exposed skin, and Cassie suddenly felt naked, half sitting there on her living-room floor with her breasts in full view.

Very naked, and very, very much alive.

Watching as Sam tore his own shirt over his head, she sucked in a tight breath. He'd always been sculpted like a work of art, but because of the years of manual labor, his upper body now brought art to a whole new level.

“You've got chest hair,” she said, her voice thick. He'd had only a little the last time she'd seen him naked.

He ran one hand over his chest. “It happens,” he said.

“I like it.” Her fingers were itching to run through it, her breasts already tingling as she thought about that wiry roughness rubbing against her.

His hands moved to the button on his fly, and Cassie's hands began to shake. Her body grew moist in ways it hadn't been in years. She'd forgotten how incredible sexual desire could be. How all-consuming.

She'd never forgotten how great sex with Sam could be.

The rasp of his zipper increased her anticipation, and Cassie almost wept with the wanting. She'd never known such powerful need. Never even imagined she could feel so aroused.

He could ask her to do anything at that moment—run naked in the street, climb a tree topless—and if he'd appease the desire burning inside her, she'd definitely do it.

“Please, Sam,” she whispered, watching his hands as he slowly drew his pants down over the bulge under his fly.

Sam had been a mere twenty years old when he'd left town. He'd come back a full-grown man.

Tears sprang to Cassie's eyes as he revealed his erection—hard and proud. Kicking off his sandals, he dropped his pants and came back to her, completely naked. Completely man. Completely perfect.

He started to say something, but Cassie couldn't bear any more words, any more fear. She had to have this tension abated, to find the release that only Sam could give her. To know again the excitement—and the peace—his body brought hers. Lifting her head, she kissed him hotly, opening her mouth, searching his tongue with her own.

“God, Cassie, slow down...” he said.

He slid down her body, kissing her all over—her neck, her breasts, her belly, stopping where her shorts still covered her hips. Her legs, shamelessly open, tensed as she felt his hand cup her most private place.

“Ohhhh,” she breathed out, then took in a couple of short, gulping breaths.

Sam moved again, frustrating Cassie. He'd been so close. Had he no idea that she was dying for him?

With one finger he flipped open her shorts, then yanked softly, pulling them slowly down her legs. For an instant she panicked, knowing almost subconsciously that this was dangerous. That she was muddying waters that were already so murky she could hardly pass through them. But on a conscious level, she just needed him to hurry. Before she lost her mind with want. Before she had to
think.

And besides, the scar was craftily hidden in her pubic hair line. Her doctor had been quick to assure her of that. There was no need to bring any of that history here, tonight.

He sat between her legs, looking down at her, and started to gently, reverently fondle her, using both hands to bring her to the brink.

Because he was Sam, because her body recognized him, she felt no shyness, no embarrassment in having him sit there, having him see her. Instead, it felt natural. And free.

“Please, Sam,” she finally begged, lifting her hips against his fingers. “Please, now.”

She couldn't hold on any longer. She was going to burst into tears if he didn't relieve the agony he'd created. Her arms and legs were trembling, her lower belly quivering with need. She could hardly breathe.

With a hand on either side of her, Sam rose to his knees and then lowered himself, finding her instantly. He pushed. Hard.

And Cassie exploded.

There was pain—it would have been impossible not to experience some discomfort after ten years of celibacy—but the ecstasy was so encompassing that Cassie almost welcomed the discomfort as a way to measure the boundless pleasure.

Sam pulled out and pushed again. And again. Moving faster as his breathing quickened. His body slick with sweat, he hovered over her, and Cassie met him thrust for thrust, building to a crescendo a second time.

When they reached it together, the glory was unfathomable. Cassie floated almost to a state of unconsciousness as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Through her. She could feel Sam's body flooding her, could feel his heart pounding above her. Wondered how one ever recovered from such a moment.

Even they had never done anything so incredible before.

And most assuredly never would again.

Because it wasn't real.

* * *

Sam was still drifting on a sea of blissful sensation, when Cassie moved beneath him, pushing him away.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, instantly contrite. He knew he must be crushing her. He rolled to one side, only briefly aware of the rug burns on his knees, taking her with him. He hoped her backside had fared better.

His arms enfolded her, but Cassie didn't relax against him. Her body was tense, nothing like the limp, satiated woman she used to be after they made love. She pushed against him again until he had to let her go.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his stomach knotting.

She reached for her shirt. “Nothing.” The word was muffled as she pulled the T-shirt over her head. In record time, she had her shorts on, too.

Frowning, Sam sat there, naked, watching her. Something was not right. “Talk to me, Cass,” he said.

She shook her head. “I think you should go.”

Staring at her, he continued to sit on her floor. “I don't believe this.”

Her back to him, Cassie didn't answer. She was struggling, he knew that much; he just didn't know why.

“What was this?” he asked, emotions on overload as the peace of moments ago was shattered. “A quick screw for old times' sake?”

If this reversal of hers hadn't been so ironically cruel, to both of them, he never would have said such a thing. He hated hearing the words roll off his tongue. But he was falling apart, here.

He'd thought he and Cassie—the only woman to whom he'd ever given his heart and soul—had recommitted themselves to a love that had never died. She'd been...

What? What had she been doing?

Cassie stood a few feet away, her back still turned, her shoulders slumped beneath the tangled red hair. He couldn't tell if she was crying or not, but he had a feeling she was. He had a feeling he was, too.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't mean that.”

Though she didn't turn around, Cassie nodded. “Please go.” The words were whispered, and hinted of tears.

Sam stood, pulled on his pants. “I can't, Cassie. Not like this. Not until we talk.”

She turned then. He'd been right about the tears.

“There's nothing to say, Sam,” she said. The certainty behind those words cut him badly.

“Of course there is! We just made incredible love, Cassie.”

“It changes nothing.” At least she hadn't tried to deny his assertion.

“It changes everything.”

Cassie shook her head, sniffling. “It doesn't, Sam. It can't.”

He reached for a tissue from the table beside the couch, crossed over to gently wipe away her tears. “Of course it can, honey. We have a gift, you and I, a tangible connection that can't be broken.”

She backed away from him. “It
was
broken, Sam,” she said firmly. “You broke it.”

Frustrated, frightened, Sam stared at her, not knowing what to do. But knowing he had to do something. He couldn't let her confine them to a life of emptiness because of one mistake he'd made when he was little more than a kid.

“Can we talk about it, Cass? Can we talk about that night?”

Her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears as she sat down on the couch, gazing up at him. “What's there to say?” she asked. “While I waited at home, worried sick about you, you were in bed with another woman. End of story.”

Sam swallowed. He'd hurt her beyond measure. He'd known that. But to be face to face with that fact made him feel that raw pain all over again.

“We weren't in bed.” He regretted the stupid words the second they left his mouth. He had no idea what to say. How to atone for what he'd done. And yet, he was a good man. A faithful man. If she could only give him a second chance. Give
them
a second chance. After the way they'd just made love, the things her body and heart had told him, he knew he wasn't the only one who was going to lose one of life's greatest gifts if she couldn't move beyond the past.

“I don't care where you were.” She enunciated carefully, bitterness in her voice, in the wet eyes that tortured him. “You had sex with her.”

He'd give his life to be able to deny that statement. But he couldn't.

“I was drunk, Cassie, and strangling on the expectations here. I knew that if we continued as we were, I was going to disappoint you. There was just no way I could be the man you—and everyone else in this town—wanted.”

“Was she worth it, Sam?”

“Worth
what,
dammit?” He strode over to haul her into his arms, to remind her of what they'd just shared, what they had—but when she shrank back, he stopped short of the couch. “She was nothing, Cassie, nothing. A stupid attempt to find mindlessness. To convince myself that I could act outside all those expectations.”

Cassie wouldn't meet his eyes.

“I don't even remember what she looked like,” he added.

But he'd remembered every inch of Cassie's body. Every touch. Every scent. He'd noticed changes, too. A little more shape. A line or two that hadn't been there before.

“Was she good?” The question was so softly uttered, Sam barely heard it.

“How would I know, Cassie? I was too drunk to care. I don't even remember her. How ‘good' could it have been?”

But he'd remembered the feel of Cassie's long legs against the sides of his hips, her tender flesh wrapped intimately around him. He'd remembered the look in her eyes when she came, the sensual smile on her lips. He'd remembered how she'd said his name with that breathless throaty growl.

Sam kneeled in front of her, wanting so desperately to touch her, to take both her hands in his. “Please, Cass,” he whispered, “can you please try to forgive me? I'll do anything, promise you anything, call you every time I leave the house, carry a pager and a cell phone and be accountable to you every single second, if that's what it takes to win back your trust.”

She still wouldn't look at him, but she seemed to be listening. “That night wasn't about sex, Cass,” he said. “I don't really know what it
was
about...” He paused. “Maybe it was about freedom,” he said quietly.

Her eyes instantly clouded again. “You needed to be free from me?”

“Not from you,” Sam said. “Never from you. But from
here,
maybe. And from the things you needed me to be.”