Chapter Thirty

 

 

I WAKE FEELING THE MOST serene I’ve ever felt. It’s bliss. It’s true love and utter contentment. I’m lying in his arms, not moving, my cheek nestled against his chest. I don’t want to wake him if he’s still asleep and I don’t want to spoil this perfect moment.

We spent most of last night making love. It makes me tearful just thinking about it. How many people experience this sort of thing in one lifetime? Am I lucky, or should everyone aspire to this? I feel as if this is the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me – aside from giving birth to my babies.

Now in comparison, when I look back on my marriage to Gage, all I remember is a giant, aching hole inside me – a loneliness that at the time, I couldn’t comprehend. A sadness, a yearning… time spent hoping for him to change, day after day wishing for it.

I loved my husband, but not as I love Sam.

With Sam, there’s a sexual connection I never shared with Gage. Does that make me a bad person for feeling grateful that I finally have this type of sexual love? If it does, I’m beginning to come around to the idea that if I am to be cast as a villain, so be it. Whatever it takes to hang on to Sam, I will do it – because this man is worth it. I cannot risk losing him. I have never felt this alive in all my life and I’m desperate to preserve and bottle the utter happiness I’m experiencing right now. I don’t want this to be fleeting or something I will try to reincarnate in future. I want to live with him like this… forever.

I carefully place my hand over his heart, the warmth of his skin and his body hair arousing my senses immediately. His hand covers mine and he brings my fingers to his lips to kiss them.

“Kitten.”

“Dog.”

He shudders with laughter, throwing his leg over me, his arms wrapping tight around me. He smothers me with affection and tugs the blankets tighter around us. His kisses land in my hair and on my arms, but somehow, I know they’re loving kisses, not the kisses of a man expecting even more than I already gave up to him.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave this room, but we have about half an hour before checkout,” he tells me, indicating the time by showing me his watch. It’s late morning, but I could easily stay all day. We probably would if I didn’t have to get back to the kids.

“More cuddles,” I beg.

“Just a few minutes more, angel.”

I breathe in the heady scent of dried sweat, cum and his cologne, dimmed but still there. Above all that though my intense sense of smell (when it comes to him) picks out the natural scent of his skin and body. He smells like autumn and heat.

“We won’t have time for breakfast,” he complains.

“Ah, well. I didn’t know what we were doing last night, but I did stuff the fridge just in case. I have sausages and bacon and black pudding at home.”

“What the bloody hell are we waiting for?” he almost yells, dramatically freeing us of our gorgeous cocoon, then tugging on his clothes from the floor.

I gather the blankets back around me and huff, my arms folded.

“It was so nice and warm and you had to spoil it.”

“You said naughty things to me. Fried food. Possibly gigantic cups of tea? Maybe even toast.”

My stomach growls in response despite our six courses last night. “You’re a bad influence.”

He chucks me my clothes and I ignore them, leaving the bed for the toilet. I pee in front of him as he combs his hair in the mirror above the vanity.

“Where’d you get that?” I motion to the comb.

“Always carry one in my pocket.”

“I’ll be needing it.” I try to tug my fingers through my hair but it’s an absolute rat’s nest.

I’ve been shagged to within an inch of my life, but also at some point last night, we found the minibar and had a late-night bath, too. My hair got wet but I didn’t wash it through properly and now it’s in this state.

Standing in front of the mirror, I complain. “What a mess.”

I get to work washing my face, peeling off what remains of my make-up from yesterday.

When I pop my head up after washing my face, he hands me a towel and I pat my skin dry.

He stands behind me wearing just his jeans and a smirk.

“You don’t need me to tell you how you look.”

“I look fucked.” I’m grinning as I say it.

“No. You look beautiful, actually,” he says, “even more so than last night, and that’s saying something.”

He wraps his arms around my naked breasts and buries his nose in my neck. When he looks into my eyes through the mirror, I catch sight of us together and fall instantly in love with our reflection. It feels so right that he’s holding me and it looks like we were made for one another.

He tries to get the comb through my hair but quickly finds he’ll be embarking on a pointless exercise. In fact, I have to yank the comb out.

“The comb will come off worse,” I warn.

“Chuck your clothes on and we’ll get you home where you can beautify as I fry meat.”

“Yes, sir.” I like the sound of a man frying meat for me.

 

 

“IS IT INSENSITIVE of me to say that I’ve never been happier?”

He looks up at me, surprised. I’ve even stopped him chewing through his fried breakfast. I have a gigantic mug of tea in my hands, cuddling it like a hot water bottle. The tea has my attention for now, but I will soon be tearing into my sausage and eggs, the same as he was devouring his until just a moment ago.

“Insensitive to whom?”

“Gage, I suppose. My kids. I don’t know, I feel like I’m breaking all the rules of widowhood, or something.”

“He’s not here anymore to hurt,” Sam insists, tucking back into his breakfast/brunch. “Besides, if it helps, I feel exactly the same way.”

I begin cutting into my sausage. “I even feel so happy, I have the urge to write. How crazy is that?”

He puts down his knife and fork and holds his mug aloft, proposing a toast. “Here’s to that.”

He can’t stop grinning even after he’s demolished his breakfast and is filling the dishwasher instead.

Then we face the dreaded goodbye. I have to pick up my kids soon and he needs to get home to iron his clothes for the week ahead and do some grocery shopping.

In the hallway, he stands all gloriously tall and unshowered and masculine beyond words. He fills the space in a dominating, imposing way, but that only comforts me.

He’s holding me close, just staring at me, waiting for me to do or say something.

“If it was just me, I’d move in with you in a heartbeat, but the point is, I’m not asking you to take on two kids. Not yet anyway. I just want us to enjoy one another, for as long as we can.”

He groans and throws his head back, the muscles in his throat tense and strained. I kiss his exposed jugular and wrap my arms around his waist.

“I love you.”

“I’ll call you tonight,” he says, with his hand on the doorknob. “And every night this week, in fact. Because we’re official, right?”

I nod, almost imperceptibly, but I nod and he sees it, his eyes dancing with delight.

“I want you to meet my friends,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he guffaws, “I know! I have friends.”

“Okay, when?”

“Friday night.”

I bite my lip. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Maybe on the Saturday, we could take the kids to the beach, or something?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “Really?”

“I’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Actually, I would. I really, really would.

He leaves the house, but not before blowing me a kiss.