Gabe’s heart hammered his rib cage. The way Steph stared at him, eyes wide and curious, waiting patiently for news he still wasn’t sure he wanted to share, made his insides shake. It gave him the sensation of standing naked in front of a room full of people, like all his secrets were laid bare before her, which wasn’t far from the truth.
When he’d agreed to this date, he hadn’t anticipated her. Their history meant his mind and body had fast-forwarded. Or rewound, as the case was, sending him back into the past. One look at the heat in her eyes sent an inferno blazing through his veins. Eleven years might have passed, but his body remembered, responded to hers. He ached to have her naked beneath him.
Simply so he could lose himself in her touch. The way he used to. After losing his parents and Julia, along with all the ugly stuff he’d seen in the war, he needed it even more.
But before he could do any of that, he needed to tell her about his leg. If it bothered her, he’d rather know now.
Drawing a deep breath for courage, he slid his hand down his left thigh and inched his pant leg up enough to reveal the bottom half of his prosthetic. Then he waited, heart pounding in his throat.
Steph blinked, her brow furrowing, as if she didn’t quite understand. A split second later, she gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.
“Oh my God, Gabe. You lost your leg. How much did you lose?” She darted a glance at him but didn’t wait for an answer and bent over, stroking her hand down his thigh. “When did this happen?”
He drew his shoulders back, curled his fingers around the keys in his pocket, and let her have the moment, feel as much as she needed to. Every muscle in his body tensed, from his shoulders right down to the thigh she was currently smoothing her palm over. A tight, hard ball of dread formed in his gut, threatening to bring his dinner back up as he waited for her to say something. It was the most vulnerable he’d felt since…hell. Since Julia died and he’d come to the stark realization he was now a single father.
After several moments Steph finally pulled her hand back and straightened. As she met his gaze again, the kitchen’s overhead light glinted off tears slowly filling her eyes. Her lower lip wobbled. “H-how did it happen?”
Gabe leaned back against the counter beside her, pretending more fortitude than he felt. He stared across the kitchen, at the magnetized pad of paper on the front of the fridge. The words written there in Char’s careful penmanship blurred as that day in the desert flooded his mind. “I lost everything below the knee, and it happened a little over four years ago. My third stint over in Iraq. I was on a truck at the end of a convoy that was hit by a bazooka rocket. We were acting as support for the local militia when we were ambushed.”
“Did it hurt?” Steph shook her head and, folding her arms, looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid question. I can’t stop picturing you on that truck. The rocket exploding. You being hurled from the vehicle…” Her voice cracked, and she sniffled.
The knots in his gut finally eased. At least it wasn’t the leg that bothered her.
He turned toward her, reaching up to wipe the tear from her cheek. He’d always hated when she cried. Being a strong, independent woman, she didn’t do it often, and it wrenched at his gut every time.
“Oddly enough, it didn’t hurt at first. It’s how I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t feel my leg. Hurt like a bitch when I came to in the hospital, though. It was a lot of physical therapy and learning how to walk again. Now…” He shrugged. “I’m used to it. It’s just another part of me, I guess.”
“But you were nervous to tell me.” She offered an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry I got so upset. It wasn’t the leg. It was just…shock, I guess. I’m still picturing you running circles around me and teasing me for being so slow.”
“I can still run circles around you.” He winked.
Steph rewarded him with a watery laugh.
“You’re not the first person I’ve told, but it’s never easy to do. I never know how people will react. Some people can’t handle it.”
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed his fingers. “I am sorry. I should have stopped to think about how that would seem to you.”
“It’s okay.” He dragged a hand through his hair and pushed away from the counter, sights set on the fridge on the other side of the small space. Maybe a beer would settle his damn nerves. “I just wanted you to know, so you won’t be surprised later. If this goes anywhere, you’ll need to know what to expect.”
Before he could move too far, Steph caught the end of his tie and tugged him back. She stared for several seconds, eyes reaching and searching, probing all those deep places, before laying a hand against his chest.
“It doesn’t bother me, I promise. At least, not in that way. I just don’t like the thought of you being hurt. So relax. And for the record? This only goes as far as you’re comfortable with.” She gave him a tender smile, then just as quickly rolled her eyes, tossing him a playful reprimand and turned to the box on the counter. “Now, that’s enough of this serious stuff, huh? You’re making my mascara run.”
He opened his mouth to apologize for making her cry, to thank her for being so understanding. For…hell. Being her. She’d always been able to do that, pull stuff out of him. Something about her had always just relaxed him. It awed him to think she still had it.
Before he could say any of that, she plucked a truffle from the box and turned back to him, pressing the chocolate to his lips. “Open.”
He obeyed her soft demand and let her put the truffle in his mouth, biting it in half. Smooth dark chocolate melted on his tongue, followed by the sweet, creamy richness of caramel, with a hint of salt. A quiet moan worked its way out, loosening his stiff muscles. “I have a weakness for chocolate, and these are easily the best I’ve ever had.”
Steph smiled, eyes gleaming with triumph, and something in that look cemented his decision. He needed—wanted—to let go of his guilt and move on. He’d have to take this step eventually. He’d go nuts staying single forever. Besides, she was already here, and they wanted the same things. For this weekend, he’d let go of his grief and guilt and let himself get lost. In her. In wherever the hell this night led him. It didn’t have to be any more complicated.
Stomach hardening with resolve, he turned to the box on the counter.
“My turn.” He canvassed the goodies, his gaze landing on a cupcake stacked with a healthy dose of white, creamy icing. He’d chosen a vanilla cupcake with key-lime-pie-flavored frosting. If he remembered correctly, she loved key lime pie. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, but she did as he asked. He was reaching into the box when he remembered his dirty hands. He could hear his mother now. “Don’t you touch my cookies until you wash those filthy hands.”
He did an about-face, moved to the sink and pushed on the faucet.
“What are you doing?” Steph’s voice held a hint of suspicion.
He darted a glance back at her. “Forgot to wash my hands. Dirty bike and all that.”
She blew out a breath, her shoulders slumping. “Thought perhaps you were going to play dirty.”
Because he had once upon a time. At her place on a Friday night, cleaning up after their weekly dinner and a movie had led to a playful moment. She’d teased him about the haphazard way he cleaned the dishes, and he’d turned the sink sprayer on her.
He chuckled. “You didn’t really think I’d spray you again, did you?”
She grinned this time. “I wouldn’t put it past you. That’s exactly something you’ve done eleven years ago. Twice at least.”
Both times she’d squealed and giggled and vowed vengeance, then gotten it in spades. He’d loved hearing her laugh. They’d ended up tangled between the sheets afterward. That was what he’d always loved about her. When he was with her, he could simply let go of his serious nature and be silly if the moment struck.
“I have grown up, you know.” He dried his hands on the towel hanging from the oven door handle, then moved back to her, surprised to see her eyes still shut. He settled once again between her thighs, scooped a bit of the creamy icing off the cupcake, and held his finger over her luscious full lips. “Open.”
When her lips fell open, he set his fingertip and the icing inside. “Now suck.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, and her eyes opened. Wickedness glinted in the depths as she closed her lips around his finger. Her warm, wet tongue stroked the underside, a deliberate tease no doubt, then wrapped around it. She sucked gently, providing the right amount of pressure, and visions of her snapped into his thoughts. Namely, her hot mouth wrapped around his cock.
It didn’t help the ache in his jeans any that he had memories of her doing exactly that. Christ. She’d given him similar looks then, too, peeking up at him from beneath those long, golden lashes. Even back then, Steph always knew when she had him right where she wanted him.
“Key lime. One of my favorites.” She slid his finger from her mouth with a pop of suction, impishness and heat flashing in her gorgeous eyes. Then she turned to the box on the counter and scooped a fingerful of icing. Instead of offering it to him, the way he’d done with her, she smeared it across his lips.
His breathing grew harsh and ragged as his gaze zeroed in on her mouth. He held his breath in anticipation of her next move.
Steph didn’t hesitate, but leaned in and drew his bottom lip gently into her mouth. Unbelievable pleasure flooded every cell in his body. The image of her on her knees, sucking his cock, flooded right behind it. God. If she kept that up, he was going to come in his jeans.
He couldn’t stop the quiet groan that slid out of him. Steph was phenomenal at oral sex. She knew the exact right pressure, the right speed. Now she had his hard-on threatening to bust through his zipper.
He reached down, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. “You’re killing me here, you know.”
Wickedness sparked in her eyes, but flitted away just as quickly, to be replaced with a warm concern. “Stop thinking, Gabe. I’m yours for the weekend. We can take this as fast or as slow as you need. If you want to stop here, I’m okay with that. But you’re here for the same reason I am, right? Isn’t that what we decided over dinner? That we wanted to get lost for a while?”
He settled his hands on her hips, let himself enjoy the simplicity of being able to touch her. That’s what he’d missed the most since Julia’s death. The softness of a feminine form. The warmth of a body. The house had only two bedrooms, but it was too damn big. He and Char seemed to ramble around in the space. It felt…empty without Julia. An ironic feeling for sure considering how their marriage had begun. He’d fallen in love with his wife after they’d married.
To be here with Steph, though, of all people, had guilt caging his chest again. Some part of him still insisted he was cheating on his wife. But he had to allow himself this time with Steph, if only because he needed it. At least for this weekend, he wouldn’t have to sleep alone.
“You sure you’re okay with that?” Short term was all he had to offer her, but it seemed wrong.
She gave him a gentle smile. “Positive.”
The anxiety squeezing at his chest eased. He stroked his hands upward, letting his thumbs sweep her inner thighs. “I’m glad it ended up being you, you know. My date, I mean.”
As he stood there with her, the truth hit him hard. Out of all the women he could have ended up with tonight, he was glad he’d ended up with someone who knew him so well. Right or wrong, good or bad, she seemed okay with the fact that he was a little fucked up. A little broken. The knowledge eased the last of the knots in his stomach.
“Me too.” She stroked her hand down his chest, studying him for a moment, then reached into the box for another treat. This one, a chocolate-covered raspberry, she set in her mouth and tipped her chin at him.
He pressed his lips to hers, biting the chocolate in half. As he drew the treat into his mouth, he flicked his tongue along her lower lip, then pulled back enough to chew and swallow. Heat flared in her gaze as she did the same. Then she leaned in again.
The kiss began as a soft brush of lips. Tasting. Testing the waters. Getting acclimated to each other again. Her mouth opened beneath his, a quiet, serrated breath leaving her. Steph leaned into him, her breasts pushing into his chest. Her hands slid up his shoulders, slender fingers delving into his hair as she tilted her head.
Her tongue swirled into his mouth and the ember in his belly became a full-body burn. He slid his hands to her ass and pulled her closer. The front placket of his jeans settled against her belly, and he groaned. God, it had been too long since he’d last had this pleasure. To taste. To touch. Steph’s softness, her body warm and inviting, her lips supple and pliant. Like a dying man handed a glass of water, he drank her in, unable to get enough.
When he was gloriously lost in her, she pulled back. He tightened his hold on her hips.
“Don’t stop.” The words left his mouth on little more than a hoarse whisper as he bent his head to her neck, seeking out any available skin.
A quiet moan vibrated out of her, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Tell me what you want, Gabe.”
You to keep saying my name. It reminds me I’m still alive.
“I want to bury myself inside you. I want to feel your body wrap around me and your nails rake down my back.” He nipped at her earlobe, then sucked it into his mouth. “That specific enough for you?”
When he pulled back, her gaze scanned his face. After a moment, she took his hand, led him around the breakfast bar and down the long hallway leading to the back of the house. Every step retightened the coil in his stomach. Making love to another woman in the bedroom he and Julia had shared caused the guilt to rise all over again.
Steph, however, stopped outside the doorway and looked up at him. Clearly she wanted permission to enter, which told him she understood what this moment meant for him. The knowledge relaxed the coil in his gut.
He lifted their joined hands, kissing the back of hers, then moved around her into the room. He stopped at the dresser first, laying Julia’s picture facedown on the top, then pulled Steph to the end of the bed. By the time he took a seat, the nervous tremors had seeped into his limbs again.
Steph braced her hands on his shoulders, slid onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and sat back on his knees. “Nervous?”
He let out a quiet laugh. “As a goddamn virgin.”
She slid her hands around the back of his neck, soft fingers caressing his skin, and leaned forward, turning her mouth to his ear. “Would you rather unwrap me…or watch me strip?”
He drew a shuddering breath. His cock throbbed. God bless her.
“I’d rather unwrap you.” He hadn’t touched a woman in far too long, and he ached to get his hands on her. He might only allow himself the weekend, but he intended to enjoy every second of his time with her.
She leaned back and rolled her hips, grinding against him. “Then I’m all yours.” She leaned her mouth to his ear again. “Know what I missed most about you, Gabe?”
The soft caress of her warm breath on his ear had the attention of every inch of him. The mischievous glint in her eye when she pulled back said she knew it, too. His cock twitched in his jeans, fire erupting through his veins.
Two could play at that game. He skimmed his hands up her stomach and over her breasts, letting his palms graze her tightened nipples, then slid her jacket from her shoulders. It dropped behind her, catching on her forearms, and he caressed his fingertips down the backs of her arms. Steph had incredibly sensitive skin, and goose bumps popped up along her arms.
He leaned in and flicked his tongue over her earlobe. “What’s that, sweetheart?”
As hoped, a shiver moved through her, and her breathing hitched. Never one to be outdone, however, Steph straightened her arms, letting her jacket fall to the floor. Then she reached between their bodies and palmed his erection, caressing and squeezing him through the denim. “I remember you have a beautiful cock.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “Ten years ago that word from your mouth might have had me on my knees.”
He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her halter top, pushing it up. She obliged him and lifted her arms, allowing him to pull the shirt off. Her black lace bra teased him with a view of her nipples, straining against the fabric.
“But I’ve grown up.” He pulled down the cups, exposing her breasts and pushing them up and out. Mouth watering, he cupped them in his palms, enjoying their soft weight, and flicked his thumbs over the taut tips. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”
He bent his head to her right breast first, sucking the elongated tip into his mouth. Such beautiful breasts, enough to spill out of his hands, but deliciously high and perky, with large, prominent nipples he’d never been able to resist.
She let out a throaty moan, and her nails slid along his scalp, fingers curling, hands pulling him in tighter. “Gabe?”
“Yeah?” He flicked his tongue over her nipple, then moved to the other breast, repeating the torture.
“You win. Enough talk.”
He lifted his head in time to watch her slide from his lap. Standing before him, she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then she moved to the button on her jeans and popped it free. She turned her back to him, wiggling her tight little ass as she shoved her jeans and panties to her ankles. Then she straightened again and stepped out of them, kicking them aside. She finally turned around, blond hair now falling in disarray over her face.
He dragged his gaze over her, following the line of her body. From her breasts, full and round, to the feminine swell of her hips and the curve of the strong muscles of her thighs. For a long moment he could only stare, and Steph, God bless her, let him look before sashaying her way toward him and climbing onto his lap.
“Your turn.” She took a seat on his knees and reached for his tie. After undoing the knot, she slid the blue silk from around his neck and dropped it to the floor, then moved to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one. After freeing the last button, she reached for his waist and tugged his shirttails from his jeans. Her hands settled against his skin, sliding up his chest.
A groan escaped him, and Gabe closed his eyes. She had the softest hands, like warm silk, and that one simple action sent a heady tremor through him as she slid his shirt from his shoulders.
When it drooped on his forearms, he opened his eyes, concentrating for a moment on undoing his cuffs and shrugging out of his shirt. Because he couldn’t touch her until he freed himself, and he needed his hands on her like he needed to breathe.
Steph leaned forward, raining kisses over his chest and shoulders, before pressing one to his lips. Arms now free, he cupped her face in his palms and leaned into her. The kiss became a soft tangle of lips and tongues, and for a moment he gave himself over to it, allowed himself to enjoy that one simple pleasure.
When they parted again, her eyes had dropped to half-mast, filling with a tenderness that awed him. He remembered that about her, too. Her tender side. He needed it, desperately, and he hadn’t a damn clue how to tell her how much it meant that she gave it so freely.
Before he could find the words, Steph dropped her gaze and reached for the button on his jeans. “These are next.”
When her fingers closed around the button, panic caged his chest in a vise. His hand shot out, catching her wrist before she popped the button free. She lifted her gaze to his, eyes wide with surprise. His hands shook, his heart beginning an erratic hammer as the moment settled over him. Telling her he’d lost his leg was one thing. Showing her his stump was something else entirely. He’d have to watch the expression travel across her face when she caught her first glimpse of it.
He swallowed past the anxious lump forming in his throat. “The prosthesis will have to come off. It’s the only way to get the jeans off. Well, I suppose it’s possible to take the shoe off, but the leg is designed to work with the shoe. I can’t walk barefoot or my hips aren’t level, and my crutches are on the other side of the bed, and—”
Steph pressed a finger to his mouth. “Relax. It’s okay.”
He released a pent-up breath, his face catching fire. “I’m sorry.” He dropped his gaze, busied himself with stroking his hands up her smooth thighs. “I’m nervous. Nobody but Molly and Julia have ever…”
Not even the guys at the shop had seen his leg. Oh, they all knew, but seeing it was something else entirely. Julia had been too sick by the time he returned from the war to do much more than hold him while they slept.
Steph stared, and his stomach lurched. Pathetic. That’s what he was. A pathetic shell of a man. He should have known he was no longer cut out for the world of romance and never would be again. He ought to be seducing her, but instead he was a giant bundle of nerves. Any second now she’d get up and get dressed, make an excuse about having something important to do, and he wouldn’t blame her if she did.
He opened his mouth, ready to let her off the hook, when she cupped his chin in her palm and forced his gaze back to hers. “It’s okay.”
“That’s really nice, Steph, and I know you mean it, but thinking it and seeing it for the first time are two different things.” He’d never forget Molly’s and Julia’s expressions, the grief and shock that traveled across their features the first time they’d seen him after he’d come home four years ago. Of course, he understood they’d worried more about how close they’d come to losing him, but it still hadn’t been easy to watch.
Steph cupped his face in the warmth of her palms, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “Do you trust me, Gabe?”
That was easy, at least. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Were you anybody else, the date would’ve ended with dinner, and I would have gone home alone.”
She stroked her palm down his cheek. “Then trust me with this.”