He turned back to the sink instead of answering. But he didn’t need to. She remembered Lori LaRouche and Shane laughing together and the feelings of jealousy that pricked her like a thousand tiny needles.
He was jealous.
Her world flipped on its axis, taking her stomach with it. Had Shane been pacing the floors that night, worried she was being lured into another man’s arms? Had he been worried he’d lost her, regretful that he hadn’t stopped her?
Did Shane want her for himself?
He turned toward her, propping a hip against the sink. She sought his eyes for the truth.
“Remember when I said it would pass?” he asked.
She nodded as she crossed her arms over her stomach, a literal attempt to hold herself together if he said what she hoped to hear.
He gave her a sheepish half grin. “I was wrong.”
Fingers tightening around her arms, she tried to contain her heart as it beat relentlessly against her rib cage. “Yeah, me, too,” she whispered.
Shane stood. “Really?”
A thin laugh escaped her lips. Was he kidding? How could he not see how much she desired him, how much she cared for him? How much she needed him? Even now, when she should be guarding her heart, all she could think about was leaping into his arms and telling him to go for it. But she’d done that already. What she needed to see was that Shane was as desperate for her as she was him.
“So,” she croaked, her throat Sahara dry. “What do we do?”
Shane raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if he didn’t know.
She saw only two options. Retreat to neutral corners, or… “We could try.”
He reached her in two steps, his eyes locked on hers like a pair of heat-seeking missiles. Crickitt lifted her hands, catching his face as he speared his fingers into her curls and dove into her mouth. His brief, rough kiss brimmed with promise and tasted like raw desire. He pulled back so suddenly, a tiny whimper escaped her throat.
He pulled her hands into his, searching her face. Doubt clouded over the passion in his eyes. “I can’t give you what you want, Crickitt.”
Afraid of losing this moment the way they’d lost so many others, she put a finger over his mouth and shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about the future, commitment, or promises. Those were things stretching into the beyond in a big gray blur. Once upon a time she wanted the fairy tale romance and, arrogantly, assumed she’d found it with Ronald. Now she saw that the path between now and forever had several forks, each veering off into unknown directions. The only way to find out where she’d end up was to commit to a course.
And right now, she wanted Shane. She needed him. No matter how short-lived. Regardless of the consequences.
Sliding her finger away from his lips, she whispered, “Then give me what you can.”
Shane took her mouth captive, his lips firm and urgent. Crickitt echoed his response, opening her mouth to his exploring tongue, pawing at his clothes with greedy hands. A chair scraped the floor as Shane backed her across the room, his mouth sealed with hers. Her hip collided with the edge of the kitchen table.
“Sorry,” he said against her lips.
“It’s okay,” she answered around his kisses.
He navigated her through the living room, either not willing or able to come apart for the seconds it would take to cross the room safely. The back of her knee hit the recliner and she lost her balance, clutching Shane’s collar and tugging him with her. He caught them both, bracing an arm on the chair and locking his other arm around her waist to keep her from falling.
He helped her to her feet, his breaths shaky, and pierced her with a desperate look. “I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom.”
“Then don’t,” she said.
His mouth hit hers hard as he bypassed the couch and tumbled them to the floor. She lost sight of him briefly when he yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Then he was staring down at her, dark hunger in his eyes.
“I was hoping you’d wear this one,” he said, cupping her black lace bra in both hands.
She gave him a curious smile before recalling the day she’d lost a button, the day she bent over him and massaged his assumedly aching head. “You faker,” she breathed.
Shane mumbled something, but since it was between her breasts, she opted to let it go.
He let her roll him onto his back where she stripped him of his shirt. She paid equal attention to his chest, exploring his tight abdomen and tapered waist. Straddling him, she fingered the cool metal button on his jeans. Purposefully slowing her movements, she flicked the stud from its denim enclosure and drew the zipper down, hearing only her shallow breaths and the raspy snick-snick of metal tines. She parted the material, her own personal peep show as she revealed inch by delicious inch the man beneath her. Dark hair peppered his belly button, his lower abdomen, his…