up tight, and she felt safe, and thought, Damn.
He moved, still gently, still pushing, and she pushed back, not so gently, and they didn’t so much find their rhythm as it swallowed them alive, swallowed up everything, everyone, that had come before. She hung on like she was almost afraid of being thrown, as the sweetness built and built and built and built….
Karleen arched, cried out, collapsed…and he tangled his fingers in her hair and brought their mouths together in a hard, fierce kiss, all the nerve cells colliding in a victory rumble, and another shudder of need ghosted through her, like the gradually diminishing thunder from a finished storm. Then she carefully lifted herself off, and after he got up to take care of business, she wrapped the sheet around herself, oddly self-conscious, although she could not have said why.
Well, that was different, she thought, although she couldn’t pinpoint that, either.
And for sure there was nothing even remotely Muzak about the way the man made love, a thought that sent a shiny, tender green garden snake of regret slithering through her, that they wouldn’t be doing this again.
Sitting tangled up in her sheets, she watched Troy—not a drop of self-consciousness in his veins, obviously—stroll back to the bed, naked as the day he was born and with a look on his face like he was half contemplating jumping up on something and beating his chest. Brother.
He sat beside her, slinging one arm around her shoulders and tugging her close to rest his cheek in her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, and Karleen heard herself ask, “What was your wife’s name?”
Being sensitive was one thing. Clairvoyance was something else entirely. So while Troy had pretty much figured out that Karleen’s tough-girl persona was so much BS, he had no clue what was behind it. So he’d watched, in the reflection from her bathroom mirror, as she’d pulled that sheet around herself, seen an almost pained confusion crumple her features, thinking, What the hell?
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