warm against her chilled skin. His gaze bored two holes into her. “Home, Liz.”
And feeling the pressure of his hands clasped around hers, sensing the heated power of his body standing so close, she felt every last ounce of self-control and pride slip away. Horrified at her own weakness, she nevertheless burst into tears, slumping against him, relying on his quickness and strength to save her from hitting the floor in a pitiful heap.
He caught her with forceful hands. Supporting her against his side, he shut the door, shielding them both from the wild cold night and prying eyes.
It’s all been a terrible mistake, her heart chirped like a demented songbird. Haven’t you somehow known it all along? He’s your husband and he’s home.
For the first time in months the planet fell back on its axis.
“You’re really here,” she whispered as he wiped away her tears with trembling fingers whose touch she’d thought she’d never again feel. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
How many nights had she dreamed this very thing? Alex’s soft, sensuous mouth pressed against hers, his big hands gently cupping her face, his lips everywhere, grazing her forehead, eyelids, mouth, chin. She held onto him as tightly as she could, afraid he might vanish from her arms the way he always vanished from her dreams, but he was flesh and blood and real.
A million questions rattled around in her brain. She shut them out. For the moment, it was enough to go on feelings and her feelings were telling her that everything she’d thought about her husband for the past several months had been unequivocally wrong. Damn the facts, damn his own confession. Damn the way he’d turned away from her, shut her out. All wrong.
Her husband.
Not for long. Not now…
Like the relentless advances of an unwelcome suitor, reason refused to leave her alone. Things weren’t so simple. She’d come a long way in the past six months, further than Alex knew. She’d had no choice.
Pulling herself away, she whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“I came because of you.” Tugging on her hands, he led her toward the light cast by the floor lamp. “Look at you.” His gaze dropped from her face to her distended middle and he put a hand on her belly, lightly cradling his baby. She involuntarily flinched at the intimacy.
“I missed all this,” he said. His gaze lifted again and his expression was so carefree he almost looked like the boy she’d fallen in love with over twelve years before. “Do we know the sex?”
“No,” she said, her voice shaky. She’d worked hard to eradicate the surreal quality that had suffused her life for the past several months, thanks to him, but now it was back.
His gaze swept over her, leaving her breathless, reawakening memories of him she’d fought desperately to forget. Alex after a fire, alive and safe; Alex in bed, reaching for her, loving her…
“You cut your hair,” he added, fingering the tousled blond tresses. “I like it.”
She’d cut her hair because he’d loved it long.
“Honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come sit down.”
Summoning her resolve, holding her breath, she blurted, “I’m not moving from this spot until you explain how a man who should be in prison is suddenly here in my living room.”
He looked at her as though the answer were obvious. “I know you’re surprised—”
“You could say that,” she whispered.
His gaze traveled every square inch of the room as he took off his jacket, revealing a black shirt she’d never seen before. It didn’t fit him very well; it was too tight across his broad shoulders, too short in the sleeves. He caught sight of the cat who now sat on his haunches, both almond shaped eyes wide open. “Sinbad, you little devil, how are you, boy?” He picked Sinbad up and as Liz watched, the cat rubbed Alex’s chin in a show of affection and trust. Liz found herself thinking that life was easier if you were a cat.
Alex put Sinbad down and draped his jacket over the back of a chair. He stared at the unused fireplace for a moment, then back at her. “You still can’t stand an open flame in the house,” he said softly.
She shrugged as he strode to the door with the unconscious grace that had first attracted Liz in high school. Back then, she’d been a shy freshman and he’d been the star varsity basketball player, the resident bad boy, four years her senior. It had been love at first sight.
He locked the door then yanked the drapes closer together, blocking out the black, moonless night.
From what—or whom—was he hiding?
Rolling up each sleeve in turn, he faced her again, more in control now, thinner than in the past but still unbelievably fearless and every inch the man she’d pledged to love for eternity.
She said, “Why are you stalling?”
Staring at her as though she might disappear at any second, he whispered, “Because I can’t believe I’m really here. I thought I’d never see you again.”
She nodded, well acquainted with that particular feeling.
He moved close to her and added, “There’s going to be a new trial.”
A veritable tidal wave of relief flooded Liz’s central nervous system. Her legs felt wobbly again, but all she could think about was that a new trial must mean new evidence and some kind of…well, mistake or misunderstanding.
“Come sit down before you fall down,” he insisted, taking her arm.
She obligingly sank down on a chair and stared up at him. “I’m okay,” she insisted, relieved when he let go of her. It was hard to think clearly in his presence, let alone form a coherent thought when he actually touched her.
And then his statement resounded in her head. A new trial? How could that be? She knew his case had gone to jury two days before. The television and radio had been full of little else; the newspaper had all but locked him up and thrown away the key. She’d avoided watching, listening to or reading anything that had to do with his trial. What was the point? He’d confessed. He’d shut her out. He was history.
He pulled the ottoman near her chair and sat down opposite her, so close their knees touched. Propping his hands on his thighs, he leaned closer still. “The jury was unable to reach a unanimous verdict.”
“They’re hung?”
He nodded.
Liz rubbed her hands together. The old house tended to be cold anyway and having the door open for so long hadn’t helped matters, nor did the tension presently building in her chest. “How could that happen when they had your confession?”
His gaze met hers and slid away. “My lawyer was too good.”
“And that means?”
“I told him not to mount a defense, but he said he couldn’t do that because it would provide grounds for a mistrial. He offered up enough witnesses and enough doubt about the way
