“How long can you stay?” Sloane asked while they wandered down the corridors to stop and admire the artwork displayed throughout the hotel.
He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
“I have an appointment with the doctor in two weeks, so I’ll have to fly back for that. And I still have some paperwork and other things I need to take care of before I’m discharged. To relocate, I’ll have to make arrangements for all my belongings to be moved. I just have the basics. A couch, a chair, a bed. Nothing fancy. I think I have more fishing and camping gear than I do furniture.”
And he had the mementos of his daughter’s young life that he hadn’t had the courage to look at since her death. Maybe he could now.
Something had changed for him since the night he talked to Sloane about Livy. Sharing memories of his daughter that were so precious, but hard to even think about, had eased the pain. Sloane had laughed and cried and held him.
He didn’t know why he’d been able to open up with her when he hadn’t with Kate. Maybe it was because with Cynthia he’d been afraid of making her pain worse by sharing his. He had the idea that he had to stay strong and suppress his emotions, but in doing so had drawn further and further away from her.
“How’s the leg?” Sloane asked, bringing him back from his thoughts.
“It’s sore, but just walking is helping that.”
“Good. But you don’t need to overdo it.”
They stopped to study one of the paintings done by the resident artist.
He studied the bright reds and blues. “This reminds me of the one in your entrance hall.”
“The paintings at my place are my sister’s work.”
“That’s amazing. She needs to be submitting to get her work in here.”
“She has some in other galleries. I was lucky enough to buy the ones in my apartment from her while she was going to school. Now they’re worth about four times what I paid for them.”
“So you invested in your sister and helped her with school expenses.”
“Yeah. We were raised to work hard and earn our way. But everyone needs a little help now and then.”
He nodded. He glanced up and down the tiled corridor before cuddling her in close. “Will you stay the night with me here? I have a king sized canopy bed.”
“What did your doctor say about carousing with women?”
“He said if it worked, I should use it.”
She laughed. “I doubt that. No hanky-panky until the doctor says it’s okay.”
“I’ll get him to send you an email.”
She shook her head. “Staying at hotels here in Charleston can get expensive, Connor. You can stay with me.”
He fell silent for a moment, searching her face. “I don’t want to take advantage.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you there.” She leaned into him when they started to walk to the next painting. “I have to go home to change for work in the morning. You can check out then.”
Later, when they were lying on the bed in the room watching television, Sloane was reminded of their afternoon watching Die Hard and several other movies. She lay on Connor’s left side to keep from touching his right thigh.
Both his legs had red scars too new to have lost their ugly color. The left was healed, the right still scabbed and bearing the evidence of the second surgery, though the stitches had been removed. The swelling she noticed earlier had subsided somewhat. But it still worried her.
She wanted to say, don’t push yourself. But telling this man not to do something was a surefire way to get him to do the complete opposite.
“Tell me about your life in San Diego, Connor. I want to know about you.”
“The guys are like a family, always watching your back…” For half an hour he shared stories of them at home, and of some things he could talk about from deployments.
When he drifted off to sleep, which proved how drained he was physically by the trip, and by his injuries and subsequent illness, she rose and took off the dark blue slacks and silk blouse she changed into for dinner, tossed her bra atop them on one of the nightstands, and put on the T-shirt Connor laid out for her.
She woke at dawn to the brush of Connor’s lips against the back of her neck and a hard heat pressing against her from behind. “You can’t. You need to rest your leg.”
“It’s not my leg that needs attention,” he said, in a gravelly morning voice so sexy it lit a fuse to her own need. His fingers slid down her belly beneath her panties and found her. Her breath stuttered and she parted her legs to give him better access.
She half turned against him and his mouth found hers, his tongue mirroring what his fingers were doing. She made a sound—part plea, part moan—and she covered the hand that was giving her such pleasure as her hips rose and rolled beneath the relentless glide of his fingers against that one sweet spot, the hot heat of his erection rubbing against her hip. The orgasm rolled through her, leaving her gasping. He slowly removed his hand, leaving her aching and empty.
She stripped off her panties while he covered himself with a condom. Careful of his leg, she straddled his hips and took him in. Already sensitive from the earlier climax, she shuddered with pleasure as he filled her.
He was so swollen with need, every move she made threatened to tip her over the edge again. As she rose and lowered herself over him, she reached behind her and cupped his balls. They swelled and tighten in her hand. At the first pulse of his release, her control spindled away, and sweet pleasure found her again.
She had never known a passion like this. It was so all-consuming it was almost frightening. She leaned down to press her lips to his. The early morning sun brushed his features with soft light, and she paused just to take him in while tenderness nearly overwhelmed her. She could love him if he’d let her.
He reached up to smooth her hair back and draw her lips to his again. She scooted to the side when he slipped away to deal with the condom, then came back. When he turned to spoon in against her back and nestle her against him, she tucked his hand up beneath her cheek. He kissed the back of her neck again.
“I missed you,” he murmured against her ear.