WHEN ROSA WOKE it wasn’t entirely dark, but it wasn’t light either. She took some time to realise that she’d slept most of the day away, and it was now dusk.
But it seemed the sleep had done its work. The fatigue she’d felt earlier had lifted somewhat and she didn’t feel as listless. It wasn’t a surprise that she’d felt that way. She had stepped into the rain like a fool—and she swore she’d feel the effects of that soon—and she hadn’t slept well over the last two nights.
She should thank Aaron for forcing her to sleep, she thought, and then started when there was a movement next to her.
Her breath whooshed from her lungs. It was Aaron. Aaron was sleeping beside her. She searched her mind for any memory of how that had come to be, and nearly groaned when she remembered grabbing his arm as she’d fallen asleep.
It had been a reflex, and she hadn’t meant much by it. No, she thought with a silent groan. That was a lie. Her sleepy self had just had the courage to do what she couldn’t when she was awake.
Cling to him. Ask him not to leave her.
It was ridiculous, she told herself as she shifted so that she could see him better. She’d left him. And for good reasons too. Though, for the life of her, at that moment Rosa couldn’t remember one of those reasons.
Her hand had lifted without her noticing it and now her fingers were tracing his forehead, down the side of his cheek. Her thumb brushed over his lips and her heart thudded at the memories of what those lips had done to her.
Moreover, it craved the healing those lips had done. How they’d kissed away her tears when her mother had died. How they’d comforted her as he’d kissed her temple at her mother’s funeral.
She’d got through so much because he’d been there for her. Those lips, kissing, comforting, yes, but because of him. Because of his presence. Because of his steadfastness.
She blinked at the tears that burned in her eyes and her hand lowered. Over the curve of his Adam’s apple, into the cleft at the base of his neck. Her fingers fluttered over the collarbone on each side, before resting between them. He wore another shirt, though this one was flannel, the kind she knew he wore on casual occasions.
The top buttons were open and she saw her fingers shake more as they scooped down to the edge of the skin that those buttons revealed. It was just enough for her to see the slope between his pecs, and she remembered all the times she’d rested her head there, listening to his heart, being calmed by it.
Without thinking about it, she undid another button and was about to slide her hand in, so that she could feel his heart again—so that she could have that calmness again—when his fingers closed over hers.
She sucked in her breath, felt her skin flush with the embarrassment of being caught caressing the man she’d left while he was sleeping.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice was husky, sexy, sending a shiver down her spine.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, breathier than she wanted.
‘It didn’t feel like nothing.’ His eyes opened and she nearly gasped at the need she saw there. At that intense look in his eyes that had always meant one thing.
Resist.
But she could feel herself falling.
‘It...wasn’t nothing,’ she said helplessly. She tugged at the hand he held in his grip, but he wouldn’t let go.
‘What was it?’
‘Memories,’ she whispered, giving up now. She flattened her hand under his, let her fingers spread across his chest.
‘Of...us?’
‘Of you. And how often you’ve made me feel...better than I should.’
‘When?’
‘Always.’
‘That can’t be true.’
‘It is.’ She took a breath and shifted up so that their eyes were in line with one another’s. ‘You know now that I didn’t leave because of you.’
His eyes darkened and his other arm went around her waist, pressing her closer to him. It was seduction, though she didn’t understand how it could be.
‘No.’
‘Aaron—’
‘Rosa.’ His expression was serious and she stopped herself from interrupting him, knowing that he needed to speak. ‘You left because there was something about me that you didn’t want.’
‘I left because I didn’t want you to see how broken I was,’ she corrected him softly, and used her free hand to press against his cheek. ‘I didn’t want you to be me and I didn’t want me to be—’
‘Your mother.’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t have to leave,’ he said after a moment.
‘I know. And if I’d told you whatever I was feeling you would have told me that too. But I know you. And I know that you’re...committed to making things better for other people.’
‘I’m committed to you,’ he replied simply. ‘You’re my wife.’
‘And that’s why I had to leave. I didn’t want you to have to...to have to be responsible for me too. To take care of me when you shouldn’t have to.’
‘That’s what you thought?’ He pushed himself up against the pillows. ‘You thought that this—us—would somehow end up being like the relationship between me and my mother?’
‘I didn’t at the time,’ she admitted softly. ‘Up until last night, I don’t think I did. I thought I was doing it because I was saving you from something. Protecting you from being me in the relationship I had with my mother. But I see now that part of it was just trying to keep you from...from being you.’
His face tightened and a pain she didn’t understand shone in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why are you apologising?’ she demanded, unsteady from the emotion.
‘I’ve made you cry.’ His hand lifted to brush the tears from her cheeks.
She blew out a breath. ‘That wasn’t you.’
‘Hard to convince me of that when you’re crying in my arms while talking to me.’ He smiled, but it wasn’t the easy smile he usually gave her. And it...bothered her.
‘Aaron, it’s never you.’ She moved again, and this time she propped her head on his chest, on her hands, and looked him in the eye. ‘You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
He nodded, though she didn’t think he believed her. She was about to open her mouth to try and make him understand again when he looked beyond her and a more genuine smile claimed his lips.
‘We might just have weathered a bad storm on Mariner’s Island, but that won’t keep the locals from celebrating.’
She followed his gaze and sat up with a gasp when she saw the fireworks go off on the beach. Though it was some distance away, they could see it clearly and the silence as they watched made the tension following their conversation settle.
She leaned back against him and sighed with pleasure at the simplicity of the moment. Somewhere in her mind she thought that perhaps she hadn’t only been tracing the shape of his face, letting the memories wash over her when he’d been sleeping. No, now she thought that she’d been memorising it. Just like she was memorising that very moment so she could go back to it some day.
And with that thought something loosened inside her and, though her mind told her it was a terrible decision, she ignored it. Much like she ignored every warning it would give her when she was about to do something rash. When she was about to do something possibly stupid.
‘You never needed an excuse, you know,’ she said, turning to him and moving until she was sitting on her knees facing him.
‘For what?’ he asked carefully.
‘To kiss me.’
His eyes went hot. Seduction, she thought again. ‘You mean I don’t have to dance with you to kiss you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ But he didn’t move.
She cleared her throat. ‘That was an invitation.’
‘I know.’
‘So...?’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t need an excuse either. If you want me to kiss you, you’re going to have to do it yourself.’
She understood why he wanted that from her. He wanted her to make the decision. He wanted her to cross the line. Which was fair, she considered. He’d kissed her the first time, when they’d been dancing. And she’d been the one who had put the line there in the first place.
With an exaggerated sigh, she leaned forward and slid a hand behind his head. ‘Just like our first kiss,’ she whispered as she brought her lips closer to his. ‘Seems like I have to do everything myself.’
And then they were kissing—falling—and it didn’t matter who’d started it, only that they had.
* * *
He hated himself for what he was about to do. Hated it because he’d slept on a couch the night before to prevent her from doing it. But he didn’t have a choice. And though the voice in his head told him that that was a lie—that it was an excuse and he did have a choice—he was going to do it anyway.
With one last look at Rosa sleeping naked beside him—accepting the longing, the guilt—Aaron got up and made a few calls. Then he packed everything he’d brought with him and forced himself to leave the house without saying goodbye to her.
She’d understand, he told himself as he got into his car and drove away from the house—from his wife. She’d understand that he couldn’t deal with what had just happened between them. What he saw now had been inevitable from the moment he’d seen her—in that gold dress, in her sexy shapewear, in his shirt, her jeans, that running gear.
From their kiss.
But she’d understand that he couldn’t deal with the intimacy, the passion, the love that had been clear in what they’d just done. That he didn’t want any of it to be spoilt by a discussion of what would happen next.
So he’d left.
It was Monday morning—early, yes, but the airport would be open—so he could leave. He’d called his plane and, though it would take some time for it to get there, he’d rather wait at the airport than at the house. With the prospect of Rosa waking up. Realising what was happening. The inevitable confrontation. The inevitable conversation...
He was trying to avoid all that. For both of them. He would be saving them both from the pain, the heartache.
So why did he still hate himself for doing it?