Sophie awoke the next morning tangled in sheets that still smelled like Reese—only, he wasn’t there. She sat up and found him on the other side of the room, sitting at his desk, his expression sober. “Good morning,” he said.
She rubbed her eyes and blinked at him. He wore trousers but was still gloriously naked from the waist up. “Good morning,” she said, stretching. “What are you doing over there?”
He held up a small stack of envelopes, then tapped them on the surface of the desk.
“Trying to summon the nerve to open these.”
“I see,” she said, suppressing the shiver that stole over her skin. She pulled the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around her torso, and padded across the room. Leaning her bottom on the edge of the desk, she said, “You don’t have to tell me about them if you don’t want to. But if you do want to talk, I’m listening.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “They’re from Conroy’s widow. The first one arrived a couple of months ago, and … I still can’t bring myself to read it.”
“Why not?” she asked, even though she had some idea.
His face turned a shade paler. “What if she asks questions I can’t”—he swallowed—“or don’t want to answer? What if every word she writes is full of pain?”
Sophie’s heart ached for him. “You’re grieving for Conroy, just as she is. It might bring you a measure of comfort to talk to someone who knew him well and misses him as you do.”
Reese shook his head. “That’s just it. I was his friend and can hardly bear the loss. His wife must feel that tenfold—and I’m partly responsible.”
“No,” she reminded him. “You’re not.” But she understood his reluctance to read the letters, which would undoubtedly hold up a mirror to his own suffering. “Would it help if I read one of them first?”
He shook his head again, slowly. “I need to do this myself. That much I know.”
She moved behind him, leaned her chest against his back, and circled her arms around his neck, savoring the physical intimacy that was still so new and heady. “You should read them before I go. That way you won’t be alone.”
“No. I’ll read them after you leave,” he said, a bit curt. “I’ve burdened you enough. I just wanted you to know that I’m not going to run from this anymore.”
“You’re not burdening me, Reese.” She wanted to be someone he could count on. Someone he could share everything with. But now, just when they were on the brink of understanding each other, their time had run out. “I want to know what you’re going through and help if I can. Even if we can’t be together anymore.”
“I won’t subject you to more of my problems,” he said flatly. “You are moving on to a new chapter in your life, and that’s … as it should be. But I will say this: If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”
Sophie’s eyes stung with unshed tears and she glanced at the clock on the mantel, desperate to make the hands stop moving. In less than an hour, she’d be in the hackney cab on her way to Fiona’s house. And if she ever saw Reese again, it would likely be from a distance or in a crowd of people. She’d never have him to herself again. Not like this.
“Come back to bed,” she whispered in his ear.
He reached up and cradled her head in his palm. “The morning’s almost over, and I was going to bring you breakfast.”
“I don’t want to eat,” she said, running a hand over the smooth planes of his chest. “I want to make love with you.”
He hauled her onto his lap and searched her face, his eyes dark with desire and regret. “How can we, when we’re about to say goodbye?”
“I can think of no better way to spend the minutes we have left,” she said.
For several seconds he sat there frozen, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, hoisting her in her arms, and strode toward the bed. As he laid her on the mattress, his arm muscles flexed, and his hair hung low over his brow. He looked gorgeous and dangerous, like an angel of darkness.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
She tugged at the sheet, slowly unwrapping herself. “I’ve never been surer.”
Reese ignored the warning signals in his head—the ones that said he should safeguard Sophie’s heart, and his.
He pulled her close and ran his hands over her body, savoring every sweet indentation and curve. When she threaded her fingers through his hair, he ground his hips against hers. She wrapped her legs around his and slid against his cock, driving him wild. Everything about her was perfect, from the satisfied sounds in her throat to the intoxicating taste of her skin to the unchecked passion in her eyes.
She caressed his neck and opened her mouth to him, tangling her tongue with his in a kiss that was demanding, reckless, and exactly what he needed.
Their bodies collided with a hungry, frenzied fervor, and he knew he’d die if he didn’t have her. She pulled at the waistband of his trousers, and he slid them off in record time. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, licking and sucking while he caressed every inch of her body—the ripe mounds of her breasts, the soft indent of her waist, and the lush curve of her bottom. When he brought his palm up her thigh and felt the slick heat between her legs, she writhed beneath him.
“I want you, Reese,” she said, her beautiful blue eyes imploring.
He positioned himself at her entrance and held her face in his hands. “Tell me if you’re hurting,” he said. “Even a little.”
When she nodded and smiled, he eased himself inside her, an inch at a time. She felt impossibly tight and hot and perfect. When she began to move beneath him, he groaned. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Soph. Everything.”
She looked up at him with such affection and trust that he thought his chest might explode. “I like this. You inside me, on top of me, around me. No matter how much I have of you, I always want more.” As if to prove her point, she clenched her inner muscles around him, and he nearly lost control.
“Hold on,” he said, thrusting harder. “But don’t hold back.”
She clung to his shoulders as he found a rhythm and angle she liked. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and her lips parted, as they crashed into each other, perfectly, fiercely attuned.
Heat and pleasure shimmered through his veins like a drug, and his body begged for release—but he needed her to come first. So he moved a little faster, thrust a little harder, and reached between them to touch her. With a few strokes, she was whimpering, right on the edge.
“Yes, Sophie,” he said raggedly. “Come for me.”
She locked her gaze with his and cried out, her body pulsing all around him with wet heat. Somehow, he managed to wait out her climax, but sweat beaded on his forehead, and his muscles ached from the effort.
When she reached up and kissed him with utter abandon, he let himself spiral higher and higher. Everything inside him wanted Sophie—her essence, her goodness, her soul—and for that one moment, she was his.
Just as release barreled toward him, he pulled out, moaning and spending himself on the sheets.
For a full minute, they lay there, catching their breath and staring at each other with wonder.
And for the life of him, Reese couldn’t say whether they’d just made the best decision of their lives—or the worst.