She ran a damp cloth over her face, wiping away the tears that had left her skin feeling raw. She could hear him in the kitchen as she left the bathroom, stopping in the doorway and watching him as he drank a glass of water. He set it on the counter beside the deep sink with the large single faucet that had to be over fifty years old, and then he noticed her standing there.
“You’re still here,” she said, finally able to speak without hiccupping. “I thought I would’ve chased you out, with the way I fell apart.” Kim had never cried in front of anyone like that before. Oh, she’d blubbered like a baby, but when she truly let down her guard to fall apart, she always did so alone.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He seemed worried, the way he watched her. Was he afraid she’d fall apart again?
“Yeah, sorry. I don’t usually carry on like that.”
“You mean you never allow yourself to be that vulnerable?”
“No, I don’t,” she said, wondering whether he had any idea how deeply she trusted him.
“Why not?” He seemed so curious, prying and pushing.
“Because I’ve never loved anyone like you. I don’t want to hide from you. I feel like I screwed so many things up.” She took a step inside the kitchen, closer to him. It was still so warm in the house, but her body felt chilled without his touch, without being near to him. “I don’t want you to leave,” she said, stepping closer still until she was in front of him. She was so nervous as she reached out and slid her hands up and over his arms. She shyly looked up at him, feeling his hands slide over her hips and hold her. She wanted him to lean down and kiss her. She remembered like it was yesterday what it felt like to have his lips on her. They were warm and firm and full—oh, and could Bruce kiss. The way his tongue teased her, tasted her, took all of her. That was how she remembered it, anyway.
“Maybe we should take some time, take this slower.”
Was he serious? “After twenty years, eighteen of them alone with only memories, you want to take this slow?”
“No, what I want to do is scoop you up and take you to bed and do what I’ve dreamed of doing for what seems like half a lifetime,” he said.
She slid her hands up higher over his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes, but he still didn’t bring his head down to kiss her. Man, did he have a will of steel. She would have thought he was immune to her, but then, he couldn’t hide the desire pressing into her as she stepped closer still.
“Kiss me, Bruce. Put your hands on me. Make me yours like you promised to do so long ago.” She slid her hands into his hair, sliding her fingers up the back of the messy short waves, trying to pull his head down. She loved feeling the silky strands as they wrapped around her fingers. He still hadn’t moved his hands from her hips, where he was holding her.
His expression was stormy, far from the composed Dr. Siegel, the friend she’d been acquainted with the past two years since he’d been home. Good! She wanted to get to him, to be under his skin, to rattle his composure. She slid her other hand up over his ear, trying to pull his head down—and there was give, just a bit, as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Then the kiss exploded. It was hot and slow, and she could feel his warm breath, taste him, and he lifted his head just a bit, his eyes burning into her as if he were memorizing every detail of her face. He scooped her up in his arms, and she shrieked, looping her arm around his neck, holding tight. And he kissed her again.