Her hands, which before had always stayed motionless at her sides, were moving restlessly. She took fistfuls of the sheet, twisted it, then released it and reached for more, for something, and found the front panels of his shirt, still unbuttoned. She clutched the fabric, tugging until he could feel it pull taut across his back. Her throat arched as her head dug into the pillow. Her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, more shallow now, and faster.

Then holding her tightly to him, grinding against her, he came hard, and so did she. Even when he was spent, lying on her like a dead man, her tiny orgasmic aftershocks nipped at him. It was like being kissed right on the tip of his cock. He was too whipped even to smile, but in his mind he did.

Eventually they were still.

He cupped the back of her head in his hand and rolled onto his side, carrying her with him. And he held her like that, one hand securing her head beneath his chin, the other still firmly on her ass, holding her in place, keeping him inside her. The sensations were indescribable. He was torn between wanting to stay there like that until they petrified, and looking at her.

He wished there was a way to get out of their clothes without moving. He was suddenly desperate to be skin to skin. He wanted to look at her breasts. At all of her. To touch, explore, nuzzle, and pet all those tantalizing spots he hadn’t let himself even think about.

Later. Right now, her lethargy was so absolute, she appeared to be asleep. He angled his head back so he could look into her face. Her lips were slightly parted, damp and soft looking, swollen and red from her biting them. Where the fuller lower lip met the upper one, there was a shallow dimple. Jesus, that was a sexy spot, begging to be caressed by the tip of his tongue.

He was lowering his head to do just that when her body went rigid. Her eyes sprang open, and in a flurry of thrashing limbs she separated them and sat up. “Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands. “Ohgodohgodohgod.”

“Laura-”

“Don’t say anything! Just please don’t…don’t…Oh, God.” She was groping for something at the side of the bed, and he saw it was her underwear. She wrestled the panties on and left the bed, disappearing into the bathroom and soundly closing the door behind her.

He got up and clumsily pulled on his boxers, went to the bathroom door, and knocked. “Laura.” Without waiting for permission, he opened the door.

She was working her skirt up over her hips and shoving her feet into her shoes at the same time. Once she had the skirt fastened, she grabbed her jacket off a hook on the back of the door. In perpetual motion, she pushed him aside and went past, snatched her handbag from the top of the bureau, and flung open the bedroom door.

“Laura, wait!” He trailed her down the hall. Halfway across the living room, he hooked her elbow with his hand to bring her around. “Will you wait a damn minute? Talk to me.”

She yanked her arm free, wouldn’t look at him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Only everything.”

“That didn’t happen.” She patted the air with both hands, emphasizing each word. “It did not happen.”

“It happened.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head furiously. “No, it didn’t. I-” She covered her mouth with her hand to catch a sob. “Oh, my God.” Spinning away from him, she walked quickly to the door.

He lunged after her, but she was out like a flash.

“Laura!” he shouted.

She didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 18

FOSTER WAS ON THE TELEPHONE WHEN LAURA CAME INTO HIS office. She hesitated on the threshold, but he waved her in. Her arrival gave him a welcome excuse to conclude his conversation with one of the board members. It had begun to bore him.

Running the airline wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. Key personnel were so good at their jobs, they could do them without his supervision. From a management standpoint, it was gratifying to know he’d made wise choices in hiring them. But their reliability made him superfluous.

These days he often felt like the token handicapped employee.

He wrapped up his phone conversation with a promise to continue it soon. Laura was standing with her back to him, staring out the window. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked. “You’re usually too busy to pay me a call during business hours. Or is this business? Are you here as department head or wife?”

“Wife. Do you have time for me now?”

“Always.”

She’d taken his rejection of SunSouth Select hard, harder than he would have guessed. Since joining the executive ranks of the airline, she had been overruled and outvoted on numerous issues, but she took those small defeats in stride and ultimately gave wholehearted support to the majority rule.

Not this time, and with reason. Although she’d given others credit for creative and informative input, Select had been her vision, and he had essentially squelched it. Judging from her mood over the past couple of weeks, she had regarded it as a personal rejection.

The subject had come up only once in the meantime. Last week during an executive meeting, Joe McDonald had mentioned Select in passing. Laura had shot him a warning look that said: Don’t talk about that. It hadn’t been spoken of again, at least not in Foster’s presence, and he didn’t think it was being whispered about behind his back. Nowhere in the building had he seen any of the materials Laura had used for her presentation. He got a sense that, since he hadn’t taken up the baton, everyone considered it a dead issue.

He had snuffed SunSouth Select while, actually, the prospect of offering alternative carrier service was exciting. Unbeknownst to Laura, he had been thinking about it himself and doing his own research into that growing market, assessing how he might claim a large segment of it.

He’d studied the new superlight jets and considered ordering a fleet of them with which to begin a top-notch charter service. He’d even given thought to doing as Laura suggested and starting an off-shoot of SunSouth.

But whatever form the innovation took, it would be his conception and his design. Not hers or anyone else’s. He would be the leader, not the crippled has-been.

He’d given her space and time to nurse her wounded pride, basically by pretending not to notice her dejection. Was this unscheduled visit to his office a sign that she was finally climbing out of her funk? One could hope.

He said, “You didn’t bring wine this time.”

She turned around and looked at him quizzically.

“Has it been so long ago that you’ve forgotten? You surprised me with lunch here in this office. To celebrate our three-month anniversary.”

“Four-month. And it was champagne.”

“Was it? What we drank isn’t the part I remember. However, I vividly recall dessert.”

She smiled and modestly ducked her head. “Fun times.”

“I miss them.”

After several beats, she raised her head and looked at him, all seriousness now. “We could still have fun times, Foster.”

“Not like that.”

“Not exactly like that. Different. But just as good.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Not from my standpoint.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then declared, “I’m not going back.”

“Back?”

“To the house. To Griff Burkett. I’m not doing it again.”

So. This was how she was going to pay him back for hurting her feelings. Keeping his expression impassive, he folded his hands in his lap, clasping them loosely. “Oh?”

“No.”

“Why this sudden-”

“It’s not sudden. I’ve thought about little else since…since the last time. I’m not going back.”

“You said that. I think I deserve to know why.”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“Wrong by what standard? How can it be wrong if I sanction it?”

“I don’t. It’s wrong by my standard.”