“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still sounding thick and slightly hoarse from her crying jag.

“Taking you to bed,” he said, and he didn’t intend to take no for an answer.

Knit 11

The cold fear that had wrapped itself around Jenna’s heart only moments before melted and turned into a pool of uncertain longing low in her belly.

Did she want this? Was she ready for it?

Tricking Gage into coming over and seducing him in a no-strings-attached effort to get pregnant was one thing. Sleeping with him when they were both alert and willing, with no ulterior motives, was something else entirely.

Rather than struggle or insist he put her down, she let him carry her up the stairs, enjoying the gentle sway and bounce as she rested against his chest and he took the steps carefully one by one. She told herself she was buying time to decide what to do.

Stay or go? Argue or capitulate? Be strong or give in just for this one night?

Spending the rest of the night in Gage’s arms would certainly drive away the last vestiges of a nightmare she never wanted to experience again.

At the memory, a shiver of alarm trickled down her spine. She hated dreaming bad things about Gage. Hated it when her subconscious created all kinds of terrible, horrific images that she wouldn’t let herself think about during her waking hours.

Seeing him shot and bleeding to death in some dark alley. Seeing him surrounded by nameless, faceless lowlifes who obviously meant him harm.

And yes, even after they separated and divorced, she still experienced the occasional nightmare about his well-being.

Jenna closed her eyes where her head rested against Gage’s strong, hard shoulder, and bit the inside of her lip to keep from groaning aloud.

She was such a mess! How did a woman her age, with her level of education and what she thought was a normal, decent amount of common sense, end up at the center of such a soap opera?

Oh, Lord. Her life was like a chapter out of some Latin-American telenovela. Maybe she should throw her head back, put a hand to her forehead, and start speaking in rapid Spanish. A good swoon definitely couldn’t hurt.

Gage rounded the corner into the small guest bedroom, careful not to bump her into the doorjamb.

She was no closer to knowing whether or not she should go through with this, but it seemed the decision was being taken out of her hands. There was the small, narrow bed, covers thrown back and rumpled from his own few hours of sleep. The room was dark, with only a faint trace of moonlight spilling through the open curtains on the lone window.

And God help her, she actually found it romantic. Alone with her ex-husband in this tiny, cramped room, him carrying her up the stairs to bed like some medieval knight.

Sigh. If she hadn’t slaked her lust with him multiple times only last night, she would definitely be thinking that she needed to get laid.

And maybe she did. Maybe she was like a plant gone too long without water. It had been so long since she’d had sex that last night had barely made a dent. She might need to do it again and again and again before her thirst would be assuaged and the color would start to come back to her leaves.

It was simple biology, really, and who was she to go against the laws of nature?

Mind made up, Jenna relaxed, let her body go slack, and breathed out a soft sigh as Gage leaned over to place her gently on the bed. Her eyes fluttered closed and she waited, taut with expectation, for him to follow her down, for the solid weight of his large frame to cover her, press her into the mattress, and for his lips to lightly touch hers.

Breathlessly, she waited.

And waited.

And…

What the heck was taking so long?

She let one eye open a crack and found him standing in the doorway, hand resting lightly on the jamb, his broad, bare back facing her instead of his… well, instead of his face.

“ ’Night,” he murmured, and started to walk away. “Sleep well.”

Sleep well? Sleep well? What had happened to serving her a plate of piping-hot sex to drive away her bad dreams?

Hmph.

She sat up, this close to saying, Hey, where the heck do you think you’re going?! Get over here and make me scream, darn you! but caught herself just in time. In a calm tone, she called his name instead.

He turned, arm still raised against the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Will you stay with me?”

It wasn’t what she’d planned to say. But it slipped out all the same, and as soon as the words passed her lips, she knew they were right, that it was what she wanted.

He considered her request for a long, drawn-out moment, his chest yielding slightly as he seemed to make up his mind-possibly against his better judgment, if she was reading his body language correctly.

His arm dropped from the doorjamb and he turned back toward her. “Sure.”

He slowly crossed the room, and she took the opportunity to admire his amazing physique, regardless of the silent message it might be sending. If attraction alone could have kept their marriage afloat, they’d have been celebrating their golden anniversary eons before she’d have ever considered leaving him. Because his body was, quite simply, beautiful.

Every line, every plane, every firm muscle and smooth expanse of skin. And the tattoos were sexy as hell.

The vine around his left bicep bulged when he moved. Even with the slightest motion, like crossing a room the way he was doing now. He didn’t have to flex or posture for the black tribal cuff to come alive.

And lower, just above the waistband of his black boxer briefs, along his left side, were the colorful scales of a portion of the dragon’s tail. Bright green, but with shades of other colors mixed in to give the illusion of iridescence and sharp black outlining.

She wanted to reach out and touch, the way she had last night, whether he knew it or not. She’d trailed her fingers over the bright orange flames gracing his right shoulder and down the narrowing end of the dragon’s tail where it hugged his hip and pelvic bone and led directly to the portion of his anatomy that made him a most impressive male specimen, indeed.

Given his apparent reluctance at the moment, however, she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate her pouncing on him and stroking him from head to groin. Not just yet, anyway, but with luck that would come.

So instead, she curled her fingers into her palm where they rested atop her thigh and scooted to the far side of the bed as he approached. He paused for a second, as though contemplating the wisdom of his next move, then fluffed the pillow against the headboard and stretched out beside her.

Even with as little room as the bed provided, they didn’t touch. Jenna didn’t know if it was by happenstance or design, but she didn’t intend to let it pass for long.

Once he’d settled in and seemed to relax a bit, she shifted back and stretched out beside him. Very close beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and her calf over his lower thigh.

Reluctantly, he brought an arm up to brace her in place, his heat scorching down her back and around her waist. She draped her own arm lightly across his flat stomach and let her eyes drift shut on a sigh.

Oh, how she’d missed moments like this with this man.

Divorce definitely wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Everyone talked about how freeing it was. How great it was to be away from a bad situation, to start over, to experience true independence again.

For Jenna, divorce had just been awkward and lonely.

Yes, she’d been the one to file. And she still maintained that it was the right decision. At the time, there really hadn’t been any other choice; things weren’t changing and they couldn’t continue on the way they’d been going.