Her over-bright eyes are laced with amusement. “I’ve been worried. And now I’m not. It feels amazing to know everything is going to be OK.”

I don’t understand her.

Fuck, does it matter?

I just want make to make love to her and enjoy this—whatever this is.

She rubs her cheek against my chest again, kisses me once, and then lifts her face. “I don’t even remember me before you, Alan. I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment we met. But never more than I do tonight with the smell of Khloe on your shirt.”

Her eyes stare into mine in a way I know I’ll never forget. Her words warm every part of me. But they are stinging, too. She knows I finally went to meet Khloe. That’s what this is. And Christ, she is so easy to please it shames me, because I’ve done a damn poor job of that, always.

What the hell am I doing here with her? Everyone is right. I’m just going to fuck up her life again. I don’t deserve her. Not even the best man among us deserves her. I’m far from the best. And the beauty of her at times is awe-inspiring.

Whatever she wants.

Whatever she asks for.

I’ll do it.

That she lets me through the front door is a bloody miracle.

A sound escapes her throat, a husky half-laugh. A hint of delight mixes with the shimmers in her eyes. “I bet I’m the first woman ever to be turned on not by sexy you, but by baby drool on your shirt. I want this shirt, Alan. Mailing label and all. I’m going to put it in a plastic bag like the Monica Lewinsky dress and keep it forever in my safety deposit box.”

I laugh—fuck, she’s ridiculous. Christ, I love her.

She climbs from my lap too soon. She checks her watch. “Wow. Is it really 8:30? Come on. I’m hungry. Let’s eat dinner.”

Absolutely ridiculous. I don’t want food. I want to make love to her. I follow her out of the studio anyway.

Two hours later, we’re sitting on her back patio on a double lounger. Dinner was wonderful. Being alone with Chrissie was everything I remember. The quiet talk. Her gentle laughter. The sporadic touch of her hand on mine. The way her eyes smile at me over every bite.

This evening has gone well. Better than I’d hoped for. But fuck, the intermission didn’t do anything to calm down my body. In fact, I’m even more urgent in my flesh.

Fuck, how do I get her into bed?

Jesus Christ, I can’t believe that I’m failing at this. I thought it was a done deal two hours ago. She came at me pretty hard in the studio. I thought dinner was just a break. But, fuck, she doesn’t seem to get the hints I drop.

Maybe she gets them.

Maybe she ignores them.

Maybe it’s time for me to leave.

She leans in to me and kisses me on the jaw. “You have the strangest look on your face, Alan. What are you thinking?”

I’m thinking that if I don’t get you into bed soon he’s going to explode.

I smile.

I touch her cheek.

“About Khloe. I’m thrilled about her. I shouldn’t have waited three days to say that. She’s beautiful. Beautiful like you and I’m thrilled.”

She pulls me into a kiss. Against my mouth, she says, “I knew that before you said it. But it’s good to hear it.”

There is a sweet kind of heaviness to the air. Like being drunk while sober. Intimate. Silly. Happy. Something new. Different.

“Promise to tell me you’re thrilled, Chrissie, if we discover later that she has the gene that spouts expletives and Chekhov simultaneously. Right now I only see black hair from me.”

She laughs and curls into me. “You need to look with more than your eyes, Alan. She is more like you than me. She pulls herself inward into calm. Isolated calm. That’s you, not me. She’s serious and studies everything. She likes Bach, Blackpoll and Metallica. Bold colors like Picasso. The feel of me all around her while she sleeps. She’s you. We’re in trouble. Big trouble.”

Laughing, I close my hands on her cheeks and kiss her. “Were you sorry? Are you sorry? Expletives. Chekhov. Me.”

I say that in a silly way, but it’s not a joke. Not inside me. I want her not only to be happy about Khloe. I want her to be happy she’s mine. I never expected to feel that way. I wait, tense, trying to read her face as she silently stares at me.

She rolls her eyes. “How could I ever be sorry? Not for a second. Never. I love you, but I love more this part of you that’s mine.”

I pull her into my arms and crush her against me. My limbs are trembling. The relief I feel is overpowering. It would have been awful if she regretted me.

We feel good right now, but it’s like a caution telling me to leave. Things are in comfortable balance. It is better not to push. Better to let it sit for a while.

“It’s late. I should probably cut out.”

The patio door opens. Ethan runs out. He climbs onto Chrissie lap and curls into her. She brushes his golden blond hair from his face and kisses his brow. “What are you still doing awake, kiddo? Just because it’s winter break doesn’t mean you can stay up past 8:30.”

Ethan glares at me and says nothing.

OK, I get it.

You want me gone.

You’re claiming her.

Lourdes follows a few minutes later and hands her a cell phone. Chrissie quickly reads a text. Then her thumbs move rapidly in answer. She clicks off the phone and gives it to the housekeeper.

She looks up at Lourdes. “Kaley is staying the night with Zoe at the Kennedys’. Do you mind if Ethan sleeps with you in your room, Lourdes? He won’t go to bed in his room without Eric.”

The two women stare at each other.

I should get out of Chrissie’s way.

“No problem, Mrs. Harris,” Lourdes says softly, lifting Ethan from Chrissie’s lap, and then walks away.

“I’m going to cut out, Chrissie.”

I set down my glass and start to rise.

She stops me with a hand. “No, wait,” she says with sudden anxiousness. She watches the house. The door closes.

She stands and steps in to me. She doesn’t look at me. “If any of my kids other than Ethan were home, I wouldn’t be doing this. But he never wakes up, especially when he’s with Lourdes, and he sleeps late into the morning. You’ve got to be out of here by eight.” She peeks up at me, her face flush, her eyes glowing. “Stay the night with me, Alan.”

 

 

Chapter 12

Chrissie guides me down the hallway toward the back of the house, her hand in mine and her face sweetly averted.

Everything about her—her posture and expression—is shy and alluring. Fuck, this is nothing new for us, we’ve spent more than half our lives together in bed. But I can feel her nervousness mixed with static anxiousness. It’s cute and a turn-on.

God, I love her. This amazing woman, changeable yet constant, who has confounded me every minute of our life together.

She releases my hand once we’re inside her room. I pull her into my arms, holding her flush against me and the door. She gasps, startled, and I can feel her against me and I know she can feel me.

I stare down at her, bodies touching, nothing more. The darkness of the room is good. Maybe it will keep in control my damn libido. I want her in a way that is painful. A way that warns me if I don’t take this slow I’m going to be over too early. The last thing I want is for this fuck to be quick with Chrissie.

But the buildup.

The thinking about it.

Being with her.

The thrill of the anticipation.

Dick-ripping agony.

Fuck, I’m surprised I haven’t already come. Every inch has been hard and pulsing for release since she said “Stay the night with me, Alan.”

I take in a deep, steadying breath. My fingers lace through her hair and bring her face up to me, lips close, not touching.

Her eyes widen, locking on mine.