Page 23 of Luck of the Draw

I went to him, and he wrapped an arm around my back, snugging me against his side and resting his chin on top of my head as he set the skillet on the counter.

He tilted my chin up to face him. The oh-so-delicious look in his eyes made my insides turn to molten lava. He wanted me again, and to my sheer surprise, I wanted him too. Just as much as I’d wanted him at the wedding. If anything, as we learned about each other with our mouths, hands, and eyes, my need for him only grew.

He grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the kitchen counter, then stripped the T-shirt from my body, leaving me completely naked. Last night, it had embarrassed me to strip in front of him. I’d worried he would be disgusted by my stretch marks and the extra padding on my hips. I was thirty-eight years old, and while Hollywood actresses could be a size two and have a perfectly fit body at my age, they had tons of money for personal trainers and plastic surgeons. I was never going to look like those women, no matter how much Randy wished otherwise. But Dylan, whose body was a work of art, whose scars somehow made him even sexier, didn’t seem to care. He ran his hands over my skin as though he was worshipping me, his mouth kissing and nibbling its way down to my breast.

I sucked in a breath as his tongue found my nipple just as his hand slipped between my legs. I leaned my head back, feeling his hands and mouth everywhere until he was filling me again, making me climb the highest mountain peak and then tossing me off. Only as I fell, he was there with me, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close.

Dylan would never let you break.

Only that wasn’t true, was it? It was a fairy tale, and everyone knew fairy tales weren’t real. Tears stung my eyes, and I clung to him a little tighter. Sam would be here soon, and I would have to find the strength to tell him goodbye.

He held me tighter too, and we stayed there for several seconds as we caught our breath, him standing between my legs, still inside me, while my butt was up on the counter, my legs wrapped around his waist. Then he lifted me up and walked us into the bathroom, lowering me gently to the bathroom floor and turning on the shower.

He washed me, his hands sliding over my body like I was a goddess, and even though he hadn’t fully recovered yet, his hand and mouth were between my legs, making me come again.

I closed my eyes, the back of my head against the shower wall as the waves of pleasure rippled through me.

“I think I’ve officially set a record for the most orgasms in a twenty-four-hour period,” I said when I caught my breath.

Still on his knees, he looked up at me with a wicked grin that lit up his eyes. “You had an orgasm yesterday afternoon?”

Something about seeing this man, kneeling in front of me, twisted my heart. I lifted a hand to his head, weaving my fingers through his short locks. “Okay, you cocky man.” I did some quick mental math and grinned. “Fourteen hours.”

He got to his feet, then kissed me, slow and leisurely as though we had all the time in the world and he planned to enjoy every minute of it. “That’s more like it.”

I stared up at him, my hand still in his hair, and my heart ached at the thought of leaving him. What if I told him about the kids? He liked kids. Not just Tyrell but his cousins back home. He’d told me a little more about them last night, in between marathon bouts of sex and theProperty Brothers.

The lukewarm water suddenly turned cold, and I shrieked. Laughing, we jumped out of the shower and Dylan turned the water off, then wrapped me in a towel before he dried himself off. Something about the gesture was so sweet, so caring that I reminded myself that yes, he liked kids, and he was probably going to want some of his own someday. He’d made it clear family was important to him, and I couldn’t give him children even if I wanted to. After I had Oliver, the doctor had told me it wouldn’t be safe to get pregnant again, and after several years of begging Randy to get a vasectomy—which he obviously hadn’t agreed to—I’d had my tubes tied. Dylan deserved a woman who could give him children, not a woman who forced him to compromise.

“You’re a good man, Dylan,” I said, my voice tight with unshed tears. He smile faded when he saw my expression. Worry lines creased his forehead.

An unfamiliar ringtone sounded from the living room, and he frowned. “That’s my mother.”

I grinned. “You have mind-reading skills? No wonder you’re amazing in bed. Tell me what I’m thinking right now.”

He grinned too, but he still looked worried. “IwishI knew what you were thinking, especially a moment ago, but sadly I don’t. My family calls me every Sunday after they have lunch. It’s the only day my brother and my dad will talk to me at all lately.”

“Spaghetti truce,” I said softly, pleased that he had such a devoted family, yet understanding his need for separation, for a space of his own. Some days I really needed space from my own mother.

“Yeah,” he said with a hint of embarrassment.

I reached up and kissed him lightly, then sank back down to my heels. “I think it’s very sweet.”

The phone stopped ringing, only to start up again three seconds later.

He cringed. “My mother may live nearly a thousand miles away, but she still knows my Sunday schedule. If I don’t answer, she’ll call the Asheville Police Department and order them to check on me, certain I was murdered in my sleep.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m thirty years old, yet she still thinks of me as a child. And if I complained about it, she’d tell me that the one time she let her guard down I was shot, as if she could have stopped it just by sending thought rays or whatever.”

“Mine’s like that too. I understand.”

“Even at the ripe old age of thirty-eight?” he teased.

“Yeah,” I said with a laugh, even though my heart was breaking. “Even though I’mold.”

He grabbed his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. “I’m really sorry. It’s a FaceTime call, so I’ll take it in the bedroom, but I’ll try to cut it short,” he said apologetically.

“No.Please.Don’t cut it short on my account. They might start asking questions you don’t want to answer.”

The look on his face suggested I understood his situation all too well.

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