Page 33 of The Promise Of Rain
An involuntary mewl of distress broke through my lips at the terrible finality of us.
Before I could turn away, his hands rose to cup my face.
He tipped it up and coaxed, “Look at me, Jenny.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
He sighed, his breath washing over me like a welcome breeze, and pressed his lips to my forehead.
Oh, God.
“We’ll go slow,” he promised, pushing me just as he had the first time.
I tried to shake my head, but he held me immobile.
I wrapped my hands around his wrists to pull his hands away.
Instead, my fingers flexed into his heat, the tendons and muscles giving under my fingers as I gripped tight, reveling in the strength of his body, the touch of his hands, the soft press of his firm lips on my forehead.
My womb stirred in response to a flesh and blood man for the first time in over a decade.“Oh, no,” I breathed.
Desire, hot and wild, rolled through me like a forest fire, burning down every obstacle I threw in its path.
“Deacon,” I pleaded.
“Anything,” he breathed roughly, his hold tightening.“I’ll give you anything.”
I stood on the high diving board.
My toes creeped over the edge, the weight of my body poised to pull me over into a pool drained of water.
With a violent shudder, I reined myself in and stepped back.
“I need you to go,” I rasped.
His hands drifted down to my neck, across my shoulders, and down my arms, destroying any further ability to push him away.
My head fell back.“Please don’t do this to me,” I begged.
He tugged my hands sharply.“Look at me, Jenny,” he demanded fiercely.
I forced my eyes to meet his.
He stared at me intently.“You are going to be okay.You hear me?Everything is going to be okay.”
I swallowed and turned my face away because he was in no position to promise me anything.
I bit my tongue to stop myself from crying out in protest as he released my hands and dipped down to grab his coat.
He shrugged it on, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.He flipped it open, pausing to look inside before shaking his head and snapping it shut.He rubbed his thumb over the worn leather and tucked it away.
It was the wallet I’d given him so many years ago.
He kept it.All these years, he kept it.
I couldn’t process it.Moving to the side, I dipped my head and opened the door.
He stood in the doorway, unmoving for a long moment, then cupped his hand around the back of my neck and pressed his mouth to my temple.
