“Are you scared I’ll leave? Or that I’ll die?”
Unable to voice such a terrible fear aloud, he’d merely nodded acknowledgment of that, too.
“Oh, sweetie, I will never leave,” Destiny had vowed to him time and again. “It’s true that I might die. We all do one day. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t love each other. Instead we should be grateful for every minute we have together. Life is meant to be lived. If I haven’t taught you the importance of seizing the moment, of taking chances, of loving someone with everything that’s in you, then I’ve failed you.”
She’d tried so valiantly to instill that lesson in him—in all of them—yet Richard had been resistant. So had Mack and Ben in their own ways. Mack had filled his life with meaningless affairs. Ben had loved well but not wisely, and the pain of that loss had cemented all of his old fears. Richard wondered if Ben would ever open his heart again.
Richard had never risked anything at all. Until Melanie had come along, he’d been certain all his determined efforts to protect his heart had been successful. He’d believed he was completely incapable of real emotion.
He was on his second cup of coffee and still brooding when he heard Melanie’s footsteps on the stairs. His pulse kicked up in anticipation, oblivious to all those old fears that had been tormenting him once more in the dark of night.
She wandered into the dimly lit kitchen wearing his shirt and looking sexily rumpled. “I missed you,” she said sleepily, crossing the room and snuggling onto his lap in a totally trusting way that made his heart and his body ache.
Richard’s arms went around her automatically. Instantly he was all too aware of her bare thighs against his own, of her bare bottom intimately pressed against his boxers. Whatever faint hope he’d held of regaining his equilibrium with her flew out the window.
“I came down to turn up the heat,” he murmured against her ear, drinking in the faint scent of perfume that lingered on her skin.
“You should have turned up my heat,” she said lightly.
He grinned at the saucy suggestion. “Now why didn’t I think of that? Is it too late?” He skimmed a caress over her breast, saw the tip bead under the soft cotton of his shirt.
“We might be able to work something out,” she teased. “But first you have to feed me. I’m starved.”
“So many appetites,” he said with amusement. “Are you absolutely certain food is what you want first?”
A gleam lit her eyes as his touch wandered. “You’re making it very difficult, but yes. I want sustenance.”
“Dinner? Breakfast? A sandwich?”
She moaned. “Don’t make me think. I’m half-asleep. Surprise me.”
“An intriguing notion,” Richard said. “You going to let me stand up, or am I expected to manage a meal while holding you?”
She stretched—yet another torment—then rose slowly and moved to another chair. She immediately put her tousled head down on her arms on the table. For all Richard could tell, she went straight back to sleep. His gaze seemed to lock on the nape of her neck. He wondered how she would taste there. It was one of the few places he hadn’t sampled earlier.
Resisting the urge to find out, he poked his head into the refrigerator instead and retrieved the makings for a chicken and avocado sandwich. He checked the freezer and found a container of Destiny’s homemade vegetable soup he could zap in the microwave.
Melanie remained perfectly still as he worked, not twitching so much as a muscle until he put the food down in front of her. Then as if drawn by the spicy scent of the hot soup, she sniffed delicately and lifted her head.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “Tell me this is homemade.”
He laughed. “It is, but I can’t take the credit. Destiny always leaves some in the freezer.”
“It smells heavenly.” She took a spoonful, blew on it to cool it, then put it in her mouth. “Tastes heavenly, too.” Wide-awake now, she glanced at the sandwich. “Chicken and avocado on a baguette? Very fancy.”
“I will take credit for that,” he said, amused by her enthusiasm. “Do you really not cook anything?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve never ruined a frozen dinner.”
“Now there’s a culinary claim to be proud of,” he said, laughing, his earlier cares forgotten for the moment.
“Fortunately, I am not in your life because of my skill in the kitchen,” she said. “If I were, you would be doomed to disappointment.”
“You could never disappoint me,” he said. Unless she went through with the breakup. That would tear him apart.