CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Landon released Kimber from his clutches and lowered his head. He had to kiss her. Had to connect with her in the same way that had gotten them into this mess. Only it wasn't a mess. He felt almost … free.
When she turned her soft green eyes up at him, he put his lips on hers before she could speak. He didn't want to talk. Especially about the pieces of his past she'd mentally slid together. The kiss started tentative but turned rough when she tangled her arms around his neck and went at him with all she had. He caught her copper hair in one palm and held her, just held her to him with one hand on her head, the other against her lower back. When he moved to palm her breast, she grunted. He eased off.
"They're really sore."
"Sorry. If you don't want to-"
Her mouth was on his before he could make the offer he really, really didn't want to make. Every cell in his body, every last part of him from brain to groin, wanted to lay her out beneath him and make slow, sweet love to her until she cried.
She was pregnant. With his child. They'd formed an unbreakable, unfathomable bond. Had created a life together. One she wasn't going to take away from him. He was so grateful he could hardly catch his breath.
He lifted the billowing shirt over her head and gingerly freed her breasts from the bra. He touched her ever so softly, slipping his fingertips over her nipples and cradling her breasts in his palms while he sipped her lips with butterfly-winged kisses.
She moaned into his mouth, hands clasping his shirt. He laid her out on the bedspread and removed her clothes, dropping each piece to the floor. Then all he could do was stare. Stare at her smooth, pale skin. The line of fiery auburn hair between her legs, the purple nail polish tipping her delicate toes.
Beautiful, incredible. And, for this moment, all his.
He undressed, watching as her eyes flared beneath heavy lids. Standing over her, he admired her small breasts, rising and falling with each quickening breath as her pulse fluttered against her neck.
"You're so hot," she said.
Her compliment wasn't poetic, but that didn't mean it wasn't appreciated. He laughed as he fell on top of her, careful to keep from crushing her into the mattress.
"You're the hot one, sweetheart." He kissed the protestation he saw forming on her lips, allowing his hands to roam to her bottom and the back of her thigh. He trailed his fingers along her center and found her slick, ready.
Keeping her leg elevated slightly, he flexed his hips and slid in to the hilt, encasing himself in her body. He shuddered and an echoing gasp stuttered from her lips. She was heaven. An answer to a prayer he hadn't known how to say.
He dropped his forehead and laved her breasts as he continued to move inside her, the sensation of being wrapped in her tight warmth almost too much. Holding on to his orgasm at this point would be like stationing a train with a length of dental floss, but he'd try. For her, he'd try. She lifted her other leg and braced both feet at his lower back, pulling him closer. Deeper.
She ran her fingertips along his jaw and stared at him with depthless eyes. He held her gaze as they moved together, rhythm perfected, no reason now to interrupt and put on a condom.
"You feel so good." Her breaths had shortened, her body coiled, ready for release. Slipping an elbow under her knee, he lifted her leg and deepened their connection. The intake of breath told him she liked this. So he eased into her again, drawing another high-pitched gasp from her throat. A few more thrusts and she'd come undone. He could see it on her gorgeous face. From her parted mouth, to the slender amber brows pressed together over her nose. But her eyes were closed. That wouldn't do.
"Look at me." He stopped moving and she opened them. "Good," he told her. "Keep them open." He slid out slowly, then just as slowly, back in.
Her lids fluttered closed. "Can't."
"You can." He drew out of her.
She blinked, her eyes training on his.
This time when he pressed into her, he drew another gasp from her lips, but she kept her eyes open. Good girl. He wanted her to see him, wanted her to know it was him who was driving her out of her mind.
But she wasn't the only one out of her mind. Another forward movement and he'd be incapable of keeping the promise he'd made to himself to hold out for her release. Thankfully, right then she let go, pulsing around him with such force that he followed, spilling inside her with a groan of ecstasy mixed with relief.
She caught his face in her hands when his forehead dropped to hers. He took another stuttering breath before he was able to open his eyes. Then he drank in the sight of her. Of her tipped smile, hooded eyes, her hair aflame on the white pillowcase behind her head.
Your baby growing in her belly.
Time froze. What he wanted-what he thought he didn't want-solidified in that moment. He didn't want to compartmentalize Kimber as he had every other woman in his life. Didn't want to fit her into his schedule here and there or when it suited him. He wanted to fold her in so seamlessly that she couldn't tell where he began and she ended.
They were supposed to talk when she exited that bathroom. Talk about the baby. About the future. About them. But now that he'd made love to her, now that his very foundation had splintered, he was afraid to say a word.
Or three words.
That would be extra bad.
He kissed her lips, holding them between his. As if he could keep the conversation from happening. He pulled away, knowing the words that came next weren't likely what she wanted to hear.
"I have to get back to work," he blurted. Desperately.
So fucking desperately.
He couldn't stay. Not while she looked at him with that open vulnerability in her eyes. Not while his brain cells were writing sonnets and lifting boom boxes into the air. He kissed her again, hoping she didn't hate him for running out on her.
"Feel free to stay," he added as a caveat. Like that would be enough. He considered making a promise that he wouldn't be long, that he'd bring dinner when he got home. But he could tell by the look on her face as she pulled the sheet over her breasts that she wouldn't be here when he came back.
And he didn't know what to say about that, either.
He climbed out of bed, gathered his clothes, and turned back for one last kiss. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and gave him the smallest smile, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. Their bodies had said it all in the minutes they were entwined together.
Naked, he walked to his bedroom. They could pick this up later. Later, after he'd been at work for a few hours and could figure out what to say. The right thing to say, not the unhinged emotional vomit working its way up his esophagus.
As he saw it, they'd already sorted out the two most important things. Kimber was pregnant and she was keeping the baby.
The rest would work itself out.
The road trip to Ohio had started first thing the next morning. Kimber had made excellent time, pulling into the driveway of her mother's immaculate condominium around two thirty.
Not too shabby.
She closed the creaky door on her charcoal gray Cavalier, kissed her fingers, and pressed them to the hood. Thank God the car made another road trip. Bless all of its two hundred thousand miles.
"There she is!" Her mom was dressed in a striped top and black capris, her toenails and fingernails matching blood red, her hair a coppery chin-length coif. Kimber had rarely, if ever, seen Grace Reynolds looking anything less than put together.
"Hi, Mom."
"To what do I owe the honor of you visiting me on a workday?"
"You don't owe me anything. I, however, owe Neil and Mick raises and Ginny a one-hundred-dollar shopping spree for Hobo Chic."
Grace wrinkled her nose. "You had to bribe them?"
"It's worth it."
"Come in, tell me why you're here." She held the front door open. Kimber had sent her a text to let her know she was going to visit, but hadn't told her any more than that.
She followed her mother inside. "Just wanted to see you." And make you a grandmother. The kitchen was a sophisticated black and white with red rugs and curtains to accent. Understated was another thing her mother had never been.
Grace waved a hand. "Yeah, right. You drove here from Chicago ‘just to see' me." She retrieved the coffee canister from a cabinet and spared her a Mom-knows-better glance. "You may as well tell me what's on your mind sooner than later."
"After coffee," Kimber promised. She ran to the bathroom, dumped her bag in her mother's spare room-purple walls, white curtains, and a black wrought iron bed frame piled high with purple and white bedding. She faced herself in the mirror on the vanity in the corner and took a steeling breath. Here went nothing.
In the kitchen, her mom poured a cup of coffee for each of them. "Oh," Kimber muttered. "I don't think I should have caffeine."