“Protection. It’s in the drawer.”
“Don’t need it,” she murmured, out of her mind with wanting him, needing him inside her.
An instant later, he thrust into her, realizing her silent plea. For Chelsie, this might as well have been her first time. He filled more than a simple need. He filled her heart. She closed her eyes against the truth, but the tears she held back mocked her effort.
Before long, the feel of him gliding inside her had her writhing with the need for more. And then sensation took over, obliterating all thought except how right he felt inside her.
Griff felt her quiver around him, felt her climb towards completion. He opened his eyes to watch her glistening face as she spiraled into a world that only he could share.
And he did, knowing the entire time that life after Chelsie would be drastically different than the life he had known before. His climax came with hers, unbelievably shattering in intensity. Unbelievably right
He held her in his arms afterwards and felt her trembling. He remained silent. Words seemed inadequate. She’d been married and divorced; he’d been with his own share of women, a fiancée included. So why did he feel as if this time were the first? And why did that seem so damned important?
Because first times could never be repeated. And first loves never died. So now what?
Alix let out an ear-piercing shriek. Griff knew better than to ignore his niece and welcomed the few minutes alone.
“I’ll get her.” Without meeting her gaze, he untangled himself from Chelsie and gritted his teeth when the cool air hit his naked skin.
In silence, she slipped out of the bed and closed herself in his bathroom. He drew a steadying breath as the door clicked shut behind her. After donning a pair of jeans, he grabbed the shirt she’d been wearing. He pulled it over his head, but the chill remained.
Chelsie’s warmth, which had been a part of him just minutes before, seemed long gone. And he missed her.
Griff returned quickly, before Chelsie could have a chance to formulate any regrets. The strength of what they’d shared stunned him. He knew they needed to deal with the aftereffects before either could place too much—or too little—emphasis on making love.
He plopped Alix down on the center of the mattress and rejoined Chelsie in bed. Alix rolled and flopped around on the large bed, apparently happy to be out of the confining crib.
Her dark eyes met his. From her expression, she, too, recognized that this was hardly the usual morning after. Whatever he was about to say got cut off by Alix, who threw herself into his arms. Her cheerful babble provided the only buffer between the two adults.
“Hey, squirt. What do you say you play on the floor a while. I’ve got some business to take care of.” He placed her on the carpet beside the bed where he had a ready stack of toys for her to play with.
“No.” Alix climbed back onto the bed with little agility but lots of gusto. At six-thirty in the morning, he had to admire her spunk.
Chelsie smiled, but the emotion didn’t reach her eyes.
“At times like these, it’s hard to imagine life with more than one kid.” He ruffled Alix’s soft curls with his hand.
“Is that what you want?” Chelsie asked.
He paused to think. One look at his niece and he had his answer. “Yeah.” He gave Alix a playful tug on her hair.
Griff glanced at Chelsie, realizing for the first time that she had retreated to the far end of the bed. She’d changed into her sweatshirt and jeans from the day before, covering the body that he’d memorized inch by tantalizing inch. He didn’t like the not-so-subtle message she projected.
“Scram, squirt,” he whispered in Alix’s ear. The little girl climbed between Griff and Chelsie. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”
Alix smiled, showing the dimples that charmed everyone she met, then reached for Chelsie’s hair. “Mommy.”
Griff groaned. But to his surprise, the knife-like pain that usually accompanied Alix’s pleas for her mother had dulled somewhat. In large part, he suspected, he owed that step forward to the woman sitting next to him.
“It’s Aunt Chelsie. You know that.” Reaching over, he ruffled the little girl’s hair.
He looked over his niece’s head to smile at Chelsie. She met his gaze, but in her eyes, he saw the haunted look he’d come to recognize and hate at the same time. He couldn’t come up with one reason for her to have withdrawn.
“Give me a few minutes to get her settled and we’ll talk,” he whispered.
Chelsie shook her head. “I’m late.” She scrambled out of bed.
“At”—he glanced at the clock—”six-forty? Where could you possibly have to be on a Sunday morning?”