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  “Bedroom.”

  It took more than two steps to get there, but they managed quickly enough. She hadn’t been in his bedroom before, which was off the kitchen. He had a dresser and an ancient TV on a stand and a wall of CDs and videos, but the only thing Bess cared about was the king-size mattress and box spring on the floor.

  Nick slid open his top drawer and pulled out a handful of square foil packages. They fell in a rainbow of colors to the bed. Bess was already pushing him down onto his back and crawling up over him. She straddled him, his cock hot against her crotch through her panties, and sifted through the pile.

  “Black Jack?” She lifted the first she came to. “Interesting.”

  Nick lifted his hips, rubbing himself against her. His prick whispered on the smooth fabric of her panties, and Bess had to put a hand on his chest to steady herself at the sudden, exquisite shudder of sensation.

  It was wrong to be here, and she didn’t care, and that not-caring was almost as much of a turn-on as Nick himself. She tore open the package and sheathed him, only a trifle awkwardly, with shaking hands.

  Nick watched her without moving as she got up and stripped off her underpants, then straddled him again. She took the base of his cock in her hand, but didn’t move right away. Bess breathed, slow and deep, her courage not quite failing her.

  Nick said nothing, but his dark eyes gleamed. His mouth had parted, his lips moist from the swipe of his tongue. He was breathing fast. He made no move to force her, not even a gesture. In his cock, the pulse beat hard and fast, like her own.

  She was going to do this. She was doing it, before she thought anymore. She lifted herself to guide him inside her, and slid slowly down. She gasped. Nick’s eyes closed and his back arched, pushing his cock deeper inside her than she’d been prepared for.

  It wasn’t perfect, but fantasy always boosts reality. Bess put both her hands on Nick’s shoulders, angling her body to put pressure where she needed it most. She was intent more on maximizing any position that felt good rather than concentrating on coming. She didn’t expect to have an orgasm.

  The small, sharp climax took her by surprise. Her eyes fluttered as she leaned forward. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his gripped her hips. She blew out a small moan as the pleasure coursed through her.

  She glanced at his face. Nick looked as surprised as she did, but only for a moment, because then his eyes closed and his face twisted in his own climax. He thrust once more, groaning, and stopped moving. He licked his lips and opened his eyes.

  They stared at each other in silence broken only by the sound of their breathing. Bess swallowed, aware of the clutch and grasp of her thighs, sweaty against his sides. She relaxed her fingers from his shoulders and rubbed the small spots she had left. She rolled off him and onto her back.

  Nick said nothing, and Bess wasn’t sure what to say or what to do. If she could do anything, that was, aside from try to catch her breath and return to being rational.

  She waited for guilt to stab her, but it didn’t.

  After a while the pattern of Nick’s breathing changed, got softer and more regular. She turned to look at him. Outside the window, it wasn’t even dusk. His profile was not yet familiar to her, and she studied it carefully. The slope of nose and chin, the shadow of dark lashes on his cheeks. The dark silk of his hair falling over his forehead.

  He was the loveliest sight she’d ever seen.

  Without looking at her or even opening his eyes, Nick said, “Bess?”

  “Hmm?” Languid from the sex and a little overwhelmed with emotions she hadn’t expected to feel, Bess rolled onto her side to face him.

  “Don’t ever think you know what I want.”

  It wasn’t until later, when beneath the hot water of her own shower Bess tried and failed again to find the guilt she knew should belong to her, that she realized something. They’d put their hands and mouths all over each other. They’d licked and stroked and sucked and bitten.

  But they hadn’t once kissed.

  CHAPTER 21

  Now

  Bess was used to the low mutter of the television plaguing her dreams. Andy had long been in the habit of falling asleep in front of the set, the volume turned low but still loud enough to carry through the house when all else was silent. Maybe that had been the first sign their marriage was failing, when Andy’d started choosing late-night talk shows instead of bed with her.

  Now she clawed her way up from a nightmare and woke, wide-eyed, without knowing at first where she was. Bess blinked rapidly and ran her fingers over the sheet half tangled around her waist. The pillow beneath her cheek was damp—whether with sweat or tears, she couldn’t be sure. The doorway, through which she glimpsed the blue-white flicker of the TV, was in the wrong place. So was the bed. She turned to look at the ceiling as waking finally claimed her.

  The beach house.

  She was at the beach house, and the man in the living room watching something with a canned laugh track was not Andy. Bess pushed herself onto one elbow and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Her dreams, as awful as they’d been, had fled, leaving behind nothing but a slightly sour stomach.

  She untangled herself from the covers and slipped on her nightgown, then padded into the living room. Nick sat, elbows on his knees, staring at the tube. He didn’t look at her when she came in, nor when she sat next to him, thigh to thigh. He wore only boxers.

  “Hey.” Bess kissed his bare shoulder.

  “Hey.” Nick blinked, then looked at her. “Jesus, Bess.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder as she looked at television. He’d been watching the news channel. “Turn that off.”

  Nick didn’t move. “So much stuff…”

  Bess grabbed up the remote from the coffee table and clicked off the TV. The darkness fell around them, and she closed her eyes to help them adjust. Next to her, Nick still didn’t move.

  “I know what you said, about the time. But I just didn’t think about it.” Under her cheek, his shoulder lifted and lowered with his sigh. “Damn it, Bess.”

  “Shh. You’ll get used to it.” She took his hand, linked their fingers. Squeezed.

  Nick didn’t pull away, but he didn’t squeeze back. He shook a little, and Bess put her arm around him. She held him tight, but he didn’t soften to her embrace.

  “I’m going to make some toast,” she said after a few minutes had passed in silence.

  She kissed his shoulder again and got up. In the kitchen, the light seemed too bright, hurting the back of her eyes until they adjusted. She pulled soft white bread, a guilty pleasure, from the freezer, where she kept it to protect it from the constantly damp sea air. She put two slices in the toaster and rummaged in the fridge for real butter and strawberry jam. By the time the toast popped up, beautifully golden, she’d poured a mug of orange juice.

  Nick came into the kitchen as she was buttering the toast and spreading it with jam. He hopped up on the counter to watch her. Bess stood to eat, the formality of a chair somehow ridiculous for a simple piece of toast.

  “The smell of toast makes me think of sex.” Nick grinned faintly.

  She tucked a bit of crust into her mouth and licked her fingers. “I seem to remember you telling me that.” She held up the last crust. “Want a bite?”

  Nick shook his head. “What’s the point?”

  He was right, but Bess didn’t pull back her offered crust at once. She didn’t eat it when she had, but instead tossed it into the garbage pail. She’d lost her appetite, too.

  Nick slid off the counter and put a hand on her shoulder to turn her toward him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.” She shrugged, not looking at him. “You shouldn’t do something you don’t want just to—”

  “To seem normal?” Nick spoke softly. His fingers curled, bunching the fabric of her nightgown on her shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I pretended to eat? Maybe I could lie all night beside you like I’m sleeping, just so