Between Sisters

She touched his arm. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. ”

“Yeah,” he said softly, maybe sadly. “It’s been a while. ”

Meghann slept through the night. When dawn came to the small, dingy cabin windows and peered inside, she woke with a start. Instead of feeling nervous and cranky—her normal moods after a sleepless night—she felt rested and relaxed. She couldn’t remember the last time morning had been so sweet.

She felt the heavy weight of Joe’s bare leg against her own. His arm was around her, anchoring her in place. Even in sleep, his forefinger brushed possessively against her skin.

She should move away. It was a maneuver she’d perfected over the years—the intimacy-evading sideways roll, the silent plop to the floor, the soundless dressing and unseen exit.

What I mind, he’d said last night, is waking up alone.

She couldn’t sneak out.

The surprising part was that she didn’t want to, not really. She sensed that she should, in that basic self-preservation kind of way, but really, it felt good to be in a man’s arms again. As she lay here, listening to his slow, even breathing, feeling his arm around her, she couldn’t help but realize how little intimacy she’d known in her life. She was always so in control, moving forward on the path she saw for herself, she never let herself slow down enough to feel anything. It wasn’t real, of course, this intimacy she felt with Joe. They didn’t know or care deeply about each other, but for Meghann, even this approximation of emotion was more than she’d felt in years.

The sex had been different last night, too. Softer, gentler. Instead of their previous I’m-going-as-fast-as-I-can coupling, they’d acted as if they had all the time in the world. His long, slow kisses had made her crazy with wanting. It wasn’t simple horniness, either; at least that’s what she’d thought when he’d swept her away. She’d imagined that there was something more between them.

That worried her. Need was something she understood, accepted. In a gray world, it was jet-black.

Emotion was something else entirely. Even if it wasn’t a lead-up to love, it was trouble. The last thing Meghann wanted was to care for someone.

Still . . .

She had never been one to deceive herself and, just now, lying naked in his arms, she had to admit that there was something between them. Not love, surely, but something. When he kissed her, it felt as if she’d never been kissed before.

There it was, as clear to her as the colors of the rising dawn: the prelude to heartache.

The beginning.

It had sneaked up on her. She’d opened a door called anonymous sex and found herself standing in a room filled with unexpected possibilities.

Possibilities that could break a woman’s heart.

If she left him behind, he would fade into a pretty memory. It might hurt to remember him, but it would be a bittersweet pain, almost pleasurable. Certainly preferable to the kind of heartache that was sure to follow if she tried to believe in something more than sex.

She had to end this thing right now, before it left a mark.

The realization saddened her, made her feel even lonelier.

She couldn’t help herself; she leaned over and kissed him. She wanted to whisper, Make love to me, but she knew her voice would betray her.

So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. It didn’t help. All she could think about was later, when she would leave him.

She knew she wouldn’t say good-bye.

Joe awoke with Meghann in his arms, their naked bodies tangled together. Memories of last night teased him, made him feel strangely light-headed. Most of all, he remembered the hoarse, desperate sound of her voice when she’d cried out his name.

He shifted his weight gently, moved just enough so that he could look down at her. Her black hair was a tangled mess; he remembered driving his hands through it in passion, then stroking it as he fell asleep. Her pale cheeks looked even whiter against the grayed cotton pillowcase. Even in sleep, he saw a kind of sadness around her eyes and mouth, as if she worried her troubles both day and night.

What a pair they were. They’d spent three nights together now and had exchanged almost no secrets about each other.

The amazing thing was, he wanted her again already. Not just her body, either. He wanted to get to know her, and just that—the wanting—seemed to change him. It was as if a light had gone on in a place that had been cold and dark.

And yet it frightened him.

The guilt was so much a part of him. In the last few years it had wrapped around him, bone and sinew. For more nights than he wanted to count, it had been his strength, the only thing holding him together; the first thing he remembered in the morning and the last thing on his mind when he fell asleep.

If he let go of the guilt—not all of it, of course, but just enough to reach for a different life, a different woman—would he lose the memories, too? Had Diana become so intertwined with his regret that he could have both or neither? And if so, could he really make a life that was separate from the woman he’d loved for so much of his life?