She shoved aside some old bathroom supplies. She really needed to clean out in here one of these days. Another job to add to the bottom of her ever-increasing list of things to do, she thought with a sigh.
A black case fell with a clatter to the shelf below, knocking over a collection of old bottles of lotion and sunscreen. Erin lifted the case, ready to shove it back where it came from, but her hand stilled as she touched it.
James’s toiletries bag. The one she’d brought home from the hospital the night he’d passed away. What on earth had she been thinking, putting it back in here? She pulled the small black leather case out of the cupboard and yanked the zipper open, exposing the contents. Her heart almost shuddered to a halt in her chest. A toothbrush. More important, James’s toothbrush. Finally, she had something with his DNA. A way of proving, once and for all, that he, and not some stranger, was Riley’s father.
Erin stood, put the case on top of the vanity and quickly turned off the taps before going into the kitchen to find a zip-seal plastic bag to hold the toothbrush. When that courier pack arrived tomorrow she wanted to be sure she could send it straight back out again. Then all her immediate worries would be solved.
* * *
The next morning, as Sam made his way downstairs to the kitchen, he felt like a bear with a sore head. Last night had been madness. A delicious madness that had left him feeling frustrated and torn and racked with guilt. Kissing Erin Connell had been yet another betrayal to rack up on his list of failures to his dead wife. And yet, if it had been so wrong, why had Erin felt so very right in his arms? Why had the taste of her been so enthralling, so addictive? Why had he wanted more?
Pushing her away from him had been one of the hardest things he’d had to do in over a year. He’d wanted her with a need that went so deep he wondered how he’d be able to continue to stay here and still keep his distance. Yet the prospect of leaving was even more abhorrent to him.
Her parting words rang in his mind, over and over. “It was right, for us, at the time.” At the time. And what about the next time? And the time after that? Would he be capable of saying no? Did he even want to? Sam resolutely pushed the unanswered questions to the back of his mind, but they kept shoving right back to the fore.
It was time to be honest. He wanted Erin Connell. Wanted her in the way a man wants a woman. The first question was, did she want him just as much? If her response to him was any indicator she certainly did. But even more important, could he bear to live with himself if he followed up on the mixed feelings that clouded his every waking thought?
When he got to the kitchen he hesitated in the doorway. The room was empty, the benches cleared. A note sat on the worn kitchen table.
Good morning, Sam, I set your breakfast choices out in the main dining room. –Erin.
The main dining room? The giant room that, although very tastefully appointed, was best suited to a gathering of ten to twenty people? She was avoiding him, obviously. Maybe their kiss had rattled her more than she’d wanted to admit to his face. He smiled grimly. Well, he’d see about that. Sam limped to the dining room, where chafing dishes were set up on the old-fashioned sideboard. He heaped a plate with scrambled eggs, hash browns and strips of bacon, poured himself a generous mug full of steaming fresh coffee, and just as determinedly limped back to what he’d begun to think of as his seat at the kitchen table.
He was just finishing his coffee when Erin came through from her private rooms, sealing a large courier pack she was carrying. She started when she saw him at the table, almost dropping the package.
“Oh, you surprised me,” she said, tightening her grip on the packet and turning the address to face her. “Is there a problem in the dining room?”
Sam shook his head. “Not at all. I just prefer to eat here.” He hesitated and gave her a steady look. “Unless you have any objections, that is?”
“No,” she said cautiously. “I don’t mind. I just thought you’d prefer a bit of distance, after…”
He caught her hand and held it in his own. Her fingers were long and delicate, her nails short and practical, but he remembered full well how that hand had felt pressed against him, how those nails had bitten through the fine cotton of his shirt and into his skin, the sensations her touch had sent coursing through his body.
“After our kiss?” he said gently. “Don’t worry. You were right about it being what was right for us, right then. I think we’ve both been through the wringer and we both deserve a bit of comfort. Thank you.”
He let her hand go and saw the way she curled her fingers tight before flicking them out loosely again. Did her skin tingle the same way his did? Had a shot of something intense and instinctive rocketed through her as it had him? Even now he was semi-aroused just looking at her. Her breathing was rapid, her chest rising and falling in a way that was almost mesmerizing. Her soft full lips fell open, as if she was on the verge of saying something but had forgotten already what it was she wanted to say.