He stretched onto his back, on top of the covers, his feet hanging off, his eyes closed and breathing steady. But he wasn't asleep. She couldn't be sure how she knew, yet she did.
His arm extended—the uninjured arm—thumping to rest and reaching across, broadcasting a temporary truce by inviting her to curl against his side. He'd said he was sorry and she believed he meant it. She could even look past his assumption she'd used drugs since he'd never suggested it was her fault. Actually, she could envision her pseudo-uncle resorting to addiction if she hadn't been so easy to manipulate through her child's health.
Yes, she could forgive Lucas for that assumption, but even with her heart softening, she wasn't sure she could forgive him for doubting her about Lucia.
Still, he waited with his arm out, his other arm cradled against his chest. Where she wanted to be, needed to be, in case this was their last chance.
Swinging her feet onto the mattress, she sank down to rest beside him, fit her body to his as his arm curved around and he cupped her shoulder. She let her head rest on his chest, too tired to talk or even cry.
But not too tired to notice the whipcord strength of the hot, honed body against hers.
For five years Sara had haunted his dreams. Sometimes laughing with him while blowing bubbles at his birds. Sometimes crying in shadows where he couldn't reach her.
Sometimes n**ed and very much within his reach.
Those last dreams too often woke him with a raging erection and no relief in sight. But right now, wide awake after his two-hour power nap, he wasn't dreaming and relief was in his arms for the taking, soft Sara asleep against his side, her head on his chest, her hair teasing his along his neck.
She needed her sleep and she certainly didn't need him hitting on her with some kind of lame-ass, hey I know you're pissed at me and I accused you of being a drug addict, then capped it off by denying my own kid...but would you mind if we took a time-out for a quickie?
Yeah, it would most definitely be a quickie. Because after five years without her—hell, without anybody— he was sure to be one trigger-happy dude in the sack. He'd be lucky to make it inside her, and ah crap, if he started thinking about being inside her again while they were already conveniently in a bed, then he'd lose it here and now.
He inched away, easing his pillow under her head. He spread the edge of the covers over her before ducking into the hall to Lucia's room where Keagan sat vigil with a laptop on his legs. Even though Lucia had been given a clean bill of health and he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, he would feel better after seeing for himself that she still rested peacefully.
The agent gave him a quick thumbs-up and waved him away. Lucas nodded silently and padded back to the other bedroom, locking the door behind him.
Locking him inside with Sara. Freudian slip? Not hardly.
He should pivot his ass right out of the room again and scavenge for food instead of staring at her like some lovesick adolescent. Except, damn. She still took his breath away.
What a hokey phrase—taking his breath away. Yet it fit, because his chest went tight whenever he saw her. Always had, from the first time he'd checked out her luscious-mouthed smile and even more luscious behind that he'd later found fit perfectly in his hands.
She'd changed in subtle but unmistakable ways. She wasn't as lighthearted, and overall she appeared smaller, more angular than before, either from stress or the constraints of her diabetic diet.
He didn't like his inability to stay levelheaded around her. He didn't want anyone to have that much power over him, and he couldn't even let himself think about losing her again.
So why should he lose her?
They were married. She was his wife. They even had a child together. Her brother was the closest thing to a sibling he'd ever had. She would have a tough transition in the coming months, Lucia, too, after her strange, secluded start in life. They needed him. He was good at taking care of people's basic needs—protection, shelter, providing for them.
Finally he could see his role and their future.
He would take it slow with her, of course. He didn't expect to pick up where they'd left off. Since they'd been fighting then, it was probably best not to start there.
But he could slide in bed next to her, hold her while she slept, let himself forget about the mess with Seabrook, a mess he couldn't do a thing about, and how he hated feeling helpless.
He knelt on the edge of the bed, lowering himself slowly until he stretched beside Sara. Sighing, she shifted, her head on his chest again as if by instinct. Where she belonged.
Where she fit so damn well.
How could a two-hour nap have left him so wideawake? Very awake and aware of the woman beside him. As if he wasn't ready to snap with frustration over his life and job, now his body had gone traitorously hard.
Her hand slipped under his T-shirt, fingers splaying over his chest. The touch seemed benign enough, but she may as well have grabbed him a little farther south because the simple brush over his chest had him battling back a groan.
Patience, he reminded himself. This wasn't five years ago.
His body disagreed.
He stayed motionless, waiting for her to settle again. Her lashes fluttered open, confusion fogging her eyes, slowly clearing with fast blinks.