“Did I mention,” she asked, stroking him admiringly, “that you are absolutely perfect?”
He was also very strong, as he proved when he suddenly hauled her upward and rolled her beneath him, the move accomplished almost before she knew what he intended. He couldn’t play anymore, she realized. He needed—and so did she. His hands were shaking when he donned protection, trembling so badly that he fumbled with the task. The uncharacteristic curse he muttered beneath his breath made her giggle.
“If you’re laughing at me,” he warned, bringing his mouth back to hers.
“I’m laughing with you,” she assured him, gathering him close.
“I’m not laughing,” he growled, but she saw a faint smile on his lips just before he kissed her.
Then he took her breath completely away when he buried himself deeply, completely inside her.
He hadn’t promised her fireworks, but he gave them to her, anyway.
By the time her heartbeat had slowed to near-normal and her breathing had returned to a more regular rhythm, she knew there would be no going back. Before today, she
had been able to avoid the L-word, even to herself, when describing her feelings about Trevor. Now it was no longer possible to resist admitting that she was head over heels in love. She had probably been in love with him since the day he’d kissed her behind the school gym fifteen years ago.
Jamie had always had a strong belief in fate. And she knew now that Trevor was hers.
As for whether she was his—well, that remained to be seen.
TREVOR WAS LYING on his back, staring at the ceiling, his right arm around her, her cheek cradled on his damp shoulder. He hadn’t said anything since a choked cry had erupted from him during their love-making. Jamie had no clue what was going through his mind. She lifted her head and propped her cheek on her hand. “You know how annoying it is when someone asks what you’re thinking?”
He looked at her. “Yeah?”
“Prepare to be annoyed.”
He reached up to smooth her hair. “You want to know what I’m thinking?”
“As long as it’s flattering to me.”
Chuckling, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “I was thinking that I’m very glad you invited me to lunch today.”
“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“If it’s not enough, I have a list of other compliments for you.”
“Hang on to them. I’ll want to hear them all later.” She bent her right leg at the knee, sliding it onto his. “I have a few for you, too, but I wouldn’t want to make you conceited.”
“There are some who might say you’re too late.”
She thought of the flashes of uncertainty she had glimpsed in his eyes. The fleeting hints of self-doubt. Things she hadn’t seen in him when he was younger. Something had shaken him badly since then, something that had hurt him, stolen the laughter from him. At first she had thought it was the shock and grief of his wife’s death. She had begun to wonder if there was something else. For one thing, he never mentioned his wife, not even in passing, and that seemed strange to her.
Of course, now was hardly the appropriate time to ask about her.
What was he feeling now? She had made him laugh and then made him groan in pleasure, but what had aroused the renewed somberness she sensed in him? Not regret, perhaps, but guilt, maybe? Wariness about what the future held for them?
She wanted to see him smile again. She walked her fingers up his rib cage, searching for a ticklish spot. She found one about an inch below his armpit. He jerked sharply and she laughed. “Ticklish, Trev?”
“No.”
She flicked the area again with the tips of her fingers. And, again, he flinched.
“Liar,” she said.
He caught her wandering hand. “Don’t make me retaliate.”
“You’re much too gentlemanly to do anything like that.”