She wouldn’t know the number. The navy had given him a temporary phone, pay-as-you-go, with its own number. Had Emily kept his number active? Been paying for it on their plan for two years even though he hadn’t been using it?

He knew she had. It’s what she’d do. Emily hadn’t changed. He had.

Of course, she’d thought him dead. For at least a month. A billing cycle. The number might be gone.

He didn’t think so.

Didn’t know why he was obsessing over a frickin’ number.

He wasn’t going to call her. What would be the point? He had to see her. To work out the legal details. He’d given his word.

And now that she knew he was alive, she deserved the truth. She needed to know that he was dead inside. It was the only way to set her

free.

Pulling into the drive, he took a deep breath, allowing himself to experience fully as he’d been ordered. And felt...nothing. He knew the slope. Most of the cracks. Saw the little dent in the garage, lower right, where he’d run the riding mower a little too close because he’d been busy gazing at his wife, who’d come outside in a pair of really short denim shorts and a black halter top.

His brain computed the memory. Nothing else happened. Not anywhere. Not even a little twinge beneath the fly of his uniform khakis.

He hadn’t needed to wear them. He was off duty. He just needed to hit a store and get some clothes. Everything he’d had with him had been lost in the desert when he’d walked into the enemy camp and offered to become a traitor to his country to distract them long enough for his comrades to get to safety. Everything he’d left behind that day had been returned in a box of effects to his widow.

The navy had helped him get a new driver’s license. Had provided uniforms, skivvies, socks, shoes. Enough to last a few days. His barracks had a laundry facility.

He had to get out of the car to get the job done. So he did. Shut the door like a man with a job to do. Walked with straight shoulders and purpose toward the front steps. Climbed them.

The front door had been painted. It was beige now. Used to be white. Hand raised to knock, he was startled as the door flew open.

“Winston? Oh my God, Winston! I knew you’d come. I was waiting. I knew!” The chatter went on, slightly garbled with tears, as weight slammed against his body.

He grabbed for it, lest it fall. Or lest he did. Arms clung to him, around his neck, as breasts fitted against his chest in a familiar, completely natural way. His arms lowered enough to find their place at the curve of waist just below his waist as his foot scooted, allowing room for the smaller foot sliding in between his two.

The drill was embedded. As much of his naval training had been. It all came back to him with ease. Until Emily lifted her head, gazed into his eyes, and planted her mouth against his.

Lips pursed tightly closed, he stood there, eyes open.

And waited for her to figure out that the man she’d known and loved no longer existed.

* * *

Eyes closed, Emily couldn’t have stood alone. Couldn’t think at all. Her heart pounded with Winston’s pulse, her hands clung to the warmth of the skin at his neck, her body leaning into him as it had always done.

Tears poured out of her, two years of sorrow, and joy, too, so much that she was wrapped in a sense of unreality—as though sensation was all there was.

No time. No place.

If heaven existed on earth, she was in it. And content to explode joy within it forever and ever. World without end.

Her lips on his were only more of the joining—not a kiss; basic lust was far too coarse for that world—as Winston seemed to know. He didn’t open his mouth. Or devour her.

Even his usual hot and heavy desire respected their space. Souls long parted, together again. Nothing touched that.

At some point he picked her up and carried her inside. Snuggled up against his big strong navy man body, she held on, feeling uncharacteristically needy. Winston was home. She didn’t have to be strong. To carry all the weight. She sniffled. Knew she had to stop the tears. They’d been bottled up for so long...

He laid her back against the couch. Let her go.

She waited for him to sit so she could climb up onto his lap. He’d liked it, when they’d go out to a bar, when she sat on his lap. She knew why.

Sex wasn’t why she wanted to be there now. Their sexual connection could wait. She just needed the reality of him. The warmth. The feel of him breathing.

Tags: Tara Taylor Quinn Parent Portal Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net