Hope Street Part 16

Her smile grew. "For all you know," she pointed out, "he wasn't interested in me."

"He was interested," Curt argued, glancing at the two of them posed on the TV. "Look at him. You can tell."

Ellie aimed the remote control at the TV and poked a b.u.t.ton with her thumb. The screen went black.

If only getting rid of one's past could be that easy. If only he had a remote control with a b.u.t.ton he could press to make all his mistakes disappear. "You should have slept with him," he said glumly. "If you had, we'd be even."

Ellie snorted. "It's not a contest, Curt. A marriage isn't a game where you score points and hope for a tie."

Curt agreed with a shrug. "But maybe if you'd slept with him, you wouldn't hate me so much. You'd understand why I did what I did, even though it was incredibly stupid."

"I understand why you did what you did," she said, her tone surprisingly gentle.

"But you can't forgive me for doing it."

She ran her thumb along the edge of the remote control, her eyes focused inward on her own thoughts. Maybe he'd hoped she would finally relent and offer her forgiveness, but she didn't. She just moved her thumb back and forth on the black plastic, gazing at nothing, ruminating.

No forgiveness. Fine. Curt moved on. "So you didn't sleep with him. But you came home a different person."

"By the time I came home, I wasn't a basket case anymore."

"You were cool and collected. No-you were cold and reserved." He forced the words out. "You weren't wearing your wedding band. Something happened over there that made you decide you wanted a divorce."

"The only thing that happened over there was that I realized I could function on my own. I could accomplish things. I could take care of myself. I could live some good days and go to bed feeling as if my life was worth something." Her gaze sought his. "And the divorce was something we both decided."

He conceded the point, reluctantly. He recalled checking out her hand every day for weeks after she'd gotten back to see if her ring had made a reappearance. When it hadn't, he'd confronted her. Over one of their cold, reserved dinners, he'd asked, "Are you ever going to wear your wedding band again?"

She'd touched her bare finger and closed her eyes. "What's the point, Curt? We can't go back to where we used to be."

"Do you want a divorce?" He'd had to force the words out, yet they'd emerged low and even, as if they'd possessed some inherent logic. Perhaps they had. He and Ellie had lost a son. They'd lost each other. They could never get Peter back; maybe they could never get each other back either.

She'd stopped rubbing the naked base of her ring finger and gazed steadily at him. "That would probably be the most sensible thing."

If Ellie could discuss such a devastating emotional step in terms of how sensible it was, he'd supposed, she must have given the subject plenty of thought already. That late-summer night over dinner had been the first time he'd allowed himself even to think the word divorce, let alone speak it. Yet she hadn't seemed surprised. She'd already reached a conclusion. She'd decided to be sensible.

He loved Ellie. He'd wanted her happy. That was all he'd ever wanted, for her to be happy and whole. "All right, then," he'd said. He could have fought her-he'd always loved a good fight-but this fight wouldn't have been good. They would have been fighting over whether Ellie deserved to live the rest of her life the way she wanted to. He couldn't deny her that right.

Yet he'd never wanted a divorce, and he definitely didn't want one now, even though he wondered if he could remain married to a woman unable to forgive him. "What if I told you I was opposed to divorce?" he asked carefully, watching her and bracing himself. He had no idea what her reaction would be.

"Curt..."

The h.e.l.l with being careful. He was in a battle for his future, for his family, for everything that mattered to him. He was a natural-born fighter, and he had to shoot for a victory. "We've just watched a movie of your life-and a lot of it is our lives together. We've lived so much, shared so much. There's so much affection on that DVD, Ellie. So much joy. I don't give a d.a.m.n if you can't forgive me. I don't care that you think I'm some kind of monster for what I did. I don't want a divorce."

Her eyes widened. "I never thought you were a monster."

"A s.e.x-crazed beast."

She opened her mouth to dispute him, then shut it and gave him another enigmatic smile. "You want to argue semantics?"

"I want to argue about putting our marriage back together, Ellie."

"We've been discussing a divorce for the past two months. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Because you wanted the divorce. And I thought, if that's what it would take for Ellie to be happy, then that's what we'd do. Because I can't stand the thought of you going through the rest of your life as sad as you've been."

"And now...what? You do want me to go through the rest of my life sad?" The absurdity of her statement made them both smile. Then, simultaneously, they stopped smiling. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I saw that movie." He gestured toward the television. "And I realized my happiness is important, too." He s.h.i.+fted on the mattress, turning to face her fully. "I crossed a line. G.o.d knows I did, Ellie-but it was because I felt as if we were both slowly dying. I struggled to keep you from going under, but nothing I tried worked. So I finally figured I had to save myself. I wasn't looking for fun. I wasn't looking for excitement or pa.s.sion or love. All I wanted was to feel like I wasn't dead." He sighed, scrutinizing her, wis.h.i.+ng she were easier to read. What was she thinking of this overwrought confession? Was she even listening to him? Did she care?

"What I did was wrong. I admit it. I bared my soul to you, told you what I'd done, apologized as many ways as I could. I didn't want another woman. I didn't want an affair. All I wanted was you, Ellie. All I've ever wanted was you."

Her eyes glistened, and she lowered them to stare at her hands in her lap. He lowered his eyes, too. She might not have been wearing her wedding band and eternity ring when she'd stepped off the plane at Logan Airport a couple of months ago, but she was wearing them tonight. Only because she'd been faking it for her parents, but the reason didn't matter as much as the fact that those two bands-one gold, one set with diamonds-circled her finger.

He eased the remote control out of her hand and tossed it onto the night table. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her ring finger. He felt the hard edge of the diamonds against the inner skin of his lip, the smoothness of the gold band, the silken softness of her skin.

"Forgive me, Ellie," he murmured, then rotated her hand and kissed her palm. Her fingers curled reflexively, and he heard the whisper of her breath. "Forgive me," he implored, pulling her toward him as he leaned forward. "Please. Forgive me."

He touched his mouth to hers.

SHE FORGAVE HIM. AS HER body softened and her breath deepened just from the gentle warmth of his lips on hers, she realized that she'd forgiven him a long time ago.

She waited for his kiss to build in intensity, like the kiss he'd given her outside the keeping room downstairs. But he held back, lightly grazing her mouth with his, a brush of skin against skin, no tongue, no teeth, no wild pa.s.sion. Quiet and subtle, he seduced her with patience and self-control. No demands, no fire. Only this: a man who wanted her.

She wanted him, too. She'd wanted him all along, from that first night on Hope Street when he'd convinced her that her dreams and goals were n.o.ble, and that refusing to mold herself to other people's expectations didn't make her a failure. She'd wanted him when she'd fallen asleep beside him that night, and when she'd awakened in his arms the next morning, and every day since then. She'd wanted him when they were apart-Curt in law school, Ellie still finis.h.i.+ng college-and when they were together, and when they got married, and when they had children.

She'd wanted him even after one of those children had died.

She'd been unable to acknowledge the want then. All she'd felt had been crus.h.i.+ng grief. And so much time had pa.s.sed, she'd a.s.sumed she would never be able to feel anything other than crus.h.i.+ng grief again.

But she could feel other things. Right now, she felt her body stirring, awakening from a long hibernation and realizing how hungry it was. Like pins and needles that flooded a sleeping limb as sensation returned to it, the sensation hurt, but she reveled in the hurt. It was a good hurt.

She reached up with her free hand and cupped Curt's cheek. She had touched his face a million times, but its warmth and texture seemed new to her. Even though he'd shaved before they'd left the house to meet her parents for what was supposed to have been a quiet birthday dinner, his jaw was slightly scratchy from his beard. How long had they been at the inn, eating, talking, recovering from the surprise party and watching the movie of her life? How long had they been trapped in this romantic prison of a room, trying to figure out where they would go once they checked out?

Long enough, she decided. Long enough for her to admit she still loved her husband.

He must have detected a change in her, a surrender, because he deepened the kiss. Only a little bit, only a tilt to his face, a gentle nip on her lower lip, a tightening of his fingers around her hand. For long minutes, that was all-just teasing, coaxing kisses, full of promise.

Was he waiting for another signal from her? Was she supposed to make the next move?

She wasn't sure she could do that.

Fortunately, she didn't have to. He guided the hand he held to his shoulder, then released it and dug his fingers into her hair. And opened his mouth over hers.

Their tongues touched. When he'd kissed her downstairs, their tongues had fought aggressively, almost angrily. But this was just sweetness, a tender invitation. He stroked her tongue with his, traced the surface of her teeth, withdrew and slid his tongue lazily across her lower lip. His languid pace served only to arouse her more completely. Her thighs clenched and a pool of heat spread low in her belly.

If she'd had any breath in her, she might have asked him to speed things along. But her lungs seemed to have ceased working, and perhaps her brain as well. She had no choice but to float along on his current, accept it, enjoy it-if she could let herself.

Still kissing her, he moved his hands through her hair and down the sides of her neck to the jacket of her outfit. The fabric was gauzy and light, and when he eased it off her shoulders it floated down her arms to her elbows. She let go of him and the jacket fell free of her hands. Curt stroked the newly bared skin, his palms warm against her.

He pulled back, then dipped his head to kiss her throat. She heard herself sigh. She knew where they were going with this-however slowly-and she told herself she was willing to travel that road with Curt. They could figure everything out afterward. Right now...She sighed again. Right now, all she wanted was his mouth exploring the ridge of her collarbone, his fingers playing over the fabric of her sleeveless top and under her arms. Were armpits an erogenous zone? Tonight, hers were.

"Oh, Ellie..." That was all he said-her name, spoken reverently. Just her name and his mouth and his hands, moving down her sides to the hem of her blouse and slipping beneath it. "Ellie..."

She traced his forearms, sinewy muscle and bone and a downy layer of hair, and then reached the bunched cotton of his sleeves where he'd rolled them up. Was she supposed to tear off his s.h.i.+rt? His hands were on her midriff and she wanted her hands on his. She wanted to feel the broad, supple surface of his chest. But his kisses seemed to drug her. She didn't think she could handle his s.h.i.+rt. b.u.t.tons were beyond her.

He bailed her out by leaning back again and unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt for her. He shrugged out of it and tossed it onto the floor. She gazed at his chest-like his face, familiar yet new. He'd been spending a lot of time at the fitness center, probably because over the past couple of years jogging on a treadmill and sweating through a Nautilus workout were more fun than hanging around the house with her-or hanging around the house by himself while she'd been in Ghana. His efforts showed. His biceps were clearly defined, his abdominal muscles sculpted slabs.

He was so beautiful. And he wanted her. After everything, he still wanted her.

He lifted her blouse and she dutifully raised her hands so he could pull it off. Her bra wasn't anything special; she'd replaced frills and lace with discreet engineering as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s went soft with age. Curt appeared enthralled by the plain garment, smooth and beige. He rose onto his knees and kissed a path over the swells of flesh above the cups, at last settling his mouth in the hollow between. He made a sound-of pleasure, of frustration, maybe both. It took more courage than Ellie knew she had to grope behind her back for the clasp and undo it. The bra fell slack and Curt moaned.

She leaned back into the pillows as he kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, languidly, delicately, taunting her with his leisurely progress. When his mouth closed over one nipple she felt her womb tighten and throb. When he rubbed his thumb over the other, she felt dampness between her thighs.

She wanted him. Wanted him madly. Wanted everything she knew he could give her, every exquisite pleasure he could bring her. She wanted her skirt removed, and his pants. She wanted him on top of her, inside her, giving them both what she'd denied them for so long.

"Curt-"

He raised his head and peered at her. "Should I stop?" he asked, so solemnly she knew that if she said yes, he would.

"No."

"Tell me what you want."

Happiness. Love. My life. My husband. "You," she said.

He leaned back on his haunches, undid his belt, yanked down his zipper. Before she could blink, his trousers and briefs were gone. His efficient search of her skirt located the waistband b.u.t.ton, and within a minute the skirt was gone, too, along with her nylons and panties. But instead of taking her, he stretched out on his side, rolled her onto her side facing him and gazed into her face while his hand roamed up and down her body. "I don't want to rush you," he said.

Go ahead, rush me, she longed to plead. Rush me so I don't have to think.

He seemed to be doing plenty of thinking. He didn't smile, didn't look away from her. His expression was pensive as he let his hand dip into the slope of her waist. He skimmed her s.h.i.+ns with his toes, lured her knee between his legs, stretched to caress her bottom. And just kept kissing her.

Please don't make me take the lead, she silently begged. I'm not up to that. I can't.

Kisses. More kisses. His hands on the backs of her thighs, his fingers brus.h.i.+ng over the creases behind her knees. Kisses on the bridge of her nose, on the bottom edge of her earlobe while his thumb dug through her hair to her nape. Kisses as he inched closer to her, as she felt his heat vibrating in the narrow s.p.a.ce between them, as his erection pressed into her belly.

At last he guided her onto her back and eased her legs apart. Even feeling how wet she was, he didn't smile. He played his fingers over her, slid one into her, watched the twitch of her hips, the curl of her toes, until she was sure she'd burst. So long since she'd felt that pulsing heat inside her. So long since she'd felt anything other than numb.

"Are you ready?" he asked, even though the answer was pretty obvious.

"Yes." She barely had the strength to speak. All her energy had gathered down below, where Curt was touching her.

"Because I could-"

"Yes," she groaned.

He allowed himself a hint of a smile at her impatience, then stretched out above her. She felt him against her, testing, and then slowly-oh, G.o.d, so slowly-he locked his body to hers.

In spite of her arousal, his invasion hurt. Years had pa.s.sed since the last time she'd done this. But she welcomed the discomfort and willed herself to relax as he rocked above her, his thrusts controlled but deep, so deep. He propped himself on his elbows and continued to watch her, searching for signs of-what? Climax? Anger? Regret?

Did he fear that their entire marriage hinged on what was happening right now? Did she fear that?

She closed her eyes and lifted her hips. She loved this, loved the lush rhythm of it, the friction, the way her body gradually remembered, recognized Curt and accommodated his movements. She loved his weight, his fingers tangling into her hair, the pumping of his abdomen against hers.

This was enough, she told herself. Accepting him, his body, his love-it was enough. She didn't need or expect more than what she felt right now.

"Come for me, Ellie," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She saw the strain in his face, his need for release rising inside him. He didn't rush, though, didn't force. Just asked.

"Let go, honey. Come for me."

She couldn't. She'd gone this far. It was enough.

He s.h.i.+fted, changing his angle, increasing the contact between them, and suddenly enough was no longer relevant. Heat built inside her, burned through her resistance. Instinct took over and she arched to meet him. She couldn't stop her response, not anymore. It thundered through her, leaving her shattered, exhausted, in tears. She'd let go-of herself, her fear and her fury. It was wonderful. It was awful.

She was demolished.

Curt groaned and shuddered. A tremor racked his body. His arms shook as he held himself steady above her, and his breath emerged brokenly. "Oh, Ellie...Don't cry, baby. Don't cry."

Just as she couldn't keep herself from responding to his lovemaking, she couldn't keep her tears from spilling over. He eased onto his back and gathered her in his arms, letting her sob against his chest. She wept for what she'd found in this bed, and for what she'd lost. She wept for the years her marriage had been all but dead. She wept for Curt's betrayal, and for her own.

He stroked his hand through her hair, soothing. "Talk to me, Ellie. This wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It was good," she said, her lips tasting the salt of her tears on his skin.

"It was good," he agreed, only when he said it the words sounded like a ridiculous understatement. "We've got this. We can work out the rest."

"I don't know."

"I do know. If you're not ready to forgive me, I'll wait. You know I love you. As long as it takes, I'll wait. There's no deadline here. We'll get through it."

"No." She wished she had the willpower to pull out of his embrace. His arm was so strong and protective around her, his chest so firm beneath her cheek. If she could close her eyes and lie with him on this grand bra.s.s bed in this charming room forever, maybe she'd never have to confront the truth.

Curt's voice was soft and lulling. "Tell me," he urged her. "Why can't we get through it?"

"It's me," she said, at long last allowing the truth out. "I forgive you, Curt. It's me I can't forgive."

"You did nothing you have to forgive yourself for," he argued. "You were so depressed, remember? You were a wreck. It's not your fault you didn't bounce back. That's what you told me, and you were right. Whatever happened between us wasn't your fault."

"You don't know, Curt." She swallowed down her final sob and inhaled deeply to calm herself. "I don't deserve your love. I don't deserve-this." She gestured vaguely at the bed. "It is my fault. All of it."

"Give me a little credit, Ellie. I had something to do with the mess we made of our marriage."

"I'm not talking about what you did, Curt. I'm talking about what I did." Say it, she ordered herself. He wants your honesty. "I'm talking about Peter."

"What about him?"

"I killed him."