Stardust Miracle (17 page)

It was hard to keep her mouth shut. Hard to hold back the pleas. She wanted this so badly.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he said slowly, the old-fashioned words sounding oddly gallant. 

She pressed her palms against her belly, her lips together to hold back a cry. Nodding, she backed up. “I understand.”

The hurt showed in the thickness of her voice. Putting her hand over her mouth, she turned away.

“I don’t want you to be sorry tomorrow,” he said.

She snapped around, the pain and sorrow wiped away by a lightning bolt of anger. “I can make my own decisions on whether I’ll be sorry or not. I don’t need you or any man deciding that for me.” 

Glaring at him, she embraced her anger. It filled her, keeping the searing grief and other sucky emotions at bay.

“Thank you for supporting me and Sarah.” She enunciated the syllables sharply. “And for the dinner. I’m sure you’ll want to get home to your bed.”

Instead of turning away, he stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do want to make love to you.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Her breath sucked in as he said the word ‘love’ to her, and she realized that she’d used it first. Maybe that’s why he’d hesitated. Maybe if she’d said ‘have sex’ his first answer would’ve been different.

Because she didn’t want love. She just wanted sex. Hard and fast and so heated she wouldn’t think of anything else.

Becky opened her mouth to tell him so, but his lips came down on hers and stopped the words from coming out of her throat. His kiss, soft and sweet and slow, stopped her heart for a second, too. And she was ready. She realized she’d been ready since she saw him with the puppy on his lap.

A small noise came out of her throat – pleasure, she thought. Surprise at his gentleness. At her body expressing appreciation. 

But she still thought about other things. Like how he was bending to fit her, the size of his penis – contrary to the spam on her email, she didn’t want a giant-sized penis. And did he have a condom?

At the last thought, her hands came up and clung to his upper arms, feeling the strong muscles of his bicep as she had two more thoughts.

Don’t have a condom. I want a baby.

Maybe his swimmers were stronger than Jim’s. Maybe they could find one of her few eggs. After all, she didn’t need a lot of eggs to have a baby. Just one fertilized egg.

She wouldn’t expect him to be a father. 

She just wanted to be a mother.

Pulling away, she held out her hand. “There’s a bed in the other room.”

He took her hand and she led him down the hall into her temporary bedroom. She switched on the light then closed the door. She started to take off the necklace Sarah had loaned her.

A laugh came from him, and she turned to look at him. “You don’t waste time,” he said.

Her cheeks heated. She’d been married too long. Foreplay was what she and Jim had done naked, actually. And not much of it. But she didn’t want to think about Jim now.

He grinned. “Sorry, I stopped you. Go ahead.”

Looking at his grin, a bit of the horror melted inside her. A bit of the desperation, too...but not the need. Right now, in the bedroom with him, the need flamed up, more powerful than before. Became a force that consumed her with its wildfire of desire.

She set the necklace and earrings on the corner desk. Then, holding her arms straight out, she barreled into him. He caught her, and his arms curved around her back. All the need and desire and primal emotions that she didn’t even understand swirled up inside her. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched up, wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and head, then pulled his lips down to meet hers, to crush onto hers.

No more softness, no more dancing around, no more, no more, no more.

Just this. Just him and her and the bed as they shifted closer to it in small sideways steps. Her eyes closed, she felt the edge of the sofa bed that was still in pull-out position.

They tumbled onto it, and she felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, only in Becky’s case, she was happily falling. Pulling him with her. He twisted to his side to let her land on top of him. His erection pushed against her belly. Hardness against softness. Yin and yang. Male and female.

She started rocking, a knee on each side of his thighs, even as he shifted his legs up. His shoes still on. Hers still on.

She should have taken hers off right away.

And why hadn’t she worn a skirt or dress instead of pants?

She wasn’t ready to leave him yet. To take time to undress. Too maddened. Too busy riding him. Still completely dressed.

Their mouths locked together. Sloppy wet kisses. Coming from her, not him. And she didn’t care. Her mouth mimicking the wetness below her waist and between her legs.

He broke away and held her apart from him.

No! No, no, no!
She choked back the words and only a moan escaped.

His breaths were harsh and loud. “If we don’t take our clothes off,” he said, his voice guttural, coming from deep in his belly, “I’m going to come in my pants.”

She rolled off him so fast that she came down on her knees on the carpet. He didn’t notice, pulling his shirt over his head. By the time he got it off, she was busy taking off her top, frantic to get rid of her clothes, wishing she’d taken them off earlier. 

No buttons popped but her hands seemed clumsy and she found out kicking off her shoes and unzipping her pants at the same time didn’t work well. Her teeth ground together but her frustration didn’t lessen her need. Instead it increased. The need grew louder and more imperative until it became a thrumming in her blood.

Then she was naked and she turned and he was naked, too. His arms held out to her. His muscles defined, his legs long. And his penis...

She froze for a minute. Her skin chilled as she stared at the condom-covered penis.

All she could think of was that there would be no baby.

Then he sat up and reached for her. She let him draw her down to the mattress. Let him position her on the bed. Let him kneel over her. Let him lay on her. Let him touch her.

The need slammed back at her and she was wholly aroused again, wrapping her legs around him. Keening in a high, small voice. He made noises, too. A moan as they came together. Foreplay short, not needed. Both of them on fire.

The first orgasm hit her. Shivers of delight. She curved her back up and put her mouth against his shoulder to muffle her cry. The shivers went on and on. Then they stopped abruptly, and she slumped back onto the bed. 

And then another one. 

And another.

And another.

Sometime after the tenth orgasm, she stopped counting. She was shivering when his body jerked, and he cried out, a hoarse shout of release. 

He held her tight as small shudders went through him. Like the aftereffects of an earthquake. His skin was damp, though the house had cooled with the night. His breaths came out on gulps that lessened in magnitude with each inhale and exhale. Finally his breaths were shallow and he lifted his upper body, the separation of their sweaty chests making a sucking sound.

“Wow,” he said.

She laughed, and was a bit surprised that she could laugh after all that had happened tonight. “Yes, wow.” 

“I can’t remember the last time it was so...”

“Intense,” she said.

He nodded. She reached her hand up. “It’s a first for me,” she said.

She didn’t say so, but she supposed Marsh’s death had made her feel more alive. Made it matter more. Turned sex into an affirmation of life.

He leaned down and kissed her, their lips closed. Then he slid out of her and rolled out of bed...

And something leaked out between her legs.

She sat up, all her senses that had been lulled a second ago snapping to wakefulness. “Either something tore inside me or your condom has sprung a leak.”

He looked down at his shrinking condom-wrapped penis. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Directing him across the hall, she got out of bed and ascertained the stuff leaking down her thighs was definitely semen.

She was not surprised. Nothing inside her hurt. In fact, her insides felt pretty good.

“A baby,” she whispered, and put her hands over her belly.

The possibility was tiny. So tiny she shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But, oh, if she could have a baby it would be...

A miracle.

Chapter Twenty-six

A soft cry woke Becky. Half asleep and lost in a fuzzy dream, she thought it was a baby’s cry, a baby just waking up. A cry that said, ‘I’m lost. Help me.’

Opening her eyes, she looked straight into Sarah’s face. Her sister’s mouth was twisted with anguish.

“I felt someone in bed with me,” Sarah whispered hoarsely. “I thought it was Marsh and this whole thing was a bad dream.”

Becky propped herself up on her elbow. After Trey left, she came up and crawled into bed with Sarah. She had the feeling it would help in the morning. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone. Sorry.”

“No, no, no.” Tears dampened Sarah’s eyes. “I would’ve felt worse. Thank you for being here.”

Becky reached out to her, but Sarah rolled to face the wall. “I’m going to be okay. I just want to be by myself for a bit.”

“Of course.” Becky drew her arm back and scooted out of the bed. “Do you want breakfast?”

Sarah’s head shook. “I’ll get up before Cody comes back. I have to be strong for him.” She gave a half sob, half laugh. “It’s going to sound crazy, but it felt as if Marsh were with me last night. I couldn’t see or hear or touch him. But I sensed him. Almost as if I’d turn around and there he’d be.”

Becky stood still, not leaving. In her mind, she saw Marsh’s ghost again. His open face, bewildered and surprised and sad. But there had been something more... 

“When I did turn...he wasn’t there.” This time Sarah sobbed aloud for a few seconds before she shuddered to a stop. “I was...bereft all over again. As if someone stabbed me in the heart.”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you last night.” The scene of the accident still strong in her mind, Becky leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I didn’t think you were ready.”

Sarah rolled over and pushed up on her elbows. “Ready for what?”

“Trey and I had gone to Tomahawk for dinner at the Thai place.” Becky paused. Sarah nodded, two vertical frown lines between her eyebrows. Becky squared her shoulders and continued. “We came upon the accident just after the emergency people got there. Minutes after it happened.”

Sarah sucked her breath in audibly, and Becky winced. She hurried to get on with the rest of her story.

“I tried to get to his truck, but a fireman blocked me. And suddenly, I saw...” She stopped. Awe and grief and horror and happiness swelled inside her brain.

It was too much emotion. A huge overload.

“What?” Sarah swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed off. She stood two steps in front of Becky. Her face looked ravaged. Her eyes red and dull. Her complexion ashy. Her cheekbones hollow. As if she weren’t far from death herself.

“I saw his...” Becky paused again, and the lines between Sarah’s eyebrows deepened. The words rushed out of Becky’s mouth. “His ethereal body.”

Sarah’s forehead scrunched. “What?”

Becky grimaced. “That didn’t come out too well. I was trying not to say this, but I saw his ghost.”

“Don’t.” Sarah brought up her hands, warding Becky away from her. “Don’t do this to me.”

She stepped back, and Becky reached out and grabbed Sarah’s wrists. “No, listen, Sarah. I
saw
him. I
heard
him.” She heard her voice change. Breathless from awe. “He told me to take care of you and Cody and the baby.”

“No,” Sarah whispered, shaking her head.

“Yes.” Becky kept hold of Sarah’s wrists. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Why you?” Sarah’s voice rose, her mouth and jaw twisted. “Why didn’t he come to
me
?”

“I was there. He was rising out of the truck. He didn’t hang around and have a conversation. It was all about you.”

Sarah wrenched her wrists from Becky’s grip and snapped around, her back bent, her shoulders hunched forward, her head bowed. “Just one touch. Just one last touch.”

Becky looked at Sarah’s stooped back. “Remember when I said he was your angel?”

Sarah shook her head, her blond hair flopping.

“When I was rubbing your back?”

“That’s right, I hit you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure I deserved it from another time.”

A laugh came out of Sarah’s mouth. Then she lifted her hand to her face. Becky couldn’t see her face, but she pictured Sarah putting the back of her hand in her mouth, the way she used to when she was a toddler.

“I was singing
Angel
by Sarah McLachlan,” Becky said, “and this feeling came over me that he was your angel.”

Sarah slowly turned. Her hand came down. Her head rose. Her eyes glared. “You’re one of
those
people now? The
woo-woo
people?”

Becky backed up. She hadn’t expected Sarah to believe her right off. It still hurt, but she reminded herself that Sarah was hurting a lot more than Becky. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

“You do that.”

Sarah faced the wall again and crossed her arms. Becky thought if she were an artist, she would remember Sarah’s hunched back, sorrow in every line, and try to catch it in whatever medium she used. To create a portrait of grief.

But she was just Sarah’s sister and didn’t have any special skills besides seeing ghosts and sparkles. And recently she realized she had a skill for appreciating lovemaking.

That was a marketable skill, though not one she was likely to use that way.

So Becky left the bedroom to go downstairs to take care of the dog and the puppies and the kitten. Soon the calls would come, and she would need to answer them.

A bolt of anger shook her. What happened to the miracle that the words on the car windows had promised? She wanted to see Marsh walk into the house, healed and better than ever, with or without the ugly pirate tattoo on his left bicep. It didn’t matter. She just wanted to see his grinning face and his laughing eyes as he said, “I fooled you, didn’t I? I fooled ’em all.”