Summer of Love by Marie Ferrarella (easy to read books for adults list .TXT) 📕

When his muscles finally went limp, his arms encircled her back, thumb gliding along her spine.

She drew a deep, careful breath, registered Clint’s heavy breathing and smiled, the problems of the day melting as his scent mixed with her own and filled her head. She nuzzled his cheek and then went back to his ear.

“I guess I’m not the only one who went up pretty fast.”

His fingers tightened around her, although his voice was light. “Is that a complaint?”

“No. It was sexy, watching you lose control.”

He drew her mouth back to his and kissed her long and deep. “Is that so? In that case, maybe we should find out which one of us holds out longer … the second time around.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“IT’S JUST BEEN a long time, and I was upset.”

Not the first words a man wanted to hear when he woke up after a night of passionate lovemaking. But there they were, and Clint was at an obvious disadvantage, since he was lying on her couch, an afghan draped over his privates, while Jessi hovered above him, already dressed, looking both worried and …

Hungry.

It was there in her eyes as they slid over his body and then darted back to his face, as if she was doing her damnedest not to look at him.

They’d never even made it back to her bedroom last night, instead using the long L-shaped couch to its full advantage.

Well, if she thought he was going to make it easy for her …

He slid up and propped himself up one of the throw pillows as he eyed her right back.

“Well, that’s a hell of a good morning.”

She took a step closer. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to think …”

“That last night meant something other than great sex?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“So it did mean something,” he said, not sure which he preferred.

“No.” She held out a hand to stop him from saying anything else. All that did, though, was give him a way to reach out grab her wrist.

She half laughed, half screamed. “Clint, stop. I’m trying to be serious.”

“Oh, honey, so am I.”

She let him drag her to the sofa and haul her down on top of him, where a certain area of his body was already displaying its delight at this turn of events.

“Wait. Let me finish my thought.”

Leaving his fingers threaded in her hair, he looked at her, knowing his next words were not what he wanted to say at all. Hell, he didn’t want her to say anything except what she wanted him to do to her. But he forced the words out. “Okay, so talk.”

She drew an audible breath. “I just didn’t want you to think last night had anything to do with Chelsea.”

Her eyes trailed away from him, but the words themselves hit him in the chest like a bucket of ice water, sluicing away any hint of desire and leaving a cold trail of suspicion in its wake.

A sour taste rose up in his throat.

“I hadn’t thought that at all, Jess.” He rolled until she was wedged between him and the back of the couch as he stared at her. “Until just this very second. Did last night have something to do with her?”

“No! Yes. There are just things that you don’t know. About how her father … about how Larry died. Not even Chelsea knows. But if someone from our past sees you, I’m afraid she could find out.”

“I think you’d better tell me, then.”

Jessi’s eyes filled with tears. “A few months after we got married he told one of his friends I was pregnant. Well, the friend had seen us—you and me—leave graduation together and come back within minutes of each other. It got him thinking. He suggested Larry ask me whose child I was carrying.” There was a pause before she continued. “We had a huge fight, and he accused me of sleeping with you. When I wouldn’t deny it, he said Chelsea probably wasn’t even his.”

She shifted against the couch, and he eased back to give her some breathing space.

Clint could barely open his mouth. “His death?”

“He stormed off … so very angry. He went to a bar, and then a few hours later his car hit an embankment. He died instantly.”

Hell. He felt like the biggest ass in history.

He leaned his forehead against hers, guilt causing his muscles to cramp. One more thing destroyed by his lack of control all those years ago. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Jessi. I had no idea.”

So many mistakes: if he hadn’t impulsively raced after her that night. If he hadn’t stayed there with her and done the unthinkable … If he hadn’t left her to deal with it all afterwards.

The small box of baggage from the past morphed into a shiny new trunk of regret.

They remained like that for a minute or two until Jessi gave a little sniff.

He scooted back some more, giving her a chance to compose herself, trying to ignore the quick swipe of palms across damp cheeks. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Then … or now. But it would seem he’d done both.

And he knew what he had to do to keep from hurting her further.

He sat up and slid off the sofa, conscious of her eyes following his movements as he gathered his clothing and headed for the bathroom just down her hallway. After he’d flushed and washed his hands, he dressed quickly, avoiding his image in the mirror as much as he possibly could, because whenever his eyes met those in the reflection, angry accusations stared right back at him.

How had he let this happen again?

When he was around her, his common sense went out the window, and he let his emotions rule.

Just like his father. He didn’t hit, but his actions caused just as much damage. Dammit, they’d culminated in a young man’s death. Someone Jessi