Knight In Black Leather by Gail Dayton (ebook reader ink .txt) 📕

When he came out, Marilyn was in her long white cotton gown with the lace at the neck, unplugging the phone in the kitchen. "If they want to talk to us that bad, they can call back."

Eli kept moving past her toward the bed. Seeing her in that gown at night with the room nothing but shadows was a lot different from seeing her wear it in bright morning light. The gown wasn't so thin he could see through it, exactly. But he could see the shape of her body, the way her breasts swayed when she moved.

He wanted her. That was nothing new. The wanting never seemed to stop. But right now it wasn't his body screaming the loudest. Yes, his arms whimpered with the need to hold her. His lips cried, needing to kiss her, but they were nothing compared to his heart. He thought it was his heart, given the ache in the center of his chest. Whatever it was, it needed... He didn't know what the hell it needed, other than Marilyn.

He'd never hurt like this before, soul-deep and empty, not even when his dad died or when his mom let Stan kick him out. He'd hurt bad then, but different. Eli sat on the edge of the bed, unable to summon up the energy to haul the damn leg cast up onto the bed so he could lie down. He wished Marilyn would come over and fix what ailed him without him having to figure out what it was he needed.

She went to the windows and dropped the pulled-back curtains over the blinds. They didn't darken much.

He didn't turn to watch her moving around in the room on her side of the bed. Just hearing her was bad enough. In a minute, when she was safely under the covers, maybe then he'd have enough energy to pick up his weighty leg and lie down.  Though "safe" was a relative term, given Marilyn's presence in the bed beside him.

"Eli?"

He twitched in surprise when Marilyn set her hand on his shoulder. Then she sat beside him and slid her hand down his good arm until she clasped his hand. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged a shoulder. As okay as could be expected, given everything. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Not with Marilyn.

She freed her hand from his clinging fingers and put her arm around him. Then she put her other arm around him, turning toward him, and pulled his head down on her shoulder.

How did she know he'd been dying inside for lack of this? Wanting it and not daring to ask. Eli put his arms around her and held on tight, as tight as he could with a cast on one arm.

They sat like that a long time. An eternity and not nearly long enough. Nobody cried. Nobody spoke. They just sat on the edge of the bed and held each other, Eli's head on Marilyn's shoulder.

Tears kept welling up in Marilyn's eyes and then fading away again. Her heart ached, thinking of all Eli had endured, not just today, but in his life. It was a miracle he'd not only survived, but come through it to be the kind of man he was. He wouldn't want her tears. She was grateful he'd take her comfort. She needed his comfort so badly after seeing that poor woman's--

She shuddered as the horrific vision slid back into her mind. Eli tightened his arms around her. Marilyn stroked a hand down the satin skin of his back, feeling vaguely guilty and yet ferociously glad that she could enjoy such a physical sensation. She'd heard about this reaction to death but had never herself experienced it before.

Eli nuzzled into her neck, his lips brushing her collarbone in what could have been accident. Was it? Did she want it to be?

While Marilyn was trying to make up her mind, her hand took its own action, making a return trip up Eli's back. It moved slowly, shaping itself to the contours of lean muscle and spine, exploring what her eyes had seen every day for a month. It had barely reached his shoulder blade when Eli pulled away. He sat up straight and looked at Marilyn, his eyes somehow bluer than she had ever seen them.

She stared back, unable to speak. But he didn't seem to want words. He studied her face. Marilyn licked her lips, swallowed, wondering what he saw.

Twelve

***

Eli's gaze lowered slowly. She resisted the urge to hide herself. There was nowhere to hide, and she'd look stupid if she tried.

Eventually, Eli looked at her hand, the self-directed one that had gone exploring on its own. It now lay oh-so-innocently in her lap. He moved his broken arm toward it, then switched and pulled his other from behind her back to pick it up.

His eyes flicked back to hers and watched her as he lifted her hand and set it on his chest, fingertips brushing his collarbone. He pressed gently until it lay flat against his skin. Then he took her face in both hands and moving slowly, as if to give her a chance to object, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.

She should object. But she flat couldn't make herself. Maybe if he'd been brash or in any way aggressive, she could have done it. But this-- This sweet, tender, yearning kiss...

Eli opened his mouth over hers and the kiss, no less sweet and tender, blazed with heat. He moved his hand to cup her head as his tongue slid seductively into her mouth. When had she opened it?

The fingertips emerging from his cast brushed lightly over her cheek and stroked down her neck as they kissed. She'd been kissed a lot of times in a lot of ways in her life, but never like this, as if he wanted to melt her down and mix the results with his own meltdown until there was no separation between what was Eli and