palm. I just can’t do it. I can’t tell him yet.
I suck in a deep breath. “I called you because I missed you, Weston. I’ve missed your voice,” I tell him as I close my eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
Everything I’m telling him is true. I have missed him. I’ve craved him. And seeing him like this today, I crave him even more. I want to reach out and tuck my head under his chin and breathe him in. “You should go,” I say, my words quiet. “Please…”
He shakes his head and takes my hand in his. “I don’t want to go, Mirella.”
The feel of his hand on mine does things to me — things I don’t want to deal with. I jerk my hand away and get to my feet. I really wish I could get the hell out of there.
“Please go,” I plead again, and scurry away. I’m not sure where I’m going. But as I make my way to the back of the store, I try to find refuge in the narrow aisles. I press my face against a row of books lined up in the cooking section. I close my eyes, not wanting to deal with this situation. The old smell of books reminds me where I am, and why I’m there, trying to run away again. Maybe, I should just turn around and face my problems, for once in my life.
CHAPTER SIX
Familiarity is a wicked bitch.
I feel his presence behind me. I don’t turn around. I don’t want to face him. Because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll say too much. I walk slowly away from him, attempting to make a subtle escape. I trail my finger along the spines of the books lined up meticulously on the shelf. I’ve reached the gardening section.
I feel him edging closer behind me…closer still. My body stills when his hands press against my hips. He rests his chin against the top of my head. I don’t move. I’m completely frozen. My heart pounds so hard, I wonder if he can hear it.
“You smell just like I remember,” he tells me, his voice soft.
“Weston…”
He presses his mouth on the crook of my neck; the warmth of it consumes me fully. “I’m sorry, Mirella,” he says. “I know we’re done. I’ve been doing so well staying away from you.”
I still can’t bring myself to turn around and face him. I still have no words.
“Why did you really call me? That’s all it took for me to completely fall apart again.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words so small. I truly am sorry. I shouldn’t have called him that day. But I was so unhinged. Now, I regret it so much.
His face is still buried in my hair when he tells me, “I didn’t come here for this, but seeing you like this today…it’s been so long since I’ve touched you.”
His words sear. They heat every inch of me. I’m on fire. I’m out of control again, possessed by lust for this man I just can’t seem to let go. I know I can’t be with him. I realize to be with him would be cheating. He no longer has my husband’s permission to touch me. Yet, I don’t pull away. I don’t move an inch.
“I know,” I whisper. I still don’t turn around. I just stand there half hoping this moment will somehow resolve itself to a wonderful, simple conclusion. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be wanting this.
But I do. So much.
The feel of his hand toying with the hem of my skirt almost does me in. “Is this okay?” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
My body, my emotions betray me. All I want is for him to touch me. “Yes…”
As he sweeps my hair gently over my shoulder, his fingers graze my skin. His touch feels so amazing. I know I’ve been rendered completely powerless, devoid of any common sense. He presses his hot mouth gently against the back of my neck. “Is this okay?” he asks again.
And again, I whisper, “Yes…” Even if I know it’s not okay — it’s all wrong.
He slides a hand under the soft pink cotton of my skirt. His fingers glide against the outside of my thigh. “How about this?”
I don’t reply, but an unexpected soft moan escapes from my mouth. I close my eyes, practically melting to the floor. And I remind myself to stop wearing skirts.
According to all the pregnancy books I’ve read, pregnancy-related horniness doesn’t really kick-in until