A New Hope - Robyn Carr Page 0,105

stop. But by that time, he’d become famished for more and he fumbled for the condom so he could get inside her. Once there, he remained still and luxuriated in the feel of her. His eyes were closed and there was a smile on his lips.

“Matt?” she whispered. “Are you going to fall asleep on me like this?”

“I might,” he said. “I could stay here forever. This is like home for me.”

She moved her hips a little. “Forever would be too long. It would make walking difficult. Take care of business.”

He opened his eyes. “You do have a bossy side.”

“And a needy side,” she said.

“My aim is to please you, my lovely girl.”

As he began to move in a way that had become familiar to them, he thought about the great comfort it was to have this kind of love—dependable, trusting, fulfilling, holding such promise for a lifetime of the same. He tasted her on his tongue, filled his head with that special scent of her, a combination of flowers and a musk that intoxicated him and belonged only to this woman, this soft, consuming, perfect woman. He moved rhythmically, deeply, searching for that crazy erotic place deep inside her that awaited him. When he felt that she was getting close, reaching, pushing back, gasping a little in anticipation, he smiled to himself. He knew her body as well as she did, as well as she knew his. And she came, the spasms so hot and tight his vision briefly clouded. And then, giving in to the ache of need, he let go and throbbed with the greatest pleasure he’d ever known.

When he could unclench his jaw, he covered her mouth in a deep and passionate kiss, licking her lips, sucking on her earlobe, kissing her neck and then her breast.

He was made for this, secure in the love of one woman, a woman who knew him and would let him know her completely. He had a strong libido so there had been women, but they’d been so briefly satisfying. What he had with Ginger was different. He was not just in love with her, he was eager to commit his life to her. It felt like the perfect union, like it was meant to be. He’d never had anything like this even when he’d been married.

Love, he was learning, was deeper and more complex than chemistry, than friendship. It was about the melding of souls. Of trusting someone with your dreams and learning you were safe to do so.

They would talk about this again someday—he and Ginger. This was stuff Ginger already knew and had been trying to explain to him. Ginger had learned this in the same tough, painful way he had. She had learned that she knew everything about Mick, knew and understood his dreams, his strengths and weaknesses. But Mick had known nothing about her.

“I did something,” he whispered to her. “I got out of that apartment.”

“In one day?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“A little more than that but not much. I made a lot of phone calls, went over there and stuffed my clothes in two big duffels, had everything that wasn’t nailed down put in a storage locker. I thought that was logical, in case we want that stuff in our house. But it didn’t take me long to change my mind about that. I don’t want any of it. When there’s time maybe we’ll run an ad and sell it. More likely, though, my brothers or sisters will hear I’m not using that sectional or bedroom furniture and borrow it. From that point on we can visit it at one of their houses because I’ll never get it back. So it goes in a big family.”

She laughed. “How does it feel?”

“It feels good. It feels really good. I didn’t think it would matter so I’m a little surprised—the second that truck unloaded into the storage locker and drove off, I felt so much better. I only did it because you wanted me to. I wasn’t convinced it had anything to do with anything. I’m appreciative of the things women do to make their houses comfortable, but I don’t care about that shit. I think I could live in a cave.”

“But not that cave,” she said, playing with his hair.

“Not that cave,” he said. “But why not?” he asked her. “Memories?”

“I’m sure there were some,” she said. “But mostly you didn’t really live there. It was even less personal to you than a motel room. You