A Different Kind of Forever(28)

“Oh.” They were silent for a while. Diane turned in her seat. “So, Angela and Neil have the two little ones?”

Michael nodded. “Right.”

“And Marie has four kids?” she asked.

“Yeah. You met the boys. They’re still young enough to want to hang out. The older girls, well, they’re at that age, you know? They’re kind of anti-family now. They only show up if there are presents involved.”

“Megan and Emily are the same. It’s tough. And Denise?”

“She just spoils her nieces and nephews.”

“I bet you do, too.” He shook his head, and she started to laugh. “No, I bet you buy them stuff and take them places and drive their parents crazy.”

“No, I don’t, really. I’ve watched them, raising their kids. It’s f*ckin’ hard. I don’t want to make it any tougher, you know?”

“What a nice person you are,” Diane said, suddenly serious. “Really. You’re very sweet.”

He glanced at her. They were silent as he pulled into her driveway. She was suddenly aware of the darkness, how near he was to her, the unspoken something that had hung in the air between them for hours.

“Want to come in? I could make some coffee.”

They went into the house together, Diane turning on lights as they walked through the empty living room. She could feel him behind her. He’s waiting, she thought. He’s waiting for me.

She turned suddenly. They were face to face, and she could feel the heat from his body, and his eyes were endless, impossibly blue, and he leaned forward very gently and kissed her. She was trembling, and he kissed her again. This time she kissed him back, softly at first, then with a growing hunger, and her arms went around him, his waist, under the thin fabric of his shirt and pulling him toward her. His body was lean and hard, and she opened her mouth, and she could feel the smoothness of his skin against her hands. As his arms went around her, she made a small noise, like a sob, and then his hands were in her hair, and his lips were brushing her neck, soft, down her throat, a trail of kisses that shook her entire body. She brought her hands up, between them, gripping his shoulders and pushing against him abruptly.

“Stop.”

He let her go, stepped back, and dropped his arms to his side. She pressed her hands against her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” his breathing was strained. “I thought – I’m sorry.”

“No. No, don’t be sorry.” He took a step toward her, hesitant, and she moved away. “I need to think. I can’t think if you touch me.”

He stepped back again, and she pointed. Her hand was shaking. “Sit. Please, sit down.”

He obediently sat down in a wing chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. He was watching her face.

“Okay.” She brushed back her hair with one hand and took a deep breath. “I’m forty-five years old.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Exactly. Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I like being twenty-six.”

She laughed shakily. “Michael, be serious. Doesn’t it bother you that I’m nineteen years older than you?”

He shook his head again. “No. Would it bother you if I was nineteen years older?”

“Please, Michael,” she pleaded, “don’t try to confuse me with logic. It’s not fair.”

He laughed. “Okay. From now on, no more logic. I promise.”

She took another breath. “I haven’t had sex in over six years. Not since before my divorce.”

“Whoa.” He sat back in the chair. “Six years? Shit, nothing like a little pressure.”

“Pressure?” She crossed her arms across her breast, hugging herself. “That’s how much you know. The way I feel right now, the only foreplay I need is for you to unbutton your shirt.”

His mouth twitched. “Oh.”

“Don’t you know how sexy you are? You should read some of your fan sites. I mean, I did, and boy, was I floored.’ She began pacing up and down in front of him, hands flying around her face as she spoke. “But then I saw you on stage. I mean, my God, you’re incredible. You’ve got all this talent and energy and I don’t know what else, and you put it all out there. Shit, Michael, what a turn-on. No wonder all those women want you.”

“That’s what I do,” he said softly. “It’s my job. I love it, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But it’s only what I do. It’s not who I am.”