Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(52)
“Did I take too long?” she asked as she approached him.
“No.” He shrugged. “I was done and figured it was just as easy to meet you here.”
She nodded, smiling shyly at her husband of twenty-seven years. “Thanks for waiting.”
They began to walk slowly up to the house, not deliberately touching but so close that their shoulders occasionally brushed. Heat shot through her with every touch and she wanted to reach for his hand, wanted to hold him to her and beg him to reconsider. She’d made so many plans for the future for the ranch and for their marriage.
“Jesse—” Her voice broke despite her best intentions. She wanted to start again but suddenly lost her nerve.
He looked at her inquisitively, but she couldn’t speak around the sudden lump in her throat. While the silence continued, stretched between them with the weight of things unsaid, he reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a book. “Willow asked me to return this to you. She was afraid it would get lost in the confusion.”
Desiree’s gaze met his in the dim light. Had he read her journal? A combination of dread and excitement curled in her stomach. If he had read it, then she’d have nothing left—no pride, no privacy, nothing at all to hide behind.
But at least he would know how much she loved him. Her eyes searched his, wanting to know. Needing to know. But he was giving nothing away.
“Thank you,” she murmured, tightly clasping the book in her suddenly nerveless hands.
“No problem.” He opened the front door, gestured for her to precede him. They lingered in the foyer for a few long moments. Desiree knew her feelings were in her eyes, prayed that Jesse cared enough to read them there. He didn’t say anything, simply turned away and headed for the stairs.
“I’m beat. Can we talk in the morning?” he asked.
“Talk?” she asked hesitantly.
“About the conditions of the divorce?”
Desiree’s already fragmented heart shattered. She actually felt it break. But if pride was all she had left, she’d be damned if she’d let him see how much he could still hurt her. “Of course. I’m just going to drop this off and then I’m heading up, as well.”
“Good night.” Jesse’s voice sounded hoarse, but she was too distraught to care.
“Yeah.” Her lips curved wryly. “Good night.”
The pain was sharp, unbearable. After all these years, was this really how things were going to end? With a silence that couldn’t be broken?
No. Hell, no. If this was the last chance she had to fight for her marriage, then she would fight for it. To hell with her pride. Dropping the files on the table in the middle of the foyer, she headed up the stairs after her husband.
The sound of water running through the old pipes gave testimony to the fact that he was still as awake as she was.
With a sigh, she turned left, knowing that she could be letting herself in for even more heartbreak. But the fighter in her refused to let her marriage slip quietly away. She knocked on his door softly, not wanting to wake up the rest of the house. She grimaced. More like she didn’t want to be humiliated in front of her children and Maria.
When he didn’t answer and the water continued to run, she slowly turned the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked. She called his name as she entered the room, but there was no answer. Despite her best intentions, her eyes went to the steam-filled bathroom.
She knew she should leave. She could talk to him in the morning after they’d both had a chance to get some sleep. But the huge distance between them had been bridged in the walk home from the stable tonight—at least for a little while—and she was reluctant to let it go.
She was one step away from settling herself on the bed to wait for him when her wicked streak raised its curious head. What would Jesse do if she slipped into the shower with him? Would he toss her out or welcome her as he had so many times? There was only one way to find out and, while her pride smarted at the idea of being rejected again, once the idea was planted there was no way she could ignore it.
Shimmying out of her clothes as quickly as possible—he had been in the shower for a while—she headed toward the bathroom. Toward Jesse. With a deep breath for courage, she slipped into the shower and let her hungry eyes wander over Jesse’s strong body.
He was still beautiful to her. Decades of working with horses had honed his body into a well-oiled machine. The well-defined muscles of his back rippled with his every movement. She trailed a finger over his collarbone, down his chest, skimming across his flat stomach before drifting lower. She watched his body react to her touch, watched him grow hard under her fascinated gaze.
He grabbed her hand inches before she reached her goal.
Her gaze darted to his, and for a moment she was caught in their tortured midnight depths. His breathing was ragged, his body as fully aroused as her own. She knew how to inflame him, how to drive him beyond the rigid control he was so painfully exerting. But she had come this far—the next move was his. And so she waited, chest heaving, body tingling, for him to make a decision.
He stared into her eyes for long moments, his indecision plain to see. She was painfully aware of her nakedness and with every second that passed, her discomfort grew until she was shaking under the weight of her regrets. She’d made a horrible mistake in thinking that Jesse felt the same way. He didn’t need her the way she needed him. He really was over her, despite the chemistry that still existed between them.