What He Left Behind(40)

He kisses me, holding the back of my neck firmly. “You are not, and you never will be, anything like Steve.”

I swallow. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He loosens his grasp a little and starts stroking my hair. “And right now, the one you’re neglecting is yourself.”

“And us.”

Ian shakes his head. “You need to take care of yourself first.”

I search his eyes. “Are you suggesting that I put you after myself and this thing with Michael?”

“No. I’m asking you to make yourself the priority. You keep working with Michael, and you and I will work together to make sure we’re not neglecting us. If there’s a problem here”—he gestures at each of us—“I’ll tell you.” He inclines his head. “I always have, haven’t I?”

“Yeah. You have.” I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who’s less likely to let something fester—Ian is the king of nipping issues in the bud.

“I’ll let you know if there’s a problem,” he says. “All I ask is that you do the same. And be careful, okay?”

“I will. Promise.”

“Good. Because Michael needs you, but he needs you to be sane and healthy too. And that’s where I come in.” He combs his fingers through my hair. “You do everything you can to get him back to a good place, and I’ll do everything I can to keep you in a good place. Whenever it gets to you, come to me. I’ve got your back.”

I stare at him, struggling to comprehend what he’s saying.

“I care about him too,” he goes on. “I want you to take care of him.” He brushes his lips across mine. “Just let me take care of you too. Whenever you spend an evening with him, you spend the next one with me. That way you have a chance to decompress, and whatever’s happened with him, we can get it out of your system.”

I shake my head and trail my fingertips along his five-o’clock shadow. “You are seriously the best husband ever, you know that?”

Ian laughs but doesn’t say anything. He just holds me closer, and for the longest time, we just lie there, soaking up each other’s body heat. Eventually, we’ll get downstairs and find something to eat—and feed the animals before they revert to hunters—but for now, we don’t move, and I don’t object. I’ve always loved cuddling with Ian, and these days, I need it more than ever. I need him more than ever.

Tomorrow, I’ll go back to Michael’s bed, and I’ll keep going back until he’s steady on his own two feet. I’m thankful as hell that I can give him what he needs.

But especially right now, I’m grateful beyond words for Ian.





Chapter Twelve


Ian is a saint at helping me keep things balanced. A couple nights a week, I’m with Michael. Sunday evenings are wine and the hot tub with both guys. The other nights are reserved for my husband. Thanks to him, I actually have a fighting chance of keeping my sanity. When things are rough with Michael, when his ex has a hold on him and the bedroom turns into that minefield, Ian is there to ground me. That, in turn, makes it possible for me to ground Michael.

Little by little, we push Michael’s boundaries. Almost a month into this, we’re still barely doing more than making out and jerking each other off, though he’s rather enthusiastically letting me go down on him these days. The whole process is painfully slow, and it frustrates him at every turn, but he’s come a long way psychologically. The setbacks and flashbacks are fewer and farther between. And thanks to Ian, I’m still on an even keel.

Tonight, like so many other nights, I’m wrapped up in Michael, lying on our sides, kissing, stroking each other beneath the covers. My body still aches in places from everything Ian and I did less than twenty-four hours ago, and when I’m in bed with him tomorrow, I’ll still feel Michael too. It’s become normal, feeling the phantom touch of one man while I’m with another, and if I’m completely honest with myself, it’s become addictive.

Guilt needles at me, but I try to push it aside. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying this. It’s sex with Michael, for God’s sake, and Ian didn’t give me his blessing under the condition that I lie back and think of England. And enjoying it tempers all the other emotions I have about it.

And why am I rationalizing this?

“Still awake?” Michael startles me, and when I turn my head, he’s watching me.

“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. Had I started drifting off? I don’t even know. “Is it getting too late?”

“No. You were just quiet.”

“Sorry.” I lower my hand and turn toward him again. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitate. Then I shift onto my side and lift myself up on my arm. “Is it wrong that I look forward to coming over for this?”

“I would hope not.” He grins. “Even with all the drama going on in my head, I wouldn’t want this to be a terrible chore or something for you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I guess… I mean…” My face burns. “I do enjoy this. Being in bed with you.”

Michael’s expression turns serious, and he strokes my hair. “Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if it should.”