Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(203)

Her eyes began to sting, but she fought against it. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Bonner. I can handle just about anything but that.”

He slipped his arm behind her and cupped her shoulder. “All right, sweetheart. I’ll smack you around instead.”

Sweetheart. He’d called her that twice today. Was she really his sweetheart?

She leaned against his shoulder and accepted the truth. She had fallen in love with him. She wanted to deny it, but it was no use.

What she felt was so different from her love for Dwayne. That had been an unhealthy combination of hero worship and a young girl looking for a father. This was a mature love, with her eyes wide open. She saw both Gabe’s flaws and her own. And she also saw how destructive it would be to let herself fantasize about a future with a man who was still in love with his dead wife. Even more painful, a man who disliked her child.

The animosity between Gabe and Edward seemed to be getting worse, and she couldn’t think of a way to make it better. She couldn’t order Gabe to change his attitude or make him care about Edward.


She felt tired and defeated. He was right. Nothing ever came easy for her.”Try not to curse in front of Edward, will you?”

“It slipped out.” He gazed at the dark line of trees that marked the edge of the front yard. “You know, Rachel, he’s a good kid and everything, but maybe you need to toughen him up a little.”

“I’ll enroll him in scowling lessons first thing tomorrow.”

“I’m just saying . . . That rabbit he carries around all the time, for example. He’s five years old. The other kids are probably making fun of him.”

“He says he keeps it in his cubby when he’s at school.”

“Still. He’s too old.”

“Didn’t Jamie have anything like that?”

His entire body stiffened, and she knew she had trod on forbidden ground. He could talk about his wife, but not his son.

“Not when he was five.”

“Well, I’m sorry Edward’s not macho enough for you, but the last few years have taken some of the spunk out of him. It didn’t help that he spent a month in the hospital this spring.”

“What was wrong with him?”

“Pneumonia.” She traced a line of rickrack that edged the pocket of her dress. The depression that had been hanging over her ever since she’d realized the Bible wasn’t ready to give up its secrets settled in deeper. “It took him forever to recover. At one point, I wasn’t sure he’d make it. It was awful.”

“I’m sorry.”

The discussion of Edward had opened a gap between them. She knew Gabe wanted to close it as much as she did when he spoke. “Let’s go to bed, Rachel.”

She gazed into his eyes, and it didn’t enter her mind to say no. He held out his hand and led her into the house.



Moonlight streamed over the old bed, touching the soft worn sheets with silver and gilding Rachel’s hair as Gabe lay over her naked body. His need for her frightened him. He was a man of silence and solitude. These past few years had taught him that it was best for him to be alone, but she was changing that. She was pushing him toward something he didn’t want to examine.

She twisted beneath him, legs spread, pressing herself against him. Her lovemaking was so unrestrained that he couldn’t always control himself. Sometimes, he was afraid he’d hurt her.

Now he drew her arms above his head and manacled her wrists. He knew the feeling of helplessness would drive her wild, and, almost immediately, she began to moan.

Restraining her left him with only one hand to use. One hand to cup her breasts, one thumb to rub across the swollen tips. He substituted his mouth and moved his hand between her legs.

She was wet for him, slippery with desire. He caressed her, loving the woman’s feel of her beneath his touch. How could he have forgotten this? How could he have let his pain destroy so much that was good?

Her short, breathy moans were loosening the limits of his control. She started to struggle against his restraint, but she wasn’t putting anything into it, so he didn’t let her go. Instead, he slid his finger inside her.

She gave a low, strangled scream.

He couldn’t endure that sweet writhing any longer. He positioned himself, then entered in a deep, strong thrust.

“Yes,” she gasped.

He covered her open mouth with his own. Their teeth scraped; their tongues mated. He took each of her wrists in one of his hands and drove into her, their arms extended.

She tilted her hips, then wrapped her legs around him. Moments later, she fell apart.

Nothing existed but this shuddering woman and the moonlight and the sweet-scented summer air blowing over their bodies from the open window. He found the forgetfulness he needed.

Afterward, he didn’t want to move off her. The sheet tangled around their hips. He pressed his mouth against her neck, shut his eyes . . .

A small bundle of fury leaped on his back.

“Get off my mommy! Get off her!”

Something hard hit him on the head.

Little fists pounded at him, and fingernails scratched his neck. The room echoed with frantic cries. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Rachel had gone rigid beneath him. “Edward!”

Something much sturdier than five-year-old fists began to bang against the back of his head in hard, rhythmic whacks. Tears and panic clogged the child’s voice. “You’re hurting her! Stop hurting her!”