Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2) (14 page)

She quivered.

Gluteus maximus. Pelvis.

He pressed his thumbs into the tiny divots at the base of her spine, moving them just under the waistband of her pants.

She’d softened under his touch, her muscles were loose and long now. He could go now. He should go now.

He should lift himself away, climb off her bed and leave. That’s what he should do. Instead, as if disconnected from his brain, his fingers crept lower, ever so slightly further beneath the elastic, feeling that rise of firm, yielding flesh, mere inches and a few thin layers of fabric away from the contact he craved.

Then Sam shifted, nudging him off and spooning against him.

So much for the inches. Now it was just fabric.

“Sam,” he croaked.

“Shh. Don’t stop.”

His hands were still on her hips, his fingers now further into the dip of her pelvis, his thumbs on the other side. He held her tight against him, making sure she could feel the length of him against her, know what she was doing to him.

She reached behind herself, feeling for him, but he caught her hand.

“No.” He ground out the word.

“Logan.”

Everything inside him was at war, screaming at him to take this, lose himself, grab the pleasure she offered, to hell with the consequences.

Only he’d promised.

Not here. Not now. Not like this.

But.

His fingers crept lower. Another shudder rolled over her. He could feel her heart thudding almost as hard as his own.

He shifted until he could touch her bare breasts, so warm, so soft. When he stroked first one, then the other, he felt the tight nipples scrape against the rougher skin of his palm, heard a short, sharp intake of breath.

He edged his fingers beneath a thin bit of elastic, until he touched silky hair, then crept lower still, and lower.

Again, she moved to give him access. He continued his relentless probing until he found her hot, slick center and the tight bud hidden inside.

He circled it with a fingertip and she arched against him. He stroked deeper, finding a well of liquid heat at her core.

She was making tiny mewling sounds now. Slowly and lightly, he moved his finger over the slippery folds, feeling that bud swell and open.

Then, she was thrusting against his hand, and the sounds coming from her muffled by the hand she held against her mouth.

Harder and harder she bucked and higher and higher her small cries until she clamped her thighs tight on his hand, quaking as the climax rolled over her.

She collapsed, letting her hand fall away from her face, her body limp against his. For a few moments, she lay there, gasping as her breath returned to normal.

Logan’s was nowhere near normal.

Then she shifted onto her back and threw one arm up, her elbow over her eyes.

“Logan,” she said.

But whatever she intended to say, he didn’t know because right at that moment, a scratch sounded at the door, followed by a whine.

Samara tensed, then sat up abruptly.

Over the baby monitor came a small voice.

“Mama?”

*

Sam leaped out
of bed and adjusted her clothing with shaking hands, relieved that she’d put on the good underwear that morning.

Because
that’s
what’s important right now.

Every cell in her body screamed at her to strip off the new panties and everything else and climb back into bed with Logan but that wasn’t an option.

Still, she paused at the door and looked back at him. He remained on his side, one elbow beneath his head, the other arm lying on the empty sheets beside him.

Desire, a silent entreaty, patient and relentless simmered off him in waves, catching her in the solar plexus, nearly bringing her to her knees.

This was unfair to him, to both of them, but it was Logan her heart broke for. What was she doing, getting lost in his arms when her child was in the next room, suffering through a nightmare alone? How could she let him think that this could work?

“I’m sorry,” she began.

“No.” He eased off the bed. “Do not be sorry.”

Sam grabbed a hoodie and yanked it on. “This should never have happened. I have to go.”

She whirled around and reached for the door, but Logan got there before her.

“You needed that.” He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue grazing her lip, sending her flames even higher.

“You should go. I can’t… we can’t… we just can’t.”

Another cry sounded over the monitor, small but distinct.

“She’s fine, Sam,” he said softly.

“I have to go!” She was having trouble breathing. “This was a mistake.”

Logan touched her cheek, eased a strand of hair away from her face, his laser-like gaze drinking in every freckle and line.

“You’re crying, Sam. You’re going to scare her.” He kissed away a tear. “Let me check on Jade.”

He took her hand and before she knew it, they were following an anxious Bob to Jade’s doorway.

The dog looked between the two of them for a moment, as if thinking. Would Bob even allow someone else in Jade’s room?

“Mama.” Faint hiccupping sobs shuddered over the small form in the bed. She wasn’t even awake.

Logan stepped forward, Bob at his side, apparently giving full approval.

Samara clung to the door, watching in the dim light, as Logan perched on the edge of Jade’s bed and lightly stroked the hair off her forehead.

“Hey, chipmunk, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jade frowned and her eyes fluttered open. “Mr. S?” she mumbled, her lisp more pronounced in sleep.

“I’m here, honey. Your mama’s here too. Go back to sleep.”

Samara held her breath. This is where Jade would typically panic, searching for the one constant in her ever-changing life.

But after a moment or two of blinking blearily, Jade simply said, “Okay. C’mon, Bob.”

That was it? She was just going back to sleep?

A strange mix of confused relief struck Sam. It was another milestone for Jade, to be sure. And a tiny bit of freedom for Sam, a little step toward letting go.

And the realization that maybe she wasn’t indispensable, after all.

But isn’t that what you wanted?

Wasn’t this part of living in community? Being able to share responsibility? It takes a village to raise a child, and all that?

Sharing her child with a man, however, was different.

Samara swallowed hard, memories rushing over her. From the beginning, she admitted to herself, she’d cut Michael out of the circle. In her determination to do the best job possible, she’d done it all. No wonder he’d had trouble bonding with Jade.

No wonder he’d resented the baby and wondered if there was something wrong with her. No wonder he’d found fault with everything Samara did. Instead of gaining a daughter, he’d lost his wife, left out in the cold, with no role to play.

Grief revisited her but for the first time, it came without stirring up bitterness.

I’m sorry, Michael.

Bob hopped back onto the bed and curled up tightly next to Jade, resting her head on the little pink-clad shoulders.

“Good girls,” murmured Logan. The dog thumped the bed with her tail.

Quietly, he backed out and shut the door. In the dim glow of the nightlight, he looked down at Sam, his expression unreadable.

Logan had slipped so easily into a place of comfort and ease with Jade. And she was letting him.

Why?

Sam bowed her head. She’d made so many mistakes. She and Michael hadn’t had enough time to learn how to be a family. They had failed each other and they’d loved each other and they’d kept on until death parted them.

“Hey, hey,” whispered Logan. He drew her against his chest. “What’s all this about?”

She shook her head, unable to speak and after a while, her silent sobs abated.

He held her away, examining her face.

She still read desire in his gaze, but it was tempered with caution. As well it should. She was a mess, thinking about her daughter and her late husband, only minutes after being intimate with Logan. She didn’t know if she should invite him back to her room now or not. Away from the heat of the moment, she didn’t know how to feel about her earlier wantonness.

“You should get some rest,” he said, finally.

“Logan-”

“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips. “Go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He kissed her again, a sweet, lingering kiss full of gentleness and promise that left her aching with longing.

When she tiptoed back into her room alone, she saw the bed, covers rumpled, both pillows indented.

It wouldn’t have surprised her to see smoke rising from the sheets.

Logan’s touch had been a match to long-forgotten kindling lying hidden among the ashes in the cold hearth of her heart. She turned out the light and slid back underneath the sheets, where the ghost of his cologne still lingered. Now, with her head clear for the first time in hours, she lay back and thought about what exactly she was doing.

She was preparing to move into her new house, that’s what she was supposed to be preoccupied with.

But even as she pushed Logan from her mind, she traced a path over her breasts and ribs, and lower, remembering what he’d done to her, the life he’d breathed into her with his touch, the pleasure he’d brought, with her giving nothing in return.

What would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted?

She knew the answer to that. They were no longer teenagers, hiding out from their parents, sneaking off for clandestine meetings under the bleachers.

She remembered the sound of his voice in the emergency room. How her heart had leapt when he strode to her side and put his arm around her and supported her, when she believed she had no one.

She hadn’t asked him to come. In fact, she had an uneasy recollection of throwing some harsh words his way.

Why had he followed her? Was it possible that that long-ago, tender, immature passion had carried over to adulthood, for both of them?

She’d barely thought of him over the years. What was the point? She didn’t know where she’d be from one month to the next, it seemed, and what teenage guy wants a long-distance relationship?

And once she was on her own, squeezing each dime, working days and studying nights for those life-changing scholarships, there was no time.

Besides, he’d probably forgotten all about her anyway. They’d moved on. He made his life, she made hers. They shared a brief, wonderful time together, then it was over.

Hot tears trickled down her cheeks.

Who was she kidding? She’d never stopped thinking about Logan; the spaces in between lengthened, that’s all. Then there was Michael and the sweet, whirlwind honeymoon rush, and then right away, too soon, there was Jade and the honeymoon was over and then it was tragedy and black days when it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other.

She’d never, in a million years, expected Logan to still be in Marietta. He’d been a mover and shaker, destined for more than a small-town life.

She certainly hadn’t expected him to be single.

Knock, knock.

Samara jumped, then scrambled out of bed and reached for her robe.

“Yes?”

She opened the door to find Aunt Mabel standing there, holding her casted arm.

“Good, you’re awake.” She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “I need someone to make me a cup of tea.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” said Samara, following hesitantly. The way Aunt Mabel walked suggested she was in more pain than she let was willing to admit.

“I’ll rest when I’m ready.” She gestured rather imperiously to the cups and saucers on the table. “I don’t like to go to bed with tasks undone.”

Sam heated up the water and poured it steaming over the tea bags, feeling as if she’d just been called into the principal’s office.

“You, Samara Kim, or Davis or whatever name you’re using, are more work than I was expecting.” Aunt Mabel observed her over the rim of her teacup, her expression steady, waiting.

Instantly, Sam’s defences rose. “I know we’re staying longer than originally planned. I’m sorry. And I shouldn’t have left Jade with you. I expected my house to be ready by now and-”

“You’re apologizing for the wrong things, child.”

Aunt Mabel’s eyes sparked. She set down her cup.

“If I had my way, Bramble House would never have been opened to strangers. Always in and out, with their muddy shoes and their noise and clutter. But there’s nothing for it and I will not complain. However. Some behavior I cannot abide.”

Sam looked down, feeling her face flame, like the teenage version of herself she’d just been thinking of.

But Mabel held up her good hand. “I’m referring to your treatment of Eliza.”

Eliza.

Mabel was absolutely right. Sam winced, remembering her outburst at the hospital. She’d acted badly out of fear for her daughter and had hurt her hosts in the process. But she hadn’t expected to be called onto the carpet for it.

“Eliza is my great-niece.” Mabel sighed and shook her head. “The Bramble blood is thin in her, but nevertheless, she is family and I cannot stand by and see her misjudged. It is Eliza to whom you must apologize.”