I Still Do (8 page)

So, yeah, she was going back to Will's this evening, but armed with all the information they needed to start the proceedings to end their marriage, not begin an affair.

Surely, she could withstand even his most experienced attempts to convince her otherwise.

Despite her resolve, though, she was nervous as she got out of her car in front of Will's house. There was still plenty of daylight left and the evening was warm, so it wasn't a surprise to find the front door open—but the sound of country music blasting though the screen was a bit unexpected.

Who would have thought Will was a Carrie Underwood fan? And maybe she was mistaken about the intent of his invitation to return after all, because “Before He Cheats” wasn't a song of seduction.

And then, when she rang the bell, it was his sister, Betsy, who came to the door. She smiled at Emily. “Will said you might be coming by, though he's not here at the moment. I'm turning into your official greeter, I guess, and, I suppose, your official horn-inner of dates with my brother.”

Emily felt more relief than you'd expect for a woman strong in her resolve not to go to bed with a man. But with Betsy here, her backbone—or lack thereof—was moot. “I'm not dating your brother,” she clarified. “I'm here to, uh…” What excuse could she offer?

Betsy held open the screen door and waved Emily inside. “You're here to help me, if you wouldn't mind. I'm going to one of those come-in-an-old-prom-dress parties and I can always use a second opinion.”

“Uh, sure.” She followed the other woman down a narrow hallway, then paused at the threshold of a bedroom decorated in a masculine style. “Betsy?”

Will's sister breezed into the room without pause. “Come on. This room has an extra closet and there's a bunch of old stuff stored in it.”

But “this room” was obviously Will's room. And over there, between four posts and under a dark comforter, was Will's bed. And Will's pillow. And the scent of Will in the air.

Across from it was Will's mirror, and beneath it was Will's dresser, and Will's memorabilia was there too—what looked to be photos of his family, and…

Emily's feet stepped into the room without her permission. Because there was another framed photo propped on the gleaming surface. She'd embellished the frame herself, she remembered, finding twigs on her walks with Will and then using hot glue to mount them on the edges surrounding the photo someone had once taken of them. Draped over one edge of the frame was the macramé friendship bracelet she'd knotted for him their last summer together.

She owned a matching one…somewhere.

Okay, fine, she knew exactly where it was. In her jewelry box, tucked between her mother's wedding ring and the heart necklace Will had once given her. Her own wedding ring now rested there as well.

Betsy's voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Emily, which one of these do you like?”

Jerking her gaze off that old photo, she headed toward the younger woman. Inside the spacious, well-lit closet, she found Betsy contemplating a selection of formal dresses that she'd apparently collected off the wooden clothes pole. There were long slinky numbers in jewel tones, a couple of strapless short dresses, another pastel-hued garment with a handkerchief hem, and then a fairytale of a prom dress in a warm coral color with a full tulle skirt dotted with iridescent sequins.

Emily couldn't keep herself away from it. “This one,” she said, reaching out a fingertip to touch the puffy skirt. “I always wanted to wear a dress like this.”

Betsy made a face. “Can't do it. Brings back terrible memories of Homecoming. I was up for queen. Not only did I lose, but my boyfriend broke up with me that night.”

She held a formfitting scarlet satin dress against her. It had a big bow on one shoulder. “What do you think?”

“The bow's a bit…”

“Yeah. Too much. And just right for this party. I'll tell everyone it was Jamie's if I get too much flak for it.” She hooked it over the pole and started shedding her clothes. “Though I better make sure I can squeeze into it.”

Emily looked over at the fairy dress again. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather wear this one?”

“Ugh, no. I try to think of Denny Jeffries as seldom as possible. Why don't you try it on though? Just for fun.”

Emily gazed on it, knowing she shouldn't feel so wistful. She was thirty years old, much too mature to be drawn to a pretty dress that had teenage fantasy written all over it. But maybe it was because she was in Will's room or because she hadn't attended her own prom or because…well, she didn't know why, but she was suddenly unbuttoning her dress and stepping into the strapless confection.

Betsy had her own garment on and off again—it fit fine, she said, as long as she didn't take any deep breaths—before Emily had the bodice pulled up on the one she was trying on. Zipping up the back required Betsy's assistance, and then she took in her reflection in the mirror mounted on the inside of the closet door.

“Oh.” Emily stared at herself. The dress was just as magical off the hanger, and the only thing marring the effect were the parts of her utilitarian bra showing above the sweetheart bodice. “Is it wrong to still believe I was royalty in another life?”

Betsy laughed. “No royal shows her bra straps, though.”

“You're right.” Sneaking her hand down the front of the dress, she undid the front clasp and drew it out. The bodice had stays in it that kept everything propped up anyway. She turned to the younger woman. “You may call me Princess Emily.”

Betsy grinned. “Well, Princess Emily, by your leave, I'm going to have to boogie out of here.” She tapped her forefinger against the face of her watch. “I'm late already.”

“Okay.” Emily returned to admiring her reflection. “I'm just going to pretend for another thirty seconds or so.”

Thirty seconds turned into three, four, five minutes. Long enough for Betsy to exit the house and then for Emily to realize she couldn't get the borrowed dress unzipped by herself—meaning that Will might walk in on her any minute wearing something frothy and silly and much too romantic.

It was enough to make her palms sweat as she tried manipulating the recalcitrant zipper again. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered. Desperate now, she sucked in everything that could be sucked in and managed to spin the dress around on her body so that front was at the back and vice versa.

Of course, that meant her breasts were bared by the low-cut back, but at least she had a shot at getting the zipper to cooperate. With a few swear words spoken as a magic spell, the thing finally released and she drew it down, her air easing out with it. The tulle skirt puddled on the floor at her feet and she was just stepping over the fluffy layers when the closet door swung open.

Her gaze took in Will. Surprise written all over his face, he was staring at her. At her, half-naked.

In his room.

Near his bed.

With the near-audible sound of a match strike, that ever-present spark between them caught, flared to life. Emily's skin flushed and her nipples tightened.

Had she mentioned half-naked? Surely Will hadn't missed it, because his gaze dropped to the tingling evidence of her immediate sexual interest. She threw up an arm to cover her chest.

Another country song was blaring, something about a redneck woman, and it wasn't a seductive musical number either. But it didn't seem to matter, because she'd been seduced already she realized…by the scent of Will in his bedroom, by her photo on Will's dresser, by the serious expression in his eyes as one hand rose and touched the arm that was only doing a so-so job of hiding her breasts.

A
s he half-heard Emily stutter out some explanation about why she was in his closet, Will pulled Emily's forearm away from her body, revealing her creamy breasts and the tight nipples topping them. With his free hand, he reached out to touch one berry-pink point, and he saw it draw to an even smaller bud. Her breath caught, but he didn't look at her face, fascinated as he was by the sight of his big tanned hand close to the delicate colors of her uncovered body.

“A boy's dream,” he heard himself say again, as he traced her areola with his forefinger. A blush moved across her chest. “You don't know how long I've thought about this.”

“Will…”

He rubbed his thumb over the other peak, and he saw her stomach muscles clench above the elastic band of her pink satiny panties. “I want you, Emily.”

He'd been hard for her the first time he'd taken her hand when he was a teenager. At the moment, it felt as if he'd always been hard for her. His gaze flicked up to her face to note her dilated pupils, her parted lips, the expression of uncertainty clearly written there.

“I'm not…I'm not one who is, um, generally swept away.”

He smiled a little. Practical Em. Research librarian. It figured she'd want to think everything through. But hadn't they been coming to this since they'd ran into each other in Vegas? He'd thought about it plenty of times since then.

“I'm not trying to turn off your brain, Emily. The opposite in fact.” He brushed his thumb over her nipple again and watched the flush rise up her neck to her cheeks. “I don't want to sweep you away. I want you to be right here in this moment, right now, with me.”

Her body swayed toward him, then she rocked back on her heels. “But…but…”

“But what?” He drew her forward and slid his hand around her bare back so that his palm was between her shoulder blades and her nipples just a shirt away from his naked chest. “We're too young?” he asked, his voice lowered. “Someone might catch us? We don't want each other?”

She licked her bottom lip, the puffy one that made him crazy just looking at it.

“Emily, you know none of those objections are true. Not anymore for the first two. Never for the third. We're all grown up now. We can touch each other, skin-to-skin, all the good parts for the taking, without worrying about anything.”

The face she made was somewhere between a pout, a frown and a smile. “Your arts of persuasion have certainly been honed over the years, Will.”

He grinned, rubbing his palm in soothing circles over her spine. “Raising five kids will do that for a guy.”

That sent her gaze darting over his shoulder and into the bedroom. “Don't worry, Emily,” he assured her. “We're alone. We're going to stay alone. I locked the front door on my way in. It's just you and me and that bed that's never had another woman in it…until you.”

Her gaze narrowed. “No. Really?”

With his free hand he rubbed at the little line developing between her brows. “Really.” His lips touched hers, soft there too, but he lingered to let their warm breath mingle. “Just another first you'll be for me, sweetheart.”

Her heart was racing, he could feel it against his hand and against his chest. It made him want to grab, insist, possess, but instead he stroked his fingers down the speed bumps of her spine, and they reminded him to take it slow. She shivered against him, and he kissed each corner of her lips and then her nose. “Emily, I've wanted to make love to you since before I understood exactly what that meant. You want me too, I know that.”

She laid her cheek against his shoulder, snuggling up against him like he was something familiar and comfortable instead of a hard, horny male holding on to his control by a thread. So he held on to it tighter, and held back from grinding against her, from showing how hot he was really running, because this was Emily and he used to spend hours content with merely sifting his fingers through her long, silky hair.

“I'm overthinking this, aren't I, Will?”

“I always said the Honor Roll would get you into trouble, baby.”

She laughed. “Believe me. It didn't get me into any kind of trouble at all.”

Was that regret he heard in her voice? God, he could empathize. He'd had to go from Wild Will to Responsible Will when he was eighteen years old, and he'd missed being able to indulge in his old rowdy ways. He caught her chin in his hand and lifted it so their eyes met. “Then for once let me be the danger you missed out on, baby. I'll keep you safe.”

Her mouth curved. “My danger and my safety—both at once?”

Hell, yeah, he'd be her sinner and her saint, if it would keep that smile on her face and that promise of surrender in her eyes. “Whatever you need, Em.”

“Well, then.” She took a deep breath in, then let it out.

A decision had been made, he could tell.

“Well, then,” she said again, as her hands slid to his chest and found the buttons of his shirt. “What I need, at the moment, is you.”

For a woman who used her brain a lot, her fingers were plenty nimble as well. All that page turning, or maybe it was the computer work? Will pondered those for a second or two, just until she was sliding the cotton off his shoulders and bringing her bare skin against his.

He groaned at the goodness of it, his palms sliding down to cup her satin-covered behind. She lifted her mouth to his, and he kissed her, softly again, holding back a moment because this was Emily—finally, Emily! But then he remembered he was her danger and he surged his tongue into her mouth, seeking all her wet, slick surfaces.

She bowed in his arms, her belly pressing against his erection, her perfume rising up to envelop them in a sweet cloud of scented heat. One of his hands speared through her hair to hold her mouth steady for his as his other slid under her panties to palm the globe of her butt.

She made a needy little sound that he swallowed, savoring it like a treat. His prize for making her passion rise.

He tore their mouths apart so he could kiss her soft cheek, the heated column of her neck, the rise of her collarbone. His hands built two shelves for her breasts, and he propped them on his palms, edging back to admire the sight of them.

Held by him.

Held for his mouth.

Bending down, he covered one stiff peak with his lips, appreciating her little gasp of pleasure and rewarding it with the wet greeting of his tongue. Her hands cradled his head and he read the sign. Loved the message.

More.

Harder.

He sucked her flesh deeper into his mouth, holding her hard nipple tight against the roof of his mouth with his tongue to distract her as he eased his fingers over her hips. His thumbs caught in the elastic band of her panties and he switched breasts, playing and sucking as he pushed the scrap of fabric down her sleek thighs.

“Will…” he heard Emily whisper, his name a plea he used to fantasize about hearing on her lips.

It was all so much like a fantasy, like those hot dreams he'd woken up from as a teenager, half-ashamed at how much he wanted his summer girl. But there was no shame in this now, no need for cold showers or thoughts of calculus to smother the need.

Now he could stoke it. He
did
stoke it, by slipping his hand between her thighs and toying with the soft folds of her sex, teasing them open until her liquid arousal spilled over his fingers.

“
Will.
”

It was even easier to play now, with her flesh swollen and slick around his exploring hand. He touched her at the top of her cleft, and she jerked in his arms. He eased up his mouth on her breast, sucking softer, slower, circling her nipple with his tongue in the same rhythm as he circled the bud of her sex with his thumb.

She was pliant, melting against him everywhere, and his erection pulsed against his belly, poker-stiff and ready to find its way to heaven.

But Emily was a thinker, she'd already claimed that, and he wanted to take all her worrisome thoughts away before he took her to bed. He wanted her to accept the dangerous edge he could take her to, and then let him push her over, all the while trusting that he'd be there to catch her as well.

He lifted his head to look at her, almost losing it right then and there. Her eyes were slumberous, her cheeks painted with a passionate pink. Her nipples were wet, reddened by his almost-rough touch, and lower, there was his hand, circling heaven as it delved between her thighs and her tight little brown curls. He could see the glint of moisture on his hand as it moved against her, and the sight was so erotic, so wild, that he had to freeze his movements unless he came right then and embarrassed them both.

But Emily—the librarian, his thinker—wasn't for slowing down or taking pity on what was happening to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stepped into his body, squirming in his arms so that her damp nipples rode his pectoral muscles and her soft, hot and petaled sex found what it needed against his fingertips.

Moaning, she pushed harder against him, and he felt more moisture spill over his hand. He followed its path, smoothing one long finger, then two, into the clasping confines of her body, moaning himself now as her interior muscles gripped him and she came.

He watched the release dawn across her face, her lashes falling to her cheekbones, her lips parting on silent, unsteady breaths, her flush racing across her creamy skin to make her even more beautiful.

With anyone else, he would have been hard-pressed to hold off and not move instantly into finding his own pleasure, but then this
was
pleasure, his arms around Emily, his body sheltering hers, keeping her safe as he'd promised, as she came back to herself…and to him.

Shy, he wasn't surprised to discover, as she gave a last little shiver and then glanced up at him from under her eyelashes. But then her hand stroked his chest, heading for a path straight to the fly of his jeans. He caught it, and brought her fingers to his mouth. “I loved that,” he said against them. “I loved that and want to do it all over again.”

She went on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “Will—”

“Gets to start all over again,” he said, his voice firm. And then he walked backward, keeping her warm naked body against his, until the back of his knees hit the bed. He went over, taking her with him.

And then he did it again—went over, taking her with him—with both of them naked and moving together as if they'd been lovers forever…and not just in all his long-ago dreams.

 

Emily sat across from Will at his kitchen table, her hair damp, her feet bare, her body wrapped in his robe. Resting her chin on her hand and her elbow beside the glass of wine he'd poured her, she watched him move around the kitchen.

He sent her a wry look as he slid a frozen pizza into the oven. “I'm sorry to say it's Italian two nights in a row and nothing as special as the spaghetti you made yesterday. It was our staple Tuesday-and-Thursday dinners when I was raising the kids and I can't seem to break myself out of the habit of buying and eating them.”

Emily waved off his apology, amused by the way that he spoke of his brothers and sisters as “the kids.” Okay, he could have called them “the crocodiles” and she would still have been smiling. Sex with Will seemed to put her in a good mood.

She'd had sex before, of course. And she could remember vividly enough how awkward it could be after the first encounter with a man. But this was
Will.
He'd known her before she could fill out a bathing suit. Before she'd started shaving her legs. When she thought the height of devotion was throwing pine cones at the object of her affection.

Will had given her her first kiss and it only made sense that he'd also give her her first stress-free, after-sex experience.

He paused to glance at her again after pulling a bagged salad out of his refrigerator. “You okay? You're quiet, but you look…”

“Fine,” she told him, sipping at the red wine and letting it warm her already-warm insides. “I'm just fine.”

She spoke the truth. It seemed that the release of the sexual tension simmering between herself and Will had released other tension as well. The last couple of years she'd been in knots, worrying about her mother's failing health and then wondering where she was going in her own life.

Not to mention Izzy's exhortation to get out there and live a little instead of turning to books in order to satisfy her need for emotional experiences. So she'd finally listened, and the result was spectacular…and the aftereffects weren't bad either. There was the residual warmth of sexual pleasure humming through her and the complete lack of need on her part to figure out where she and Will would go next.

She already knew that he wasn't looking for anything serious or long-term, so she didn't have to mine every moment for meaning or intention. She could just sip the wine and sniff the smell of pizza baking and be as happy as she'd be after getting a good haircut and blow-out or a particularly relaxing facial.