Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [71]
She relaxed her fists against his chest while his hands continued to caress her arms, moving up over her elbows, up inside the wide sleeves of the robe. They made it all the way to her shoulders before they began their slow descent. Inch by inch, they warmed her. But the chill was deeper, crawling beneath her skin like ice in her veins.
She leaned against him. He radiated heat. Her cheek brushed against his shirt, the warm cotton fibers. It wasn’t enough. She lifted herself away, just enough to give her fingers room while she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. She avoided his eyes, and felt his body stiffen. His own hands stopped. Perhaps his breathing had, also. She opened the shirt, resisted the urge to run her hands over the bulging muscles, her fingers through the coarse hair. Instead, she leaned her face against him, listening to the thunder of his heart and allowing his heat to warm her. She only hoped he understood.
He trembled, though she knew he wasn’t cold. Then, finally, she felt his body relax. His breathing began again, a little rapid at first, though it was clear he was trying to steady it. His arms wrapped around her waist, but he allowed them no exploration, no caresses. He simply held her body close to his, and this time, he held her tightly.
CHAPTER 38
Christine held her breath and double-clicked on Send. In minutes her article would spit out from the newsroom’s printer, then roll on the presses—presses that were actually stopped and waiting. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined being in this position.
Despite her exhaustion, the adrenaline had kept her mind racing and her fingers flying over the keyboard. Her palms were still sweaty. She wiped them on her jeans before she shut off the laptop computer, folded it shut and unplugged it from the phone jack. Modern technology—she didn’t understand how it worked, but she was grateful. It had allowed her son to sleep soundly down the hall while she pounded out her fifth consecutive front-page article. She wondered what the record was at the Omaha Journal.
She glanced at her watch. The newspaper would be an hour late hitting the streets, but Corby seemed content. She gulped down the last of her coffee, avoiding the glob of cream and sugar congealed at the bottom. She couldn’t believe she had gotten through it without a cigarette.
She slid the laptop off the desk, knocking a pile of envelopes to the floor. Picking them up put an immediate end to her elation. Several were late notices for bills she couldn’t pay. One, from the State Department of Nebraska, remained unopened. It contained more forms in triplicate with old-fashioned blue carbon paper between each copy. How could she trust and believe in a state that still used carbon paper? This was the system that was going to track down her ex-husband and make him pay child support? It was bad enough that Bruce had screwed her. But how could he screw his son? She hated that Timmy couldn’t see his own father, that she didn’t even have a way to contact Bruce. And all because he didn’t want to pay her any child support.
She stuffed the pile of envelopes behind a lamp on the desk, hidden for the time being. Her newfound success had only brought a small raise in pay, and it would be weeks, months, before it made a difference.
She could sell the house. She plopped onto the sofa and looked around the room she had spent hours wallpapering. She had pulled up musty carpeting and sanded the wood floor herself until she saw her reflection in its varnished surface. Outside the window—now black with night—she knew every inch of her backyard. She had replaced scraggly bushes with beautiful pink roses. A brick walkway—bricks she had laid herself—had transformed her garden into a retreat. How could she be asked to give this up? Outside of Timmy, this house was all she had.
Nick didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Her journalistic success wasn’t about hurting him. It was about saving herself. For once, she was doing something all on her own—not