Between Sisters - Kristin Hannah [99]
That worried her. Need was something she understood, accepted. In a gray world, it was jet-black.
Emotion was something else entirely. Even if it wasn't a lead-up to love, it was trouble. The last thing Meghann wanted was to care for someone.
Still . . .
She had never been one to deceive herself and, just now, lying naked in his arms, she had to admit that there was something between them. Not love, surely, but something. When he kissed her, it felt as if she'd never been kissed before.
There it was, as clear to her as the colors of the rising dawn: the prelude to heartache.
The beginning.
It had sneaked up on her. She'd opened a door called anonymous sex and found herself standing in a room filled with unexpected possibilities.
Possibilities that could break a woman's heart.
If she left him behind, he would fade into a pretty memory. It might hurt to remember him, but it would be a bittersweet pain, almost pleasurable. Certainly preferable to the kind of heartache that was sure to follow if she tried to believe in something more than sex.
She had to end this thing right now, before it left a mark.
The realization saddened her, made her feel even lonelier.
She couldn't help herself; she leaned over and kissed him. She wanted to whisper, Make love to me, but she knew her voice would betray her.
So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. It didn't help. All she could think about was later, when she would leave him.
She knew she wouldn't say good-bye.
Joe awoke with Meghann in his arms, their naked bodies tangled together. Memories of last night teased him, made him feel strangely light-headed. Most of all, he remembered the hoarse, desperate sound of her voice when she'd cried out his name.
He shifted his weight gently, moved just enough so that he could look down at her. Her black hair was a tangled mess; he remembered driving his hands through it in passion, then stroking it as he fell asleep. Her pale cheeks looked even whiter against the grayed cotton pillowcase. Even in sleep, he saw a kind of sadness around her eyes and mouth, as if she worried her troubles both day and night.
What a pair they were. They'd spent three nights together now and had exchanged almost no secrets about each other.
The amazing thing was, he wanted her again already. Not just her body, either. He wanted to get to know her, and just that—the wanting—seemed to change him. It was as if a light had gone on in a place that had been cold and dark.
And yet it frightened him.
The guilt was so much a part of him. In the last few years it had wrapped around him, bone and sinew. For more nights than he wanted to count, it had been his strength, the only thing holding him together; the first thing he remembered in the morning and the last thing on his mind when he fell asleep.
If he let go of the guilt—not all of it, of course, but just enough to reach for a different life, a different woman—would he lose the memories, too? Had Diana become so intertwined with his regret that he could have both or neither? And if so, could he really make a life that was separate from the woman he'd loved for so much of his life?
He didn't know.
But just now, looking down at Meghann, feeling the whisper softness of her breath against his skin, he wanted to try. He reached out, brushed a silky strand of hair from her face. It was the kind of touch he hadn't dared in years.
She blinked awake. “Morning,” she said, her voice scratchy and raw.
He kissed her gently, whispered, “Good morning.”
She pulled back too quickly, turned away. “I need to go. I'm supposed to pick up my niece at nine o'clock.” She threw the covers back and got out of bed. Naked, she yanked a pillow up to cover herself and hurried into the bathroom. By the time she reemerged, dressed once again in her expensive lavender silk dress, he was dressed.
She picked up her strappy sandals in one hand and draped her panty hose over one shoulder. “I've really got to go.” She glanced at the front door and started to turn