No Strings Attached

Chapter Twelve

“This is my bed,” she pointed out pragmatically.

He shrugged, his hungry gaze intent on her luscious mouth, “Technicalities ... “ he murmured, and dropped his head to kiss her softly – tantalising each and every nerve ending with long, lingering touches of his tongue, and rough nips with his teeth.

She was wistfully, longingly breathless when he finished – rubbing her lips together nervously to savour the taste of him on them. His eyes darkened as he watched the telling gesture, and he groaned, rolling over onto his back, and pushing himself up off the mattress.

“Any more of that shit, and we won’t be leaving this bed all day! And I need to feed you, woman!”

She chuckled, his scent still lingering on the pillows next to her, even on her skin, and she watched – her eyes clouded with desire – as he pulled the rough denim over the roped muscles in his thighs, and buckled them low on his narrow hips – low enough that she could still see those stark muscles below his lower abdomen that would create a perfect frame for his hard, and powerful manhood had those pesky jeans not got in the way.

“You got a kettle in this place still?”

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, nodding her head and smiling up at him, “Mine’s white ...”

“Half a sugar and a dash of milk so it looks like mud, I know” he broke in, “Just one cup a day, in the morning. I memorized it.”

“You’re such a freak ...” her voice was broken with chuckles of disbelief as she pulled on her pyjama bottoms and a tank top from the chest of drawers next to the bed.

“You’ll pay for that,” he muttered, chuckling like an Austin Powers super villain as he turned to go to the kitchen.

As she strolled through the sparse lounge, it was the baby album, all neatly tucked back together and laid out on the couch that stumbled her. Nate must have put it away on his way through here; the last time she remembered from last night it had been on the floor – each and every part of it pulled apart in the explanations.

Scooting to the edge of one of the sofa cushions, she ran her fingers over the delicate white pages – over the pictures and the memories.

She wished with every fibre of her being that there had never been so many secrets between them – so many untruths and misunderstandings. Maybe she could have healed everything if she’d told him about Molly that night, instead of letting him walk away – maybe she held the key to a fairy tale and didn’t even know it, perhaps Molly would have been the one thing that saved them both.

But she knew Nate was right; she knew that too much had passed for them to look back on what if’s – they would spent a lifetime in the past if they dissected each and every misunderstanding – every lie – every secret.

He said nothing as he caught the scene in front of him – Molly’s only image frozen on the embossed paper – he merely handed both mugs to Shannon, before moving behind her so that she was cradled in his thighs. Pulling her back against his chest, he took a sip of the hot drink, while one hand gently toyed with Shannon’s dark hair.