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It no longer mattered. She knew what she had to do. It would be difficult now that Grandfather had moved here, but distance should be able to be maintained. Jared wasn’t about to go visit him. And if she found a new place, got a new job, there would be no reason for their lives ever to intersect again. It would be over.
But there was one last thing she couldn’t resist. Was it wrong to take advantage of a man when he was vulnerable—physically at least? She figured he wouldn’t really mind. It was merely sex for him and she knew how much he enjoyed it. And she wanted one last memory to take with her.
She justified it for a few moments more—she was giving to him. She wanted to give everything to him. She loved him. She’d always loved him. And this one final time she’d show him exactly how much she loved him. Show it with her body not with the words that she didn’t have the courage to say.
Then she’d leave. Not make things difficult by asking things from him that he simply couldn’t give. Not any more.
She wriggled out of her bra and undies—a little nervous. Because last time she’d pulled a stunt like this it hadn’t exactly gone down well. But it was different now. She knew him. She knew what he liked and she knew he liked her touch.
He stirred. Mumbled something. She stroked his cheek. She didn’t want him to wake yet, couldn’t bear for him to reject her again. She just wanted to love him this one last time.
She moved slowly, smoothly, pressing a kiss to his roughened jaw.
‘Stay asleep,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just a dream.’
‘Amanda.’
It wasn’t a dream. Jared could feel her fingers, her hair as it trailed across his face. He could smell her—fresh and warm.
But he couldn’t open his eyes. So tired, so comfortable—so wonderfully comfortable.
She was above him, he could feel her softness and it felt as if she was wrapped around him. Her hands touched the parts where he ached most—soothing, then stirring.
He really tried to concentrate. This shouldn’t be happening. She was vulnerable. He’d stayed awake for hours last night, holding her, watching her sleep, wishing things were different. He’d drifted to sleep only as the first light of dawn was spreading in fingers through the three-quarters-drawn blinds and he was beyond tired now. Resistance was fading. Integrity slipping. Good intentions, oh, so quickly…gone.
His hands lifted and he clutched her to him. She was soft. So soft and she melted all around him, over him. Her hair, her warm body, her wide, moist mouth. Oh, she was sweet.
‘Amanda?’
‘Shh.’ She kissed him. Kissed him as she’d never kissed him before and his mind refused to focus on anything else.
And then her mouth, her beautiful mouth was moving down his body—kissing…
‘No,’ he gasped.
She didn’t understand he couldn’t tolerate much. Too tired to maintain control. He’d come in another minute…another—
She moved. Thank God she moved. He breathed. But then she touched him again. With her wet, intimate heart this time.
He groaned, hoarse, aching. And as he instinctively tilted his hips, she slid down, enveloping him.
‘Jared.’ Her whisper, her plea, was his absolute undoing. Never had anyone spoken to him like that, with such longing, with such—oh, God, was it love?
He cried out, voice mingling with hers as he both imploded and exploded.
Long moments later he could almost think—she felt so good, so utterly good but he was spent. The delightful darkness pulled him down; his eyes refused to open. He held her close. Never so content. Never so complete.
And then he slept.
He kept his eyes closed when he woke, but he couldn’t stop the smile, enjoying the memory of that magic, hearing once more the way she’d said his name. Jared.
He sat up in a rush, powered by that memory, turning to talk to her, wanting to make it right, now.
He blinked at the empty stretch of bed beside him.
He reached out a hand, spread fingers wide on the sheet, the dented pillow—it was cool. He threw back the cover and went in search of her. Refusing to think. Refusing to—
It was there in the lounge. Unmissable, unavoidable.
For the second time in his life Jared stared at a piece of paper and knew his world had stopped. Over fifteen years ago his mother had left him one too but there wasn’t even an envelope this time. Just a scrawl on a rough piece of paper that had been folded over. He didn’t need to read it to know it would tell him the most terrible thing that anyone could. But still he lifted it, opened it. Read only the words that mattered, cutting through the waffle—ignoring the dishonest, trying-to-soften-the-blow crap.
