Free Crimes of the Heart by Laurie LeClair Page A

sensation of touching soft, round flesh last night intruded. Suddenly, it came back to him. “You weren’t wearing any panties.”
    She stilled, and then yanked her hand away from his. A shaft of bereavement sliced through him at the loss. A quick glimpse and he noticed the crimson dots of color high on her cheeks.
    “Ah…just let me ask you something. Call it a warning to my libido.” He dropped his gaze to her hips and a knot formed in his throat. Swallowing hard, he asked, “Do you make a habit of not wearing panties?”
    She released a puff of air. Was it laughter or indignation? “You expect me to answer that?”
    Trying to make light of it, he said, “Some people might say it’s a husband’s right to know.”
    A bead of sweat formed on his brow as the silence stretched. And I thought it was bad before we started talking. To break the tension, he joked, “I’d tell you if you asked me.”
    A strangled giggle escaped her lips. “All right, I’ll tell if you’ll tell, how’s that?”
    A whoosh of heat blazed through his bloodstream. “Most days I do.” Capturing her stare, he asked, “Now it’s your turn, dollface.”
    Seconds ticked by. “Hardly ever,” she whispered hoarsely, sending him into a tailspin.
     
    ***
     
    Hours later, Devon paced the cozy living area of the Vermont bed and breakfast room he’d reserved for their short honeymoon. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting the only light in the small space. The best bottle of champagne the inn had to offer sat nestled in a bucket of ice on an antique cherry table near a stuffed armchair.
    The cold shower he’d taken ten minutes ago hadn’t quieted his passion one bit. He secured the knot on the white towel that hung around his waist, and then used a smaller hand towel to scrub his damp hair.
    Her ‘hardly ever’ repeated in his mind, sending another flare of scorching fire through his veins. Every part of his body throbbed with the intimate knowledge. Was she wearing any today?
    He clamped down on another groan that yearned to escape him. The suppressed sound rumbled in his chest.
    Running water coming from the direction of the bedroom rewarded him with the impression of Jewel sinking into a tub full of bubbles.
    Cursing under his breath, he wondered how he’d survive until she came out. “You just can’t jump on her, Marshall. Try some finesse, some…romance,” he said slowly, recalling Sean’s list.
    With that thought, he turned to the cherry coffee table in front of the French sofa. The silver wrapped package shone brightly in the glow of the nearby firelight. “Well, that’s a start,” he muttered.
    In the back of his mind, he wondered how he could close the gap on twelve years of distance. Physically, he didn’t doubt they’d connect. Somehow, when he held her in the past, everything else faded away and only she and he existed. But, he sensed despite how wonderful making love to her again would be, there would always be something missing, an emptiness.A dream unfulfilled. That hollow part of him ached now; he’d never allowed himself to be so vulnerable with her again.
    “What might have been?” he asked softly. Impressions swirled to life, happy images of Sean, Jewel, and him. “We could have had so much. We could have loved so much.” But not now, not with all that had transpired between our families. With us . It’s too late.
    He tried to bury the heartwarming pictures, but he failed to do so. In fact, they came stronger and faster now, tossing darts of exquisite joy clear through his soul. “Stop teasing me,” he muttered.
    “Devon?”
    Jerking to the sound of her sweet voice, he stilled. Shimmering lavender silk hugged her curves, outlining every delicious inch of her body. He gulped in a breath as he scanned the length of her. She’s definitely not wearing a stitch under that garment.
    Yanking his intent inspection from the way the large, twin points hardened under his stare, he sought her face. Radiant.