Free Fatal Flaw by Marie Force Page B

Jeannie brushed impatiently at the tears. They were putting a damper on her attempt to reclaim this important part of her life.
    “Hey,” he said, using his thumbs to sweep away the tears. “We don’t have to.”
    “I want to. Just ignore the tears. I can’t seem to stop them.”
    With his big hands framing her face, he kissed her gently. When she thought of the devouring way he used to kiss her, his show of restraint made her sad once again for all they’d lost. But they would get it back. If it took the rest of their lives, they would find their way. That determination was new and, perhaps, an indication she might be recovering a small bit of who she’d once been.
    “I want to turn over,” he said. “Can we do that?”
    The new position would put him above her, over her.
    “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said, tuning into her immediate anxiety.
    “No, we can.” She rolled off him and settled on her back, looking up at him.
    He stayed on his side, his head propped on a pillow as he placed his hand on her quivering belly. “Just say stop,” he said softly. “At any point.”
    Jeannie bit her bottom lip and nodded as his hand began to move. Even though this man’s touch couldn’t be confused with that of any other, she kept her eyes open so there would be no mistaking whose hand took a slow journey over her belly, arm and neck. He made the same patient trip three times before he included her breast.
    She reminded herself that she knew exactly whose hand caressed her, whose fingers coaxed her nipple to life, and this man loved her. Despite her best efforts to control the panic and keep it from taking over, it closed in on her anyway. As if an elephant were suddenly sitting on her chest, Jeannie fought for every breath.
    Michael quickly removed his hand. “Breathe, honey.”
    Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to get any air to her lungs.
    He grabbed her shoulders, forced her to sit up and gave her a gentle but insistent shake. “Breathe!”
    Spots danced before her eyes, and then as suddenly as the panic had seized her, it let her go. She sucked in deep, gulping breaths, grateful for every one.
    “Christ almighty,” Michael whispered as he reached for her.
    Despite her fear of the panic, she clung to him. “Sorry,” she said when she could speak again.
    “No, no. It was me. Too much too soon. I shouldn’t have—”
    Jeannie tightened her arms around him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I thought I was ready.”
    Now she had reason to wonder if she’d ever be ready. And if she eventually got there, would he still be waiting?

Chapter 8
     
    On the way to pick up the card from Jeannie in the morning, Sam’s thoughts were full of her father and his rapidly deteriorating health. She’d been alarmed earlier to see how much sicker he’d gotten overnight. Celia had assured Sam that she would be taking him to the doctor first thing, and there was no need for Sam to stay home from work—except she probably should have because she’d be good for nothing today. Listening to him struggle for every breath had filled her with overwhelming anxiety.
    She knocked on Jeannie’s door, wondering if she should’ve called first. Probably. Hearing the series of deadbolts disengaging, she stood up a little straighter, trying to shake off the dread that hung over her after seeing her dad.
    The door swung open, and Sam was sorry to see that Jeannie looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.
    “Come in.” She led Sam to the dining room table where the nonthreatening cards had been boxed up. “Here’s the one.” Jeannie had opened the card before she put it into the evidence bag so Sam was able to read both sides.
    A chill traveled through her as she read the message. The “bang bang you’re dead” line certainly got her attention. Nick would be so vulnerable on the campaign trail.
    “Why would someone do this to you guys?” Jeannie said. “I don’t get it.”
    “Neither do we.”
    Jeannie went