Free Danny by Margo Anne Rhea

Chapter One
     
    THE MORNING I REALIZED I still had feelings for Danny was a rainy,
gloomy one. Just like all those lazy, stormy Saturdays he and I
used to spend in bed together--before Stacey. A hand slid up my
thigh, pulling me from sleep. I stretched into the caress, reaching
out for her. My muscles ached with that well-used, morning-after
feeling. How like Stacey to wake up wanting more.
    I crawled sleepy fingers across linen until I felt
warmth, smooth skin, a hipbone. Goose bumps rose under my hand, and
I traveled north for more fun. The corners of my lips turned up in
a smile as I anticipated cupping Stacey’s full breast, her taut
nipple tickling my palm.
    But instead I was fondling a very flat, very male
chest. I’d like to say I shot off the bed faster than I’d ever
moved before. But I didn’t. Instead, I lingered, breathing in time
to his heartbeat. I would know that cadence anywhere. I’d laid my
head on that chest and listened to that heart beat a million times
before, but I pried my eyes open and focused on him, just to be
sure.
    The sight that greeted me was all too familiar: lean
muscles; smooth, tan skin; dark, military hair. His square jaw
clenched tight, and his brown eyes narrowed in an unreadable
expression. Yep, I was in bed with my husband--my naked, estranged
husband. And our girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.
    “Where’s Stacey?” I whispered the words. Maybe I was
afraid I would spook him. Maybe I was afraid I’d spook myself. I
still hadn’t taken my hand back.
    “Work, early.” The old Danny would have made sure I
knew when she’d left, when she would be back, and every detail in
between. Of course, the old Danny wouldn’t be married to one woman
and sleeping with another.
    I sighed and reclaimed my hand; his was still on my
leg. Three years of marriage had been reduced to two-word sentences
and mistaken caresses. I slid to the edge of the bed, keeping the
ecru sheet stretched securely over my nudity. Danny traced my spine
with his fingertips as I turned my bare back to him and kicked my
legs over the edge of the bed.
    He exhaled heavily. “Don’t go.” His voice was soft
and gravelly. I froze at the sound of it. “Paige, stay.” He tried
again, but all his entreaty did was spur me into motion.
    My panties were on the floor by my feet, and I
wasted no time yanking the pink lace up my legs. The sheet slipped,
falling with a soft whoosh onto its fitted counterpart as I stood
to pull those panties into place. He moaned the second my ass was
covered.
    I had no idea where the rest of my clothes were, but
I needed to get something on; Danny’s eyes were boring through me.
Grabbing the closest article of clothing, I slipped it over my
head, only to realize, just a moment too late, it was Danny’s
soccer shirt, the one he’d thrown on after showering last night. I
resisted the urge to raise the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply.
His scent had haunted me for too many nights after we split. I
would not get sucked into that again.
    Turning to face him was my downfall. He’d flopped
onto his back and now surveyed me with his hands tucked behind his
head and confusion glimmering in his eyes. Uncovered from the navel
up, he was the picture of male seduction--all sinew and tanned
skinned, with rippled abs and a chiseled chest. He might as well
have been an incubus, prepared to entice me to my death. And I was
drinking in the sight of him, from the muscled torso to the
evidence of his arousal where it bunched the sheet into a peak just
below his waist. He didn’t try to hide it, and I didn’t try to look
away.
    Danny dropped a hand onto his stomach and moved it
ever-so-slowly under the edge of the sheet. Memories flitted
through my mind, images of tracing that very path with my tongue,
of feeling corded muscles tense beneath my fingertips when I closed
my mouth around him. Warmth grew between my legs, and I shook my
head to dispel the images invading my brain. Just thinking about
sucking