He slid a hand behind her, under her butt, and pressed himself deeply into her, his thrusts smaller and deeper, and she felt her insides grip him. Grip him, hold him tight, tremble, spasm. She heard him moan appreciatively and then it started to subside. She couldn’t believe her own ears when she heard herself say, “More.”

He chuckled. “We can do more.” His mouth latched on a nipple and sucked hard while he pumped his hips anew, hard and deep, and in just a second she had another one—so deep and hot and heavenly she thought she might faint. She relaxed beneath him, still quivering. “More?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

“I’m good,” she whispered.

“You are that,” he said. “Hold me.”

Her arms tightened around his torso, her legs came up to wrap around his hips, and she held on. For him. He rode her, thrusting deep and hard, groaning loudly, murmuring little victory shouts and calling her name. And then she felt him stiffen, harden inside her and spill in what seemed like a million short bursts. It went on longer than she was prepared for, long enough that she started to get turned on all over again while he throbbed inside of her.

Finally he quieted and just moaned, but it was a very happy moan. She stroked his back and loosened her legs. And he put soft kisses on her lips.

“You are not quiet,” she finally said.

“I couldn’t help it,” he said. “It was that good.”

“It was. I think you growled. Maybe barked.”

“I didn’t bark!” he said, laughing.

“You prayed,” she said.

“Sort of,” he admitted. He rolled to one side, trying to keep them together a while longer, but nature had its way and he slipped out of her. “Listen, probably this should have come first. I think I love you.”

She was quiet a moment. “Do let me know when you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I love you. Scared me a little. I can’t think of any reason it should scare me, but all of a sudden I froze up and worried about ridiculous things. Like what if it couldn’t last, what if I’m kidding myself, what if I just don’t know what I’m doing and make the same mistakes over and over again? What if it’s me? Do you understand? Am I just crazy?”

“I don’t know, Matt. I won’t know until you tell me your story.”

Twelve

Matt excused himself from the bed and returned a few minutes later with a couple of beers. He sat down on the bed and put the bottles on the bedside table. “I can drink one or even both of those if you’re letting me stay.”

She leaned against the headboard, the sheet covering her breasts. She looked down at herself. “I’m naked and just had wonderful sex. If you leave me now, I might change my number again.”

“So, it was because of me,” he said, handing her a beer.

“Only a little bit,” she said, shaking her head. “Look, we hadn’t professed our love, hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t made promises. If you got busy or sidetracked or just plain lost interest and decided not to call after all, that’s your option. Right? I think I know how things work—women usually prefer to lay it on the line, say things like, ‘I don’t think this is going to work for me,’ while men tend to say they’ll call, then they just don’t. Obviously I could’ve left my number just the same and if you didn’t feel like going any further with me, you wouldn’t call. But I wanted to hear from you. I reached out once and didn’t get much of a response and it made me very sad and moody. Not the end of the world, right? But I saw a reflection of what I once was. I was that way with Mick—so desperate for him to show me he cared. Obviously I don’t feel that for Mick anymore but I was not going to get into an identical situation with you. I had to put a stop to it. So it wasn’t really about you as much as about me. Do you see? I didn’t have enough willpower to forget about you, so I cut myself off. I knew you could find me if you wanted to, but it helped me stop watching the phone.” She touched his hand. “I’m sorry if I hurt you by doing that.”

He shook his head a little guiltily. “I told myself it was because you heard from Mick and were cutting him off.”

“A little of that,” she said with a shrug. “But truthfully, Mick isn’t that hard to get rid of. Just tell him you don’t live for the chance to worship him and he’s long gone. I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again.”

“Did he ever offer to support you and your child? Did he ever try to save it? The marriage?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t what he wanted. He wants to be a star. He’s perfectly willing to take me along for the ride. He always said he made some of his best music with me.”

“God,” Matt said. “You must hate him so much!”

“No, I don’t care about Mick. So—what’s making you crazy, Matt?”

He instantly hung his head. Then he raised it slowly. “There are two things you have to know, Ginger. Number one, I haven’t told anyone, especially not my family.”

“I’m good at keeping confidences.”

“And number two, I’m not as good at relationships as you are.”

She smiled tenderly. “Oh, you might be just as good. It’s okay to take your time.”

He took a drink and shook his head. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Right where you think the beginning is,” she said.

“Okay. I think I married Natalie because she’s beautiful. And she’s a playful little sex kitten. I think men make that mistake a lot.”

“Well. How’d that work out for you?” she asked, smiling in spite of herself.

“Don’t be sarcastic, because you’re beautiful. And talk about sexy.” He shuddered. “You almost killed me. In the best way. In the way I really want to die.”

She frowned. “I’m sure there was a compliment in there somewhere...” She cleared her throat. “Back to business.”

“Guys looked at me with envy. Some of them, like my brothers, their eyes glowed right before they shook their heads like I was the dumbest ox. I wanted it to work—it made me happy. She wanted to get married and I said, ‘Okay. Why not?’ I wanted a wife. What I’m only starting to understand is that Natalie had an agenda from the beginning—she was going to become my wife and we would begin to do everything her way, starting with getting me off that farm and into a suit. I swear to God, we talked about everything before we got married. We lived together for almost a year and there was a little grumbling about my hours, about the family being overwhelming, but nothing like after we got married. The second we were married we started to argue about how little we had in common, how disparate our lives were. So from the beginning we fought. And my family said, ‘Could have told you that wasn’t going to work.’ They all saw how she grimaced at the goat shit on her designer heels, picked at her food, wrinkled her nose at the smells, screeched if a dog or chicken got close to her, cried for hours before and after we spent some time at the farm.”

“Wow,” Ginger said. “That must have been awful. Even I didn’t cry for hours before and after Mick’s all-night jam sessions or concerts. And I grew to hate them.”