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  Claudie rose and began to gather up their dishes. Bo’s gut churned. “Matt told me he talked to Ren today,” Bo said, not able to keep from following her with his gaze. “Sara wants Matt to go to Atlanta.”

  “Why?”

  “They still haven’t heard from Eve.” Bo shrugged. He hadn’t been listening too closely to what Matt told him. “Sara’s convinced the South is a black hole. Life goes in but never comes out.”

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I know. I think it has something to do with her time in the military, but Keneesha lives in Georgia and she’s doing great. You’d think Sara could show a little forgiveness.”

  Forgiveness. That was the main tenet of what his mother was preaching tonight before he left. If I can forgive him, son, I would think you could show a little compassion. But Bo didn’t forgive his father. Not for cheating on his mother. Not for valuing work over family. Not for being a pathetic excuse for a father.

  Bo spun on one heel and stalked out of the room. He marched through the living room to the corner bar that he knew would be stocked with every kind of booze available—a good New York bar. He filled the ice bucket from a tray in the mini refrigerator, then dropped two cubes in a crystal highball glass. As he surveyed the gold mine of choices before him, he caught a glimpse of Claudie in the doorway.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s been a lousy day and I feel like a drink.” He grabbed a red-label scotch.

  “Life sucks, right?” She stopped a few steps away. “You hate your father, and he might die before you can tell him off. Is that it?”

  “Close enough,” he snarled, wrenching the cap off the bottle. “But let’s not forget that the bastard’s soon-to-be ex-wife is solicitously wailing by his bedside along with his current girlfriend who just happens to be ten years my junior.” He dumped amber liquid into the glass.

  He picked up the glass and drew it to his lips. The smell almost choked him, and he had to pull back to catch his breath. A sudden movement made him look toward the couch. Claudie’s sweatpants flew through the air to land on the floor beside him.

  He turned his head sharply. Her oversize plaid flannel shirt stopped at midthigh, only bare leg continued. Her toes curled in the plush carpet. She started unbuttoning her shirt.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She shrugged. The shirt gaped, displaying the tops of her breasts. “This is what we do, right?”

  Confused, furious, he watched another button succumb to her nimble fingers. “What are you talking about?”

  “Vices,” she said—her voice flat. “Yours is booze. Mine is sex. When things get tough, we fall back into the old patterns.” Bo cringed at the resignation in her tone. “I’d kinda figured that might happen, which is why I didn’t think you should get involved with someone like me.”

  “Claudie, this has nothing to do—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “Bo, think about it. If this is enough to push you over the edge—after twenty years of sobriety, how long will I last?” Her mocking laugh hit him like a punch in the gut.

  She freed the final button.

  Bo swore. The glass slipped from his fingers, landing haphazardly in the sink. Whiskey splashed everywhere—the smell a toxic flashback to the floor of a college bar where he once spent the night facedown in his own vomit. Wiping his hand on his pants he started toward her just as she shrugged out of the chamois-soft shirt. It pooled at her feet.

  “Oh, God, Claudie,” Bo whispered, taking in her naked form. Beautiful. Breathtaking. And Bo couldn’t have been more furious. “Put that back on.”

  “No.”

  He reached for the shirt, but she jumped back and sent it flying off the tip of her toe. “Don’t worry,” she said flippantly, hands on her hips. “I won’t charge you.”

  Bo’s stomach heaved. “Claudie, stop it. You’re scaring me. You’re not a prostitute anymore.”

  She turned to face him. Her hands dropped to her sides. “And you’re not a drunk.”

  Bo closed his eyes against the tears that hit him.

  “I’m not the same girl who was raped by my step-father—a man who could never love me no matter how much I wanted him to. And you’re not the same boy whose father failed you in ways you can’t even talk about. We’re not those people any more, Bo. Are we?”

  “No love, we’re not.” He put out his arms. She flew to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing his wet cheeks.

  “Then who are we, Bo? Do you know?”

  Kissing her eyes, her nose, her lips with feverish need, he whispered, “We’re two people who love each other.”

  Her sigh was the only answer he needed. Bending down, he scooped her into his arms and started toward his room. Right or wrong, there was no turning back this time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN HE PICKED HER UP, Claudie’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. The gesture was so romantic—such a long-held image of the romantic hero—tears sprang to her eyes.

  As if sensing her sudden disquiet, Bo nuzzled his lips against her hair and whispered, “I need you, Claudie. More than I’ve ever needed anybody, but we won’t take this any further if it doesn’t feel right to you.”

  His hands, so big and hot against her skin felt connected—not invasive strangers taking, but old friends, giving.

  She dropped her head back to look at him. “I’m fine, Bo. Really.”

  She framed his face with her hands and kissed him with the same fire she sensed burning inside him. “My place or yours?” she asked, trying to sound sexy.

  To her surprise, his step faltered. “Where do you prefer?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “It’s not the where that matters—it’s the who. I’m with you. That’s what counts.”

  His smile had a Harrison Ford quality, as if he couldn’t quite believe his good fortune. “My room, then. I packed a few—you know—just in case.”

  That he couldn’t say the word made her smile inside, but she nodded seriously. “Good. Playing it safe is what kept me healthy.”

  He flinched, and Claudie realized there were still things that needed to be said. When they reached the bedroom, she closed her eyes as he carried her across the threshold, imagining herself a new bride. In a way, she was. Their first night together would be her first time since leaving her old life behind. Her excitement was tempered by a voice that asked, What if this is no different? What if I can’t feel anything?

  When he set her down on the bed, Claudie kept her arms around his neck reluctant to let go.

  “They’re in my bag,” he said, his eyes questioning.

  She pushed away her fear and released him. Bo walked to the closet where his bags were sitting, still half-packed. He unzipped his leather shaving kit and pulled out a strip of three foil-wrapped disks.

  When he turned around, he was frowning. “Claudie, maybe this isn’t—”

  A sudden shiver made her look down at her naked body. Even her mother’s locket was missing—safely stored in her travel bag while she’d soaked in the tub. Spotting a cashmere throw at the foot of the bed, she grabbed it and looped it across her shoulders. The fluid material provided instant modesty, but oddly she felt herself blushing, as if her true feelings were even more visible.

  She patted a spot beside her on the bed. “You’re right. We should talk first.”

  His wiry brows collided above his nose. “Talk about what?”

  She took a deep breath. “Like how many men was I with? Were they any good? Did they all have dicks the size of a horse and is it true size doesn’t matter? How long could they last? Did I ever come? Am I going to see their faces when I’m with you?”

  Bo’s stricken look made her yank the silken cloak over her head and pull her knees to her chest.

  “Claudie,” Bo whispered. She sensed him dropping to his knees in front of her. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head. How could she ever have thought this would work? Th
ey might be adults and her hooking life was history, but he was still a man and men were weird about things like virginity and virility.

  He looped his arms around her back and cuddled her as a father might a small child. His warm breath penetrated the fibers of the material near her ear. “We can do that if you want,” he said softly. “I’ll even go first. I’ll tell you everything I’ve ever done with other women—the ones I can remember, at least. The size of their breasts. The way they moaned or screamed or barked.”

  She drew her chin up sharply. The blanket slipped to her shoulders.

  One corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Oh, you—” If her arms had been free, she would have slugged him.

  “The point is,” he said, laying his cheek against hers, “we can do all that crap if it will make you feel better, or we can leave it behind us and see what happens.”

  He pulled back to look into her eyes. “I don’t have any answers, love. To tell you the truth, I’m scared spitless, but that has nothing to do with other men. I only care about you. What if I hurt you? What if this is the right thing, but the wrong time?”

  His empathy loosened her inhibitions. She worked one arm free and touched his face, running her index finger over his lips—manly lips, a little skinnier on top, but well-shaped and usually full of humor.

  “Oh, Bo, I’ve missed your smile.” Closing her eyes against a rush of sudden, unexpected tears, she threw her arms around his neck and leaned into him. Her knees parted and she locked her ankles across the tops of his buttocks.

  The blanket disappeared, no longer needed once Bo’s hands replaced it. He laid his head against her chest and pulled her to him. His long sigh connected with something deep inside her.

  Lowering his chin, he nuzzled the tops of her breasts, first one then the other. “You are incredibly beautiful,” he whispered.

  She arched her back as his mouth closed around one nipple. When he suckled, shock waves vibrated through her center core. A soft moan slipped from her lips. Silence had always been her credo—never give anything away—even pain, but with Bo she couldn’t keep still.

  He cupped the other breast and gently kneaded it, working loose emotions she’d never allowed into her world. “Oh…” she shyly volunteered, “that feels…nice.”

  His low chuckle caught her off guard. Were lovers supposed to laugh? Did she already do something wrong? “Just ‘nice?”’ he asked. “I was hoping for something like wonderful, fabulous. You’re tough.”

  His playful tone further unlocked the rigid control she’d always kept in place. She pushed him away and scrambled back, moving to all fours. “And here I always thought I was easy,” she teased.

  Momentarily stunned, his gulp of laughter was followed by a frontal assault like something she once saw when she’d worked as an usher at a professional wrestling show. Before she could so much as scream in mock outrage, she was flat on her back with Bo stretched out on top of her.

  “How come I’m naked and you’re still dressed?” she asked, her nose touching his.

  His rumbling chuckle jiggled his belly against hers in a most provocative way. She felt a buzzing sensation that triggered a warm moist response. Her wiggle was automatic, unplanned, but it provoked a kiss that took her breath away. A lover’s kiss. Possessive, demanding.

  Comforted by his weight, yet reassured by the fabric separating them from actual consummation, she reveled in the sensation of his kiss, the taste and texture. She freely explored his mouth before giving him access to hers.

  As the pressure of his erection intensified against her pelvis, she lifted her hips, grinding them upward. His low groan sent a shot of adrenaline through her veins. She played her hands down his back, pulling the tails of his shirt free so she could touch his skin—moist with sweat, yet smooth and taut. His muscles worked at her touch, reminding her of his strength.

  Lifting up on his elbows, Bo lowered his head and looked into her eyes. “You’re torturing me and you love it, don’t you?”

  The humor in his gaze was tempered by the fire she felt ripple through him. She contracted her abdominal muscles to lift her pelvis higher. “You’re on top,” she said, watching him grit his teeth for control. “What does that say about you?” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip. “You like a little pain with your pleasure?”

  His hoot made her heart soar. He wrapped his arms under her back and rolled them both to one side. “I love you, Claudie St. James. You are incredible.”

  She started to say something about it being too early to tell, but the words died on her lips when Bo ran his tongue from her clavicle to her bellybutton. He pressed his face against her belly.

  Claudie worked her fingers through his hair, content to have him holding her—not sure she was ready for him to go any lower. As if hearing her silent debate, Bo pulled back. His understanding smile took away her tension. She suddenly knew she could trust him to hear her, to know her.

  “I don’t expect my mother back any time soon, but just in case…” he said, slipping off the bed. He crossed the room and locked the door. On his way back, he stripped off his shirt and belt then sat down on a cane-back chair opposite the bedside table to remove his shoes and socks. Before standing, he leaned over and unplugged the phone.

  Claudie levered to one elbow. “Is that a good idea? What if something happens?”

  Bo happened to be looking down, carefully guiding his zipper past the bulge in his pants. When he looked up, he grinned. The pants fell to the floor. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a blizzard out there. Even the phones are down, and the battery on my cell phone needs recharging.” The impish glimmer in his eyes made her smile back.

  He stripped off his Jockey shorts and walked toward her. “Besides, Dad’s got two worshipful women at his bedside. Don’t you think I’m entitled to one?”

  “Did we say anything about worshipful?” she teased.

  He gave her a hurt look then shrugged. “I’d settle for tolerant and forgiving of my middle-aged love handles.”

  She looked at his fit, trim midsection and couldn’t help from noticing his very erect penis. “I don’t see anything worth complaining about,” she said. “In fact, on a scale of one to ten, I’d say you’re a twenty.”

  His soft chuckle brought a grin to her lips. He stopped to pick up the foil-wrapped condoms that had fallen to the floor. When he looked up, their eyes met. “You’re too kind, but I appreciate that in a woman. Especially when she’s the woman I love.”

  His words hit her deep. He’d said the words before, but for some reason, it never truly registered at a gut level. This time she felt it—in her gut and below. “I love you, too, Bo,” she said, her voice hushed with the power of her emotions. Fear, loss, hope and joy warred within her breast. Her heart beat so fiercely she had to turn on her side and cross her arms to keep the pain from consuming her.

  Bo was there in a flash, molding his body into the curved C she formed. His breath against her neck and shoulder was warm and soothing, his body a shield from external forces. But who would protect her from the demons within? Too many memories, so much pain.

  “I never wanted to love anyone, Bo,” she choked. “Love sucks. It killed my mother. She loved my father and never got over him. It ruined her life. What if—”

  His strong arms tightened around her. “I won’t let that happen. We’ll figure out a way to get past all this bullshit. I know I’ve been a jerk since we got here, but that’s all about me and my old man. Not you, Claudie.” He kissed her ear. “You are my one reality.”

  She believed him, and she trusted him, but could she trust love? She rolled over to face him. “Could we say we’re just a little in love?” she asked, trying to make sense of her fear. “For now at least. We could do this—make love, and it won’t be like any of the others because we care about each other, right? But the idea of being totally, forever in love, scares me.”

  He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. He didn’t answer right away.
Claudie held her breath, wondering if she’d blown it.

  “You just love me a little bit?” he asked.

  His tone told her how much she’d hurt him. He sounded like Brady. “No,” she said, hugging him fiercely. “I love you more than I dare. I love you so much it terrifies me because I have no control over it and I don’t want to wind up like my mother.”

  She felt him relax. He stroked her back in a way that almost made her purr. “You’re afraid to love because you think it’s what killed your mother.” He made her look at him. “Claudie, negative emotions kill people, not positive. Love is what gave her you. How could that be bad?”

  Her sudden tears seemed as inappropriate as her earlier laughter, but Bo held her and kissed her and when the moment passed she found she was still naked and in the arms of the man who loved her and obviously wanted to make love with her. And to her amazement, for the first time in her life she felt ready. Truly ready to make love, too.

  IN THE IMMEDIATE aftermath of their lovemaking, Bo felt a high unlike anything he’d ever known. His heart seemed to swell to the size of his chest cavity and that was good. Very good. Claudie’s head on his chest, her breath floating across his chest hair felt very right.

  But out of nowhere came a voice, a harsh hurtful voice that said he probably totally screwed up not only Claudie’s life but also his own. He knew it wasn’t true. Anything as wonderful as making love with the woman he’d spent his whole life looking for couldn’t be bad, but the old voices knew just where to dig.

  What happens if Dad dies? What if he lives? Either way Mom’s going to need me. For how long is anybody’s guess. But Claudie’s life is back in Sacramento. People are depending on her. She needs the validation the halfway house gives her. She deserves to revel in its successes.

  “Bo?” her sleepy voice asked, interrupting the chaos in his head. “Is that you in the picture on the mantel? The little boy in a cadet’s uniform?”

  Bo pushed aside his dark thoughts to bring the photo in question to mind. He smiled ruefully. Grind-ham Academy. Elite, pretentious, expensive and bleak in every sense of the word except structurally. “You mean the fat kid in the neo-Nazi drum major suit? No. That wasn’t me. That was my twin brother Mike. We sold him to the gypsies when he was eleven because he wouldn’t even try to learn to play rugby like the other rich kids.” He snorted. “I mean, come on, what the hell good was he?”