Return to Glory (Hqn) by Sara Arden Page A

Square than sleep in the guest room.
    He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “Look, when I made that demand about you spending the night, I was trying to push you away. I had every intention of bringing you here and being a special kind of bastard so you’d see how hopeless this is.”
    Rather than be angry, she was curious. She wanted to know what brought about the change in his thinking. “What changed your mind?”
    “I don’t want to hurt you, Betsy.”
    “So don’t. You invited me to sleep over. Let’s have a sleepover. Remember that week you spent at our house when Caleb was at camp and we watched bad horror movies all night? We could watch scary flicks and eat popcorn.”
    She was doing her best to link their interactions to good memories of things he could still do. Betsy purposefully avoided mentioning those nights after football games when he’d been the star quarterback. Or the ski trip to Snow Creek.
    He sighed. “I can’t sleep without the whiskey.”
    “I bet you can.” Betsy used the zipper on her dress as a way to bring contact between them, but she didn’t actually need him to unzip her. She had to dress herself in the morning, after all. So she reached behind her, tugged the zipper down and stepped out of her dress. “If you exhaust yourself.”
    She’d expected he might demur, might make another excuse, but she’d found the one thing he wanted, the one thing worth all of the risks.
    He reached out and ghosted the back of his knuckles down her arm and she shivered at the light caress. Jack pulled her against his chest and she hooked her arms around his back.
    “You feel so good.” She kneaded lightly, enjoying the feel of his muscles bunching beneath her hand, reassuring her that he was real.
    He was really home.
    This was different between them. In her room, it had been homage to a dream whose time had passed, to say everything with her body that she’d never been able to give voice to. Now, standing in his house, pressing herself against him, this was about the present. This was for the woman she’d become who still wanted the man in front of her.
    He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Betsy feared he’d tell her no. She’d pushed him so hard she was starting to doubt herself. This was the validation she needed that she was on the right track. Nothing was more life-affirming than sex.
    Betsy buried her face in his neck; she couldn’t get close enough. The scent of him was intoxicating, something strictly Jack that always made her think of home. She inhaled deeply, clinging to him as she brushed her lips over his neck and the hard razor of his jaw.
    “To bed, then?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.
    “Oh yes.”
    He carried her with ease, making her feel utterly delicate. Something that was a completely new sensation for her. The fact that she trusted him to carry her, didn’t ask him if he was sure he could lift her or balance their bodies together, seemed to spur his confidence.
    Or maybe it was just that he was so hard for her he didn’t have time to battle his insecurities? She didn’t know, but he moved with more surety toward the downstairs library he’d turned into his bedroom.
    He bent slowly, his muscles straining as he balanced them and carefully deposited her on the bed.
    She noticed that even with the duvet, it had hospital corners. Neat and tight. More hope. He hadn’t given up on daily tasks—the things her mother’s doctors told her to watch for as signs of depression.
    Jack wasn’t as far gone as he thought, or as he wanted others to think.
    “You’re so strong,” she praised.
    “You’re lucky I didn’t drop you.”
    You’re not a small woman, Betsy. Marcel had said that to her when she was in his lap. She knew that was not what Jack meant, but it didn’t stop the words from replaying over in her head on a stupid loop.
    Jack was right. She needed to take his picture down. Maybe that would silence his