Marry Me by Jo Goodman

Author:Jo Goodman
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-12-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

She came to him the following night and the one after that. She slept in her own bed on Saturday because she didn’t think she could face Pastor Duun in the morning, and on Sunday night Cole was called away when Teddy Easter developed an earache that fevered him. That was the evening Whitley came looking for comfort and crawled into her bed and stayed there. Rhyne didn’t begrudge Whitley the solace she sought, even when she heard Cole come in by the side door and climb the stairs to his room.

On Monday night she returned to his bed and all the rest of that week. Sometimes he was awake and made space for her. Sometimes he slept and she found her own place beside him. If she wanted to talk, he obliged her, answering her questions about his childhood, his family, the singular moments he recalled as a cadet. If she only wanted his arms around her, he never objected. She liked feeling his breath ruffle the fine hairs at the nape of her neck and the light caress of his palm along her forearm.

And if what she wanted was to feel starbursts of pleasure skitter across her skin, he gave her that too, then maddened her by asking for nothing in return. He let her know every joy for herself and wanted none of it turned about. If she searched for him with her hands, he firmly removed them. If she was too insistent with her mouth, he broke off the kiss. Even when she was brazen in her need to have him inside her, he avoided that end.

He steeped her in pleasure and filled her with emptiness.

Rhyne thought she might go mad.

“I’m not climbing in your bed tonight,” she told him, slipping into his room.

Cole glanced up from his book. “I know. It’s Saturday.”

She shut the door and leaned against it. “That’s not the reason.”

“All right.” He continued reading.

Rhyne stayed where she was and waited for him to realize she wasn’t leaving.

“You’re still here,” he said, looking up. He turned the page, but didn’t return to it. “Is something wrong?”

She was tempted to throw up her hands and repeat his words, but in a less friendly and inquiring tone. She kept her hands where they were and walked over to the chair and sat. “Why don’t you read over here?”

“Is that what you came here to ask?”

“No, but now I want to know. You have a chair and a footstool, a table for a lamp if you’d like, and the warmth from the stove, yet you’re reading in bed.”

“And if I fall asleep, I’m where I want to be.”

Rhyne nudged the footstool closer and dropped her heels on it. She studied him a moment, but he merely returned her inquiring gaze. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I thought I was reading. Or at least making the attempt. Is there something else?”

He was doing it now, pretending he didn’t know. How was she supposed to explain that to him without sounding like a lunatic? “It’s what you’re not doing.

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