The Truth About Love (25 page)

“Which was . . . ?”

Landon shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“Guys are so weird.” She got up to cut the lasagna.

They fell into a friendly conversation that—thank God—didn’t have a lot of tension to it: when he’d be traveling next, what the records were in their volleyball league, what classes she had when she returned to Nashville in the fall.

They’d been finished with their meal for almost an hour when she finally stood and started clearing the table. He got up to help her. They worked side by side until the kitchen was clean.

“I think we’re done,” she said as she bent to place the plastic-covered pasta onto the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. She stood as she closed the door. He was right beside her in the tiny galley kitchen, wiping his hands on the dish towel. He turned. His green eyes seemed darker, filled with emotion.

He reached up and slid his hand gently down her arm. “I’m not sure . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. His other hand rose and caressed her cheek.

Her heart raced. There was so much uncertainty between them. So much that had been unexplored and unspoken. So many possibilities now that the Cyrus Alexander case was no longer between them.

She took a step toward him and raised her hands to his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her toward him. Their lips met, tentative at first, then with more certainty. He pressed her back against the narrow wall at the end of the kitchen until she could feel the solidness of his body up and down her own.

He dropped his head to trail kisses along her jawline. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen after tonight.” He nipped at her earlobe. “But I don’t want to think about that right now.”

Her body yearned for him, but she needed to protect her heart. To protect it from the one person who could hurt it. “I’m okay with that.” She leaned her head to the side, giving him access to the most sensitive part of her neck.

His breath warmed her skin as he chuckled. “I’d hoped for a little more enthusiasm.”

Her breathing was quick and shallow. All she wanted was to feel his skin on hers. She pulled the bottom of his shirt from his shorts and feathered her fingers across his abdomen. “I have . . . lots of enthusiasm.” Her voice was low and husky.

“Oh, yeah?”

She dropped her hand so she could stroke his erection with her fingers on the outside of his pants. A low moan escaped his chest.

She smiled. She was pretty sure she’d gotten her point across.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

L
andon had to slow this down. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get to make love to Gina again after tonight, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to rush through it. But God, he loved the way she writhed between him and the wall. Soaking up his touch. Touching him in all the right places.

Her hands moved to the placket of his shirt. Her lips followed her fingers, licking and nibbling at each inch of newly exposed flesh as she unbuttoned it. It was slow, agonizing torture as his body ached to plunge inside her.

A lot of nights, he’d lain in bed wondering if he’d have the chance to even just touch her again, be touched by her. Knowing that the touch of any other woman wouldn’t feel the same. This was Gina. The one he’d remember forever.

She peeled his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it onto the cabinet. She was breathing as quickly as he was, and the way she looked at his naked chest made him want her even more. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his biceps like she wouldn’t ever be able to touch them enough.

But he wanted to touch her, too. He grasped the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head, then reveled at the beautiful mounds of flesh that spilled out over the top of her black, lacy bra. As he took in the sight of her, she reached up and—with a mischievous look that was sexy as hell—unfastened her bra in the front, then arched away from the wall as she let it fall to the floor behind her. The action pressed her breasts closer to him. He coddled them in his hands, running his thumbs over her hardened nipples.

Her eyelids drifted closed as she offered her breasts to him. God, she was beautiful. He’d hoped coming over here tonight that this would happen. That he’d get to hold her and make love to her and hold her some more.

What he didn’t know was what might happen after tonight. But for now he wasn’t going to think about it.

He didn’t want to think at all.

Gina shivered at the feel of Landon’s tongue on the side of her neck. His thumbs drew tiny circles with her nipples. Her breath came out in short, shallow bursts. Her hands instinctively went to his rear end, pressing his body toward her as she ached to feel him inside her.

His lips returned to her mouth, and he kissed her again—a long, passionate kiss that left her wanting more—then he took her hand and led her to the bedroom. A stream of evening light filtered in around the edge of the curtains, creating a dusky room that let them see each other’s bodies in the light shadow. He drew her toward him, unbuttoning her shorts as he feathered kisses along her mouth, her jaw, her neck.

When her pants and underwear were gone, he gently guided her to the edge of the bed, where he sat and pulled her toward him, laving one of her nipples with his tongue, then the other, as she stood before him. His hands caressed her breasts, then her rib cage, then her hips, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His appreciation for her body made her feel like a priceless treasure. A goddess.

One of his hands slid to the inside of her knee and glided upward—his touch tender on the sensitive skin on the inside of her leg. His mouth returned to her breast as his fingers glided toward their destination. She marveled at his touch.

“Lay beside me,” he said as he gently pulled her toward him. He guided her next to him and pulled himself up until they were side by side. Those olive-green eyes held her gaze as if nothing else in the world mattered. As if this was the moment she’d been working toward all her life. She tried to read his thoughts—to understand what those distinctive eyes conveyed—but all she saw was passion.

Slowly, he lowered his face to hers. His lips caressed hers as his hand continued its exquisite exploration of her body. His hand parted her legs and softly touched the most tender part of her body. He massaged her nub, moving his finger in tiny circles as her hips pressed into his touch, wanting more.

His mouth left hers as he trailed kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, and onto one breast. His finger never left her middle, gently massaging her as the rhythm of her hips met his touch. His mouth left her breast, and he slid himself off the bed and over her as his lips traveled down her rib cage. His teeth nipped at her hip bone. His tongue glided along the inside of her thigh, beckoning her to open her legs to him even more.

When the soft firmness of his tongue first touched her most sensitive part, she sucked in a breath. She’d known what he was about to do, but that first gentle-but-firm touch almost undid her. She wanted that feeling to last forever.

His tongue moved rhythmically across her nub. He stretched his long fingers around each of her hips, pulling her toward him, positioning himself at her core, focusing all his attentions on making her feel good. Her hips rose to meet him, her body involuntarily responding to the exquisite feeling with a thrust-and-retreat pattern as the pressure inside her built. She ran her fingers through that dark, curly hair. His eyes were closed as his tongue continued to pleasure her.

The pressure mounted inside her—building and building until it crashed in one final explosion, like an ocean wave building momentum before crashing against a seawall. Short gasps of pleasurable relief escaped her, but she was lost in the feeling. The sounds seemed to come from someone else. She was lost in what he’d done for her.

His tongue stayed with her until she’d quieted, then he pulled himself up to lie beside her, kissing her body as he traveled upward.

“I want to make you feel that good,” she whispered as soon as his face was even with hers. Her hands traveled to the zipper of his shorts and unzipped them.

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I think you’re about to.”

Her hands dipped inside his underwear and her fingers wrapped around him. So hard. So manly. So . . . Landon.

He rolled away from her and slid his wallet from his back pocket, took out a condom, and removed his shorts and plaid boxers. She took the wrapper from him and opened it, then watched his face as she slid the sheath onto him. His eyes drifted closed and he sucked in a long breath as her fingers encircled him. She knew she would treasure this moment—these intimate moments with him—for the rest of her life.

He rolled over and positioned himself on top of her, protecting her from his weight with his arms anchored beside her head. She opened for him, eager to have the feel of him inside her. The lubrication of the condom allowed him to slide in with one smooth motion, filling her up. Making her whole. In this moment, everything seemed right in the world. Everything and everybody was exactly where it was meant to be. Her entire body responded to him—aching for him, welcoming him—as he thrust inside her.

The pressure at her core built again. Her hands traveled first to the muscles on his back, then to his straining biceps on either side of her head. She lifted her knees toward the ceiling, offering him more. Wanting him to take anything from her he wanted to take.

He lowered his head next to hers and thrust into her with one final push as he came inside her. Her own body reacted to the fullness of him. She shattered at the feel of his final thrust inside her, as he shared his most intimate moment. Her breathy gasps filled the air around them as his hips ground into her.

When their bodies had stilled, he raised his head and looked into her eyes. His thumb trailed down her cheekbone as he studied her face. His chest heaved in deep, quick bursts.

He pulled her toward him, wrapping his arm around her. She rested her head on his chest, never wanting the cocoon of Landon’s scent and touch to be disturbed. They lay like that for several silent minutes before either of them spoke.

He stroked her shoulder with his fingertips. “So you’re leaving in a week.” His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.

Gina held her breath. She had no idea what he might be thinking. No idea whether what she felt toward him was mutual. “Yes.”

“You know, I’m always going to remember you.”

Her eyes shot open.

He was going to remember her?

Remember
her?

A steel door inside her chest snapped shut, encasing her heart. Protecting it from whatever he might say next.

She’d hoped he would talk about them seeing each other after she left. How they might get together on long weekends. But instead, he would always
remember
her.

She was something from his past.

And she hadn’t even left yet.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

G
ina lay there, stunned at Landon’s words. They were close physically—his arm tucking her against his bare body, her smoothly shaved leg draped over his hairy ones—but they couldn’t be further apart emotionally.

He cupped her shoulder in his hand and shook it gently as he nuzzled her hair. “So why aren’t you saying anything?”

Because if she spoke, her voice would crack.

Because she wasn’t sure what would come out.

Because she might cry.

He seemed to understand that he needed to fill the silence. “I mean, I didn’t even know you a couple of months ago and now . . . a lot has changed.”

She nodded, hoping that would suffice as a response.

“And I guarantee Cyrus Alexander is going to remember you.”

She closed her eyes and nodded again.

He kissed the top of her head. “I wish you were in town for longer than just the summer.”

Well, at least he’d given her that. At least he’d acknowledged—in some minute little way—that there was something between them.

They lay in silence for another couple of minutes—long enough for her to at least pretend to get over the sting of his words.

“So now that you’ve gotten Cyrus out of prison,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time you got on with your own life?”

She lifted her head to look at him. “What do you mean it’s time to get on with my own life?” Her life was all planned. Finish law school, then a career of work to get innocent people out of prison.

“Your . . . entire life revolves around this stuff. Like every step you’re ever going to take is because of the fact that you sent a kid to juvi. Like you don’t have a choice.”

Her mouth fell open. “It’s not like I stole some kid’s lunch money or dented in someone’s car. I sent a kid to
prison
.”

He tossed her a no-shit kind of look. Of course, he knew how she felt. He’d sent a man to prison for much longer than she had.

“And he’s never going to be the same because of it.” She felt like she was stating the obvious. It sounded stupid as soon as it had left her mouth.

“That doesn’t mean every decision you ever make has to be shaped by it. Is there going to be a day when you just don’t think about it?”

She charged out of bed, her anger flaring. “This isn’t something you just
get over
. I mean, have you already gotten over what you did to Cyrus Alexander?” She yanked on her underwear. “He hasn’t even been out of prison for a week.”

He rolled up on his elbow in her bed. “I will never be able to make up for what I did to that man. We both know that.”

“Then why are you giving me so much shit about this?”

“Because it’s like you’re punishing yourself. Like you want to remind yourself of the mistake you made. Every time you walk into a prison. Every time you consider taking on the case of some guy who may be innocent. Like some little self-imposed punishment that you somehow enjoy.”

“It’s called paying penitence.” She yanked on her shorts and glared at him. “It’s called being responsible for the things you’ve done.”

“And how about forgiveness? Or did they not teach that in Sunday school, too?”

She stilled. It was like she’d been slapped in the face. Her eyes narrowed. Something in her body clicked. A switch turned from defense to offense as her fight mechanism kicked in. “How can you be so sure about what I need in my life?” Her voice shook, but she knew she had to get this out. “When your own life is such a screwed-up mess?”

He rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. “I will have to work every day for the rest of my life to forgive myself for what I did to Cyrus Alexander. And to Tim. And to the whole family. I want to figure out a way I can help them.” He paused. “But at least I’m going to try to forgive myself. That seems like a much healthier place to be than”—he motioned toward her—“than whatever you’ve got going on in that head of yours.”

“You think I’m messed up? Me?” She bent down, retrieved her bra, and put it on as she spoke. “You stay in a town that worships you, yet all you want is to be left alone.” She pulled her shirt over her head. “And as much as you hate it, you won’t open your life up to any more possibilities than living in Tallahassee.” She stopped, knowing if she continued, she would hurt Landon far worse than any lineman ever had, but she couldn’t help herself. “Waiting around for your dad to love you.”