Arms clung to him, around his neck, as breasts fitted against his chest in a familiar, completely natural way. His arms lowered enough to find their place at the curve of waist just below his waist as his foot scooted, allowing room for the smaller foot sliding in between his two.
The drill was embedded. As much of his naval training had been. It all came back to him with ease. Until Emily lifted her head, gazed into his eyes, and planted her mouth against his.
Lips pursed tightly closed, he stood there, eyes open.
And waited for her to figure out that the man she’d known and loved no longer existed.
* * *
Eyes closed, Emily couldn’t have stood alone. Couldn’t think at all. Her heart pounded with Winston’s pulse, her hands clung to the warmth of the skin at his neck, her body leaning into him as it had always done.
Tears poured out of her, two years of sorrow, and joy, too, so much that she was wrapped in a sense of unreality—as though sensation was all there was.
No time. No place.
If heaven existed on earth, she was in it. And content to explode joy within it forever and ever. World without end.
Her lips on his were only more of the joining—not a kiss; basic lust was far too coarse for that world—as Winston seemed to know. He didn’t open his mouth. Or devour her.
Even his usual hot and heavy desire respected their space. Souls long parted, together again. Nothing touched that.
At some point he picked her up and carried her inside. Snuggled up against his big strong navy man body, she held on, feeling uncharacteristically needy. Winston was home. She didn’t have to be strong. To carry all the weight. She sniffled. Knew she had to stop the tears. They’d been bottled up for so long...
He laid her back against the couch. Let her go.
She waited for him to sit so she could climb up onto his lap. He’d liked it, when they’d go out to a bar, when she sat on his lap. She knew why.
Sex wasn’t why she wanted to be there now. Their sexual connection could wait. She just needed the reality of him. The warmth. The feel of him breathing.
He didn’t sit. At least, not on the couch. He lowered himself to the edge of a chair neither of them had ever used—not in her memory. It had come with the set. But he sat there now.
“You look good.” She would remember those words forever. The first time she’d heard his voice in more than two years.
“I look a mess,” she told him, suddenly conscious of the cutoff sweat shorts and T-shirt she was wearing, both his, while she’d been sitting at her computer, drinking decaffeinated tea and looking at cribs. Her hair was just hanging there. Long and...straight. She’d always curled it. Done fancy things with clips and scrunchies. He’d liked it because he’d loved undoing all her hard work.
If there’d been any makeup, which there hadn’t, she’d have cried it all off anyway.
“You look good,” he said again. His gaze hadn’t left her. But for the first time in their lives, she couldn’t be sure what was going on with him. He didn’t seem to share her joy. Or seem...anything. Happy. Uncomfortable. Sad.
He’s a changed man, Mrs. Hannigan. Officer Hall’s words came back to her.
And she straightened up. Wiped her eyes. Took the handkerchief Winston handed her and cleaned up her face.
What a selfish witch she was being. Winston was the one who’d suffered. He needed her to be strong.
Just the day before, she’d sworn she’d handle whatever was to come, give him whatever he needed from her, love him back to health. She had it in her. There was no doubt about that.
Yet here she was falling apart like a sappy idiot. It was just that... With a small, intimate smile and fresh tears, she said, “You look good,” right back to him.
Relief filled her when he nodded, seemingly pleased. And, oh God, he looked good. So good. Better than she’d ever imagined.
He’d been well fed—though he was as lean as ever. His skin tone was tanned and healthy. She didn’t notice any scars, not that his uniform gave her a lot of opportunity in that area. His hair, as dark as always, was cut in its usual short style with the little bit of bang that she liked to run her fingers through just to tease him. His brown eyes were as big as she remembered, and those lips...still full of every ability to twist her stomach in knots.
“You’re well?” he asked.
She grinned again. “I am now. It’s been a bit lonely around here...”
His nod was curt, yet seemingly expressing satisfaction at the same time. She couldn’t explain it, but accepted the thought just the same.
“And you?” she asked. Reading Winston had always been easy for her. Not so now, and yet it was more critical than ever. She didn’t doubt for a second that she could do it if he gave her just a little more time. He was worth the effort.
“I’m well,” he told her. Still watching her. She wasn’t sure he’d even stopped long enough to blink. The stare might have been unnerving, except that this was Winston. Her soul mate, lover and best friend. Home again.
“There are things we need to discuss,” he said.
She nodded. And then, in a flurry of realizations, jumped up and ran to a drawer in the kitchen. Pulling out the key ring, she started to cry again for a second. She’d thought those keys had been put permanently to rest.
“Here,” she said, back in the living room, handing the keys to Winston. He took them, looked at them for a long few seconds.
Almost as though he didn’t recognize them. Hall had assured her that his mental faculties were all there.
“Your car’s still in the garage,” she told him. His house keys were on that ring, too.
Oh my God! He’s home!
His pillow won’t be empty tonight! She had to make meat loaf for dinner. He particularly loved her meat loaf. There was no ground beef in the house. She’d need to run to the grocery. Didn’t want to leave him for even a second. So maybe they could go together. He might need a new toothbrush. His had been sitting unused in the cup for a long time. Did bristles get brittle?
“Your clothes are all still in your closet and drawers.” She hurried into speech when he looked up at her with an expression she didn’t recognize. “You can change if you like.”
Yeah. Let him get comfortable. Thinking about his favorite shorts and T-shirts, remembering how he’d wear them on Sunday mornings because he could just relax, she was so thankful she’d held on to his things, rather than donating them as had been suggested to her by more than one well-meaning person. Her mother among them.
“Change?” He frowned.
“Into something more comfortable,” she told him. “I’m assuming all the navy has provided you with is uniforms.” Why else would he be in one so early on a Sunday morning?
He nodded. Frowned. And then nodded again, before he stood. “You mind if I go...” He pointed to the hall that led back to their bedroom.
“Of course not, Win, this is your home as much as it is mine!”
His hesitancy broke her heart, and she choked back the tears as she watched him. He seemed so hesitant. Unsure. Almost like he didn’t belong in his own home.
As though he thought he had no rights.
This had to be what Hall had meant when he’d said Winston was a changed man. She could only imagine what had happened to him to strip him of his confidence. A shard of anxiety curled through her, and she shook it away. He needed her strong. Capable.
But...what had they done to him?
Watching