Page 87 of Texas Splendor
“You told me that you love me. Do you think love is supposed to hurt? It’s not. Whatever Becky taught you about love is wrong. It’s supposed to heal. It’s supposed to make you feel glad that you’re alive. It’s supposed to help you live with the past.
“You can’t love me if you won’t let me inside your heart. Either open your heart and invite me in or take me back home. But don’t tell me you love me when you don’t know what it is to love.”
She spun on her heel, walked into their bedroom, and slammed the door.
Austin bit back the agonizing wail that would have been her name. What did she know about the things in his heart? What did she know about love? Love looked deeply within a person. Hadn’t Amelia looked beyond Houston’s scars to his soul? Love understood what others couldn’t begin to fathom. Hadn’t Dee understood Dallas’s hard nature when no one else had?
Loree was the one who knew nothing about love. He stalked to the bedroom door, put his hand on the knob, and heard her wrenching sobs. He pressed his forehead to the door.
Christ, how many times had he made her cry? How often had he hurt her?
She was right. He should take her back home. She had his name. That was all she needed.
He stormed across the room, opened the front door, rushed through it, and slammed it in his wake. The last thing he needed her to hear was his heart breaking.
Loree awoke to the sound of a child crying. She rubbed the salt of her dried tears from the corners of her eyes and squinted through the darkness. Shafts of moonlight sliced through the window, forming the silhouette of a man, standing, his head bowed, his arm pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling the bow slowly across the taut strings of a violin.
The resonant chords deepened and an immense lonesomeness filled the room. Loree sat up in bed, sniffing through her stuffed nose. She clutched her handkerchief as the wailing continued. She wanted to slip out of bed and wrap her arms around someone, ease the pain she heard in the echoing strains of the violin. The poignant melody released fresh tears and caused her heart to tighten. In all her life, she’d never had a song reach out to capture her soul.
The melody drifted into an aching silence. Austin lifted his head, and she saw his tears, trailing along his cheeks, glistening in the moonlight.
She slipped from beneath the blankets, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. “What were you playing?” she asked reverently, not wanting to disturb the ambiance that remained in the room.
“That was my heart breaking,” he said, his voice ragged.
She felt as though her own heart might shatter as she took a step toward him. “Austin—”
“Don’t stop loving me, Loree. You want me to learn what those little black bugs on those pieces of paper mean, I’ll learn. You want me to play the violin from dawn until dusk, hell, I’ll play till midnight, just don’t stop loving me.”
She flung her arms around his neck and felt his arms come around her back, the violin tapping against her backside. “Oh, Austin, I couldn’t stop loving you if I wanted.”
“I do know how to love, Loree. I just don’t know how to keep a woman loving me.”
“I’ll always love you, Austin,” she said trailing kisses over his face. “Always.”
She felt a slight movement away from her as he set the violin aside, and then his arms came around her, tighter than before. “Let me love you, Loree. I need to love you.”
His mouth swooped down, capturing hers, desperation evident as his tongue delved swiftly, deeply. And then, as though, sensing her surrender, his exploration gentled. His hands came around, bracing either side of her hips, hips that had widened as she carried his child.
His hands traveled upward, until her breasts filled his palms. His long fingers shaped and molded what nature had already altered, preparing for the day when she would nourish their child.
He cradled her cheek, deepening the kiss, as his other hand worked the buttons of her nightgown free.
He slipped his hand through the parted material, his roughened palm cupping her smooth breast. She felt his fingers tremble as his thumb circled her nipple, causing it to harden and strain for his touch.
His breathing harsh, he trailed his mouth along the column of her throat. He dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat.
“I’m only thinking of you, Loree,” he rasped.
She dropped her head back. “I know.” And she did know, deep within her soul, where his music had dared to travel only moments before, she did know that he was thinking of her. The tears he had shed had been for her. The music he had played had been for her.
His kiss, his gentle touch—they belonged to her now, just as he did.
His mouth skimmed along her flesh, between the valley of her breasts, his breath warm like a summer breeze. He trailed his mouth over the curve of her breast. His tongue circled her nipple before he closed his mouth around the taut tip and suckled.
Like a match struck to kindling, her body responded, heat flaming to life. Her knees buckled and he caught her against him, steadying her. Slowly, he unfolded his body and within the faint moonbeams, she saw the deep blue of his smoldering gaze.
He slipped his hands between the parted material of her gown, spreading it over her shoulders until it was free to slide down her body and pool at her feet. She heard him swallow.
