Black Hills

everything he’d lived without was here. Right here. His senses swam with her, a rush of woman, all scent and skin, all wet and warm. The beat of her heart against his hungry mouth, the slide of her skin under his desperate hands.
    He pushed her over, felt her rise and break, then gather again.
    His name. She said his name over and over.
    His name when he drove into her. He held, held himself on that whippy edge, filled and surrounded, entrapped until they were both trembling. Then it was all movement, mad, mindless. And when she broke again, he shattered with her.
    She wanted to curl up against him, just fit her body against his like two pieces of a puzzle. Instead she lay quiet, willing herself to hold on to the pleasure, and the peace that had finally come with it.
    She could sleep. If she closed her eyes, let her mind shut down, she could sleep. Whatever needed to be said or dealt with could be said or dealt with in the morning.
    “You’re cold.”
    Was she?
    Before her brain could connect with her body he’d shifted her up and over. When had he packed on all the muscle? she wondered. He tugged the sheet and comforter over her, then drew her against him.
    She started to stiffen—to ease away, a little at least. Didn’t she need some room, some sort of distance? But he held her there, curled her in exactly where she’d wanted to be.
    “Go to sleep,” he said.
    And too tired, too undone, to argue, she did just that.

    SHE WOKE BEFORE SUNRISE, stayed very still. His arms had stayed around her, and hers had gone around him in the brief hours of the night.
    Why, she wondered, did something that basic, that human, break her heart?
    Comfort, she reminded herself. In the end, he’d given her the comfort she’d needed. And maybe she’d given him some in return.
    It didn’t have to be more than that.
    She’d loved him all of her life, and there was no point in trying to convince herself that would ever change. But sex was just an elemental act, and in their case a kind of gift between friends.
    Single, consenting, healthy adult friends.
    She was strong, smart, and self-aware enough to accept that—and keep it that way. The first step, she thought, was to untangle herself from him and get out of bed.
    She started to ease away, as cautiously as she might if she’d been wrapped around a sleeping cobra. She’d barely gained an inch when his eyes opened and beamed straight into hers.
    “Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she whispered—it just seemed the reasonable thing to do. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve got to get started.”
    He kept her close, only lifted her hand, turning her wrist to look at the luminous dial of her watch. “Yeah, I guess we both do. In a couple minutes.”
    Before she could react he rolled over, and was inside her.
    He took his time. After that first shock of possession, he went slow. Long, lazy strokes that left her both weak and giddy. Helpless she floated up, felt herself all but shimmer. Pressing her face to the side of his throat, she let go.
    She sighed, lingering longer than was wise.
    “I guess I owe you breakfast.”
    “I never argue with breakfast.”
    She made herself turn away, made the effort to keep her voice light. “I’ll go start the coffee if you want to grab the shower first.”
    “Sure.”
    She grabbed a robe, pulling it on as she hurried out.
    She avoided looking at herself in the mirror and concentrated on the practicalities. Strong black coffee and what she thought of as a full farm breakfast. Maybe she didn’t have any appetite, but she would damn well eat. No one would know she was sick with love. Again.
    Better to focus on the positive, she reminded herself. She’d gotten more rest in four hours than she’d had in days. And surely that buzzing sexual tension between her and Coop would diminish now.
    The deed was done. They’d both survived. They’d both move on.
    Bacon sizzled in the cast-iron skillet while she warmed biscuits in the oven. He liked his eggs over easy, she remembered. At least he had.
    By the time he came down, smelling of her soap, she was breaking eggs into the pan. He poured his coffee, topped her mug off, then leaned against the counter and watched her.
    “What?”
    “You look good. It’s nice to look at you over my morning coffee.” He glanced at the bacon she had draining, then the hash browns sizzling with the eggs. “Guess you’re hungry.”
    “I figured I owed you the full shot.”
    “I appreciate the