The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

like you did with them. They needed things that only you could give them, and you did it. It made me love you more than ever."
    "Rachel—"
    "It's all right." She stopped him. "I'd like to get in bed now."
    "Okay."
    He stood up, pulled back the sheet, and let her climb in. He pulled the covers up around her and put his hand to her cheek.
    "You can sleep here, if you want," she offered.
    And he wanted. He wasn't sure if it was smart, but he wanted.
    "I didn't lock up before I came upstairs," he said.
    "Okay."
    "I'll be up in a minute."
    * * *
    Rachel watched him go, feeling utterly drained and empty. She had no idea if he would come back, and she wanted so badly to have his arms around her, have the familiar bulk and warmth of his body next to hers in the bed.
    She wasn't going to beg him to stay. She didn't have the right; after all, she'd promised him if they could just have the children here until after Christmas she wouldn't ask him for anything more. And Christmas had come and gone.
    She lay perfectly still in the bed, conscious of every sound in the house, waiting for that faint creak of footsteps on the stairs, thinking, Come back to me, Sam. Just one more time. Come back.
    And he did. She heard him coming up the stairs. He went into the bathroom, and she waited some more. If he walked away now...
    The bathroom door opened. She heard him shedding his clothes, draping them over a chair in the corner. He had drawn back the covers and was slipping inside when she realized she was shaking badly. Delayed reaction to the events of the day and the depths of her fear about what was going to happen tonight with her and Sam and tomorrow with the children.
    He lay on his back, not touching her at first, and then he extended his arm off to the right, between the top of her head and the headboard. That was the invitation she'd been waiting for. She rolled onto her side and then settled herself against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, their legs intertwined.
    Rachel let out a shaky breath, her heart racing.
    "You're trembling," he said, angling his body toward hers, pushing her face down to his chest.
    She was also fighting to keep her breath slow and even, to hold back her tears, because he hated it when she cried. Or maybe she'd simply spent too much time crying in the last few months. It had truly been an awful time.
    "I'm going to miss them, too, Rachel," he said, as if they were already gone.
    "I know."
    "But I am glad we had them, too. You're right. It was the right thing for us to do."
    He stroked a hand back and forth along her back, rubbing at the tension in her shoulders, at the base of her spine. Slowly, she was relaxing, the shivering lessening. He had wonderful hands—strong and warm and a bit rough from his calluses—and it was good to have his hands on her, to have him here in her bed. She turned her head and dropped a kiss onto his chest, then tilted her head back, turned his face to hers, brushed his lips with hers. The kiss was hesitant at first, questioning, and then deeper and needier.
    He pulled away and put his hand on the side of her face, staring down at her through the darkness. He was shaking, too, she realized, not sure why, not sure why he was holding back now.
    "Is it so bad to want me? To want to be with me?" she asked. "I'm still your wife."
    "No. I just... I wonder how long this is going to last, Rachel. Any of this. I told you I can't go back to the way things were before."
    "Neither can I."
    "I'm afraid of what's going to happen to us when the kids go."
    "So am I," she said. "But we never had any guarantees to start with about how things were going to turn out, Sam. We just thought we did. And now we've both seen what it would be like to lose each other. I don't want to lose you."
    "And I don't want to give you up," he said.
    "I'll never ask you to," she said. "Never."
    And then finally, his mouth came down to hers, and he kissed her deeply, needily. She felt every bit of the frustration in him, frustration over the events of the day, the uncertainties that plagued them both in the night.
    She felt as if she were in the middle of a storm, a roaring, swirling storm. It felt dangerous and like it had the potential to blow them both away. But they clung to each other, were bound together and determined to ride this out.
    He stripped her efficiently and quickly, and then he was devouring her body, fighting against what was inside of him and everything that was between