The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

floor, his thrusts driving so deep she’d felt taken, like a whore. And had enjoyed it.
    She grasped the sink and heard her own breathing deepen, felt her body making its own decision, rebelling against whatever logic had kept her celibate all these months.
    Sex is always in the room.
    The front door thudded shut.
    She turned, startled. Hurried into the living room to see only the twinkling tree, but no Victor. Glancing out the window, she saw him climb into his car, and heard the roar of the engine starting.
    She dashed out the front door, her shoes sliding on the icy walkway as she hurried toward his car.
    “Victor!”
    The engine suddenly shut off, and the headlights went dark. He stepped out and looked at her, his head only a shadowy silhouette above the car roof. The wind blew, and she blinked against stinging needles of snow.
    “Why are you leaving?” she asked.
    “Go inside, Maura. It’s freezing.”
    “But why are you leaving?”
    Even through the shadows, she saw the frosty cloud of his breath, exhaled in frustration. “It’s clear you don’t want me here.”
    “Come back. I do want you to stay.” She walked around the car and stood facing him. The wind pierced her thin blouse.
    “We’d just tear into each other again. The way we always do.” He started to climb back into the car.
    She reached for his jacket and tugged him toward her. In that instant, as he turned to look at her, she knew what would come next. Reckless or not, at that moment, she wanted it to happen.
    He didn’t have to pull her into his arms. She was already there, burrowing into his warmth, her mouth seeking his. Familiar tastes, familiar smells. Their bodies fitting together, as they always had. She was shaking now, both from cold and excitement. He folded his arms around her, and his body shielded her from the wind as they kissed their way back to the front door. They brought a dusting of snow into the house, bits of glitter that slid to the floor as he shrugged off his jacket.
    They never made it to the bedroom.
    Right there, in the entryway, she fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, tugging it free from his trousers. The skin beneath felt searing to her cold-numbed fingers. She peeled away the fabric, craving his warmth, desperate to feel it against her own skin. By the time they made it into the living room, her own blouse was unbuttoned, her slacks unzipped. She welcomed him back into her body. Into her life.
    The lights of the tree twinkled like multicolored stars as she lay on the floor beneath him. She closed her eyes, yet even then, she still could see those lights winking above her in a firmament of colors. Their bodies rocked together in a knowing dance, without clumsiness, without the uncertainty of first-time lovers. She knew his touch, his moves, and when pleasure overtook her and she cried out, she felt no embarrassment. Three years of separation were swept away in this one act, and after it was done, and they lay together among the tangle of discarded clothes, his embrace felt as familiar as a well-worn blanket.
    When she opened her eyes again, she found Victor gazing down at her.
    “You’re the best thing I’ve ever unwrapped under a Christmas tree,” he said.
    She stared up at a glittering strand of tinsel hanging from a branch above. “That’s how I feel,” she murmured. “Unwrapped. Exposed.”
    “You make it sound like it’s not a good thing.”
    “It depends on what happens next.”
    “What does happen next?”
    She sighed. “I don’t know.”
    “What do you want to happen?”
    “I don’t want to be hurt again.”
    “You’re afraid that’s what I’ll do.”
    She looked at him. “It’s what you did before.”
    “We hurt each other, Maura. In a lot of different ways. People who love each other always do, without meaning to.”
    “You had the affair. What did I do?”
    “This doesn’t get us anywhere.”
    “I want to know,” she said. “How did I hurt
you
?”
    He rolled away to lie beside her, not touching her, his gaze focused somewhere on the ceiling. “Do you remember the day I had to leave for Abidjan?”
    “I remember,” she said. Still tasting the bitterness.
    “I admit, it was a terrible time to leave you, but I had to go. I was the only one who could handle the negotiations. I had to be there.”
    “The day after my dad’s funeral?” She looked at him. “I
needed
you. I needed you home with me.”
    “One Earth needed me too. We could have lost that whole