Destiny's Hand

Love for her smashed into his heart, splintering headlong into fragile shards of exquisite tenderness.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he had no idea how to start. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him, how his world would no longer spin if she wasn’t in it.

But the words clotted in his throat.

He wasn’t very good at admitting his weaknesses. Never had been. He was a strong guy. He bounced back from adversity. The tender stuff didn’t come easy. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it. He just didn’t know how to express himself in that way. It was easier to skim by on the surface, say the right things, do what was expected and look good without digging too deep, exposing too much of himself.

She’s your wife. What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be able to tell her anything.

Morgan was looking at him with meticulous tenderness, and he couldn’t stand not holding her for one second longer. He tugged her into the curve of his arm, pulling her up tight against his chest. He felt the steady tapping of her heart against his, heard her take a deep, shuddering breath.

She grasped his hand, turned it over and swept her soft fingertips over his hard palm, pushing waves of electricity up his arm.

“You’ve got me in the palm of your hand, Adam Shaw,” she whispered. “You always have.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed their palms together.

With their conjoined hands pressed between them, he dipped his head and melted his lips against the underside of her jaw. He’d discovered that particular erogenous zone on their wedding night, and whenever he wanted to fully charge her up, he would nibble that sweet spot.

Moaning softly, Morgan eagerly raised her chin up to give him easier access while she pressed her pelvis against his.

If his legs had felt a little sturdier, he would have picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. As it was, he took her by the hand and led her there.

Their bedroom smelled of the lavender scent she’d always favored. If it hadn’t been so late, if he didn’t have to go work in the morning, if he hadn’t been so drunk, Adam would have lighted candles and placed them around the room and he would have put her favorite mood music on the stereo. He felt guilty then for never having the time to pamper her the way she deserved to be pampered.

Adam promised himself that things were going to change. He would do better, be a better husband.

He looked at his wife, his eyes tracing the round firmness of her chin, accentuated by the luminescent quality of her skin. Never a sun worshipper, she took good care of her complexion, slathering it nightly with mysterious creamy female potions.

She took his face between her palms and kissed him with more fire than she’d kissed him in a very long time. Her mouth was so hot and tasty.

His equilibrium shifted, whether from the scotch or the power of her kiss, he couldn’t say. But he felt it, charging through his center.

Lately their lovemaking had fallen into a familiar rhythm. Nice and steady, regular as clockwork. Nothing deviating. Nothing new or exciting. That’s what she’d been trying to tell him by showing up at the Grand Duchess. She needed more. She needed to feel special. She needed him to show her that he still loved her.

He’d gotten the message loud and clear. He’d been neglecting his wife. He was here. Ready and eager to make amends.

Her dark brown eyes looked almost purple in the glow of the hallway light bleeding into the bedroom, mesmerizing him with their changeable quality.

Morgan snatched him by the front of the shirt and backed him against the wall. Her aggressiveness was unexpected but welcome. He didn’t mind letting her take the lead if that’s what she wanted.

“Yeah, babe,” he murmured. “That’s it. Go ahead. Take control.”

Eagerly her tongue slipped past his parted teeth. Her nimble fingers made quick work of buttons on his business shirt. She jerked the shirt off his shoulders, flung it to the floor and with a gleeful hungry noise she spread her fingers through his chest hairs.

“You are roasting me, woman,” he said, “Cooking my goose with your body heat.”

She laughed.

He loved it when she laughed, which she didn’t do nearly often enough. He wanted to tickle her gently under the rib cage, see if he could coax more of her laughter. That brilliant, low-toned sound was like soft music rousing him from a long sleep.

He watched her nipples harden underneath the soft blue silk of her pajamas. Licking his lips, he waited for his normal masculine response to kick in.

But it did not.

Odd that he wasn’t growing harder by the minute.

She kissed him again, heatedly, anxiously, and he kissed her back, focusing every ounce of his attention on what was happening between them. Trying to generate the internal steam needed to start his engine. She rubbed her breasts along his chest and made a bold growling noise low in her throat.

That’s when Adam got really nervous.

“I want to feel you all over me,” she cooed. “All of you. Around me, against me, inside me. I’ve got to have you.”

“Slow down,” he said, hoping she couldn’t hear the desperation creeping into his voice. This wasn’t funny. Where was his erection?

She moistened the tip of an index finger with her tongue and then reached out to trail that wet finger down the length of his throat. “I don’t know if I can slow down. How ’bout we speed you up?”

He wanted her and he was happy to see that she was so sexed up. Oh, yeah. He wanted to make love to her until she screamed. But there was just one tiny problem. While his mind was willing, apparently his body had been anesthetized with alcohol.

Little Adam simply was not cooperating.

Come on, get hard.

A ripple of panic blasted through him. Not this, not this, not this. Anything but this. He was too young for this.

It’s the booze. Don’t freak.

Alcohol had never rendered him lifeless before. But then again, he’d never downed four scotches in one night either.

Adam closed his eyes and swallowed hard as Morgan took his earlobe between her teeth. He forced himself to dredge up some wild fantasies. He imagined them making love in all kinds of places, doing bold and kinky things that they had never tried in real life, but nothing worked.

His flag was flying at half-mast.

Dammit to hell. What was wrong with him? He remembered a time when all Morgan had to do was walk into a room and he was instantly rock-hard.

No, no. It wasn’t Morgan. She was sexier than she’d ever been. The longer hairstyle she’d been growing out was a super turn-on. She kept her body fit and she was the smartest woman he knew. Any man would be happy to have her in his bed, and Adam was proud she shared hers with him.

The problem was all his.

So what was going on? Why couldn’t he get it up for his smoking-hot wife?

For a man who was driven by the need to succeed, this was a devastating development. He was scared. Totally terrified.

He almost confessed to her what was going on, but he just couldn’t do it. What if she thought it was because he no longer found her attractive? She was having enough self-doubt over that as it was. He would not compound the problem.

His hands trembled with desire as he touched her perky, firm breasts, but his cock would not cooperate. It was his problem and he wasn’t going to burden her with it. But he would not disappoint her. It had been too long since he’d seen this kind of hunger in her eyes. He wasn’t taking it for granted.

She reached for his zipper, but he wrapped a hand around her wrist to stop her before she discovered his shameful secret.