Almost Home. Debbie Macomber

was a liar. I found that out about two days before he asked me to marry him. He hid massive credit-card bills, and his betting and gambling. When I found out, that was it.”

      “Good decision.”

      “Yes, it was. In none of them had I sensed a real and true kindness. Compassion. Selflessness. For those men, it was all about them. I knew they would never help me, support me, encourage me in my career or anything else. It sure wouldn’t come naturally to them, and they wouldn’t do it if they had to inconvenience themselves in any way.”

      And I hadn’t trusted any of them.

      “So when they asked you to marry them?”

      “I felt as if I were suffocating.”

      “Suffocating.” He nodded.

      “I couldn’t breathe. I can only compare it to having a wedding bouquet smashed over my nose. Had I slept with any of them, which I didn’t, I’m sure the feelings of suffocation would’ve been exponentially worse.”

      “What about marrying someone else? Some great, kind, smart, handsome bloke who made you laugh? Would you still feel suffocated?”

      “Yep. I’d still feel as if my windpipe was being somewhat smashed. I don’t think I would be happy married.” Unless it was to Zeus here. I might be able to breathe long-term around Zeus, the sex god.

      “Because …,” he prodded.

      “I am happy with my life the way it is.” I had to hide away, keep things private, and I preferred to do that without a husband strapped to my back. Unless, perhaps, it was Zeus. He would not be too heavy on my back.

      “You don’t want kids?”

      “No.” Well, no more than four with Zeus. “Do you?” I tried not to feel insanely, flamingly jealous of the wife he did not yet have and the kids she would bear him.

      “Yes, I want kids.”

      “But you travel all the time for your work.”

      “I did travel all the time for my work. I came to the Seattle paper a year ago because I wanted a change in my life. With this job, I knew I could have a life, flexibility. I’ve travelled almost constantly for twenty years, not counting my childhood. My suitcase is worn out. I have enough frequent-flier miles to go to Saturn. I can’t even think about pretzels anymore without feeling sick. I don’t have a real home, and I want that. And I want a family—wife, kids, the whole nine yards. I’ve wanted that for years now.”

      I tried to make light of it so I didn’t bang my head against the ground like a jealous, rabid rat gone wild envisioning his wife-to-be and kids. “I’ve rarely heard a bachelor admit that. Strike that. I’ve never heard a bachelor admit that.”

      “I admit it. It’s what I want.”

      “I’m sure your kids will be born ready to be ace reporters, lie detectors in their tiny fists, flak jackets on, pens at the ready …”

      “And your kids, Chalese? They’ll be born clutching paintbrushes and drawing pencils.” He paused. “And then they’d be off to spy on someone through a skylight ….”

      I tossed a grape at him.

      He tossed one at me.

      I tossed another.

      And somehow, some way, our faces ended up so close I could see the darker green flecks in those eyes, the lines crinkling from the corners, and the wave of those brown curls.

      And there we froze.

      I should have moved away, at the very least to avoid the abject, eyeball-popping humiliation of the last kiss-attack. This time, I kept my peepers open.

      But that electricity, that lust, that thing between us, went loose, boinging off both of us. Aiden leaned in to kiss me, his fingers entwining with mine.

      His lips could not have been better, a mixture of softness and demand, passion and restraint, rampaging lust and more rampaging lust.

      When he pulled me closer, I linked an arm around his neck and gave in to that quivering, sexily sinking, hot sensation until I thought I might self-combust. He pulled me in close, so we had a warm, tingling, full-body press going on. After luscious minutes, he picked me up, me, Ms. Plentiful Bottom, and gently placed me on my back in the warm sand and followed me down, his kisses strong, our breath mixing, a pant following a moan and a pant, until I had no idea where I stopped and he began.

      He pulled his head up. “Damn. Oh damn.”

      I tried to speak, couldn’t. I did make a sound in my throat, though, like someone would who landed unexpectedly in heaven. He was an excellent kisser!

      He bent to kiss me again, and I kissed him back, his lips trailing my neck, and lower, and I instinctively arched my back, willingly diving into that pool of passion in a way I’d never dived.

      And then there was cool, ocean air where a warm, muscled, male body used to be as he arched up on his elbows, knees to the ground between my legs, shaking his head. “Dammit,” he breathed.

      I dropped my arms and waited, trying not to smile like a Cheshire cat, but I couldn’t help myself.

      “I’m sorry, Chalese,” he started breathlessly. “Dammit.”

      “Dammit twice?” Charlotte circled us, then ran off, barking, like she was tattling to the other dogs.

      “Yes, twice.” He crinkled his eyes, appreciating the humor, before he went back to serious.

      I wanted to laugh, wriggle, dance. The man who was going to expose me had kissed me, and the kisses were, well, outstanding! Even my throbbing body yelled, “Outstanding!”

      “I can’t believe I’m in this situation,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, I can, I can believe it. You have strung me up since the second I saw you. I can hardly think anymore but I have never gotten involved with anyone I was interviewing. This is totally unprofessional and inappropriate.”

      “It felt totally appropriate, though. Yes, it did.” I grinned up at him, then ran a finger over his lips. Warm. Yummy. His eyes shut, he moaned.

      He was a truly delicious male specimen. Truly delicious. The kisses had been the commanding sort of kiss, the “I’m going to take charge here” kiss, the “I want you, and I’m about to lose control over you” kiss.

      Awesome! I chuckled.

      “This is funny to you?” he said.

      “Yep. It is.” I cupped his face, and he turned his head more fully into my palm.

      “It’s a mess.”

      “That, too,” I agreed. I bit my lip but couldn’t suppress my smile. How I wanted that man. He was huggable and kissable, and I had never had such a base, magnetic attraction to any man in my whole life. My body was thrumming for him. Thrumming! “A beautiful mess, though.”

      I saw something flicker in those eyes, eyes that never wavered from mine. “Beautiful, tragic. Complicated. And I really must kiss you again.”

      It was an instant, a millisecond, and we were right back in each other’s arms, sweet, hot, desperate, on-fire kisses, hands going this way and that, legs curved around legs, a roll here and there, an arch or two, a semistraddle.

      Until he pulled away again and panted, “This is out of control.”

      I noticed he was breathing really hard, even harder than me.

      “But it’s fun.” I smiled at him. “So much fun.”

      He gave up, that stressed expression leaving his face as he laughed.

      The dogs circled us, barking, tails wagging.

      “You are a helluva kisser, Zeus,” I muttered.

      And maybe, one day, I could trust this