Baby, I'm Yours. Carrie Weaver

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      Nodding, she pretended to acquiesce, employing as much cunning as an alcoholic seeking a drink.

      Rick pulled her into his arms, murmuring soothing words.

      She allowed herself to relax for a moment. Rest her cheek against his gabardine jacket. He was a good friend and only meant to comfort. But he just didn’t understand. He’d lost a friend, but she’d lost the center of her life.

      Becca felt as if she was spinning out of control with nothing to anchor her. Except, perhaps, the sound of glass shattering on tile.

      Reaching blindly, she patted the counter until she felt something smooth and cylindrical.

      “Enough, Becca.”

      She struggled, fighting for her life. Or maybe fighting for Gabe’s life. It was all such a confusing mess.

      Rick reached for her wrist again.

      Becca evaded his grasp, shoving him with her shoulder.

      He lost his balance and started to fall backward, pulling her with him.

      Grunting as he hit the floor, Rick cushioned her fall.

      Becca tried to scramble to her feet, but he held her fast, his arm pinning her against him.

      “No, Becca. No more.”

      She had lost the battle. Her ragged breathing slowed as the fight went out of her. Replaced by deep, wracking sobs. All her hurt and despair came pouring out.

      Barely aware of Rick patting her back, murmuring soothing words, she lost herself in a rush of release at no longer having to pretend she could go on without Gabe.

      Cradled by Rick, she curled into the fetal position and cried out her sorrow. Emotion rocked her body with the rhythm of her sobs.

      Rick’s chest heaved, as if her sorrow was too much for him. Or as if her loss of control had touched off an explosion of grief in him.

      Glancing up at his face, Becca touched his wet cheeks. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He loved Gabe nearly as much as she did.

      And that knowledge calmed her, much to her surprise.

      Still, Rick held her, murmuring encouragement.

      After what seemed like hours, awareness seeped in. Primal awareness.

      Movement, friction, two bodies in such proximity had mimicked a coupling so unlikely it was laughable. If she’d had an ounce of her sense of humor left.

      Becca glanced up, holding Rick’s startled gaze.

      “I’m sorry, Bec. It’s one of those automatic responses.” He set her aside, his husky use of her nickname touching off memories of the many times Gabe had whispered the same in the dark.

      If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend he was Gabe. Pretend it was her mate’s body that responded to hers. And suddenly, she wanted one last opportunity to be with Gabe. To pretend he was still a part of her.

      Becca rolled, covering Rick with her body and moving against him.

      His voice held a strangled quality when he said, “This isn’t right.”

      Holding his gaze, she said, “Nothing’s been right for six days. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. Before today, I couldn’t cry…except for when I broke the glasses. And you took that small comfort from me. You owe me.”

      Rick’s shock mirrored her own. It was such an un-Becca-like thing to say.

      She didn’t give him time to refuse. She captured his mouth with hers. His protest was smothered by her onslaught, the dance of her tongue inviting him, allowing him the illusion of choice. But already she was hot and wet and proclaiming what she needed. She moved her hips against him as she reached to unbutton his dress pants.

      Emotions flooded her. Anger. Remorse. Need. The raw energy of being alive. And the power of being in control. Because Gabe’s death had proven she had absolutely no control over the course of her life. Only this small moment in time.

      Becca was determined to experience it all. She reveled in cupping her palm against the front of his pants, but the fabric was in the way. She needed to feel him, warm, pulsing, alive.

      Closing her eyes, she unzipped his pants and encircled him with her hand.

      She ignored the harsh sound of his indrawn breath and focused on the life beneath her fingertips.

      “Bec, this isn’t—”

      “Shh.” She opened her eyes, holding his gaze. “Please help me to forget this awful day.”

      He grasped her wrists. “Think about what you’re asking.”

      “Don’t you understand? I can’t think. Because if I do, I’ll have to admit that Gabe is never coming back.” Becca angrily dashed away the moisture on her cheeks, leaning close and shifting so she straddled him. Her voice was low and hoarse when she said, “We don’t think. We just feel. Anything but hopelessness. Help me, Rick?”

      BECCA’s PLEA cut through Rick’s confusion and went straight to his groin. Where her closeness had initially stimulated an automatic response, now he wanted her with a ferocity that nearly unhinged him. Instinct guided him as he pushed her dress up over her hips, groaning at the sight of her black thigh-high stockings against her pale skin.

      The only thing Rick knew was that if he didn’t sink into her right now, he was going to die.

      Becca leaned close and he cradled the back of her neck with his hand, drawing her down for a deep, scorching kiss. Her fevered response almost sent him over the edge. He groped her thigh and higher, his fingers searching for the panties he knew stood between him and that wet, warm place where he needed to be.

      As if sensing his loss of control, Becca drew back with a moan of frustration, snagging her panties and trying to wiggle out of them. He couldn’t wait that long.

      Then he realized he was still wearing his briefs. He thanked his lucky stars he was ambidextrous as he freed himself while fumbling for the wallet in his back pocket.

      “Done!” Becca crowed, tossing aside her panties.

      Black, he noticed.

      She straddled him again, maneuvering so that his tip was nestled against her warm, moist, totally ready entrance.

      His body surged, intent on answering her invitation in a big way. Everything seemed surreal, as if it were happening to someone else. Suddenly the woman who had been his friend for years was almost a stranger. The last shred of reassuring familiarity exploded into white-hot need.

      “Protection.” That was Rick’s last rational thought as he retrieved the condom and ripped open the packet with his teeth.

      Becca threw back her head and undulated her hips, torturing him with the promise of completion so close at hand. She made impatient little noises that had him wanting her all the more.

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