Sarah shrugged. "I was mad because your lawyers said I cheated while we were married." That had hurt, really hurt, because if there was one thing Sarah knew how to be, it was faithful. "You were the one who went out with groupies while we were still only separated." Those pictures had broken her heart.
"I was high as a fucking kite," Abe said bluntly, no excuses in his tone. "After you left, I lost any solid footing I had, went totally off the rails."
Sarah's heart ached, wanting to see in his confession a sign that perhaps she'd been at least a little important to him. "How long have you been clean?"
"Since partway through our last major tour."
Sarah did the math, felt her eyes widen. Abe was closing in on a year in just a couple more months' time, give or take. "That's wonderful, Abe." It made her want to hug him, tell him he could keep going, that a year could become two, could become ten. "Was there a catalyst?"
"You could say that." His lips twisted. "I almost killed myself."
Sarah sucked in a breath, the idea of a world without Abe in it incomprehensible to her. "Cocaine?"
"No, I did manage to give that up after our divorce. Decided to focus on hard liquor instead." He rubbed his hands over his face. "Nearly drank myself into a coma, had one hell of a fight with the guys afterward when they pointed out I was useless to them as a keyboardist if I couldn't keep my shit together."
And the shocks kept coming. Sarah could barely take it in--the four men had been friends since they were thirteen years old. She'd thought nothing could ever tear them apart. "That's what finally got through to you?" Sarah asked, grateful to Fox, David, and Noah. "That you might lose your place in the band?"
"It was one hell of a hard push, got me thinking. Then..." Jaw grinding, he twisted the dishtowel in his hands before putting it on the counter. "I kept the incident from my mother... but she knew. I could see it in her face when we next spoke, could see her breaking as she prepared to bury another child."
"Oh, Abe." Sarah's eyes burned; she understood Diane Bellamy's pain far better now than she had before she lost Aaron. "That had to be awful for your mom, but I'm so glad it made you realize what you were doing to yourself and to her."
"Yeah." Leaning back against the counter with his hands gripping the edges, he held her gaze. "I've been totally clean since. Not even a Sunday beer or a pill to take the edge off."
The intensity of his focus made the tiny hairs on her arms rise. "You look better than I've ever seen you look," she said, taking in his healthy, glowing skin, his gorgeously defined biceps, the clean line of his jaw.
A flame flickered in his eyes. "So do you." His eyes skimmed over her body as if she were dressed in skintight leather rather than a simple sundress.
Flushing, she went to pick up a mug for the coffee, but Abe was suddenly right next to her, his heat blazing against her skin. He cupped her cheek with one hand, just held it there in silent invitation until she turned her head to look into his eyes.
She shivered at the molten heat that awaited her.
Electricity arced between them, formed in the raw passion that had never died even when everything else collapsed into ruins. Sarah knew she shouldn't, that this was a bad, bad idea, but she'd hurt so much today, and it had been so long since she'd been held. So long since she'd felt like a woman and not just a shattered thing that had once been Sarah.
When Abe bent toward her, she tilted back her head, parted her lips. His heat branding her, his scent sinking into her, his lips touching hers... and ignition. Her entire body went up in flame, her pulse rocketing. Moaning in the back of her throat, she gripped at his T-shirt and rose on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, the craving inside her a feral thing.
A rumbling sound in Abe's chest that vibrated against her hands, and then he was spinning her around and picking her up to put her on the counter. All without breaking the kiss. Pushing her thighs wide apart without apology, he settled in between and, stroking one hand up her back to grip her nape, used the other to shove up her dress so that his palm was on the bare skin of her thigh.
He'd always been demanding, always handled her during sex.
Sarah liked it, liked how it made her feel small and feminine when she'd grown up being the big girl in every one of her classes, instinctively hunching in a futile effort to make herself smaller. She never felt too big or too tall with Abe. She felt exactly the right size. God, he was so strong, so hot.
Since Abe had shaved off his hair, she gripped at his neck, his shoulder, all the while sinking deeper and deeper into his kiss.
He moved his hand higher up her leg, onto the hypersensitive skin of her inner thigh, bare inches from her panties.
Sarah whimpered.
Chest heaving, Abe broke the kiss, said, "You want to do this?"
Sarah's nod was firm even if her breath was ragged. She wanted this more than anything. For the first time in eighteen months, she didn't feel numb inside. She felt alive and real and full of something other than sorrow.
"You sure?" He ran his thumb over the skin of her inner thigh and the slight roughness of his touch rasped sparks straight to her nipples. They tightened almost too much, until the sensation straddled a fine line between pleasure and pain. He stroked again, a man with a pianist's gifted hands but who played guitar enough that his fingertips weren't smooth.
She'd always loved his touch.
"You've had a tough day." Abe's deep voice, his hand going still on her aching flesh.
Sarah found her voice in the need that clawed at her. "I know you're trying to be a good guy, Abe, but don't." She kissed him again. Hard. "I want this and I'm an adult. I don't need babying."
A smile curved his lips, the kind of smile that would've made her clench her thighs if he hadn't been between them. "Oh, I know you're an adult, Sarah." Lifting his hand from her thigh, he closed it over her breast, big and bold and unapologetic.
Sarah shuddered, deeply conscious that she'd set herself up for a night of heaven and hell. Because this man, he knew her body in a way no one else ever had. As he tore down the strap of her dress and bra to expose the breast he'd so bluntly fondled, she tightened her abdomen, but nothing could prepare her for the feel of his thumb and forefinger capturing her nipple, rolling it.
She cried out.
Abe kissed her cry into his mouth, all the while continuing to torment her sensitive flesh with a touch just this side of painful. When he closed his entire hand over her bare breast even as he licked his tongue against her own, she shuddered and wrapped her legs around his hips in an effort to tug him impossibly closer.
She wanted his body crushing hers, wanted to feel him thrusting hard and demanding into the molten heat between her thighs, his breath harsh in her ear and his rhythm a thudding drumbeat that slammed through her.
Shoving up her dress even farther, Abe pushed his thumb under the side of her panties and ran it along the seam of her thigh. Her legs quivered, her panties so damp that she wanted them off, wanted his hands on her. She pushed at his shoulders.
Breaking the kiss, Abe shook his head as if to clear the fog of lust, stepped back. "No?" he asked, his pupils dilated and his dark skin flushed with heat.
"Yes." Hooking her hands into the sides of her panties, she tugged them down her thighs, and then Abe was there, pulling them all the way off and throwing them on the kitchen floor. He pushed apart her thighs once more, but instead of coming between, he bent and took one long, luscious lick that had her screaming as her back arched.
"Now!" Almost sobbing with need, she grabbed at his shoulders.
He came up in a powerful rush, slamming his mouth against hers. He tasted of her and oh God, why was that so erotic? She could feel his hand moving between them, feel him undoing his jeans, freeing his cock. And then he was slotting the thick, rigid length of it against her and she was so frantic with want that she pushed forward as he thrust in and oh, he was big. Her body ached, adapted, their mouths colliding again as they became locked together in a hot, s
weaty, primal dance that tore her apart in a matter of seconds.
She felt his cock pulse as he came inside her, the wetness an intimate heat.
CHAPTER 7
"I'M ON THE PILL," she said ten minutes later while she lay curled up in Abe's lap in the armchair in her solarium. He'd carried her there, her legs too weak to support her body in the aftermath of the earthquake of that orgasm. Her panties were still on the kitchen floor, but she'd righted her bra and dress while he'd fixed his jeans but removed his sweaty T-shirt.
"You're safe from a paternity suit." It was a lame attempt at a joke, the idea of having another child in her womb an agonizing one. Sarah didn't know if she could ever again take that risk. What if her baby died again?
"You wouldn't have to sue me, Sarah," Abe said, one big hand still on her back, the other warm and almost proprietary on her thigh. "If I made a kid with you, I'd step up."
He took a deep breath, released it. "I don't remember all of what I said that night, but I remember accusing you of pretending to be pregnant to trap me--I'm more ashamed of that than anything else I've ever done. I saw your pain after the miscarriage. I know damn well it was real. I know sorry isn't ever going to be enough, but I'm so sorry, sweetheart."
Sarah's eyes burned, because this Abe? He was the one she'd fallen for until she had not a hope in hell of protecting her heart against any blows he chose to deliver. The good, strong man who believed in family and loyalty and taking care of those who were his.
"And you don't have to worry about anything else either," Abe added, running his hand up and down her back. "I'm clean."
She felt the sharp bite of jealous teeth inside her, aware the reason he knew that was because he'd no doubt been for a checkup after his alcohol-and drug-fueled hookups. But all she said was, "Me too." She couldn't believe she'd been so careless today--but Abe had once been her husband, and in the midst of the painful need that held her captive, she'd forgotten he wasn't any longer.
Her body had known only that when she and Abe were naked, it was bare, his cock sliding against her desire-slick flesh.
"You should go," she whispered, knowing she couldn't let this advance any further. She hadn't lied when she'd told Abe she wanted to be with him, had spoken the pure truth when she told him she wanted him, but she also knew she was still emotionally fragile.
If Abe kept being so nice to her, she'd start to imagine things that didn't exist, had never existed. Sober, Abe was an amazing man, but that man had never loved Sarah. She couldn't afford to forget that--he'd almost broken her the last time they'd danced. Now, with her heart already in pieces after losing Aaron, she didn't think she could survive another round with this man who was her Achilles' heel.
Abe stirred. "I can stay on the couch." His voice rumbled against her, his frown apparent in his tone. "You shouldn't be alone."
Swallowing past the tears thick in her throat, Sarah shook her head, then forced herself to push away. He released her with obvious reluctance, watched her rise to her feet in silence. Those dark eyes, so beautiful and evocative, she'd dreamed of them so many times since the day their marriage shattered. "I'll be all right." She touched her fingers to his jaw in a quiet good-bye before dropping her hand. "Thank you for staying with me today, but I need to be alone now."
It was such a horrible lie. Sarah hated being alone, had had too much of it in her life. But she'd learned to bear aloneness even when it hurt... and she had to protect herself from Abe. High, he'd brutally hurt her. Sober, he could destroy her.
Because love? The kind of love she'd had for Abe? It never really died.
Getting up, Abe tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. "You call me if you need anything."
Sarah nodded, knowing she wouldn't call. This was it. The farewell they'd never really had. "Good-bye, Abe."
ABE COULDN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT SARAH. A week after they'd come together in that primal and passionate coupling that had left him happily wrecked and truly satisfied for the first time since she'd left him, and he couldn't get her out of his head. He hadn't so much as looked at another woman in the interim. And despite the fact Sarah had made it clear he'd receive no return invitation, Abe hadn't stayed totally away.
He'd sent her flowers the next day.
He knew how much his wife--ex-wife--loved flowers, and he couldn't simply have sex with her, hold her, then let it go without acknowledgment. He hadn't known what to put on the card, what words she'd accept from him, so he'd just written: For you - Abe
She'd replied by text message: Thank you.
That was it. Not even the most hopeful man could read any kind of an invitation in those stark words. Abe wanted to anyway. He'd been so fucking stupid to let her go; she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She'd loved him. Not Abe the rocker who was one quarter of a multiplatinum band, or Abe Bellamy the heir to a large family fortune. Just Abe. He'd been too drugged up, too obsessed with drowning his grief to see the value of what he was destroying.
"Yo, Abe, you with us?"
Abe looked up from his keyboard at Fox's gritty voice. The lead singer's dark green eyes were intent, as if he'd see right through Abe's skin. Breaking the eye contact, Abe played his fingers across the keys. "Just thinking about that last line." He, Fox, Noah, and David were jamming together in the music room at his place, playing with ideas for their new album.
He hadn't thought about the ramification of having the session here, but now he realized he'd been an idiot. Because every time he looked around, he saw Sarah running from him that night, saw the tears streaking down her face, relived the hurt he'd inflicted. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His fingers wanted to pound down on the keys.
"Uh-huh."
Abe glared at Noah. "You have something to say?"
"Nope." The blond guitarist--so handsome as to come perilously close to pretty--strummed a few chords.
"How's Kit?" Abe asked, not trusting the glint in Noah's eye.
The glint became emotion of an intensity so deep Abe could almost touch it. "Good, she's really good." A grim smile. "Now that her fucking stalker's locked up, she's starting to breathe easy." He moved his fingers on the guitar strings.
Abe joined in, as did David on the drums and Fox on another guitar, and they played for a while. The glint was back in Noah's eyes when they paused. "You heard from Sarah recently?" he asked Abe.
Abe forced himself to shrug. "Why would she contact me?" He didn't intend for even his closest friends to know he and Sarah had fallen back into bed--or rather, onto a kitchen counter. The moments had been secret, a private gift. "Fox, you and Molly heard from her?" Sarah had stayed with the couple after that bastard Vance assaulted her. It had kept her safe and protected and out of the media spotlight while the band's publicist--and David's fiancee--Thea, took care of organizing a locksmith to go in and change the locks at Sarah's place.
It was a smart precaution, but Abe didn't think Vance would be back. The man was a coward, and since Sarah had physical proof of his violence toward her, he wouldn't take the risk of aggravating her and her calling the cops.
Abe's hands fisted against the urge to crush that scrawny fucker's throat.
"Yeah," Fox said as he jotted notes on a music sheet, his guitar held on his lap with one arm hooked around the neck. "Molly and Sarah met up for coffee a couple of days back."
Abe blinked. He hadn't really expected to hear that Sarah had stayed in touch with Molly--she'd always been a little distant with his bandmates. Maybe because, a harshly unforgiving part of his brain pointed out, her husband was a dick who left her alone a lot while he jammed with the guys or toured with them.
No wonder she hadn't wanted to hang out with Fox, Noah, and David.
"Molly said she's looking much better," the lead singer added. "Healthier, stronger." He passed the music sheet to David, the two of them so used to writing together that they could overwrite or overhaul each other's suggestions without risking bruised egos or anger. "Sarah's business is going
really well--she's considering a small expansion since she's having to turn down potential clients at this point."
Abe felt a surge of warmth in his chest; it took a second for him to realize it was a lash of fierce pride. He hadn't been able to keep himself from reading about her when she'd been profiled in the business pages of the newspaper. So he knew Sarah had built that business on her own, had been her own first employee.
Soon after leaving him, she'd gotten a job as a cleaner who worked for a company that contracted people to work at various businesses. It messed with Abe's head to know his wife had taken a minimum-wage job rather than rely on the money at her disposal through the credit cards he'd had issued in her name--at least until something set her off on that crazy shopping spree to end all shopping sprees--but he was simultaneously proud of her for rebuilding her life on her own terms.
According to the article he'd read, one day the owner of a restaurant, impressed with her quiet work ethic and scrupulous honesty after she repeatedly turned in small change she'd found on the floor, had asked her if she'd also be able to clean his family home. He and his wife had been so pleased with her work and, more importantly, her discretion, that they'd recommended her to other friends.
"Everyone knows my wife and I went through a messy patch in our marriage," the restaurant owner had said in the piece. "Sarah had a front-row seat to some very private fights, but she never, not once, said a word to anyone. She even protected us from ourselves by making sure our trash was clear of anything the tabloids could dig through."
Sarah had soon identified a small niche market--wealthy and famous people who were understandably paranoid about privacy--and set up her own cleaning business after doing a night school course to learn business basics. Her firm promised total discretion and had quickly built up a reputation among the glitterati. No one minded paying more than they would for a regular service--Sarah's motto was if she paid her employees well, they had no reason to sell exclusives to the tabloids.
She'd also done something else extremely smart.
"We're tight-knit," she'd said in the interview. "I'm the majority owner, but each of my employees has a stake in the business, depending on seniority. We all rise or fail together."