She nodded.

“Then suddenly they get the flu or something, and you get to see what they’re like at their worst. Looking like hell, and no charm at all, all needy and everything?”

“And?”

He grinned. “I love that. I love the first glimpse I get of a girlfriend when she’s just a wreck.”

Sam laughed. “You’re sick.”

“No, really. I dated this one girl for a few months, and she was great, but I never saw her without full makeup on. We fall asleep, she’s wearing makeup. By the time I see her the next morning, she’s redone it for the day. I mean, I don’t really care what a woman wants to do to her face, but it was starting to feel weird. Then she got mono, and it was kind of awesome.”

“You’re horrible!”

“No, I’m telling you. She was way too pooped to do anything – which sucked, of course, except I was just, like, fascinated to look at her with no makeup on. She had all these little freckles I’d never seen, and her eyelashes looked so… delicate. It felt like I was reading her diary or something.”

“Well, okay, that’s sort of sweet.” Yet something sour squirmed in Sam’s middle – jealousy. It didn’t warrant feeding, of course. She was married, and Bern was her lover, nothing more. Why the hell should she care if he still harbored fond feelings for some ex-girlfriend? If anything, it should commend him. “Why did you guys break up?”

“Oh God, I can’t remember. This must have been ten years ago.”

Yet he still remembered her naked eyelashes. Jesus, would you listen to yourself? Whatever. This entire crazy affair had Sam feeling as mixed-up as a teenager. It stood to reason she’d revert to a younger woman’s irrational emotions now and then. Perspective was the key. Be psycho, but with self-awareness.

Bern smiled, leaning in, eyes darting.

“What?”

“I’m just looking at you.”

“At my delicate eyelashes?” She batted them.

“Yeah. And everything else. Did you used to have a pierced nose?”

Sam blushed, touching the spot. “Yeah. In grad school. I could never quite carry it off. And the spot’s never quite faded.” She scrutinized him right back. “You’ve got little wrinkles here,” she said, tracing the lines at either corner of his lips. “But they’re way deeper on this side. From that shit-eating Southern grin you wear when you’re about to get away with something.”

He showed her that grin now, the one that gave him a single dimple.

“And you have two perfectly white eyebrow hairs,” she added, stroking them with her thumb.

“I don’t doubt it.” His voice was soft and low, nearly lost to the drone of the TV. Sam watched his lips form every single letter, something shifting between them, unmistakably.

She read the truth in his stare, and felt it echoed in her own. I want you.

In a blink, in a breath. A wanting that had been there always, beneath the surface, and now the harder feelings of the evening had melted away to let it break through. And it did, like a sleeping creature coming to life, spreading its wings, hungry and ready to hunt.

That force rose inside her. As though by magnetism, her hand came up to cup his jaw. She didn’t kiss him; not yet. She brushed her thumb over his thick stubble, studying the contrast of white and silver and darkest brown. His blue eyes looked dark as well, and they watched, wary but hot. Her curious touch moved to his mouth, thumb tracing his bottom lip, then the top, finally, boldly, running along the seam between them. They parted and she could feel his breath – hot. He smelled of wine. It didn’t seem right that he should ever taste of anything else.

“What on earth are we doing?” she asked, holding his face.

“Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Sam swallowed, scared and excited. “I don’t —”

“Just tell me what you need me to be,” he whispered, “and I’ll be that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tell me what you need me to be. I’ll be that.

Sam swallowed, hazy all over. Of course he would. That’s what he’d done all along – been who they wanted. The lover Sam could break her marriage vows with; the rival and the intruder to realize Mike’s fantasies.

So what did she need right now? To feel good. To escape the pain and heartache for a little while, and be sheltered by the heat and size of this man’s body. By his desire and her own. Only it wasn’t right, not like this.

But one thing can make it right.

“I can’t kiss you unless we record it,” she whispered, gaze jumping between Bern’s eyes and mouth. “It wouldn’t feel right if he couldn’t watch.”

Bern nodded. He had to know, as she did, that this wouldn’t end with just a kiss. She gave his lip a final stroke then got up. As she crossed to the corner to grab the laptop, she registered her clothes again. Drawstring pants and an old tee – if Bern wanted to see the real Sam, he sure was getting what he was after. No dress, no makeup, mismatched underwear, and puffy eyes. Yet he seemed to like her. Before things had grown heated, he’d seemed to want to be here, as a friend as much as a lover. Seemed to want her, still, even when things weren’t all fun and games.

The movie went silent and she turned to find Bern setting the remote back on the coffee table. She propped the laptop open beside it, aimed it at the couch, and hit RECORD. She joined Bern back on the cushions and whispered too quietly for the computer to pick up, “Just pretend it’s a hidden camera again.”

“Sure.”

Good. Because the alternative was to make this a show, and Sam didn’t have a performance in her tonight. Moreover, she didn’t want to share Bern’s attention with the camera – she wanted his eye contact all to herself. And knowing Mike would get just as hot over a “secret” tape as he would over a cocky, show-offy one, she trusted it wasn’t a selfish need.

She touched Bern’s face as their mouths met, and everything bubbling inside her came to a head. Desire eclipsed sadness as his tongue stroked hers, and a deep breath became a groan in his throat. Her fingertips rasped against his stubble. He’d shaved that morning, but she’d bet his five-o’clock shadow routinely asserted itself by half past ten. She liked that about him. She’d dated mostly clean-cut, academic guys before Mike, and had since realized she liked her men blue-collar and a touch rough – rough around the edges and a bit rough between the sheets, too. She’d thought those more pedigreed guys had been her type – intellectual overthinkers like herself, guys with expensive shoes and strong opinions about restaurants. New York men with advanced degrees and the soft hands to match. It had taken one chance meeting in a dive bar with a Pittsburgh cop to change her tune forever.

She’d been in town that weekend for a friend’s engagement party, and her flight home had been canceled due to some mechanical issue. She’d gone back to the hotel for the night, ended up at the bar across the road, and ultimately wound up taking Mike back to her room. Ten months later, she moved in with him.

And five years later, here she was, feeling a very similar persuasion of lust-wonder, exploring an electrician.

I just need a fireman and a mechanic, and I’ll have the set.

Bern’s hand was strong and broad, fingers splayed possessively along her jaw. His other arm lay along the back of the couch, idly toying with a lock of her hair. The heat between them had crowded out the sadness, filled in all the isolation she’d been adrift in before he’d arrived. A temporary respite, but she’d take what she could get, for as long as it might last. She stroked his chest through his shirt, picturing the bare skin she’d come to know well these past couple of months.