Here's the the next installment...Enjoy! Thanks for the reviews and the interest!

Conversations

C: By the Way, I Forgot to Mention...

By: Mariel

Once begun, their affair seemed to them as inevitable as the sun setting or the arrival of spring. They'd skirted around their attraction a long time, denying even to themselves that what lay between them was anything more than a passing flirtation - but it had all crashed into what they had perhaps known would happen all along. A kiss. A caress. Touches that awakened feelings that awakened responses they finally stopped trying to repress.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Samantha said into the silence, her lips curving in contentment.

Lying in bed beside her, Jack smiled. Absentmindedly toying with her hair, he murmured, "Can't think of one reason why we should."

"Ummmm....your job. My job." She didn't mention his wife. She was still a subject they successfully avoided.

He rolled over onto his side, aligning his body perfectly with hers. Lifting up onto one elbow, he looked down at her and slowly traced gentle fingers down the side of her face and along her jawline. "What job?"

She understood. None of this had anything to do with anything else. What they had together was theirs, and not a part of anything outside the warm coccoon they wrapped themselves in.

Or so they tried to believe.

Holding his eyes with her own, she whispered, "This feels too good to be real..."

He leaned towards her and lightly touched his lips to hers. That done, he rested his forehead against hers. "It's better than that," he said softly. Being with her restored him, swept away his exhaustion, his worries, his troubles. She was his clarity, his still waters, his peace of mind. The open, hollow space inside him was completely filled when he was with her. Physical attraction and satisfaction aside, he loved being in tune with someone, loved the camaraderie, the ease of being with her.

"When do you have to leave?" she asked, always conscious of time's passing.

"Soon."

It was the expected answer. She stilled, her heart filling with warmth and love - and with the usual sadness that always blurred the edges of their meeting.

"I didn't mean-"

"I know," he said. Nuzzling her, he inhaled her scent, feeling happy in spite of the wrong that happiness was embedded in. Reluctantly, he drew away from her. He really did have to go. Reality called, reminding him of responsibility and duty. Looking at her one last time, he drew a breath and felt the guilt he tried hard to keep at bay creep over him. It was old, it was cliche, but he couldn't help but think it: how could something that felt so right be so damned wrong?

He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

Still lying quietly, Samantha recogized what he was feeling. She knew he felt guilt for doing this to his wife. And knew - because Jack was Jack - that he felt guilty for doing this to her, too.

"Jack?"

He turned his head to look at her.

She touched him lightly. "I like what we have. This is all I could ever ask for."

It was true. To feel love and to be loved...that was what she had needed all her life, and what she finally had. The ties of marriage - even the ties of a legitimate relationship - weren't something she sought. This was good. For her, in the here and now, it was perfect.

"That's good," he said. His sense of urgency to get back to where he should be easily distracted, he lay back down beside her and drew her against himself. He didn't want to leave her warmth, didn't want to have to face either the drive home or the home itself. His girls...they'd be asleep now, and he'd go in and kiss them, tuck them in tighter, linger over them to watch them dream. Then he would quietly slide into bed beside Maria, pretend he was too tired to talk, and wait silently until dawn, until he could rise and resume his real life - the life he craved - with the woman he now had to leave.

Samantha lay quietly in his arms, listening to his heartbeat and wondering if this was really enough for him. There were depths to him she didn't understand, a sadness that even now pervaded him. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his hair, loving their intimacy. "Sometimes I think our meeting was a miracle," she murmured.

"It was," he agreed easily. "Who would have thought-" He didn't have to finish the sentence. Their being together seemed totally improbable to most - had even seemed that way to themselves. Until they had found it impossible to stay apart.

Lately, however, Maria had begun questioning his many late nights, his moodiness, his lack of response. She'd begun to make comments, and called him at work at unusual hours. It bothered him - frightened him, in a sense - and forced the shabbiness of what he was doing onto the miracle of his happiness. His wife, he was sure, was beginning to strongly suspect that something was not right. He had yet to speak of it with Samantha, but it weighed on his mind with increasing frequency.

Sensitive to his change of mood, Samantha looked at him with dark eyes. "What's wrong?"

Her question so hard on the tail of his thoughts led him to admit reluctantly, "Maria. I think she's beginning to suspect something..."

When his voice trailed off and he said no more, she nodded, a sunken feeling replacing her contentment. In those sentences, she sensed the beginning of the end. She knew the man who lay beside her, knew that the very reasons she loved him were the reasons he would eventually choose to leave her. All her life she had looked for a man with certain qualities. That she should find him, and that he should end their relationship because of those qualities, was an irony she didn't like to contemplate.

"If we have to stop, we'll stop," she said, unable to admit the depth of their relationship, even to herself. Surely seeing him and working with him would be better than nothing?

"I don't think I can," he answered truthfully, dreading the thought of losing this solace - and not yet truly believing he would have to.

"I'm not saying we end things now," she said quickly, "But if things get too dangerous...I understand. We have to at least consider it. You've your family..." She looked at him, desperately holding on to her resolve not to let emotion control her reason. And wondered how this conversation had turned so much in such a short time.

He hated the tension he felt climbing into bed with them. Hated that he had taken this moment to bring something up better discussed when they were eating dinner at her table or sitting on her sofa. Anywhere but here, in her bed.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, kissing her neck, but at the same time moving to go. "It's nothing we have to worry about just yet."

There was silence while he rose and gathered his clothes. Watching him with dark eyes, Samantha said quietly, "We're going to have to talk about it, Jack. If Maria suspects something, you're going to be forced to talk about it. We might as well start the conversation first. At least we're not angry with each other. We both know you're not going to do anything that will cost you your family." The words hurt her and sent a strange thrill of pride through her all at the same time.

He stood across the room from her, clothes in hand, and held her gaze. She was right. She was wrong. He couldn't give this up. Couldn't... wouldn't... Would... He knew he would have to.

He had no choice. Maria was his wife. She deserved better than to have him sneaking around sleeping with someone else. Loving someone else. How could he explain his feelings? How could he explain that he wanted his family and wanted Samantha and wanted both ends to meet in the middle seamlessly? He looked away.

He couldn't talk about their parting. Not yet. He wanted to live this, experience it, savour it. Talking about its demise seemed too defeatist, too final. Talking about the end would take away some of the elation he felt when she was present in a room. When she touched him. When he touched her. When words weren't needed...

End Conversation C: By the Way, I Forgot to Mention...