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Chapter Twelve

It had been two hellish days since Elizabeth had silently moved out of their home. And the sight of her was like glimpsing sunshine through a blizzard.

Before he did something stupid, like beg Elizabeth to come home whether she loved someone else or not, Jason set the small duffel bag on the counter. "Cameron called me."

A look he couldn't decipher flitted through her eyes.

"When? He's in school right now."

Jason dragged his gaze away from her face, only to be distracted by the sweet shape of her breasts beneath her sunny-yellow, skinny-knitted sweater. He realized that Elizabeth was still waiting.

"This morning. Before school," he said.

"He wanted this stuff. Told me you'd said to drop it by here."

"I didn't . . . " Elizabeth unzipped the bag, peering inside.

She frowned a little and pulled out a pair of high-top from the jumble of trading cards and balls and CeeVid games.

"Are you sure? He outgrew these shoes months ago, Jason. Perhaps he meant another pair or something."

Hearing, his name on her lips had always driven him a little nuts. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his aging down vest so they wouldn't do something stupid. Like reach for her.

"There are no other pairs. You left his closet very nearly empty, which you know good and well."

She blinked and slowly drew the zipper closed.

"What did you expect? That I'd leave behind half of his things? This was your idea, remember?"

And she hadn't uttered so much as one protest. His fingers tightened into fists.

"Have you talked to Alexis Davis yet?"

Her chin angled. "I didn't realize you were in such a hurry."

He swore. "Elizabeth — "

But she waved her hand, shaking her head.

"Just . . . go away, Jason. I'll make sure Cameron gets this bag."

"You're still going to bring him home for the weekend, right?"

They'd agreed to that in excruciatingly polite tones before she'd begun packing up the contents of his son's closet.

She turned away, setting the duffel behind the counter.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Her voice was muffled and he wondered for an impossible moment if she was crying. But when she turned around again, tossing her glorious curls around her slender shoulders, her tawny eyes were bright but dry.

"Is there anything else?"

She'd spoken to him like he was merely a postal customer, and nothing more.

Sure in hell not as if he were the man who'd shared her bed and her body for the better part of their life together. His hands came out of his pocket and he leaned over the counter, thrusting one hand unerringly through the silky coils of her hair to curl about her neck and catching her shoulder in the other.

He caught the shocked expression on her face in the bare moment before his mouth covered hers . . .

To be continued

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