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Nancy hadn't seen her husband in three days.
In comparison, that was nothing, no time at all. But usually he was thousands of miles away, beyond her reach. Oceans separated them. Everything she was, everything she had chosen to be, separated them.
During the three days they were apart, barely a handful of miles usually separated them. And that rankled like nothing else. The pull between them felt magnetic and undeniable, almost palpable, as though anyone who saw her must sense it. She was incomplete. She was aching for want of him.
When he was far away, it was easier to let herself pretend she was whole. When they were apart, she was okay; she had learned how to function. But here, in River Heights, it felt unnatural not to share her life with him. When she slept in her bed at her father's house, Ned's photographic presence still watched over her. He was ten years younger in the framed photo, and when she gazed at it, trying to will herself to sleep, it was all she could do not to pick up the phone and call him.
It was too dangerous. They both knew that. They both knew that he could be used as leverage against her, if anyone wanted to hurt her, if anyone found out he was her husband or that she loved him. Just the little time they shared was still too much, was still reckless.
But her soul, the very essence of her, seemed to sleep, to drift, when they were apart. Oh, she could be a damned good agent, she was a damned good agent, but she had to lock down a part of herself to do the job. And that part of herself was what Ned loved more than anything. Waking to it again, being that person again, felt almost exhilarating.
Her father had suggested that they attend the Christmas ball at the River Heights Country Club, and Nancy had agreed. She hadn't been able to resist it, especially since Ned's parents were going too. While Nancy and Ned had been able to dance together while they were alone and private, she hadn't had a real dance with him in so long. She thought wistfully of their wedding night, how incredibly sad she had been to know that she would be leaving him soon, that their marriage wouldn't mean sharing their lives. There had been no reception that day, no dancing, no witnesses. No champagne toast, no wedding cake. They had danced barefoot together to their song, the sound almost tinny from his cell phone's speakers, as close as skin, their hearts twinned, flushed with longing and anticipation. Marveling at the shining bands on their fingers and the knowledge that in this small way, they were joined.
When she...
Nancy let herself truly imagine it for just an instant, and she shivered in delight. If she came home, if she took a career stateside and could live with Ned full-time, maybe they could have a real honeymoon, the kind that would end with him carrying her over the threshold of their forever home. She wouldn't be mentally crossing off every day of her visit and dreading the dwindling. She would be waking up beside him and looking over at him lazily, instead of memorizing his face and his skin and the warm perfect lines of him, destroying her happiness by focusing on the loss.
She couldn't regret the life she had chosen. In fact, most of her was still completely in awe that Ned had ever agreed to the plan at all. But he had stayed faithful to her, and she to him. Their promises hadn't been light and fleeting, even if they were together so briefly.
"Nancy? Something light before we go?"
Nancy had turned at the tap against her bedroom door, and smiled at Avery, her stepmother. "Something light sounds good. Thank you."
Avery smiled back at her. "Is that the dress you'll be wearing tonight? It's gorgeous."
Nancy smoothed her palm over the floor-length skirt. She had picked it out for another dance last year, but she had been called back into the field before she could wear it; it still fit her perfectly, though. The white satin was smooth and cool against her skin, printed in abstract roses. A slender black belt circled her trim waist. The dress was formal, but it had pockets; it was long, but playful, and not so cumbersome that it would interfere with dancing. Nancy had fallen in love with it the moment she had seen it in the dressing-room mirror.
Plus, the neckline was modest, high enough to hide the ring she wore on her necklace. When she was in the field, sometimes she just wore it on her right hand; but tonight, Ned would be there...
"Thanks," Nancy said, realizing that she had hesitated just a bit too long in answering. Avery was still smiling, but her expression had changed slightly. "I do really love it. I just hope it's festive enough."
"I definitely think so. And maybe with some pearls..."
It was remarkable, Nancy thought when she sat down to their light dinner before they departed. Her father greeted Avery with a kiss on the cheek and a warm, genuine smile. Then he gave Nancy a broad grin. "It's good to have my two favorite girls here," he said, reaching for her hand.
When Nancy had been a teenager, she had dreaded that this day might ever come. She had known her father was lonely, and he was a distinguished, attractive, prosperous man; of course women would be attracted to him. But all Nancy had known was the three of them, her father and Hannah and herself, their created family. Nancy had been in charge of the house, once she had been old enough. She had prided herself on that. Someone coming in and taking that away from her, stealing her father's heart—the idea had been worse than intolerable. She had been so jealous of the women her father had dated back then, and even when she told herself that she was being ridiculous, that her father would never stop loving her, that hadn't helped.
Her father had met Avery after Nancy had become an agent, when she was overseas. Their wedding had taken place while she was away. Nancy hadn't been back in River Heights, bereft and jealous, while her father and her new stepmother had been luxuriating on their honeymoon. Instead, she had brought a wedding gift with her on her next trip home, and had spent two days with Avery, learning about her and honestly deciding that she liked the woman her father had fallen in love with. Even the ache she had felt, thinking of her mother... even that ache had faded when her father had taken her out to lunch, just the two of them, and had told her all about his decision. Nancy's father would never, not for the rest of his life, stop loving Nancy's mother. He had loved her for a very, very long time. But he was lonely, and Avery was a companion for him, and a friend. He cared deeply for her. He was happy with her.
And so Nancy was happy for him, even though that happiness felt tinged so slightly with bittersweet. She hoped it would last, that her father and Avery would be very happy together. He deserved that.
"Carson tells me that you'll be visiting a friend for a few days?" Avery commented, passing Nancy a glass of iced water.
Nancy nodded. "I'm not able to come home as often as I'd like, so I have to make some time for a lot of people," she said. "Though no one gets as much time as dear old Dad here."
He grinned at her. "My daughter the social butterfly," he said. "I'm just glad you make time for me at all. You know that I'm very proud of you, honey."
She smiled. "And I'm glad to know that I'm leaving you in two very capable pairs of hands," she replied. "Only not just yet."
Just then Hannah came in with the last dish. "All right," she announced, dusting off her hands as she took a seat. "No time to waste, if you want to get to the dance on time!"
From the beginning of her relationship with Ned, there had been so many dances: homecomings, spring dances, proms, and then the dances at Emerson. Before, those dances had been with her father. He had taught her the steps, how to formally dance with hands clasped and one of her hands on his shoulder, and she had laughed in delight. From the time she had been a little girl, Nancy's father had been the most important man in her life, bar none. No one had meant or could ever mean so much to her. And when other young men of her age asked her to dance, they always paled in comparison, in every possible way.
The country club was fully decorated for the season. Dominating the entry was an impressively tall, live Christmas tree, festooned with tiny white lights and red velvet bows. The linens on the tables were snowy white trimmed in gold. Glossy green holly dotted with plump cherry-red berries was draped over doorways. The whole effect was tasteful without being gaudy. Golden flutes of champagne and cups of bright-red punch were distributed by impeccably-dressed waiters, and the refreshment tables were full of petite cakes decorated with gingerbread men, snowflakes, and fur-trimmed Santa caps. Nancy spotted a tray of white-robed truffles and an impressive Buche de Noel, but opted for punch, thanks to Hannah's excellent dinner.
Carson danced to the first song with Avery, while Nancy was drawn into conversation by a few people she knew from River Heights, but her father asked for the second dance, and Nancy smiled as she accepted.
"You look beautiful tonight, sweetheart."
"Thank you." She flashed him a small grin. "And you look dashing, as always."
Her father chuckled. "I know I keep saying it, but it really is so good to see you. I do miss you, a lot. Avery is a wonderful woman, but there's no one I can talk through a case with like you."
"I miss you too, Dad."
He smiled. "And that's enough guilt trip for tonight, I think," he said, keeping his voice light. "What would you like for Christmas this year?"
"And now you're playing Santa?" She squinted at him. "You're missing a lot more than the red fur-trimmed suit. Much too handsome for Santa, too."
"That's a relief. But I did mean it. Is there anything you really want?"
"Other than a pony?" she teased him, not letting herself think about what she really, truly wanted.
He shook his head, searching her face, but didn't say anything. Just as she did when she was a teenager, she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was seeing past the facade and into her. Often it had been easy for him to tell what she was thinking. Tonight, she was afraid, that might be all too easy. She needed to keep herself under tight control—while she and Ned were at the dance, anyway.
Even so, that admonition to herself practically went out the window when she spotted him. She was dancing with another man, a bachelor who had come with his own parents and had been delighted to find someone close to his own age who was single too. He was polite, charmingly nervous, but Nancy's heart and mind were elsewhere. Then she saw Ned step into the room, and time stopped for her.
He was breathtakingly handsome. His tuxedo was a glossy black, perfectly tailored without looking fussy or pompous. A few snowflakes were melting in his dark hair. His dark eyes scanned the room, his eyebrows drawing together slightly—and then Nancy's gaze met his, and that faint anxiety melted away.
Her husband.
As rude as it would have been, she seriously considered dashing away from her partner mid-song and throwing herself into Ned's arms. It would have been beyond rude, really. It would have meant snapping her fingers and sending their carefully stacked house of cards tumbling to nothing. The fiction of their breakup would be made transparently so, by such a bald display of emotion.
That seemed to make her want it more, though. She was so weary of pretending. She and Ned loved each other. It was the most basic truth of her entire life, and to deny it was to deny a part of herself.
She didn't dash to Ned and wrap herself around him, clinging tight to him until the lump of tears in her throat faded. She danced to the next song with another man, and Ned with another woman. She couldn't stop herself from casting the occasional glance in Ned's direction, though, and more often than not, he was looking her way too.
Walking toward Ned instead of running toward him took more self-control than she had needed in quite some time. She was effortlessly casual about it, even though every beat of her heart resounded in her chest and her fingertips were trembling faintly. She didn't lock her gaze to his, ignoring everyone around them; instead, she took the time to greet a few people, to apologize that her trip home would be so short.
The torture wasn't exquisite. It was maddening. She wanted to be with Ned so much that the very molecules inside her seemed to vibrate with it.
"Miss Drew." Ned took the hand she offered him, brought it to his lips, and brushed a kiss against her knuckles.
Nancy knew she was blushing, and cursed herself for it. "Mr. Nickerson," she murmured, her gaze bright as it lingered on his face. "It's good to see you again."
He nodded. "Would you care to dance?"
"I would love to," she replied.
Nancy's father had taught her the steps, but Ned had taught her to truly dance, to feel the music and the joy of being with the man she loved, to feel pleasure instead of amusement or polite disinterest when her partner held her in his arms. Ned was an incredible dancer, or maybe it was just that for her, he was the only partner who was perfectly made for her.
When the next song began, Ned moved toward her, placing his hand at her waist and clasping his other around hers. She rested her palm against his shoulder, trying to keep the touch natural and not intimate; she was sure her anxiety seemed entirely appropriate. After all, to everyone else in the room, he was her ex. Of course dancing with him would cause her some level of trepidation.
"I've missed you," he said.
Nancy gazed directly into his eyes. She wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. She wanted to feel his lips, his breath, his tongue. She wanted the sweet weight of him, her limbs twined around him. She wanted to hear his laughter.
"I've missed you so much," she whispered.
They had been golden for so long. They should never have broken up. But she was gone, and he...
For her, the rest of the room ceased to exist, all the people around them, the warmth, even anything beyond the suggestion of the music and the way their bodies moved in response. He was the center of her whole world. He kept her anchored. He made her whole.
"There's so much I would say to you," he murmured, gazing deeply into her eyes, his lips barely moving. Just in case. It was beyond belief, that someone Nancy had known from childhood might report back to someone else that she and Ned seemed too close, that there might be something there... but it wasn't impossible. Even here.
Her heart skipped a beat. "I wish things were different," she said, and nothing had been more honest in her entire life. "Thank you for dancing with me."
"Always." When Ned looked into her eyes, there was no pretense there, no lies. He was so sweet, so sincere. And, impossibly, he was hers.
She didn't trust herself to say anything else; it could wait until they were alone, and it would. The next song was slow, and when he took her in his arms and she draped her own over his shoulders, the space between them just barely on the edge of decorum, she could feel his warmth radiating through his tux and wanted so, so badly to press herself against him. When his gaze dropped to her lips, she felt them part as she flushed in anticipation. He was her only lover, and she responded to him as she did no one else. There had never been anyone else in the world for her, and there never would be.
He whispered her name, and it was all she could do not to bury her face against his shoulder and hold him tight.
To her, he was beautiful, thoroughly beautiful. He was kind and helpful and generous and smart, and he delighted in making her happy. Some boys were handsome, but lost their looks when they became men; their hairlines receded, turned a dingy gray or a yellow-white, or their hair thinned. Their veins became prominent thanks to stress or drinking. Once-taut skin began to sag or puff, or harden into lines of stubbornness or cruelty. The once-teasing smiles and laughter became juvenile and hurtful.
Ned had been an incredibly handsome guy at the age of seventeen, when they had met. But when she looked at pictures of them back then, she was struck by the softness of youth, the innocence. The lines of Ned's face were chiseled now, strong and square. His dark eyes sparkled with both intelligence and warmth; they weren't clouded and left suspicious by cynicism. His cheeks were gleaming-smooth, but unlike some men, that didn't make him appear rosy-cheeked and childish. Instead, he looked well-groomed and—irresistible.
She knew that there was no way women hadn't made passes at him while they were married, while she was gone and unlikely to find out or even consider it. Maybe they kept the rings they had exchanged close to their hearts, but they were never put on display to dissuade other people.
And maybe that was as it should have been, she realized. For them, anyway. She hadn't made a vow of fidelity that she would honor unless faced with temptation; she had made that vow forever, whether anyone outside the two of them were ever aware of it or not.
Nancy was unsurprised by it, but her heart sank when the song ended and a woman wearing a daringly low-cut red dress, her lipstick a matching brilliant crimson, approached the two of them and asked Ned if he would like to dance. Nancy and her husband exchanged a glance, and she saw both apology and pain in his eyes. If it were up to them, as it had been years before, they wouldn't have left each other's arms the entire night. When Nancy released him, it actually physically hurt.
A man who would have been otherwise handsome, if Ned hadn't been in the room, approached her and asked for a dance, but she begged off. Her heart was aching too much. She took a glass of punch and a few snacks and wandered back to the table her father and Avery had claimed for the night, and from there she watched her stepmother and father dance, and her husband dance with another woman. She was gratified when the woman in the red dress urged Ned closer, but he politely put her off.
Ned was more than one in a million. He was one in all infinity.
When Don Cameron asked her to dance at the beginning of the next song, she agreed, and they made polite conversation. She even managed to smile at him a few times. Don really was a sweet guy, and now that he was engaged to someone else and fully in love with her, Nancy didn't feel that perpetual anxiety when he was around her. He had finally managed to give up his crush on her, and she was glad.
Nancy was only able to share one more dance with Ned before the band concluded the last song and wished them all a good night and a merry Christmas. During that dance, Nancy felt desperate, even though she knew that they wouldn't be parted long. The experience was just too sweet to let go so easily. She and Ned were too overwhelmed to talk, and too preoccupied to lie for anyone who might overhear. When she looked into his dark eyes, she saw love and need and urgency. She felt just the same way. And their bodies moved in such perfect synchronization that it stole her breath, that she could have cried.
She craved this; it was undeniable. She was lonely when they were apart, and when she was with him this way, it became like an addiction. The longer she was around him, the harder it was to let him go. No wonder long-term undercover agents were firmly told that marriage was out of the question, until they were back home for good.
At the end of their dance together, Ned wrapped her in a long, warm hug, and Nancy felt tears prick at her eyes as she held him tight in return. It was, she realized foolishly, as though they really were saying goodbye to each other tonight, and that was perfect for their cover, but it tore her heart in two to feel this way. They knew when the embrace was too long, and released each other reluctantly. His gaze dropped to her lips one last time, and then he reached for her hand, bringing it to his own lips again.
"To my only true partner," he murmured, and kissed her knuckles, then gently lowered her hand again.
Nancy didn't remember the rest of the dance. Once it was over, it was hard for her to remember that she had actually danced with anyone other than Ned. Her bag was already packed, back at her father's house; as soon as she was back in her childhood room she was unzipping her gown and toeing out of her shoes. If she didn't see him again soon, now, she would die. Her heart would just break.
Her father had changed clothes too, she saw, when she rushed downstairs. "Dad, you don't have to," she protested.
"But I want to. Indulge your old man."
"You're hardly old," she told him, as he put on his heavy coat. Hannah had already put out candles and flashlights, in case the winter storm managed to knock out power. She encouraged Nancy to take one of the flashlights, in case the friend she was visiting was without power already. When Hannah offered to rush back to the fridge to grab some leftovers, Nancy told her a firm no. She accepted the already-wrapped slice of chocolate cake Hannah thrust into her hands, though. Ned had always loved Hannah's chocolate cake.
Outside, the wind was ice-cold and the air seemed almost brittle, stinging as it hit the back of Nancy's throat and her lungs. Even in the shelter of the attached garage, it was still bitterly cold. She and her father rushed into the car, shivering, and he cranked up the heat as high as it would go before heading out to the River Heights train station.
Then he turned the radio down, and Nancy turned to him expectantly. She was almost giddy with anticipation, and her father would understand some of that, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
"Nan," he began. "I know maybe it's just that I'm settled down, and that I'm very happy with your stepmother, but... I would love to see you settled down, too. I think that maybe you're lonely. Maybe you aren't; you can tell me if I'm entirely off base." He flashed a smile at her, though his eyes were concerned. "But I saw you dancing with Ned tonight, and it's clear that... that you two still have feelings for each other. And I've always thought he was a good man. I know it's none of my business, and maybe you have a relationship with someone else... if you do, I hope he's a good man too."
Nancy swallowed the sudden lump of tears in her throat. "There's no one in my life right now," she said, trying to keep her voice light, and hating that out of anyone, she had to lie to her father about this. "Maybe once I retire from the field, there could be. But my life is too chaotic, too dangerous, right now. He understands that. I would like to settle down one day, maybe. And just maybe, if Ned... feels that way too, well... we'll see."
Her father nodded. "All right. I won't bring it up again. I just wanted you to know that. You two made a very handsome couple out there. You just looked... right, together. Maybe because you were with him for so long."
"Maybe," Nancy whispered, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
Every time she did this, every time she came home and let herself step into the warmth and safety of her relationship with Ned, she was playing with fire. But she couldn't help herself. She just couldn't give him or this up.
She wanted to see the day when no one would ever ask her to.
Ned was unsurprised when he opened the front door of his house, and complete and utter silence greeted him from the pitch darkness. The rest of the block had been eerily dark too. The power had flickered a few times earlier in the day, and thanks to his mother's insistence, he had made sure he had plenty of batteries and candles and matches and snacks. They were all grouped on the table so he could find them easily in the dark.
His parents' house had power—although who knew for how long, and when he was in the city, the crews were more likely to restore their power first—but he'd had no intention of staying there after the dance. This was the only place he and Nancy could be together, truly together, and he didn't want to miss a second of it.
The darkness seemed far less oppressive once he had distributed candles around the main room, their flames sending flickering shadows against the walls. He had laid wood and some crumpled newspaper in the fireplace earlier, and once the wood caught, the sight of it made Ned smile.
His wife. She had looked so incredibly beautiful, from the first second he had seen her at the dance, and it had been all he could do to stop himself from running over to the other man and rudely interrupting so he could draw Nancy into his arms. Every dance they had shared, he had ached to talk to her, to really talk to her, beyond the veiled innuendo they were limited to in public. He had seen such pain and such longing in her eyes, and he felt the same way. Three days apart when they were in the same state was unbearable. While he was awake, he wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking about him, if he could find some way to contact her that would keep their cover story intact; while he slept, he dreamed of only her.
How had he ever been able to sleep alone? When he woke to an empty bed, his heart sank. He wanted to tangle himself around her and breathe in the scent of her hair and feel the warm softness of her skin beneath his palms. He wanted to make love to her, but more than that, he just wanted to hold her and feel her laugh and just the wonder of her breathing. He was fully, completely infatuated with her and by her. She was everything to him.
He turned on the radio, crossing his fingers and hoping that the last use hadn't drained the batteries completely. Immediately a man's voice erupted from the speakers. "—and many residents on the south and east sides of Chicago are currently without power. Crews are out working on the lines, and people are advised not to leave their homes unless absolutely necessary. To those of you listening, hope you're safe and snug somewhere with your loved ones. On a happier note, let's get back to some holiday music."
Ned looked around the living room, wondering how long it would be before Nancy could join him. She would take a train from River Heights, but after that... he wasn't sure how many taxis or other forms of transportation she had to take to feel that she hadn't been followed to his place. He had been forbidden to just pick her up from the train station, even though that would have been much easier. They couldn't risk it.
Sometimes he wondered if their relationship was made all the sweeter by the secrecy, but he didn't believe it. It added an element of danger, of the unknown, but he would gladly have given all that up if it meant that she would move back and truly share her life with him. Besides, that element of danger was all too real. Even if it never happened, even if no one ever tried to hurt her by threatening him, Ned knew it was a possibility. He also thought it far more likely that her father would be the one threatened—and that was more than upsetting. He had always liked and respected the man who was his unknowing father-in-law. He only hoped that Carson would understand when he found out about the decision Nancy and Ned had made six years ago.
He might never find out, though. Once—if—once Nancy came back, she might ask that they preserve the fiction for a while longer, fake a renewed courtship, another proposal that they could acknowledge to their family and friends, a public wedding. To make it legal this time, legal and lasting.
Ned didn't care if their marriage was ever legal. To him, it was real, and couldn't be made more real by a cold string of data in a computer somewhere. She was his wife.
And he couldn't deny that he had bought this place hoping that she would see it and know that she was home, that this was where she was meant to be. He had wanted her to turn to him after the tour and laugh and thank him for making a home for her, for them to be together. This place had felt right for that. It still did.
But she hadn't.
Nancy had never done anything on anyone else's timeline, and this was no different. Maybe she needed some time to warm to the idea. Maybe she would start taking the steps she needed to leave the field, even if she wanted to stay with the agency. He didn't care, as long as it meant they could be together, as long as she could be safe and whole.
The anticipation grew until he almost couldn't breathe. He went to the bedroom and made sure the bed was turned down invitingly, and that the candles and the fire lain in the fireplace were ready to light; he spread two more blankets over the comforter for good measure. He was annoyed that the power was out, but the candlelight did make the room undeniably more romantic, so it wasn't a total loss. Staying inside with her, splitting delivery pizza and dancing to the radio, that wasn't the end of the world.
He was checking the dark street in front of his house for the fifth time when he saw the sweep of headlights, and told himself not to get his hopes up. But it was her. He didn't know how he knew, but when she stepped out of the car, hitched the strap of her duffel bag higher on her shoulder and huddled against the freezing wind, he saw the wind snatch a long lock of reddish-gold hair from beneath her hood, and the flash of her eyes as she glanced up at his house.
His heart was in his throat. It was like they were going on a first date again, as absurd as that sounded. He just felt that nervous, that concerned about making everything perfect.
He had the door open before she reached it, and she hurried up the last few steps, launching herself into his arms as soon as she stepped over the threshold. "Ned," she sighed, clinging to him, her breath against his neck. "Oh my God, baby..."
Any intelligent conversation went out the window. He closed the door and backed her against it, his lips fused to hers, her cheek cold against his, her coat cold under his fingers. She dropped her bag, yanked off her gloves and dropped them, and her body rose in speechless welcome as he unzipped her coat and caressed her sides and back, feeling her warmth through silky cashmere. She giggled when he nuzzled against her cheek and neck, when he slipped his palm under her sweater and traced her spine with his fingertips. He felt like his heart started to beat again at the sound.
"I love you so much," he whispered.
"I love you too," she murmured, and she was breathless, but she wasn't laughing anymore. Her blue eyes were earnest and sincere when he gazed into them.
Ned had to concentrate to actually take a step back and stop himself from just ravishing her on the couch. Their couch. Their house. "You looked beautiful tonight," he told her. "You look beautiful right now."
She blushed slightly. She was uncomfortable when people paid her compliments, but she had confessed to Ned that his compliments made her almost giddy. "So do you," she told him. "When I saw you come in I just wanted to run straight over to you..."
"Me too," he admitted. "Come on, I'll take your bag. With any luck the power won't be out too long."
She shrugged. "I don't know," she told him. "It does seem pretty romantic."
He smiled. "Then I'll pretend it was intentional," he said.
The radio still seemed to be going strong once they had dropped off her bag. She had taken something foil-wrapped out of it, though, and presented it to him once they were back in the main living area. "A present for you. From Hannah. Although she didn't know it would be for you," she admitted.
Ned accepted it with a grin. "Is it... ohhhh, yes," he said triumphantly. "If Hannah had been at the dance tonight, I totally would have asked her for one. She is truly a goddess among women."
Nancy laughed. "And I'm sure she's sorry she can't hear that glowing compliment," she said. "Go ahead, dig in."
"Only if you promise to have a bite too."
"Oh, all right," she pretended to grumble.
Every time they were together like this felt like another piece of their abbreviated honeymoon: the intimacy, the privacy, getting to know each other all over again. His need for her, and that renewed skittishness she seemed to feel every first night. To him, it was sweet; she was self-conscious and she wanted everything to be perfect. Every first night was the first night of the rest of their life together, even if its duration was shorter than either of them wanted.
Nancy didn't dress for him in sweet or sultry lingerie, not in nightgowns or little suits meant to arouse him. She wore bras and panties trimmed with a minimum of frill or ornament: opaque satin, the barest hint of lace. Tonight she wouldn't put on a gown and seduce him. In that way, they almost did feel like a couple married for six years. But they had never had that in their relationship, not really, outside a few nights at the Omega house when he had been at Emerson and he had never, never imagined that their life would ever be this way.
He had been happy to have her, whatever way he could. Two weeks together and fifty apart. Scars he had never seen before, faded by the time he did see them, and he couldn't ask because he knew she couldn't answer. He could only hope and pray that the woman more important to him than life itself was safe and in relative comfort when they were apart. And no one else in his life could ever know why he was sometimes struck with such depression that faking a smile was almost impossible.
He needed her. He needed her like air, like water. Without her, his life was a blur, a series of events that he made his way through by telling himself that he was becoming better for her, that all his efforts were to make a better life for them when she returned.
If.
No.
To the rest of them, Nancy was his former flame, and he had been more than willing to pretend that he still carried a torch for her. It fit Nancy's so carefully constructed cover story, but more than that, it was true. If everyone else believed them star-crossed lovers, even though that still made her afraid he would be in danger as a result, at least it allowed them the barest luxury of a dance together, one they could have without anything beyond wistful comment.
"Mom and Dad thought you looked really nice tonight, too," Ned commented.
Nancy was in his arms again. They were dancing in the living room to the Christmas music on the radio, and he was holding her as close and tight as he had wanted to out on the dance floor at the country club. She was warm and her skin was golden in the candlelight, and to him, she had never looked more beautiful. The years of their marriage had been kind to her, he mused as his gaze searched her face. Her cheeks had lost that innocent curve, but her blue eyes were just as keen and intelligent as they had always been. Now, she moved with confidence and grace, not nervousness and self-consciousness. She carried herself like a queen, but with humility instead of haughtiness. She always put others' needs above her own. And she was so quietly, thoroughly beautiful that he knew men flirted with her; she was irresistible.
But she was his, promised and given, fully and completely. She could have been with other men, if she had chosen, especially if she hadn't participated in their less than fully legal wedding. But when he touched her, when he was gazing into her beautiful eyes, he knew he was the only one, that he always had been. No one could fit with her as he did. No one could ever complete her as he did.
"They were there?" Nancy looked up at him in dismay. "Oh no. I should have said something to them... but from the second I saw you..."
Ned chuckled. "They noticed that," he commented. "In fact, Mom said that I should just steal you away, because clearly you were still in love with me, you just needed a little push. And then you'd come back and..."
Ned's voice trailed off. His mother had been partially joking, but it had given his heart such a jolt that he hadn't been able to reply, even in jest. He wanted that too, more than he could ever say.
But Nancy smiled, and Ned's heart skipped a beat. "I guess my dad was thinking along the same wavelength," she said. "When he was taking me to the train station, he mentioned that we just looked—right together. That he hoped I'd settle down, maybe even with you. He thinks you're a good guy."
"And my parents still love you, too," he said.
They just gazed at each other then, their bodies still moving to the beat of the music. He reached up and cupped her cheek, and she searched his eyes. Then her gaze dropped to his lips.
Just as his had done several times while they had been dancing at the country club.
Her lips were parted even before his brushed them. Inside her mouth was warm and wet. Her tongue slid against his, tasting faintly of chocolate, and their steps slowed as she arched against him. He wanted so badly to slide his hands beneath her clothes. He loved the way she moaned when he touched her. He loved her.
Her blue eyes were hazed with desire when he pulled back. "Ned..."
"Mmm?" He stroked her cheek, as they caught the rhythm of the song again and began to move with it.
"I wish it could always be like this," she whispered.
He smiled, but for a few seconds he couldn't find his voice. "We're whole," he whispered. "It's like nothing else in my life."
"This is my life. This is everything..."
She turned her head to kiss his thumb, then cupped her hand over his. "This is everything," she whispered again. "Oh my God, I never want to let you go."
His throat was aching, and he swallowed before he spoke. "Then don't," he whispered.
"Do you want me? I mean... we're apart so much, and you're used to this life..."
"Just like you're used to yours? Baby, of course I want you. This house is for you. It's ours. It's your home."
Her eyes were gleaming with tears. "It felt that way when I walked in," she admitted softly.
Ned touched his forehead to hers. "Nan," he whispered, but he couldn't make himself say it. He was too afraid of what her answer would be.
Stay. Please stay with me.
You know I can't. I'm so sorry...
If you love me...
But he could never hurt her that way, never give her that ultimatum. Never make her choose between him and her career. It would be so, so terribly unfair. They had agreed, and he wasn't going to take it back.
She touched his cheek. "Take me to bed?" she whispered.
In answer he tilted his head and kissed her again, sweetly, deeply. Their steps slowed and then he picked her up, and she wrapped herself around him. He wanted to just take the few steps to the couch and lower her to it, but it wasn't their bed.
"Our bed," she whispered, as though she could read his thoughts. She was panting softly, breathless from their kiss, and she ran her fingers through his hair. "I need you. I've missed you so much. For so long." She blinked, and then her eyes were gleaming with tears again.
He nuzzled against her and kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "I miss you every second we're apart," he told her. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," she whispered, and then she kissed him hard.
Ned gave in and blindly walked toward the couch with her, her tongue sliding against his, her body pressed tight against his. He placed her on the arm and she broke the kiss with a soft pop.
"Unless you want to make love in front of the fire in here," he suggested, "let's blow out the candles and go to bed."
She smiled at him, immediately springing to her feet. All too briefly she wrapped an arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze, and the simple intimacy of the gesture made his heart rise in his throat. Then she was blowing out candles.
Once they were in the bedroom, Ned set himself to lighting the fire in the fireplace while Nancy prepared for bed. The fire was just beginning to blaze merrily, and the room was warm and golden in flickering candlelight, when she came out again. "Your turn," she murmured. "Oh, I love this."
He wrapped his arm around her waist as he passed near her, drawing her to him for an all too brief moment. "Glad you like it," he murmured. "Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be right there."
The entire reason Ned bought pajama sets was so Nancy could wear the top and he could wear the pants. In the bathroom Ned washed his face and brushed his teeth, then looked down at the wedding ring he had worn ever since he had closed his front door behind him. He wore it often when he was alone. It made him feel closer to his wife, even if she couldn't wear her own nearly so often.
His wife. Before the novelty of her presence wore off, she would be gone again.
He opened the door to the bedroom and saw her sitting up against the headboard, wearing the green and black plaid top to his pajamas. The top wasn't buttoned. Her reddish-gold hair tumbled down to just below her shoulders, and her beautiful skin was honeyed gold in the firelight. She looked so gorgeous.
"I spend so much time trying to memorize this," she whispered. "I just want to enjoy it tonight."
"You do that too?"
She nodded, her lashes low. "I don't want this to ever end," she whispered.
"Me either," he told her. He tried to keep his voice light; he was afraid to say anything else.
After, he held her. "Was it good?"
She laughed, breathlessly. "How can you ask that?" she said. "Oh my God, Ned."
"So, yes?"
She ran her fingers through his hair. "The best of my life. Oh, you spoil me," she whispered. "You worship me. I feel like a strong, incredibly happy woman who is completely in love with her husband. Every last bit of him."
Ned chuckled. "Every last bit, huh."
"Mmm-hmm." She caressed his temple and kissed the point of his jaw.
Ned shivered and kissed her again, deep and hard. His lashes and hers were low when he pulled back. "I'm yours," he said, his voice almost hoarse with sincerity. "You know that, don't you? To the core."
She nodded. "And I'm yours," she whispered. "Always."