What if I was wrong about Colin? What if I’ve taken evidence and constructed an elaborate theory based on nothing more than two men who happened to look similar in a decades-old photograph?
Or worse…what if I’m right? What if the man we’ve been watching is actually someone else, an impostor and possible murderer, who may have killed his best friend. Or half brother. Someone who’s stolen Colin’s identity to gain access to millions of dollars? God, that sounds like a novel or movie plot!
“You’re going to make yourself crazy,” Bert said from where he sat at the small table, his laptop open in front of him, but his attention clearly on her. “I can hear your mind churning.”
“I’m not churning. Well, not exactly. More like continually analyzing.” Mary sighed heavily as her hands worked the wheels of her chair with agitated energy. “There’s a difference.”
“Semantics.” Bert closed the laptop and set it aside. “Mary, you need to breathe. We’ve done everything we can. Now we wait for Sadie and Logan to work their magic.”
“I hate waiting.”
“I know. But there’s nothing more we can do right now except wait and try not to alert Colin that we’re suspicious.” Bert stood and moved to intercept her, kneeling so they were eye level. “So let me help you with that.”
“Help me with what?”
“Taking your mind off the case.” His hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “I have some ideas about how to keep you distracted for a while.”
Despite her anxiety, Mary felt heat bloom in her chest and spread outward. “Oh really? And what kind of ideas would those be?”
Instead of answering, Bert kissed her. Soft at first, a gentle press of lips that was sweet and tender and completely at odds with the danger swirling around them. But it deepened quickly, his tongue sliding against hers, his hand sliding into her hair to angle her head for better access.
Mary made a small sound in the back of her throat and pulled him closer, her hands fisting in his shirt. This feeling of being wanted and desired and completely consumed by someone who saw all of her and chose her anyway… this was what she’d been afraid she’d never have. And now that she had it, now that Bert looked at her like she was the most important thing in his world, Mary wanted to hold it with both hands.
“Bed,” Bert murmured against her lips. “Let me take you to bed and make you forget about everything else for a while.”
“Yes,” Mary breathed, already reaching for him.
Bert lifted her with an easy strength that made her feel cherished rather than helpless. Before carrying her to the bed, he held her tightly, keeping his arms around her. She grinned against his lips, loving the position of being held upright in his arms. Even if her legs dangled, it felt powerful to stare eye to eye while upright.
He then carried her the few steps to the bed and settled her against the pillows. Mary immediately started working on the buttons of her shirt, her fingers clumsy with desire and urgency.
“Let me,” Bert said, his hands covering hers. “Let me take care of you.”
Mary hesitated only a moment before nodding, letting her hands fall away and allowing Bert to undress her with the kind of reverent care that made her chest ache. Each piece of clothing removed was accompanied by kisses pressed to newly exposed skin… her collarbone, her curves, the soft skin of her stomach.
His hands were gentle as he rolled her from side to side, gliding her leggings down. It was hard to let go of the vulnerability of having her scars on display, but she felt cared for in the most intimate and ultimate way.
When Mary was fully bare, he paused to just look at her, his eyes dark with want. “You’re so beautiful, Mary. Every time I see you like this, I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“I am yours,” she said, the words coming easily now. “Completely yours.”
She watched as Bert stripped off his own clothes with far less ceremony than he’d used on her, and then he was settling over her.
“Will you get bored with limited sex positions?” she asked, wincing as the words escaped.
“Babe, I just want to be with you, in any way I can. Nothing about what we do is boring… especially during sex.” Once again, she felt the sensation of pressure. It was more than she’d hoped for, and she held his shoulder tightly, ready to ride out whatever pleasure he wanted to offer.
This time was different from their first time. That had been nerves, discovery, and exploration, both of them learning what worked and what didn’t, figuring out their rhythm. But this was confidence and trust and the knowledge that they fit together perfectly, complications and all.
Bert was learning what brought her pleasure, what made her gasp and arch and pull him closer. And Mary touched him, reveling in the groans erupting from deep in his chest. This was real. This love, this connection, this feeling of being whole and wanted and exactly where she belonged… this was what mattered. Not her wheelchair, not her scars, not her limitations. Just two people who’d found each other and refused to let anything stand in the way of building something beautiful together.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, her head on his chest with his arms wrapped protectively around her. The ship rocked gently beneath them, and for a few precious minutes, Mary let herself just exist at this moment without thinking about Colin or Diane or murder or danger.
“Feel better?” Bert murmured, his hand stroking lazy patterns on her back.
“Much better,” Mary admitted. “Thank you for the distraction.”
“Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”