Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (top novels of all time txt) 📗

see the water, which was filled with tiny organisms that lit up when they were disturbed. It was the first time after my diagnosis that I’d felt truly hopeful about my future—and not coincidentally, it was also the night I’d realized just how strong my feelings were for him.

“Of course.” He tugged his T-shirt over his head and discarded it on the dresser. “Like it was just yesterday.”

“Me, too. Do you remember what you were thinking?”

He grinned at me. “If I had a thought in my head, I couldn’t have identified it. Well, other than maybe that it was totally unexpected.”

“Unexpected! You left Milagros’ but then came back to kiss me! You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He held my gaze, and all my worries disappeared. How ridiculous, how shortsighted, how very pessimistic of me to think that after thirteen years he’d suddenly lost interest. “I knew I wanted you,” he said in a gruff voice.

I was trembling with anticipation, and sweet mother of pearl, was it ever a wonderful feeling. It was almost as though someone had turned back the clock, and I was falling for him all over again. “I wanted you, too,” I said. “I may have told myself otherwise, but I did.”

“Hellooooo!” Isa sounded so close I wouldn’t have been surprised if she emerged from beneath the bed. “I thought you guys were sleeping!”

I giggled and held a finger to my lips. “Shhh, don’t disturb the children.”

Shiloh was not amused. “Did you lock the door?”

“It doesn’t have a lock, but I put a suitcase in front of it.”

“Better than nothing. Still, I wonder if we should have looked for a larger place.”

No, no, no. We were not debating our lodging choices right now; we were preparing to throw ourselves at each other with the wanton abandon of two carnal creatures who had no recollection of the petulant tweens they were responsible for keeping alive. “We’re here now,” I said, beckoning for him to join me on the bed. “Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

“You’re right,” he said, lowering himself over me. He kissed me softly, and then not so softly. I would have swooned if I’d not already been horizontal, which was a sure sign I’d been more starved for affection than I’d realized. Here was my husband, with his beautiful body and full attention and wonderful smell, which wasn’t really a smell at all, just his natural pheromone cologne that drove me absolutely crazy. And he was going to finally—dear God, finally—make love to me.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmured as his lips made their way down my neck.

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said from my collarbone.

“You know what I mean,” I said softly, trying to reroute him.

He looked up. “Things have been kind of stressful lately.”

Sure, but was this the time and place to rehash that? “I was just trying to let you know that I’ve been looking forward to this,” I said.

“Me, too,” he mumbled, or at least I think that’s what he said; his mouth was blessedly on my skin again. I didn’t respond, because I don’t know what sound would’ve escaped if I’d tried.

Then he said, “Like this?”

Had it really been so long that he’d forgotten what did the trick? I was about to say yes when something in the living room came crashing down. Many things, I should say; rather than the three vases I’d been worried about earlier, it sounded like someone had just thrown a basket of toys across the room.

I froze and held my breath, praying that the silence that followed the crash would last. Alas—Charlotte had already started howling like a hound on a hunt.

Still, she wasn’t calling for me, or for Shiloh. And if whatever had happened was really serious, Isa would have been pounding on our door. Which meant we could go back to what we’d been doing.

But Shiloh, who had just sat up, sighed wearily.

“They’re fine!” I said as he rose from the bed. My desire was very quickly being replaced by desperation. I wanted—no, I needed—to know that he still wanted me, that we still wanted each other, that the rest of the world, including our daughters, could cease to exist for just two stinking minutes. Because I was more than willing to have a quickie if that’s what it took to break the seal. “No one’s hollering for us.”

“I’m not going out there,” he said, which was when I realized he’d actually been heading for the dresser, not the door. He pulled his shirt back over his head and sat on the end of the bed.

I felt as crushed as though he’d just pointed out the dimples on my thighs. “I don’t understand,” I said to his back.

He didn’t turn around. “It’s just distracting, with the girls being right there and wide awake.”

I could remember when he and I had made love on the floor in the middle of the twins’ nursery while they babbled beside us in a crib. And what about the time we’d sneaked off to the bathroom for a spirited make-out session in the middle of their tenth birthday party? Distractions were no match for our passion.

Or so I’d thought.

He glanced over at me quickly and said, “We can try again tonight when they’re sleeping.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up,” I said, but the humor I’d been shooting for landed with a thud between us.

“Libby.”

As I pulled the sheet up to my neck, I felt as vulnerable as if I’d just had my mammogram broadcast on network television. “Since you’re dressed, would you please go see what happened out there?” I said in a low voice.

His expression told me he wanted to say something but couldn’t manage to dislodge the words.

Good, I thought. Because I was tired of excuses and explanations when the facts were all there in front of me. My husband had lost interest in me. I had lost sight of the woman I used to be.

There was no way those two things weren’t related.