Read Online What Dreams May Come by Kay Hooper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kay Hooper
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feelings. That was part of the past he had to accept, part of who Kelly was now. Another man had been her first lover. Her husband.
He had no right to be jealous, but he was. No right to feel bitter and betrayed, but he did. He still was enough of the possessive, willful man he had been to feel the violence of those emotions even while he recognized them as unreasoning. And because she was the last tie to all he'd been, he had to fight an even more desperate urge to hold on too tight, to demand of her how she could have given herself to another man. To blame her for the pain he felt.
The emotions were raw inside him, a jumble composed of past and present. He didn't know where one left off and the other began, or if there could even be, in the end, a division between thetwo. The only thing he was certain of was that his need for Kelly was far greater and infinitely more complicated than it had been ten years earlier, and that if he were able to win her love this time, it would happen only once he mastered his own innate possessiveness.
And that was going to be very difficult for him. He had accepted that control was an illusion, but he had lost so much that the fear of losing her was something he couldn't bring himself to contemplate.
Yet he had to let go. Let go of the past. Let go of Kelly. He had tried to chain her then, and fate had stopped him. He had to stop himself from trying to chain her now. If she could learn to love him again ... he had to learn to trust that love enough to hold only a hand.
Not a soul.
It was three in the morning when he roused himself and glanced toward the waiting bed. But he didn't move toward it, and after a moment he returned his gaze to the wind-tossed trees that teased him with glimpses of the ocean.
He wasn't ready. Not yet.
"Good morning."
Mitch looked up from his work to see her standing just inside the kitchen. Wearing jeans and a dark blue cowl-neck sweater, her bright coppery hair pulled back away from her face and tied with a ribbon, she was lovely and a little wary, but less strained than she had been the night before.
Perhaps it was her sudden appearance, or the demons he had wrestled with in the night, but for one fleeting instant he saw her clearly, withoutthe blurring of past images. He saw intelligence in her violet eyes, sensitivity and vulnerability in the curve of her lips, stubbornness in the delicate line of her jaw. He saw the slender figure of a woman who moved slowly and gracefully, shoulders almost unconsciously braced, something of vigilance in the tilt of her head.
He saw a woman who had lost a great deal, perhaps much more than he knew. No girl now, but a woman who had survived.
And in that brief moment he felt a desire for her so strong it was almost like a blow. It was a feeling of stark necessity, a shattering tangle of physical and emotional needs. He wanted her not the way he had ten years earlier with a passion tempered both by her youth and by the arrogant certainty that she belonged to him; this was a need far more complex than anything he'd ever felt before—deeper, and grinding inside him. Not the male urge for possession, but a compulsive realization that she was half of himself and that without her he'd never be whole again.
"Mitch?" Faint color bloomed across her cheekbones, and her eyes skittered nervously away. "Is—is something wrong?"
With an effort that tore at him jaggedly, he pulled his gaze from her and looked down to watch idly as the spatula in his hand bent under the tightening force of his grip. Too much, he thought, I'm feeling too much. She'd seen it, and the apprehension in her eyes was plain.
Dear Lord, was she afraid of him? Afraid he'd resort to force, that he would attempt to overwhelm her with his own feelings?
He cleared his throat and carefully loosened his grip on the spatula, concentrating on reining hiswild emotions. "Good morning. Ready for breakfast?" His voice held steady, somewhat to his surprise.
Kelly
He had no right to be jealous, but he was. No right to feel bitter and betrayed, but he did. He still was enough of the possessive, willful man he had been to feel the violence of those emotions even while he recognized them as unreasoning. And because she was the last tie to all he'd been, he had to fight an even more desperate urge to hold on too tight, to demand of her how she could have given herself to another man. To blame her for the pain he felt.
The emotions were raw inside him, a jumble composed of past and present. He didn't know where one left off and the other began, or if there could even be, in the end, a division between thetwo. The only thing he was certain of was that his need for Kelly was far greater and infinitely more complicated than it had been ten years earlier, and that if he were able to win her love this time, it would happen only once he mastered his own innate possessiveness.
And that was going to be very difficult for him. He had accepted that control was an illusion, but he had lost so much that the fear of losing her was something he couldn't bring himself to contemplate.
Yet he had to let go. Let go of the past. Let go of Kelly. He had tried to chain her then, and fate had stopped him. He had to stop himself from trying to chain her now. If she could learn to love him again ... he had to learn to trust that love enough to hold only a hand.
Not a soul.
It was three in the morning when he roused himself and glanced toward the waiting bed. But he didn't move toward it, and after a moment he returned his gaze to the wind-tossed trees that teased him with glimpses of the ocean.
He wasn't ready. Not yet.
"Good morning."
Mitch looked up from his work to see her standing just inside the kitchen. Wearing jeans and a dark blue cowl-neck sweater, her bright coppery hair pulled back away from her face and tied with a ribbon, she was lovely and a little wary, but less strained than she had been the night before.
Perhaps it was her sudden appearance, or the demons he had wrestled with in the night, but for one fleeting instant he saw her clearly, withoutthe blurring of past images. He saw intelligence in her violet eyes, sensitivity and vulnerability in the curve of her lips, stubbornness in the delicate line of her jaw. He saw the slender figure of a woman who moved slowly and gracefully, shoulders almost unconsciously braced, something of vigilance in the tilt of her head.
He saw a woman who had lost a great deal, perhaps much more than he knew. No girl now, but a woman who had survived.
And in that brief moment he felt a desire for her so strong it was almost like a blow. It was a feeling of stark necessity, a shattering tangle of physical and emotional needs. He wanted her not the way he had ten years earlier with a passion tempered both by her youth and by the arrogant certainty that she belonged to him; this was a need far more complex than anything he'd ever felt before—deeper, and grinding inside him. Not the male urge for possession, but a compulsive realization that she was half of himself and that without her he'd never be whole again.
"Mitch?" Faint color bloomed across her cheekbones, and her eyes skittered nervously away. "Is—is something wrong?"
With an effort that tore at him jaggedly, he pulled his gaze from her and looked down to watch idly as the spatula in his hand bent under the tightening force of his grip. Too much, he thought, I'm feeling too much. She'd seen it, and the apprehension in her eyes was plain.
Dear Lord, was she afraid of him? Afraid he'd resort to force, that he would attempt to overwhelm her with his own feelings?
He cleared his throat and carefully loosened his grip on the spatula, concentrating on reining hiswild emotions. "Good morning. Ready for breakfast?" His voice held steady, somewhat to his surprise.
Kelly
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