Chapter 3
Eleanor POV
His suitcase was open beside the dresser.
I stopped in the bathroom doorway, one hand holding the towel around my wet hair.
Derek stood by the closet, undoing his cuffs. His jacket hung behind him. He’d already taken off his tie, and the top buttons of his shirt were open.
He looked up.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I’d spent the evening wondering whether he would come home. Now that he was here, I wished I’d had another minute. Enough time to dry my hair. To decide what to do with my face.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were in the shower.”
His eyes moved over me before returning to my face.
I knew that look. It was easier to understand than the silence that usually sat between us.
“Have you been here long?”
“A few minutes.”
I stepped into the bedroom. My nightgown was damp where the ends of my hair had touched it, and I could feel the air against my skin.
He watched me pass.
I didn’t pull the towel down to cover myself.
“I saw you were back,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Olivia showed me a video at lunch.”
“A video?”
“Outside your office.”
He slid one cuff free. “I didn’t realize anyone was filming.”
“Apparently they were.”
I unwrapped my hair and began pressing the water out of it. He had a little stubble along his jaw, and his shirt was creased from the day. I wanted to keep looking at him. Instead, I concentrated on the towel in my hands.
“How long are you here?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“For work?”
“Yes.”
He said it without hesitation. I nodded as though it were the only answer I’d expected.
“I went to see my parents this afternoon,” he added.
“How are they?”
“Fine. My mother wanted me to stay for dinner.”
“You didn’t?”
“Thomas called.”
Of course he had. Derek’s friends would have wanted to see him. His parents would have been waiting for his visit.
I hadn’t even known which day to expect him.
“Did you eat?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded and turned back to his suitcase.
I folded the towel across my knees. There were things I could have asked. Whether he’d be working here for weeks or months. Whether he planned to leave again before our anniversary.
Whether that was why he’d come back at all.
I watched him take clean clothes from his bag and left the questions where they were.
“Bathroom’s free,” I said.
He glanced toward it, then at me.
“I noticed.”
Something in the way he said it made me lift my eyes.
He held my gaze for a second before walking past me.
I stayed still until the bathroom door closed.
His watch lay on the dresser beside my hair clip.
It shouldn’t have held my attention. Neither should the suitcase, or his shoes by the closet, or the faint sound of him moving around in the bathroom.
But I’d had this room to myself for so long that every sign of him felt deliberate, even though he was only putting his things down.
I got out the hair dryer.
The mirror showed me exactly what I’d expected: wet hair, bare face, a nightgown I’d put on without thinking about who might see it.
I dried my hair slowly, working through the ends with my fingers.
When I finished, my phone lit up with a customer’s message. She needed to collect her flowers an hour earlier than arranged. I checked the order, confirmed the new time, and reset my alarm.
That took less than two minutes.
I wished I had something else to answer.
The shower stopped.
I put the dryer away and went to the bed. Sitting there fully awake with my phone in my hand would make it look as though I’d been waiting for him, so I got under the covers.
Then I realized how much thought I was giving to appearing indifferent.
I set the phone down.
He was my husband. We’d slept together before. I didn’t need to pretend I had no idea what might happen when he got into bed with me.
I wanted it to happen.
That was the truth I could admit to myself without having to do anything about the rest.
The bathroom door opened.
Derek came out in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, rubbing a towel over his hair. I looked at him before I could decide whether I should.
He caught me doing it.
I didn’t smile. Neither did he.
He hung the towel up, then came around to his side of the bed.
He set his phone on the nightstand and pulled back the covers.
The mattress shifted as he sat down. I drew my knees in enough to give him room, then made myself stop moving.
He didn’t need me to make space for him. This was his side of the bed. He settled into it without a second thought.
I was the one who had to get used to having him within reach again.
“You’re still awake,” he said.
“You only just got in.”
“I meant before that.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He looked at me, waiting, but I didn’t explain.
I wasn’t going to tell him I’d kept checking my phone. There was no reason for him to know how much of my evening he’d occupied without being here.
“You can turn that off,” I said, nodding toward his lamp.
He reached back and switched it off.
Mine stayed on, lighting the side of his face nearest me.
I could see him properly now. There was the familiar line between his brows, the faint shadow under his eyes. He’d looked so distant on Olivia’s screen that afternoon. Here, I could have reached out and touched his mouth.
I kept my hand on the sheet.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You keep looking at me.”
I met his eyes. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
He didn’t answer that.
For a second, I regretted saying it. It sounded too close to a complaint, and I didn’t want his first night back to become another conversation I’d replay afterward, searching for a kinder meaning in what he’d said.
Then his gaze dropped to my mouth.
I let him look.
His hand settled at my waist over the covers.
I went still, although I’d been expecting it. Wanting it.
He noticed. His fingers paused.
I moved closer before he could take his hand away.
That was all it took. He drew me toward him, and I put my hand against his shoulder as he kissed me.
There was nothing tentative about it. We already knew how to do this together, even if we couldn’t get through a few questions about his return without running out of things to say.
When he lifted his head, I kept my hand on him.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“What do you want me to say?”
His gaze settled on my mouth. “Nothing right now.”
He kissed me again.
I caught his shirt in my fingers and pulled him closer. I didn’t want a careful kiss he could end by turning over and going to sleep. He’d been away for months. Now he was here, and I wanted his attention on me.
He gave it to me.
His hand tightened at my waist when I shifted, keeping me close. I touched his face, feeling the roughness along his jaw, and turned his mouth back to mine.
He let me, then moved closer until there was no space left between us.
I knew he wanted me. I didn’t have to watch his expression for clues or wait for a message that might never come. Here, I could reach for him and know he would respond.
He wouldn’t refuse me this.
I slid my hand behind his neck.
“Eleanor.”
I looked at him.
His face was close, his attention fixed on mine. I wanted to keep him there. I didn’t want London, his work, or the end of our marriage in the room with us.
“Don’t stop,” I said.
His answer was another kiss.
I knew the difference between being wanted and being loved. In the morning, he might pick up his phone before he spoke to me. He might leave for the office while I was still getting dressed. Nothing he did tonight promised otherwise.
But I didn’t have to send him away just because I knew that.
I could want him, too.
When he reached toward the lamp, I caught his wrist.
He stopped and looked down at me.
“Leave it.”
I wanted to see him. To know he was looking at me, too.
For a moment, he held my gaze. Then he lowered his hand to the pillow beside my head and bent to kiss me again.
He then reached into the nightstand drawer for a condom and put it on before we went any further.
I wrapped my arms around him and kept him close as the rest of the night slipped past.
