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.When he and Aimee had purchased the home, the private master bed, bath, and sitting room had seemed like a lovers’ paradise.Their own little place that even when they had family and friends over, they could retreat to and shut out the world.Even without guests, they’d spent more time in that sun-lit sitting room than they had in the main room downstairs.They’d modified it into a temporary nursery.Painted over the pastel blue with olive green…after.And then, they’d taken to the family room, abandoning their sanctuary and the memories that had nearly destroyed Aimee.Kyle looked around him, impressed he’d made it halfway up without so much as a bobble-step.Seven more.If they hadn’t turned their guest room into an office after her mom—their only extended family—had died, he wouldn’t have to worry about the damn stairs.But they hadn’t, and he had seven more steps to accomplish.He hefted his bad leg up another, feeling the pull in muscles that weren’t used to strain.Easy does it.Just like rehab.Slow and steady.He took a deep breath, balanced on his cane, and continued up another.Light emitted from within their bedroom, the faint glow from the adjoining bathroom.A smile stole across his face.When she slept alone, she always left the light on.Once, she’d told him it was so he could find her if he came home in the middle of the night.When she’d shown him how deep her vulnerabilities ran, he came to realize the light offered security.Like a part of her was still afraid of the monsters in the dark.He hit the landing and let out a relieved breath.Fifteen steps accomplished.Now, to make it back down.As he turned to descend, the sound of Aimee murmuring in sleep gave him pause.Instantly aware of her nearness, his skin prickled with anticipation.He approached the open doorway against his better judgment and peeked inside.She lay tangled in the sheets, one leg exposed, the other hopelessly entwined.Like melted chocolate, her long brown hair streamed across the pillows and one shoulder.His gaze pulled to the sliver of skin beneath her gaping collar, the trace of that gentle slope overpowering.Would it still feel like silk? Did she still wear the lotion that reminded him of angel-food cake?Kyle’s gut wound in on itself as Aimee restlessly tossed.She mumbled something he couldn’t make out that compounded the weight bearing down on his shoulders.Drawn by a force greater than himself, he approached the edge of the bed and smoothed her hair away from her face.Then, he braced his good arm on the pillow, bent over, and pressed a kiss to her temple.If he ever stopped loving this woman, it would be a miracle.Straightening, he gave the sheets a tug and freed her leg.When she mumbled again, he froze.If she woke up and found him here, he would have no choice but to crawl into the bed.And sleeping beside Aimee was simply out of the question.With her warm supple body pressing into his, sleep would be the last thing on his mind.And sex—beyond the fact he couldn’t perform worth a damn—opened all the doors he’d deliberately closed.If things had been different… If they hadn’t suffered such a devastating loss…Kyle turned away before the memories could swamp him.He’d wanted to try again.To move forward and invest all that love in a second child.But he’d never had the courage to ask Aimee to go through that again.And she’d never indicated she shared the same desire.Deliberately ignoring the sitting room he had once adored, he grabbed the banister and hefted himself down the stairs.Descending proved more difficult than up; his bad leg shook each time it had to bear his full weight.He willed his fingers not to slip.One-by-one, little-by-little, he made his way to the living room at a snail’s pace.When he hit the solid floor, melancholy yielded to triumph, and Kyle gave in to a self-satisfied grin.He could do stairs.Now, a few more days of practice, then he could show off his skills and hopefully convince Aimee she didn’t need to stick around.What would he do then? Here, in this house where every corner reminded him of her?Find a hobby, he supposed.Something he could do left handed.Maybe paint.Yeah, right.Maybe he’d get a dog.He didn’t need two hands for fetch.Making his way into the bathroom to bathe while Aimee was asleep, Kyle opened the hall closet for fresh towels.As reached for a folded square of fluffy white terry, the shelf above his head caught his eye.Stacked in one corner, colorful scrapbooks marked Aimee’s hideaway.Beside them, two lidless shoeboxes overflowed with photographs.Man, how long had it been since he’d looked through these? Three years? Had to be, if not longer.Knowing Aimee, she’d done more work while he’d been gone.He pushed the door open further and grabbed at the green scrapbook [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]