Matt knew the exact moment that she relinquished her body entirely to him; he felt the tension leave her, her legs relaxing, then opening for him, and the poignant sweetness of her well-remembered surrender sent desire raging uncontrollably through him. It made his heart thunder and his body throb until even his limbs began to tremble as he shifted on top of her. Gone was his hazy hope of prolonging this unbelievable, momentous joining; all that mattered was being a part of her again. The veins in his arms stood out as he held himself above her, his eyes clenched shut, easing himself into her an inch at a time, fighting the overpowering need to bury himself full-length in her incredible warmth, to devour her with his hands and mouth.
His control began to slip when she arched her hips, and again when she slid her hands over his shoulders and whispered his name, but when he opened his eyes and looked down at her Matt was lost: This wasn't a figment of his fevered imagination—the girl he had loved was the woman in his arms; the beautiful face that had haunted his dreams was inches from his, flushed with desire, her shining hair spilling over his pillow. She'd been waiting for him in that hospital; she had never tried to rid herself of his baby or him. She had come to him here, endured his hatred and braved his anger—and then she had asked for his forgiveness. The realization was overpoweringly poignant, and even then Matt might have been able to continue moving slowly and steadily inside her—if Meredith hadn't chosen that moment to run her fingers through the hair at his nape, and lift her hips, and whisper, "Please, Matt." The exquisite sweetness of his name on her lips and the arousing shift of her body reaching for his tore a silent groan from him, and he drove into her, plunging again and again, until they were both wild with wanting, reaching together for it... finding it in the same moment, exploding together and then shattering. Limbs entwined, hearts thundering, he wrapped her in his arms, and still he kept thrusting, wanting to spill eleven years of yearning into her, and Meredith held him to her, her body beginning to convulse again, until her rhythmic spasms had finally drained him of everything except a feeling of overwhelming joy and peace.
He collapsed against her, his skin fiery, his breathing labored, and then he moved onto his side to keep himself from crushing her, taking her with him, his arm around her back, his fingers buried in the bunched satin of her hair. Silent, floating, still intimately joined to her, he let his hand drift up and down her spine, reveling in the sensation of being held inside her wet warmth and the brush of her lips against his collarbone.
He closed his eyes, savoring it, filled with reverence for all the things she was and for all the things she made him want to be. Eleven years ago he'd been cheated of heaven; he'd found it again this weekend, and there was nothing that he wouldn't do to avoid losing it again. Then he'd had nothing to offer her except himself; now he could give her the world—and himself. He felt her breathing even out and realized she was falling asleep. He smiled to himself, a little embarrassed by his lack of restraint that had worn them both out so completely and so quickly. ... He'd let her sleep for an hour, he decided, and himself too. Then he would wake her up and make love to her more properly and thoroughly. After that they would talk. They were going to have to make plans. Even though he expected that she might be hesitant to break off her engagement on the strength of one afternoon in bed with him, Matt knew he could persuade her of the simple truth: They were meant to be together. They had always been meant to be together... .
Nudged from his sleep by a sound somewhere in the house, Matt opened his eyes and stared in mild confusion at the empty pillow beside him. The room was dark, and he rolled onto his side, squinting at his watch. It was almost six o'clock, and he leaned up on his elbow, surprised that he'd slept for almost three hours. For a moment or two, he was perfectly still, listening, trying to decide where Meredith was, but the first sound he heard was the last one he expected: It came from outdoors—a car engine firing, motor revving.
For a moment of ignorant bliss he decided she must have been worried about her battery running down in the cold, and he tossed off the quilts and rolled out of bed. Combing his hand through his hair, he walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, intending to open the window and call to her to let him take care of that. What he saw was a pair of red taillights glowing brightly as the BMW sped down the long drive toward the main road.
He was so stunned that his first reaction was to worry that she was driving too damned fast—and then reality hit him. She had left! For a split second his mind couldn't seem to absorb the shock. She had crawled out of bed and crept off in the night! Swearing savagely under his breath, he turned on the lamp and yanked on his pants, then he stood, hands on his hips, glaring at the empty bed in a state of near paralysis. He could not believe she'd run away as if they'd done something she was ashamed of and couldn't bear to face in daylight.
He saw it then—the note propped on the nightstand, written on the same pad of yellow paper she'd used to make her notes for the board of directors meeting. He snatched it up, hope flaring in his chest that she'd merely gone to find a grocery store or something.
"Matt," she'd written, "what happened this afternoon should never have happened. It was wrong for both of us—understandable, I suppose—but terribly wrong. We both have our own lives and plans for the future, and we have people in our lives who love and trust us. We betrayed them by doing what we did. I'm ashamed of that. And even so, I will always remember this weekend as something beautiful and special. Thank you for it."
Matt stood staring in furious disbelief at the words, feeling absurdly—stupidly—as if he'd been raped! No, not raped, used, like some paid stud who she could take to her bed when she wanted a "special" time, and then dismiss afterward like an insignificant peon whom she was ashamed to have been with.
She hadn't changed one damned bit in all these years! She was still spoiled and self-centered and so convinced of her own superiority that it wouldn't occur to her that maybe, just maybe, someone from a less privileged class than her own might be worth consideration. No, she hadn't changed at all, she was still a coward, still—
Matt checked himself in mid-thought, amazed that his anger could actually obliterate his memory of everything that he'd discovered. For the last few minutes he'd been judging her based on all the erroneous things he'd believed of her for eleven years. That was habit; it was not reality. Reality was what he'd learned of her in this room; truths so painful, and so beautiful—that they'd made him ache. Meredith was no coward, she had never run away from him, from motherhood, or even her tyrannical father who she'd had to deal with at the store all these years. She had been eighteen, and she had thought she loved Matt—a slight smile touched his eyes at the memory of her astounding admission—but it vanished when he thought of her lying in the hospital waiting for him. She had sent flowers for their baby, and named her Elizabeth for his mother.... And when he never came back, she had picked up the pieces of her life, gone back to college, and faced whatever else the future handed her. Even now it made him cringe to remember the things he'd said and done to her in the last few weeks. Jesus, how she must have hated him!