Finding Home by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page A

had touched each other, she found that nothing came to mind. It had been so long, she couldn’t remember when.
    But that was going to change tonight, she promised herself.
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    They went to bed shortly after ten, after narrowly avoiding getting into a heated argument about Jim. She’d mentioned that he hadn’t said anything about Jim not being around, and he’d responded by saying that he was savoring the quiet. It made her feel that he was happy to be rid of their son. The fact that they were so far apart in their feelings about Jim bothered her to the very depths of her soul.
    She would have loved to have resolved something, but that wasn’t going to happen. She’d finally tabled the discussion when it looked to be in danger of escalating into a full-blown argument. She desperately didn’t want to argue on their anniversary, even though she felt that Brad was just as wrong in his attitude toward Jim as Jim was in his attitude toward his father.
    As Brad got into bed, she quickly slipped into the bathroom and put on the sexy black nightgown she’d bought earlier in the week. Running a comb through her hair, she checked over her makeup, opting to leave it on tonight rather than run the risk of looking like someone who’d fallen into the river and been dragged out, pale and ghastly.
    When she came out less than five minutes later, Brad already looked on the verge of falling asleep. She purposely jostled the bed as she got in.
    His eyes opened. Good.
    Curling up beside him, she ran her hand slowly along the ridges of his chest.
    â€œYou still have pretty decent pectorals,” she commented with a smile. Slowly, she strummed her fingers along the outline of his muscles. Brad was blessed with good genes, shethought, genes that allowed him to retain the physique he’d worked to create more than two decades ago. He still had a membership to the gym, but by his own admission, he had no idea where the card was any longer, or when he’d been to the gym last.
    Brad shifted. When she continued running her hand along his chest, he covered it with his own. And then moved it aside.
    â€œStacey, don’t.”
    Instantly, she could feel herself stiffening inside. But she refused to believe that he was saying what she thought he was saying.
    Still, her throat felt tight as she asked, “Don’t what?”
    He looked at her and frowned reprovingly. By now, she should have known better. Wasn’t a wife supposed to be able to read the signs?
    â€œDon’t start.”
    God, but she hated the way he made her feel. Like a lowly supplicant, begging for a crumb of affection. Stacey sat up and looked at him. “Start what?”
    Brad seemed more weary than annoyed. “You know what I’m talking about, Stacey. You’re starting in and I’m tired tonight.”
    Starting in. Like making love with her was some kind of a hardship for him that he was forced to endure out of a sense of duty. She couldn’t keep the note of bitterness out of her voice, even though she fought it. “Why should tonight be any different?”
    He covered his eyes with his hand, like someone gathering what little strength he had left. “Don’t do the guilt thing, Stacey. I was on my feet for four hours, trying to save this kid’s legs.”
    â€œAnd did you?”
    The question surprised him. “I think so.”
    â€œGood.” And she meant that. Because she was proud of him, proud of the fact that he helped people. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want something for herself, too. “So how about trying to save our marriage?”
    â€œOur marriage doesn’t need saving,” he told her with a dismissive air, as if she was babbling nonsense. “And it doesn’t depend on sex.”
    â€œThank God for that,” she quipped, “because if it did, it would have died a long time ago.”
    This was old ground. They’d danced over