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Raffo forgot about the reasons this shouldn’t be happening and tuned into her biggest desire. She wanted Dylan. Her body surely wanted Dylan. Raffo had been afraid to touch herself since Dylan had left Big Bear. Afraid of what she might feel, of what it might unleash in her. Afraid of what it might turn her into—a person living in her best friend’s house while lusting after his mother. A person she didn’t want to be. But oh, how she was that person now. And she was doing a whole lot more than just lusting. Dylan’s tongue licked her to ever greater heights, awakening every nerve in her body, her clit surging to life.

The orgasm that seized Raffo brought her to her knees, and not just metaphorically. Her body as exhausted as her mind—both worn out from weeks of trying to forget what they desperately wanted to remember—Raffo collapsed beside Dylan. She reached for Dylan blindly, pulling her close.

“After I saw you,” Dylan muttered under her breath, “I couldn’t stay away.”

Raffo maneuvered into a sitting position and tugged Dylan close. It was a warm day and she was only wearing a light blouse, but she still felt way too dressed next to Raffo.

Raffo didn’t know what to say. Nothing had changed and everything had changed—again. So instead of talking, she started to unbutton Dylan’s blouse. Dylan stopped her by putting a hand on hers.

“I can’t have you touch me,” Dylan said. “I won’t know how to recover from that again.”

That was rich. “And how am I supposed to recover from that orgasm you just gave me?” Raffo tried to inject some gravitas into her voice, but failed miserably.

“You will,” Dylan said flatly. As though she suddenly came to her senses, her body went rigid and she put some distance between them. “I’d better go.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Raffo asked. “At least a little bit?”

To Raffo’s surprise, Dylan’s eyes moistened. “What’s there to say? We can’t be together.”

“We have to tell Con. We can’t lie to him again.” The rush of Raffo’s climax was quickly replaced with a crushing sadness.

“I’m sorry for coming back. I shouldn’t have done that, Raffo. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

Raffo shook her head. “I’m not sorry, but… it shouldn’t happen again. We can’t do that to Connor or ourselves.”

Dylan closed her eyes when she spoke, as though what she was about to say couldn’t be said while looking at Raffo. “I miss you so much. I don’t know how it’s possible. I don’t know why I can’t seem to get over you.”

“Maybe you just need a little more time,” Raffo offered. She and Dylan both.

“Time?” Dylan opened her eyes. “I’ll be sixty in a few months. When am I going to feel like this again? I may never feel like this in my life again.”

It was high time for Raffo to be the wiser one, although she was, by almost three decades, the younger one.

“You have to think of Connor. It’s the only way.” Raffo made to get up.

“Yeah.” Dylan pressed her thumbs against her eyes and then pushed herself up. “It would be a whole lot easier if I wasn’t so damned in love with you.”

Raffo did a double take. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Raffo. Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you. I think you are so fucking amazing. I wish I could watch you paint again. I wish I could make you a meal. I wish I could take you out. I wish I could just sit with you and chat. I wish I could?—”

“Not much painting to watch,” Raffo said stupidly, because all the things Dylan had just said, Raffo wanted as well.

“I so want for you to get your mojo back. I really do.” Dylan stepped closer and Raffo could smell herself on her skin. Dylan stroked Raffo’s cheek.

“I think for that to happen you’re going to have to show me your breasts again,” Raffo said, even more stupidly.

Dylan smiled and her smile soon turned into a giggle and it removed a whole lot of tension from the heavy air between them.

“I’d love to come by your studio and make that happen, but...” Dylan grabbed Raffo’s hand and squeezed it. “For my own sanity, I need to stay far away from you.”

Raffo wrapped her arms around Dylan and prepared for another last goodbye. Then they both froze as a key turned in the front door lock.

“Oh, fuck.” Raffo pulled her robe tightly around her. “Connor isn’t supposed to be home for hours.”

“Hello?” A familiar male voice came from the hallway. “Anyone home?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Raffo exhaled sharply. “It’s Murray.” She moved toward the lounge door.