She was still shaking with need when he was finished. It was the first time in his experience with the opposite sex that he realized he had failed somehow. He had held her close and kissed her eyelids even though all he wanted was to fall asleep in the moonlight. He was shaken with guilt and with his own response to her. He wanted to help her, give her back some of the pleasure he had taken from her, but he hadn’t known how.
Slowly she had calmed, as ignorant as he was about how to gain her own satisfaction. They had lain quietly together in the moonlight, and finally he had said the only thing he knew to say. “I think it’ll be better next time.”
She had giggled then, a musical ripple that mimicked the river. “You take a lot for granted, Sloane Tyson. What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”
He had expected tears, not the playful, joyous sound of her voice. His guilt had disappeared, replaced with a desire to discover how to make it up to her. “There are going to be many next times,” he had told her. “More than you can count. And you’re going to love every one of them.”
“It wasn’t what I expected.” She had sat up, pulling her long hair over her shoulders to hide her breasts from his gaze. “I knew it would hurt, but I thought after that I’d feel something else.”
“What did you feel?”
She had frowned, and the moonlight had traced the lines in her forehead in molten silver. “Like I wanted to explode.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Come back here.” He had pulled her next to him against her protests and settled her in the crook of his shoulder. Then his hands had begun to wander the hills and valleys of her body once more, settling at last on the place that had once been forbidden him.
They had learned together what pleasured her. It had taken time to get it right, but once they both understood, her release had come quickly. Afterwards the tears had come too, mixed with the sounds of her laughter.
And proud? God, he had been so proud. Prouder than he’d been the first time he’d taken a more than willing girl in the back of his uncle’s pickup. Nothing he’d ever done in life had made him prouder than the pleasure he’d given Elise that night. On the banks of this river. On the crystal sand that led out to the water where Elise now stood, her face turned up to the stars. Eighteen years ago.
Sloane was so lost in memories that for a moment he wanted to call out to her, tease her as he had that night when he’d helped her slip on her bathing suit and beach robe before he walked her home.
And perhaps she wouldn’t find it strange if he did. Perhaps she too was lost in her memories as the moonlight bathed her face and reminded her of another star-filled night.
Shaken with the desire to go to her and yet knowing that he should disappear back into the jungle behind him, Sloane stood on the riverbank and waited.
Elise stretched her arms to the sky and slowly twisted back and forth, her hair brushing the bare skin of her back. The stars were cascades of fire tonight, and she could almost feel their brilliance. They fed the ache inside her, as did the warmth of the summer breeze and the feel of her hair tickling her wet skin.
The icy temperature of the river had done nothing to release the tension inside her. She knew she could swim the length of the Wehachee and she would still feel this restless energy. It promised to keep her awake for the length of a hot Florida night.
Where could she run where memories wouldn’t follow? The answer didn’t matter because she hadn’t even tried. Instead she had run right to the memories. She had chosen this place where she had first lost herself in Sloane’s arms, and that had been no accident. She had come here in the years that Sloane had been gone but never on a night like this one. Never to torture herself with reminiscences of the moment she had become his.
She had come tonight because the pain of stifling memory was worse than giving into it. Today Sloane had destroyed what they had once had together, and so tonight she would remember before she put the past behind her forever. It was the only way to live with his presence in the coming year. She had to tear down the shrine to the past that she had erected. Then she could move on with her life.
But it was so hard. Tears she hadn’t known she still had to cry sprang to her eyes. Until this moment she hadn’t realized just how tenaciously she had clung to a memory of a boy and girl in love, making love on a riverbank of sparkling sand with cold, cold water lapping at their feet.
Sloane had been so gentle. All the things she had believed about him had been true that night. He had been sensitive to her feelings, eager to give as well as to take, lost in wonder as her secrets had unfolded to him. And she? Well she had been lost, too. Lost in doubt and uncertainty until she understood that he loved her. She had known for months that she loved him, but he had never told her until that night.
And he had loved her. She still believed it. The man, Sloane Tyson, was a creature who seemed to have forgotten the meaning of that word. But the boy, ah, that had been a different story. The words had been wrenched from deep inside him, and he had never called them back.
Elise crossed her arms behind her head and lowered her gaze to the opposite riverbank. Life, she decided, was like swimming across the Wehachee. Even if she turned back to find a place she’d once been, it was never the same. The water flowed on, changing everything. She could remember her first night in Sloane’s arms. She could remember subsequent nights. But nothing would bring them back; life and the river flowed on, and if she turned back she would find that her past had disappeared in the current. She had to keep swimming and not to flounder in the cold, clear depths looking for something that wasn’t there.
A single tear trailed down her cheek. She bent to splash water on her face, and her tear mingled with the river. She took a shaken deep breath and then another. Finally she turned to find her way back to the bank.
A man was standing on the sand watching her and for a moment Elise was afraid. Then, even from a distance in the moon and starlit darkness, she recognized the shape of Sloane’s body and the way he held his head. He had stood that way as a boy, legs spread slightly apart, hips jutting out and shoulders thrown back. It was a cocky stance, one that had always said so much about Sloane Tyson. It had been just one of the things she had loved.
How could she forget him when he was everywhere? How could she erase memories of the teenage Sloane when the adult haunted her every footstep? Sloane taunted her, accused her of clinging to him through his son, and yet he stood watching her on the riverbank where he had taken her innocence. A surge of righteous anger carried her through the water to stand in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” She was proud of herself for not bothering with the amenities. What was between them was too long-standing, too elemental for false politeness.
Sloane took a deep breath, forcing the air out of his lungs with measured precision. Did she know that he was so out of touch with reality at that moment that he wanted to reach out to her and pull her against him as if all those years had never existed? He knew she was angry, that his behavior earlier that day and his unannounced presence on the riverbank had fueled fire inside her. He also knew that anger was a good thing. It could keep them apart, keep him from mistaking her for the seventeen-year-old girl he had once made love to on this beach.
But if that was true, why couldn’t he say the words that would turn that anger into an inferno to burn away their past and sever the bonds between them?
He stared at her. She was still so lovely. Maturity had blessed her. To look at her was to know that she was no longer a girl, no longer truly young. To look at her was not to confuse her with the Elise Ramsey he had taken on this riverbank, but rather to know something else. This Elise Ramsey, the one who stood in front of him with eyes like a Florida thunderstorm, was a woman of power, a woman whose mature body could hold a man in captivity while her tongue assured him that he was free to go anytime he chose.
“Sloane, damn it,
I asked you a question. Stop staring at me!” Elise slapped her hands on her hips and straightened her spine.
He could not stop himself. He reached out and touched her hair, wrapping a long strand around his hand. “I came to swim. And to remember. I think I knew you’d be here.”
She recoiled as if he’d struck her. “Don’t say that.”
“You didn’t want the truth?”
“Don’t taunt me. We both know your command of the language is better than mine. You don’t have to prove it.”
“I wasn’t taunting you.” He wrapped her hair around his wrist again, like a fisherman with a prize fish on his hook. “I came here to swim. And I stood on the riverbank and remembered the first time we made love and how you felt beneath me.”
She shuddered, closing her eyes. “Don’t.”
“Why not? Have you forgotten?” He stepped a little closer. There were beads of water on her face, and they shone in the pale light of the moon. Gently he traced them with his index finger, connecting them like a child connects dots in a puzzle.
Elise tried to turn her head, but his hand still held her hair. “I’ve remembered so much about you, but until today I’d forgotten how cruel you could be.”
“Until today, I was never cruel to you.”
“You shut me out of your life.”
“Some would say that was kind.”
“Maybe they’d be right.” She stopped trying to pull away and waited for him to free her.
“I don’t know why I tried to hurt you today. I wish I could take back my words.”
She was surprised by his apology. The Sloane she’d known never apologized; he’d always been sure he was right and that he had the right to say anything he chose. She opened her eyes to examine his face. There was an expression there that she’d never seen before. Regret. And on his face it was oddly attractive. She tried to harden her heart, to think about cold river water changing and flowing, destroying the past.
“But I wasn’t trying to hurt you when I told you I stood here remembering another night,” Sloane continued. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you then.”
“What do you remember?” she asked him softly. “A foolish girl in love giving in to a boy who had no intention of keeping his promises?”
“I promised to take you with me. I never promised to stay in Miracle Springs.”
“I would have gone if you’d given me time.”
“No. You wouldn’t have. I understood that even if you didn’t.”
“Did you care? Wasn’t it a relief to be free of everything—including me?” She stepped a little closer, imploring him to tell her the truth, to ease the guilt she still carried over her own lack of courage seventeen years before.
“Free?” He laughed, but the sound was bitter. “I was never free. Not for years and years. There were always other women, some who looked like you but weren’t you, some, like my ex-wife, who were your opposite in every way. No, Elise. I told you before. You kept a piece of me here with you, and I never got it back. I was only free again when I learned to function without it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you asked. And because tonight I can’t remember who I am and who you are and what year it is.” His hand wound further into her hair and he pulled her closer. “Help me remember,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Sloane, don’t. Things are bad enough.”
“Or good enough.” He breached the final distance between them. “It was good. Do you remember how good it was?” His lips nudged her earlobe as he whispered the words.
She jerked away from the length of his body against hers, but he stalked her, his free hand holding her still as his body found hers once more. Elise knew she was trembling, and she knew Sloane could feel it. But more than that, she knew she was no longer resisting. Past and present were united by moon and stars blending one into the other as Sloane’s body blended with hers.
“So good,” he whispered again. Then his lips trailed along her jaw line, finding their way to her mouth. The soft brush of his mustache was different, and the feel of his body, larger, broader, was different too. But everything else about him was achingly familiar. She stood perfectly still, not breathing as his lips neared hers. Then she sighed as his mouth moved over hers, tasting her sweetness like a man who has been so long denied his desire that he isn’t sure what to do.
She had expected an onslaught of passion, a skillful exhibition of his prowess. She had expected him to try and prove just how many years had passed and how much she had missed. Instead the kiss ate away all her defenses with its genuine hesitation. Elise realized that Sloane was as moved as she was by the night and by their past. The kiss was not to conquer, not to belittle. The kiss was simply a tribute, a reminder of something beautiful that was no more.
She felt herself relaxing in his arms. Her body softened against his, and her hands rested lightly on his bare back. His skin was warm and smooth, still firm and muscle-padded. His mouth was familiar, his smell, his taste, familiar too. She wanted to know more, to deepen the kiss and lose herself in the knowing. But she was hesitant, just as he was.
He pulled his mouth from hers without letting her go. His eyes searched hers in the near darkness. “Kissing you doesn’t help. I feel like I never stopped.”
“But you did.”
‘Tm trying to remember that. I’m trying to remember that we have to stop now.” He untangled his hand from her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “We’re not the same people.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” Elise moved her fingertips lightly along his spine. She wanted to prolong the moment, to create another memory.
“I didn’t come back to Miracle Springs to start this all over again.”
“I never thought you had.” Her hands traveled around his chest, smoothing a path to his shoulders where she rested them lightly. “I wasn’t even sure you’d remember my name.’’
“I remember everything.” Sloane stepped back, and Elise’s hands dropped to her sides as he said, “I remember things I shouldn’t.”
“It was all so long ago.” She tried to smile.
“Just for tonight, turn back the clock with me.”
The words were a surprise, just as his presence and his kiss had been. “How?”
“Swim with me, like we used to do.”
“I’m tired, Sloane. I’ve had enough.”
He extended his hand in supplication. “Please?”
“We’ll never be seventeen again.”
“We’ll never be many things we’ve been, but tonight we can remember.”
She could not refuse. Reluctantly she placed her hand in his. “Tonight we’ll remember.”
Perhaps tomorrow would be soon enough to try to forget.
CHAPTER SIX
Sloane stopped in the middle of the river and waited for Elise to catch up with him. They had moved in silence through the dark water, changing their strokes to suit each other’s pace. Now Elise was lagging behind, and Sloane knew she was tired. He treaded water as she caught up with him.
“Put your hands on my shoulders and rest,” he said when she was beside him.
Elise hesitated. The intimacy of swimming side by side with him, their bodies brushing, had been greater than the hesitant kiss they had shared. Here, in the middle of the river, it was harder to put their past in its proper perspective. “I think we should turn back. I don’t want to be gator bait.”
“It’s too civilized for gators. And too cold.”
“You’ve been away too long. We see alligators in this stretch of the river and moccasins too. I rarely swim this far from the springs.”
“Why’d you come here tonight then?” Sloane grasped Elise’s hand and set it on his shoulder. Then he reached for the other one and did the same.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you always swim with your hair loose like that? I remember you’d always braid it in prissy little braids before you’d go in the
water.”
“And you’d unbraid it.”
“You were my mermaid with your hair loose floating behind you as you swam.” He fingered a long tendril. “I’m glad you didn’t cut it.”
“I’ve thought about it. More times than I can count.”
“Some things should never change.”
“A peculiar sentiment coming from you.” Before she realized she’d done it, Elise reached up to trace the thick mustache, beaded now with drops of water. “How long have you had this? I don’t remember seeing it in your publicity photos.”
Sloane smiled. “You looked at photos of me?”
“I told you I read your books. I couldn’t miss the man on the back cover.”
“I grew it when I found out I was a father. I decided it would make me look more paternal. What do you think?”
“It makes you look like someone who keeps a gun under his sport coat and a dagger strapped to his ankle.” She traced the gleaming mustache once more. “I like it. Now you look as dangerous as you are.”
“As dangerous as alligators and water moccasins?”
“Infinitely more.” She pulled away to begin her swim back to shore, but Sloane stopped her.
“Don’t go yet. We haven’t completed the ritual.”
Elise knew what was coming. “Nostalgia time is over, Sloane. We’re grown-ups now.”
“I don’t feel grown-up. Do you?” He pulled her against him until her breasts fitted perfectly against his chest and he was treading water with one hand. “Do you remember all the times we did this?”
“Sloane, don’t.”
“That’s exactly what you always said.”
“We’re going to drown.”
“That’s what you always said next.”
“I mean it, Sloane.”
“So do I, Elise. Take a deep breath.” He covered her mouth with his and they sank beneath the surface. Elise clung to him for support although there was no support to be had. She was dizzied with the sensation of his warm body in the cold water and his mouth drinking the breath from hers. When she thought her lungs would explode, he propelled them both to the surface.
Season of Miracles Page 9
