* * * *
She still breathed, her heart still beat, her body still felt the damp weight of him against her, so there had to be a basic resemblance to the woman she’d been before. But she knew...she knew she was different. She’d lost her heart. Somehow, when she flew apart in his arms just now the piece of herself she’d been trying so hard to hold on to had slipped through her fingers and into his.
What am I going to do?
The question arose from reflex. There was nothing to do. Too late now.
“Bette?”
“Hmm?”
“Come spring, I want to take you sailing.” He didn’t move from her, but he turned his head so his words wouldn’t be muffled against her skin. “You’d like it. Out on the lake. You can skim along the coast, watching the city. You know there’s traffic, noise and people with problems, but you’re far enough away that all you see is the beauty of the city, the strength of the skyline, the green of the parks. Or we can go way out, where there’s nothing but us and the water and the sky. Out in the middle like that, it’s a place to tell dreams and secrets.”
“It sounds magical.”
“It is.” Her content ruptured as he raised his upper body from hers. “Well?”
“Well what?” Without his body as a blanket, she felt the room’s chill.
He was nearly glaring at her. “Will you?”
His impatience fueled hers. “Will I what?”
“Will you go sailing with me next spring?”
The direct question surprised her, but also made her wary. She’d accepted his comments as vague daydreams in the afterglow of lovemaking. Paul Monroe didn’t make dates for spring when winter hadn’t even started. If she pushed the point, he’d surely back off. That would hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as the alternative. Because if she didn’t push the point, she’d be seduced by the mist of hope, with nothing substantial behind it.
“When?”
“The first fine Saturday in May.” No hesitation. Almost as if he’d been planning what to say before she asked the question.
“Yes, I'll go sailing with you the first fine Saturday in May.”
A smile lit his eyes, setting the green-tinted flecks glinting against the gray. “Then it’s a date,” he promised, kissing her with intent.
What had she done? What did it matter? The hope was so woven into her life, her heart, that she had no choice of holding herself off from him. She loved him. Completely. Undeniably. And maybe, just maybe, her hope would pay off.
“You know, there was just one thing wrong with this.”
She had a hard time taking in his words. “Wrong?”
“Uh-huh. You know, different from my fantasy.”
She’d caught the gleam in his eye. “Oh? What was that?”
“We were supposed to make slow, lazy love.”
“Hmm. You don’t think that qualified?”
“Not a chance. Guess we’ll just have to try again.”
She made a move as if to get up, although with him sprawled atop her she couldn’t budge. “Well, let me know when you want to give it another try, and I’ll see if I can schedule you in.”
He gave her an insolent look. “You don’t look too busy to me right now, and I think—” he flexed his buttocks and rolled against her where they were still joined, grinning wickedly at the moan she couldn’t suppress “—now would suit me just fine.”
Prelude to a Wedding (The Wedding Series Book 1) Page 45
