Chance Meeting

by Laura Moore

  25

  T he house emptied of Lizzie, Sam, and Emma, kisses, hugs, last-minute instructions, and waves of good-bye exchanged, Ty knew a sudden nervousness, a sudden longing to escape, to be safely ensconced in the backseat next to Emma, the easy acceptance of old friends soothing and effortless. She could flee from this man standing by her side and all he represented. Her voice came out a nervous croak. “I, uh, think I’ll take a bath.” She was staring fixedly into the distance, as if even now she could make out the long-gone Volvo.

  “I’ve finished with that list. Added a few names. If you like, we can go over it before dinner and hash out the details for the clinic.”

  “All right.” Dinner. Alone with him. No wall of angry silence separating them. Ty’s palms felt clammy. This time, the urge to run irresistible. “I’d better go.”

  His beautiful partner was a bundle of nerves and doing her damnedest not to show it. Steve knew her well enough now to read the distress signals. Her eyes had grown bigger and bigger as Sam maneuvered the car, one hand on the wheel, the other waving a casual farewell out the rolled-down window. Steve had caught her surreptitiously wiping her palms against the seam of her faded jeans, the slight stammer in her speech when she addressed him. And if by chance he’d been too dense to decipher those clues, Ty had lit up the stairs as though her tail was on fire, practically tripping over herself in her hurry to get away from him.

  He couldn’t blame her; he was nervous, too.

  With anticipation.

  It was thrumming through his system, making his skin itch, his heart ricochet against his ribcage. The kind of adrenaline rush he usually experienced before his number was called in a speed class. He was pumped, no doubt about it.

  But for the first time in his life, Steve was going to err on the side of caution. If he came on to Ty like gangbusters right now, she was going to spook. Better to let the passion build slowly between them, so she’d be with him every step of the way.

  How did a woman dress when she suspected, feared, and fervently hoped there was a ninety-nine-pointninepercent chance she’d be making love in a few short hours?

  Ty could ace a number of quizzes on the proper attire for all sorts of social functions—everything from corporate business meetings, to state dinners, to charity balls, to evenings at the opera followed by midnight champagne and oysters at a four-star restaurant. But what did one wear to a simple dinner, t?te-?-t?te, in a farmhouse on eastern Long Island?

  Did she go for the vamp look? Something so blatant it screamed, like a car alarm at three A.M., “Take me, I’m yours”? Hugely embarrassing if it turned out she’d misread the signs and, besides, not her style, anyway. But she definitely wanted an outfit that would pack a wallop, some sensual vavooom. Something that would have Steve willing to walk through fire just to touch her. There was the rub: she was going for subtle vavooom, much harder to achieve than in-your-face vavooom. She turned the spigot, adding hot water to the tub. The frothy layer of fragrant bubbles had begun to thin somewhat while Ty lay back against the porcelain rim, mentally reviewing the contents of her closet. Why hadn’t the proper outfit for a situation like this been addressed at her boarding school in Switzerland? An utter waste of four years. If things hadn’t been quite so crazy this afternoon, Ty could have hauled Lizzie in front of her closet and pleaded with her to pick out some ensembles—just in case—but that was hardly fair to someone who’d been bent over a toilet for a gut-wrenching hour. Besides, it was up to Ty to figure it out.

  Groaning loudly, Ty sank under the warm water, completely submerging herself. Feeling the soothing warmth around her, she briefly entertained the notion of simply staying put, lulled by a warm, watery bed. In all likelihood, she was getting bent out of shape over nothing. Steve hadn’t actually made any overt sign that he intended or even wanted to make love to her tonight.

  Confusion and the need to breathe had her breaking the surface with an annoyed sputter. This was nuts, embarrassing, pointless, and ridiculous. Either they were going to make love or they weren’t, Ty so thoroughly flustered that the glaring obviousness of this particular insight wasn’t immediately clear. Her thoughts continued rattling about, like useless foreign coins stored in a tin box. Toweling herself off, Ty adopted the following mantra: the bath had left her squeaky clean, she smelled nice, she wasn’t about to dig yesterday’s jeans from the bottom of her hamper. That would have to suffice in terms of her ability to excite and seduce.

  Almost an hour later, however, Ty’s room resembled ground zero for a natural disaster—correction: this mess was clearly woman-made. Heaps, piles, and trails consisting of bold splashes of color and texture marked the room, dizzying the eye. A Jackson Pollock of fabric and accessories. Yet, so far, Ty was only satisfied with her choice of bra and panties. Silk and lace from Italy, they were the color of a rich claret and as heady to the senses. Wearing them made Ty feel like sin incarnate. Definitely the desired effect, but at that point, Ty stalled, filled with indecision, looking around her, hoping for inspiration that had little to do with the divine and everything to do with the flesh. She heard the sound of her door opening and managed to grab the bath towel from her bed and shield herself with it.

  “Sorry,” Steve said, not sounding sorry in the least to find her standing there, the towel scant protection. A smile played over his handsome features. “I knocked, not too loudly, I admit. Thought you might have fallen asleep.” Then, somehow, he was already close to her, inches away, and Ty hadn’t moved, a startled deer caught in the mesmerizing blue of his eyes.

  “You getting rid of all your worldly possessions here, Ty?” His voice was husky, sending shivers along her bare skin.

  “Oh,” she started. “You mean this.” With one arm holding the towel firmly in place, her other arced over jumbled clothes. “Well, I . . .” Ty swallowed, her thoughts scrambled, as mixed up as the egg batter Lizzie beat this morning. To such a degree that what was uppermost in her mind was a bubbling sense of relief, euphoria that she no longer had to figure out what to wear. From there, the simple truth tumbled out readily. “I was having trouble deciding what to wear.”

  His gaze released her momentarily, casually inspecting the mayhem of Ty’s bedroom. Damn, had she been spending all this time figuring out what clothes could possibly enhance her beauty? For him?

  While during those long, excruciating minutes he’d been going slightly mad with impatience just to see her. He’d busted three Ticonderoga pencils, snapped them into little pieces, waiting for her to show, watching the hands of the kitchen clock move with agonizing slowness. His lips quirked at the absurdity of the situation. “Got a little secret for you, sweetheart. You could be dressed in sackcloth and baling twine, and you’d turn me on.” His smile, warm and intimate, spread, setting sparks off inside her as his eyes roamed over the large fluffy towel hiding her, the thin maroon straps hinting at what lay underneath. “This works, too.”

  Ty watched, transfixed as the gentlest of tugs from Steve’s finger around the edge of the towel had it slipping, then tumbling to the floor, as if of its own accord.

  “This works even better,” Steve observed in a hushed voice, more a reverential whisper. With trembling hand and breath suspended, Steve touched her. She stood in silent offering, her eyelids suddenly heavy, languorous, as his body met hers. His fingers spread, slowly tracing the gentle slope of her breasts above the scalloped edge of lace.

  She was devastating. Never had he known a woman’s beauty to affect him this way, to humble and arouse him until he had no thoughts but of her. The lines of her body were as smooth, as elegantly sinuous, as a marble statue. But where marble remained cool and unyielding, Steve’s fingers reveled in Ty’s supple resiliency, the pulsing heat of her skin. Craving more, lips joined hands, searching out the wild hammering at the base of her throat, the scented hollow between her breasts, that sweet haven where his medallion had nestled for so long. Beneath his mouth’s explorations and his hands caresses, Ty’s nipples peaked, strainin
g beneath deep red silk and lace for his touch. Urgency drummed madly with the need to see, to taste. In their haste, his fingers, usually so clever, fumbled with the front clasp, then stilled at Ty’s moan. Her head was thrown back, exposing the length of her neck, her hair a dark mantle framing her ivory shoulders. She was a vision, a glorious pagan vision. Her moan ended in a soft gasp of surprise, for Steve’s hands had swiftly changed their course, wrapping about her legs, her back, lifting her effortlessly until she was cradled against his chest. His mouth covered hers, their tongues dueled in a searing kiss.

  “My room,” he murmured, raining kisses over her brows, the tip of her nose, his feet already heading toward their destination. He cast a final, amused glance at her room, adding, “I’m not sure I can wait long enough to find your bed.”

  “Yours is bigger, anyway. I think we’ll need it,” Ty observed, surprising them both. Against her shoulders, his chest rumbled. “That’s my Ty, always thinking.” Her face warming unmistakably, Ty ducked her head. Only to find herself thoroughly distracted by the corded column of tanned skin.

  The feel of Ty nuzzling the base of his throat had Steve’s arms tightening involuntarily, and his steps quickening.

  She was undressing him with exquisite slowness, as though he were every present rolled into one, indulging herself, pausing to nibble at his heated flesh, looking long and hard, touching, tasting again, as each golden inch was revealed to her. By the time Ty removed Steve’s shirt, he was shaking, bright flags of color staining his cheeks, his eyes glittering in the subdued light of the bedside lamp.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Ty breathed, her hands gliding over the sculpted contours of his chest. Beneath her palms, Steve’s lungs were working like bellows, drawing in deep draughts of air. She smiled at the novel sensation, amazed she affected him so. The power she wielded was heady. Testing it, her fingers spread, lightly tracing the ridges that delineated his ribcage, thrilled when he shivered, started, and dragged more air into his lungs.

  “Ty, I’m dying here.” Though his voice was raw with need, Steve made no move to stop her exploration.

  Ty laughed softly. “Oh, no,” she contradicted happily. “You seem very much alive to me.” Her gray eyes watched as the tip of her nail followed the beguiling path of dark blond hair leading from his stomach to where it disappeared behind the top metal button of his jeans.

  With the same agonizing deliberation, Ty’s fingers set about a new task, freeing one flat metal button at a time, pausing now and again to brush against the rigid proof of his arousal straining against the denim. When her fingers reached for the last button, Steve’s hands grabbed her wrists, stopping her. “Ty, look at me.” The harsh, barely controlled timbre of his voice causing liquid heat to pool in Ty’s center. His face, too, thrillingly different now, stark with passion. “I need to know,” he commanded softly, his eyes searching hers. “Have you done this before? It’s a question of pace here, sweetheart. If this is your first time, I don’t want to rush you. Problem is, you’ve got me real close to the edge.”

  A quick shake of her head. “No, never,” Ty whispered. She searched his face for a sign of disappointment, relief flooding her as his lips sought hers in a kiss more eloquent than words. She was his. Only his. A fierce possessiveness had swept through Steve at Ty’s whispered admission. His heart pounded with the knowledge. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible. A beautiful woman like you,” he murmured, his lips freeing hers with a smile.

  “Well, it wasn’t as if I actually planned to be a twenty-five-year-old virgin or anything,” Ty replied, discomfited. “A long time ago, in Switzerland, I came awfully close. But then I realized I was about to do something for all the wrong reasons, the principal motive being revenge. It seemed pretty ridiculous to have sex with someone just to spite my father.” She ducked her head. “Fortunately, the boy I was with was quite understanding. Since then, though, I haven’t been involved with anyone I care enough about to trust.”

  “And you trust me?” His hands were framing her face, lifting it so that he could look deeply into her eyes, captivating in the half-light.

  “Yes,” she said simply, loving the feel of his hands against her skin. Loving him. With a wistful smile, she continued, “I obviously can’t pretend any vast sexual experience. On the other hand, it seems as though since about a week ago, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, how wonderful it’d be to have you touch me like this.” At that her body swayed closer, her lips parting in a sigh of pleasure as his arms enveloped, his hands welcomed her, proving her words. Her eyes drifted shut, lost in sensation. His lips brushed butterfly kisses over her closed lids. “This could be pure coincidence, but I’ve been thinking pretty much the same thing. Seems to me it’s time to put thoughts into actions.”

  “Oh, yes,” was all Ty managed before Steve captured her mouth, his tongue now mating feverishly with hers, setting off fine tremors within her. Ty’s arms lifted, encircling his neck, pressing urgently, wantonly against him.

  He urged her even closer, inviting her to feel the bold heat of his erection. He heard her breath catch as his hands, after beguiling her with lazy caresses, reached their destination. Apracticed flick of his fingers had Ty’s bra falling away.

  It was beyond exquisite, the feel of his strong hands covering her, replacing the silken barrier, the feel of her aching nipples pressed against his palms. Ty arched closer, her breath shuddering, mixing with Steve’s as hands and mouth claimed her.

  With heated whispers and broken moans, Ty and Steve fell as one onto the enormous bed, rolling, limbs entangled, locked, and gloriously naked. Delirious with pleasure, Ty’s senses were overwhelmed. By Steve’s mouth, his hands, the feel of his hard body moving over her, by the needy, heated words whispered in her ear.

  Blindly, Ty reached for him, guiding him to her, whimpering in frustration when he resisted, pulling back to sit on his heels, depriving her of his glorious weight. An inarticulate cry escaped her lips, her eyes pleaded, and her arms reached to draw him back down.

  With a fiercely gentle smile, Steve’s hand smoothed her brow, his, too, damp with sweat. “Shh, easy, love. Just a sec, I promise. You need protection.” He leaned over and pulled the nightstand drawer open, retrieving the small foil packet. The smile turned roguish, quickening her breath. “Would you like . . .”

  “Oh, yes, please.” She sat up beneath him, an eager student.

  Steve grinned. Always polite, his Ty. The grin vanished, as he sucked in his breath, nearly undone. Polite and wonderfully imaginative, too. Her hands were carefully smoothing the condom over his shaft. Task complete, they were in no way finished with him. Sweat beaded his forehead as she handled him boldly, exquisitely.

  Submitting for as long as he could, Steve shoved her gently back down onto the mattress. “My turn now.” A wicked promise. Moving down her body, his tongue and teeth sampled, tasted, blazing a fiery trail along the silky-smooth length of her, until at last he reached the apex of her thighs, the dark nest of curls. A feathery touch, and his fingers came away wet with her slick heat. He murmured his approval, but knew he wanted more for her. He wanted to give her everything. One finger sliding, then two, her broken cries at the feel of him inside her the sweetest sound. Almost there. They slid upwards, stretching gently, pushing, as his mouth descended, finding her.

  Ty’s scream of pleasure filled the room, her climax breaking, ripping through her. Hips lurching off the bed, Steve’s mouth and fingers following, absorbing her violent tremors. Then, as her body began to settle, he was over her, knees spreading hers wide. Feeling his fingers withdraw, Ty half sobbed, half whimpered, her body instinctively following.

  God, she was tight. “Ty, look at me.” Their eyes locked at the roughly whispered command, as Steve positioned himself and pushed inexorably into her slick heat.

  She was panting beneath him, eyes as huge as a gray dawn, lips swollen from his kisses, so beautiful he thought his heart would never be the same. “Kiss me, Ty.” As he captured
her mouth, his hips flexed, thrusting deep past the barrier, imbedding himself. That decisive movement sending her beyond words, beyond thoughts, beyond anything she’d ever known before.

  She was draped over him, one knee bent across his leanly muscled thighs, her breasts pressed against him, watching with rapt fascination the meandering pattern her index finger traced across his chest, around the flat circle of his nipples, and down the taut line of his stomach. Steve’s own hand was moving, too, stroking the length of her back, the gentle slope of her buttocks, back up her spine. His heart thudded steady and strong in his chest, at last having resumed its normal rhythm. A smile had been growing on her face with each kiss and every languorous lathing of her tongue over Steve’s cooling flesh. At last a giggle escaped, quickly muffled by another kiss.

  “You’re, of course, going to tell me what’s got you so happy. Besides the obvious, though any and all compliments would be much appreciated.”

  “You, Steve, are the very last person to require ego stroking,” Ty replied, lifting her head to brush his lips with hers, the smile in her eyes, too. “But here goes. I was just thinking that this was most definitely worth waiting for.” Her voice became low with emotion. “And that I’d have been willing to wait a lifetime if it meant I could be with you, like this, even once.”

  “Thank you, Ty.” Hands no longer directionless reached, pulling her under him in a single fluid motion, then lifted to cradle her face. Lips melded, sharing honeyed happiness. “Thank you,” Steve murmured huskily again, “for coming into my life.”

  P ART 4

  26

  “ Y ou certain you can handle a stick shift? It’s not like your Bug, you know.”

  Steve was fingering the collar of her shearling coat. She shivered in helpless response, her body now so sensitized to his touch that even the light caress across that area, where her hair was drawn back and held in place with a thick barrette, had Ty trembling, desire stirring deep within her. A desire that seemed infinite, neverending. Ty remembered how easily Steve had summoned it only a short time ago. Rousing her from sleep into the heated bliss of his lovemaking. Her body felt it still. Tingled and ached ever so sweetly.