“There’s a lake up here. It’s one of the few places around here I remember . . .”
“Fondly?” she suggested.
His only response was a shrug.
“Did you come here often when you were growing up?”
“Some.”
“With your family? Your friends? Your girlfriends?”
“My family never did much of anything together, besides go to church, which was pretty much a joke. We fought constantly—at least, my father and I did—but we were in church every Sunday morning and, by God, we pretended to be happy.”
“In avoidance mode, are we?” Nolie injected a teasing note into her voice but deliberately kept it gentle.
“I’m not avoiding anything. I’m answering in the order you asked. That covers family, so . . . yeah, I came here with friends a lot. We’d camp out, drink, go skinny-dipping.” The dashboard lights combined with the moon-and starlight to illuminate his grin. “Want to give that a try when the water’s warmer?”
Now there was a thought to make a woman hot. She’d never been skinny-dipping in her life—she was too modest by far—but the idea of a hot summer’s night, of stripping off her clothes and slipping into the cool water, of watching him do the same . . . She could use a cold shower just thinking about it. With her luck, she would be thinking about it in bed tonight . . . and tomorrow night . . . and the next . . . and all the while, she would be alone.
Who needed a cold shower when she could face cold reality instead?
“You’d better watch it,” she warned quietly. “One of these days you’re going to say something like that and I’m going to take you up on it, and then what are you going to do?”
He brought the car to a stop so slowly she hardly realized it, then turned to meet her gaze head-on. “Probably get down on my knees and thank God, and then make sure you don’t regret it.”
She couldn’t breathe—couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move. He looked so damned serious and sounded it, too, and she felt . . . exhilarated. Touched. Wary. Unsure. Cautious. Bewildered. “Don’t-don’t say things like that unless you-you mean them.”
“I never do,” he replied, still deadly sincere. After a long moment, he broke the contact and gestured ahead. “We’re here.”
While she was trying to get a grip on her emotions and shake off the daze that had settled over her, he got out, circled the car, and opened her door. Feeling suddenly clumsy at the prospect of getting out of the small, low-to-the-ground vehicle, she swallowed hard, took the hand he offered, and let him help her out, and without stumbling, struggling, or stepping on his foot even once.
The road ended in a clearing with the lake spread out before them and a grassy area in between. There were three concrete picnic tables and benches evenly spaced around the grass, and what looked like a beach straight ahead. Up close it wasn’t the most inspiring sight she’d ever seen, but the lake beyond, with the night-dark woods snugged close to its shores, with a few rugged bluffs across the way and the moon and stars reflected in its smooth surface, was really very lovely.
She started toward the center table and Chase, still holding her hand, came along. Once they were seated on the cement, still warm from the day’s sun, she sneaked a glance at him. “You never finished answering my question.”
“Questions,” he pointed out. “I answered two.”
“Did you bring your girlfriends here?”
“Yeah. A few times. Where did you and Jeff go when you wanted to be alone?”
“The back forty. The hayloft. The usual places you’d expect two farm kids to hide out.” She said it with a grin, only half-teasing. “Truth was, we didn’t need a lot of privacy. We didn’t . . . ah, do anything until our wedding night.”
“And you’ve never been with anyone else.”
He wasn’t asking but stating, so sure of himself. She didn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented. Did he think she would have a tough time attracting very many men, or only that she wasn’t the type to engage in indiscriminate sex? Deciding to believe the latter, she shook her head.
“I haven’t been with anyone since Fiona. I went to Howland one night, fully intending to pick up the first woman I saw, just to—to take the edge off, but I wound up going home alone. Do you want to know why?”
Oh, she did, almost as much as she was afraid to. She wasn’t like other women, confident women, who flirted and expected nothing less than the attention they got from men. She wasn’t accustomed to discussing sex with men, and she certainly wasn’t accustomed to tantalizing statements— get down on my knees and thank God, and then make sure you don’t regret it—from men like him.
He shifted on the table to face her. “Because they were the wrong women. They weren’t you.”
Nolie didn’t have a clue how to react—whether to look at him or speak, whether to laugh as if he surely must be teasing or to brush him off. She wound up nervously combing her hair back, then pressing both hands between her knees. Her fingers all but disappeared in the soft folds of fabric, then knotted tightly. “I . . . I don’t know . . .” She drew a deep breath that straightened her shoulders, then faced him. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. “Well, you didn’t shriek in dismay and run away. That’s a good start.”
There was humor in his voice, but she didn’t share it. Heat warmed her cheeks and butterflies tumbled in her stomach. She was, by turns, aroused, excited, and unsure. For the next few moments she wanted to be someone different—bold, daring, confident. She wanted to take what she wanted, to offer what she thought he wanted.
But she didn’t know how to be anyone but Nolie McVie Harper. Never bold or daring and rarely confident.
Bless him, he changed the subject and eased the tension holding her stiff . . . as well as fueled the disappointment that pumped through her veins. “What’s that constellation?”
She followed the line of his pointing finger up into the sky. It was impossible to know exactly which stars he was pointing at, but she dryly made the obvious guess. “You mean the Big Dipper?”
That quick smile came and went again. “It’s the only constellation that actually looks like what it’s supposed to be, to me.”
“Me, too,” she admitted. “I figure the others were named by wildly creative people. Their minds must have been frightening places.”
“Do you wish on stars?”
“Every night,” she murmured. “When I was growing up, my parents each had their own bedtime routine with me. Mom would read to me and listen to my prayers, and Dad would wish on stars with me. We’d choose the biggest, brightest star and say the rhyme Star light, star bright, . . . and when we got to the wish part, we closed our eyes and said our wishes silently.” She gave him a sidelong look. “Otherwise, you know, they don’t come true.”
“What kind of things did little Magnolia wish for?”
“That no one would ever find out my real name. That someday Daddy would change his mind and let me have a horse. That I wouldn’t have to wear my braces as long as the orthodontist said and my hair would magically turn brown and my skin would tan. Silly things.”
She sneaked another look at him and wondered if he was sitting closer than he’d been before and, if he was, which of them had moved. She didn’t remember either of them shifting position while she’d stared at the sky, but now he was close enough to touch. To sway a little to the right and bump. To hear the steady in-and-out of his breathing.
He was close enough that no effort would be required to lean across and kiss him. Just the slightest of movements, and gravity would do the rest.
Or was that chemistry?
“Tell me about your family.” She didn’t realize she’d even thought the words until she heard them in her own voice. Breath caught, she waited, half-expecting him to pull away, to grow stiff and distant and dismiss her request out of hand.
He did pull away, but not far—just got to his feet, then held out his hand to
her. She accepted it, stepped to the ground, then followed him across the grass to the water’s edge. The beach wasn’t much of a beach—a strip of sand about ten by fifty feet. Just past the distant end, the remains of an old dock glistened in the shallow water.
They stood on the sand, softly lit by the moon, and watched the water’s surface ripple as it lapped against the shore. Occasionally a fish plopped, and somewhere distant a boat putt-putted along. It was a perfect moment, a perfect night, a perfect place.
And Chase made it even more so when he tugged her down on the sand beside him, then finally broke his silence. “There’s not much to tell. My father sells insurance, my mother is a housewife, and my sister is two years younger than me.”
“What was she like?” While waiting for him to choose the answer he would share, she slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes into the cool sand. This would be a lovely place to spread a quilt on a hot summer’s evening, to share with a handsome man, a cooler of icy drinks, and, hanging in the nearby trees, a melodic set of chimes. Or to come on a chilly winter night, to build a fire and roast wieners and marshmallows and enjoy the heavy fragrance of woodsmoke. Either instance would, of course, call for snuggling and cuddling, for kissing and petting and making love under the stars.
The longing the images stirred inside made her sigh aloud.
Lying back, Chase pillowed his head on his hands and gazed at the sky. “She was Daddy’s little princess. Pretty, smart, reasonably adept at wrapping both parents around her little finger. She was everything they wanted her to be . . . and I was nothing they wanted me to be.”
Nolie’s only goal for Micahlyn was for her to be happy. Whether she went to college or not, whether she had a career or a minimum-wage job or stayed home and took care of her family . . . all that mattered was that she be satisfied with her choices. That was all any parent should want for their children. Why had it been too much to ask of Chase’s parents?
“The more my father tried to mold me into his image, the more I resisted being molded. The madder he got, the more rebellious I got and the more upset my mother became, because he was one tough bastard to live with in a good mood. In a bad mood, he was damn near unbearable.” He gave a shake of his head. “When I left home, I didn’t have a clue how I was gonna make it. I was eighteen, and the only money I had was what I’d made at a summer job after graduation, and my father had made it clear he wasn’t wasting anymore of his hard-earned cash on me. Even so . . . the sense of relief that I was finally free was incredible.”
Nolie shivered with a chill that came from the inside out. She’d loved her parents dearly, and they’d doted on her. She couldn’t begin to imagine the person she would be if not for their love and influence. She couldn’t believe the man Chase had become without that sort of love and support.
His fingers curled around her wrist. “If you’re cool, come down here and I’ll keep you warm.”
She gazed down at him, smiling, and shook her head. If she let him warm her, they would probably spontaneously combust, and who would take care of Micahlyn then?
“Are you afraid?” One fingertip pressed against her pulse, measuring her heartbeat, before he rubbed his fingers sensuously over her skin.
“Heavens, yes. I’m an intelligent woman. How could I not be?”
“Of what? Me? Or yourself?” His hand closed in a tight but gentle grip around her arm, and he began pulling her to the ground. If she really struggled, she could free herself . . . but she couldn’t find the energy, or the desire, to struggle. Instead, she let him draw her closer.
“Neither,” she lied. “I just think . . .”
He settled her against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. He didn’t try to pull her on top of him, didn’t try to touch her intimately or do anything inappropriate at all. He simply held her.
That was one of the things she’d missed most since Jeff died.
“You just think what?”
She wet her lip with her tongue. “I think you’re bored. And I’m not your type. And we want different things. And you could break my heart. And we don’t even play the same games.”
For a moment, he stiffened. She could feel it everywhere they touched. Then, with a deep breath, he deliberately relaxed again. “I’m not bored.”
Was that the only one of her comments he could dispute, or was he taking the remarks one at a time, as he’d done earlier? She didn’t wait to find out. “Of course you are. You’re smart, capable, and accustomed to working long hours at a demanding job and living a totally different life. How could you not be bored?”
“I needed a break.”
“And you’ve had it. Now it’s time to get back to living life instead of vegetating in the hammock all day.”
He didn’t admit to or deny that. Instead, he shifted until he could tangle his fingers in her hair. “Why do you think you’re not my type?”
She snorted. “That one’s not even open to debate.”
“I’ll give you some free advice—never debate with a damn good lawyer. You’ll lose every time.” Again he shifted, rolling onto his side, gazing down at her. “What do we want that’s so different?”
“You want to be alone. I want to have a family. You want to leave Bethlehem. I intend to stay here forever.” Any man she fell in love with was going to have roots planted as deep in Bethlehem soil as the giant tree that shaded her house.
She wished he would disagree with her, and really mean it, but all he did was nod slowly, because what she’d said was true. Before she could give in fully to the regret growing inside her for even bringing up the subject, though, he kissed her.
It was sweet, full of temptation and hunger and need, and it warmed her all the way through with that private little thrill that came with each new first kiss. It made her want more, made her think that risking her heart for more seemed a perfectly logical move.
Easing closer, he turned it into a teasing, tasting, exploring sort of kiss, as if he had all the time in the world to get to know her mouth and intended to take it. As her breathing grew short and ragged, so did her patience, but if she’d ever known how to subtly ask for more, she’d forgotten. When her nails bit into her palms, she realized that unclenching her fists might be a good thing, and touching him might be even better.
Blindly she raised one hand, brushed his shoulder, then slid her fingers into his dark hair. Lifting her other hand, she found, once again, his shoulder, then his throat, then his jaw. His skin was warm and prickly with beard stubble, and enticed her to touch more of him—much more, like the arousal pressed against her thigh—but she’d never been one to ask for a lot out of life. For the moment, this was enough.
It ended too soon to satisfy her, too late to save her. Chase freed her mouth, nuzzled her ear, then lifted a handful of the hair that had worked free of its clasps. “I’m glad your hair didn’t magically turn brown and your skin didn’t tan.” His voice was husky, his tone as velvety-dark as the sky above them. “Dark-haired women are a dime a dozen, and not one of them can compare to you for sheer loveliness.”
She couldn’t stop the choked sound. It worked free entirely on its own. “Loveliness? Is that what they call washed-out redheads these days? The same way I refer to my extra forty pounds as lushness?”
He didn’t argue, didn’t try to convince her of his sincerity. For a long time he did nothing but gaze at her, the expression in his eyes impossible to read but intense enough to send a few anticipatory shivers through her.
“If I thought you were fishing for more compliments, I’d be pissed,” he said at last. “You are the blindest woman I’ve ever known when it comes to yourself. It never occurred to Fiona that the entire world didn’t find her as beautiful as she found herself, but I’d swear it’s never occurred to you that anyone could find you beautiful.”
“That’s because I know I’m not.” She managed a fairly steady smile in spite of the fact that she would dearly like to believe he thought she was pretty. “I
t’s one of my better qualities. I see things as they are and don’t kid myself otherwise.”
He murmured an obscenity. “I see things as they are. You, on the other hand, suffer from skewed vision.”
“Skewed vision? When the rest of the world agrees with me, then your vision is the one that’s skewed. I try not to use the F-word very often—”
A frown narrowed his gaze as he apparently considered, then discarded, the obvious choice. “Which word is that?”
“Fat. It’s what I am. Not plump or chubby or generously proportioned. Not lush or plus-sized or ample. Just plain f—”
He kissed her again, cutting off her words effectively even though his mouth was nowhere near hers. No, he was kissing the delicate skin in the hollow where the swell of her breasts started—a simple, hot, open-mouthed kiss that turned her breath to vapor, and sent a shock of tingly heat all the way to her extremities.
When he lifted his head, his eyes seemed darker than ever. “Womanly. That’s what you are.” Idly he undid the first in the row of buttons that stretched from her neckline to hem, then nudged the second one open. His fingers explored the newly exposed skin, followed by his mouth.
Womanly. Whenever she’d bemoaned her weight, Jeff had always told her she looked fine. Her mother had sympathized with dismissive comments about unlucky genes, and her friends had shared their own laments. Even sixteen-year-old Trey Grayson had told her she looked fine.
No one but Chase had ever told her she looked womanly. Even if it wasn’t anything more than semantics, it made her feel prettier. More desirable.
“Never debate a lawyer, huh?” she repeated, her voice breathless from the kisses he was trailing along the upper edges of her bra.
“You’ll lose every time.”
And sometimes losing was even better than winning.
Chapter Eleven
IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN THEY RETURNED home. Chase’s cabin was dark, while only the living room lights showed in Nolie’s. He parked next to her station wagon, then followed her halfway up the steps before realizing that Raine was sitting in one of the rockers. Micahlyn was asleep in her arms, snoring softly.
Cabin Fever Page 21
