by Toni Blake
And all the while, every second with him—for her anyway—had been fraught with sexual tension. That same need, that same hunger, that same sense of being incredibly drawn to him—and it multiplied at every small, incidental touch that came with something as simple as taking the brochure from his hand into hers. Does he really not feel it? Is it only me?
She still didn’t know the answer and had simply been flip-flopping between wild need and trying her damnedest to be cool and let that go, between still feeling attached to him and reminding herself she couldn’t be, that there just wasn’t any future in letting herself feel that way for a man who’d openly told her what they’d shared was only sex.
Now he was gone—when it had suddenly grown quiet outside, she’d stepped out the front door and taken a cautious stroll all the way around the house to find sawhorses empty and tools put away for the day; all was blessedly still and she was alone. Funny, just after they’d had sex, she hadn’t wanted him to leave her alone, but now that she understood the situation and had begun to accept it, she kind of did. At least right now, anyway. Maybe things would normalize in a few days, but for now she still felt awkward. And tense. And hurt. Which was perhaps stupid given that she had almost no history with him, but it was how she felt. So for tonight, it was easier to be alone. And curling up with Cathy’s thoughts and records felt like a sweet and romantic little escape from real life at the moment. More romantic than her real life anyway.
Unlike earlier reading sessions, now Cathy mentioned Robert almost every day, even if only in small ways.
I watched Robert hoe weeds from the garden again today. Just from that, my heart beats faster.
Today is Sunday, the one day of the week when Robert doesn’t work for us. Even Daddy believes it’s wrong to labor on the Lord’s day. But I wonder what Robert does all day out in that little cabin all by himself.
One glimpse of Robert out a window and he stays on my mind all day. Sometimes it doesn’t even require the glimpse.
It all made Anna’s heart beat faster, too, feeling Cathy’s emotions and letting them carry her back to her youth, to first crushes and first kisses and first love. Was anything in the world ever as poignant as that brand new, blossoming passion?
And then she turned the page and things began to get really good.
It’s Saturday, and despite Daddy’s insistence on keeping me away from Robert, I got to sit next to him in our old farm truck, all the way into town and back. Daddy and Robert were heading to the hardware store on town square for some new garden tools, and Mother insisted Daddy take me along to buy some sewing notions she needed. I wore my yellow gingham—it’s pretty and bright, without making me feel I looked like I was trying too hard.
The truck’s seat is awfully wide but the gearshift in the center of the floor made it necessary to put my legs on Robert’s side, nearly touching his. And the truck rides rough, and sometimes when we hit bumps it jostled us closer to one another. I whispered, “Sorry” every time I’d bounce into him, our shoulders or our legs connecting, but I really wasn’t sorry at all.
Within a few more pages, Anna realized that the summer between Cathy’s junior and senior years had already come and gone, and that school had started back. And it seemed that Cathy’s father had loosened up a bit by then, enough that Robert was permitted to drive her to school if an errand sent him in that direction, and more than once he picked her up at the end of the school day as well.
We had a real conversation today. He asked how my day was and then gave me the most melting grin to ask if I’d caused any trouble in class. “Me?” I said. “What kind of trouble do you think I would cause?” He said he bet boys were falling all over themselves to get near me, probably starting fistfights with each other over me. I blushed and told a fib, saying, “Maybe a few. But can I help it if they like me?” He said it sounded to him like they had good taste. And so I smiled and thanked him and said he must have good taste, too.
Turning pages, totally absorbed, Anna learned that from there, their conversations deepened. At first, they discussed simple things like music and books. Cathy told Robert her favorite novel so far was The Phantom of the Opera, which she’d read while staying with her cousins for a week last summer, because it was about people who weren’t afraid of their passions.
But soon Robert opened up to Cathy. Although he’d seemed hesitant to discuss it, when Cathy had asked about his past, he’d told her a heartbreaking story. His mother had died, and his father had remarried a woman who took an instant disliking to him, so much that his always stern father had soon seemed to feel the same way.
Robert had a little sister named Peggy who his stepmother fawned over, but it seemed the woman just didn’t want a son in the bargain. Before long, Robert had been hired out as a farmhand on a large farm fifty miles from his home in Iowa, all the money he made going to his family. And so he finally just ran away. And in the few years since, he’s wandered from place to place, town to town, picking up whatever work he can.
But the really amazing thing is that he isn’t bitter. He isn’t filled with hate, or sadness, or anything you might expect. Instead he told me he chooses to see it all as a big adventure, and he said one day maybe he’d even write a book about it all. And then he said the most amazing thing. He said that this chapter was his favorite so far, and it would be all about the pretty girl named Cathy who made him smile every time she came to mind.
Things continued like this for a few more pages—until finally Anna reached the inevitable moment she’d known would come.
Last night at dusk I snuck out of the house and went for a walk in the woods. I knew Daddy would kill me if he found out—but something was burning inside me, and I just had to.
I knew where I was going, of course, but I never even made it to the cabin—Robert had heard me coming and met me halfway. He said animals moved quieter and quicker than I was and he’d just had a feeling it was me. I got a little nervous then—Lord help me—and then I heard myself babbling, telling him how I’d just felt like saying hi, and how I’d missed talking to him because other than a few glimpses out the window, I hadn’t seen him in a week. He said he was glad I came, and that he missed me, too—and after that, we just talked, about everything and nothing. I told him Daddy didn’t like me being around him. And he said I should probably get back to the house before I was missed.
So we said goodbye, and I turned to go—and then the most wonderful moment of my life happened. He grabbed my hand, pulled me back toward him, and when I spun to face him, he kissed me.
It was simple at first—just a firm, still kiss on my lips. And it tingled all through my body like someone had lit a Fourth of July sparkler inside me. But when I just stood there after that, frozen in the shock of it, he kissed me again. He lifted both his hands to my face and gave me a slow, deep kiss just like in the movies. I almost didn’t believe kissing like that was real—it seemed too passionate to be true. But now I know it is.
After the kiss, he said, “Sweet dreams, Cathy,” just before I scurried back through the forest toward home. When I got there, I realized I was touching my lips, that I’d lifted my fingers there at some point without even realizing—maybe in some effort to keep on feeling it. Or maybe . . . to protect it and keep it safe.
Duke sat on a fallen log next to the lake watching the last remnants of the sunset streak the Ohio sky with vibrant pink light, and wishing like hell he could get Anna Romo off his mind. For a while she’d been nice to think about—damn nice. But now . . . it was too much.
Though admittedly it was mostly the sex on his mind. How the hell did a man stop thinking about sex like that?
When he’d woken up next to her it had been like . . . waking from a dream. A dream too damn good to be true. And pure impulse, some urge toward self preservation, had propelled him to quietly get up, go downstairs, put on his clothes, and leave. Because it had been one thing to give in to his lust in the moment—but hell, who could say how she saw things, or what
regrets she might have? And he supposed he’d just wanted to get the hell out of there, bring it to an end, before he could find out the hard way. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to risk her waking up, glancing over at him, and looking horrified by what she’d done. Or, more specifically, who she’d done it with.
When she’d looked so freaked out finding him at the front steps the next morning, he’d wondered if it was about his scar. If it was more noticeable in the morning sunlight than it had been in the late day shadows. If seeing him the morning after had made her second guess the decision.
After all, she was probably lonely, same as him. She was probably hungry for a little human affection, also the same as him. He didn’t expect it to mean anything, and he didn’t need for it to. He didn’t need to start caring about her, not in that way.
And hell, he’d taken Lucky’s sister to bed, something he hoped Lucky would never find out about. Funny—he’d never kept much from his best friend, but lately he’d run into more than one thing he didn’t care to share, even with Lucky, and now he’d created another. Some things were sacred, and a guy’s sister seemed like something you didn’t mess with.
All things considered, it had just seemed best to keep it simple, not treat it like a big, serious thing. Women always wanted to do that, but sometimes sex was just sex, just two people making each other feel good.
Mostly, that was what sex had been for Duke, his whole life. He’d had the occasional girlfriend, but mostly that led to jealousy and trouble. And as for being in love . . . Hell, he saw all kinds of people fall in love—he’d seen Lucky fall two summers ago—but he’d never experienced that himself and he didn’t understand exactly what it was. He knew about physical attraction to a woman, and even something visceral that grew from that into attachment, but he didn’t know much about romance, and that all just seemed like one more reason not to make this into something it wasn’t.
Even if the way he’d wanted her had gone beyond his understanding, or past experience. Even if he’d felt a real connection with her while they were doing it, something he’d seldom experienced before—if ever. Even if he’d felt somehow safer talking to her in bed in between the two rounds of sex than he had felt anywhere in a very long time.
It’s just because you thought you’d never have a pretty woman’s affection again, that’s all. It had just been . . . relief. Nothing more.
And maybe they’d even do it again.
But probably not. Because in retrospect, he could see how complicated it could get. Again, she was Lucky’s little sister. And regardless of who she was, he couldn’t really just walk away from her right now—well, not without it being a major life change when he was already in a pretty rotten place to begin with.
It doesn’t feel so awful with her.
He wasn’t sure where the words came from, only that he heard them in his head. And he couldn’t deny the truth in them. A life that had felt empty and broken before he’d run into her in the woods that day now felt a little better, and when he was in her presence even better still.
That seemed important. But he wasn’t going to let himself dwell on it and try to figure out what it meant. In fact, he was giving this far too much thought anyway. Quit thinking so damn much. Or think about something else.
But suddenly Duke couldn’t quite remember what he used to think about before Anna had come tripping her way into his little world in the woods here. What had filled his head then?
He thought back and found the answers. Mostly bad stuff. Anger. Painful memories. Helplessness. Emptiness. And he’d calmed himself by trying his damnedest to focus on anything else. Birds in the trees. Fishing. The smell of honeysuckle. One day he’d even taken a honeysuckle blossom and popped the liquid inside into his mouth the way his grandmother had taught him when he was little, the sweet-tasting burst on his tongue taking him back to a time and place when he’d felt loved, and safe. But it had only been a moment. One moment in time in the midst of what otherwise was mostly dark, black, ugly.
Until Anna had come along and filled his head with something better. Even when he’d been annoyed by her, she’d been a hell of a lot more pleasant to think about than other things. But maybe he could only admit that to himself now that some time had passed.
He thought about what to do now that it was dark out. He’d mostly found it easy to go to bed early here, and to rise with the sun—but he wasn’t sleepy yet.
And the truth was—he knew what he wanted to do. What he was itching to do.
The truth was—every time he’d seen her since they’d had sex on her couch and then in her bed, it had been all he could do not to grab her and kiss her and hope it would happen again.
But he hadn’t. For all the reasons he’d just thought through. She was his best friend’s sister. He didn’t need this kind of complication in his life, especially right now. And even if she’d seemed totally into him when they were doing it—hell, she’d even started it—he still wasn’t sure what that meant, what she saw in him, or how she viewed him. And frankly, he still wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He knew he was no good for her, not in any way that went beyond sex—surely she knew it, too.
So given all those good reasons for him to just head back to the cabin and call it a day, it was beyond his understanding when his feet began to lead him through the woods toward the big Victorian house.
“I Only Have Eyes for You” by the Flamingos echoed through the house. And mmm, what a sexy song—Anna had never quite noticed that until she sat there, caught up in the magic of Cathy and Robert’s first kiss. Her skin tingled just thinking about it, imagining how it must have been. She only now realized that at some point, it had gotten dark outside and the house was dark as well, except for the room she sat in.
When she sensed movement, she looked up—to see Duke filling the doorway. She hadn’t heard the screen door. She hadn’t heard anything. Only the sultry, seductive music.
It was a small room, so it took him only two silent steps to reach her. After which he bent slightly toward the easy chair where she sat, then lifted his hand to skim his knuckles delicately down her arm, from shoulder to elbow. The touch fluttered through her, all the way to her panties.
She wasn’t sure exactly when their gazes had locked, only that she felt captive within his. She tried to say something—anything. “I . . .”
But when she trailed off, he stopped any further useless attempt with a gentle “Shhh . . .” Then he said, “Spread your legs.”
Whoa. The command at once caught her off guard and turned her on. And she thought of protesting. Because if this was still only sex, if that was all he wanted, she had to say no. She had to. She’d just get hurt further if she didn’t. And she again began to speak, only without being sure what she was going to say. “But . . .”
His words came soft but certain. “Just do what I said, Anna.”
Anna. Had he ever called her that before? Other than when they’d first met and he was proving he knew who she was, she didn’t think he had, and it touched her—even if it was jarring to feel something tender in the midst of such thick heat. Despite the cool night air wafting lightly through the window, she’d begun to sweat.
And now she didn’t hesitate—she spread her legs. Because even if she knew she should say no, she also knew she wouldn’t. That she, in fact, couldn’t.
She knew, plain and simple, that fast, that she wanted him too much to resist, her heart be damned.
“ . . . he was shy and dared not confess his love, even to himself.”
Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera
Ten
There was something new here, something different. As Duke pressed his palms to her silky inner thighs—God, he loved those little rolled up jean shorts—it sizzled through him like sparks about to burst into flame. But it was a heat that was about more than sex. It was . . . something he’d never felt before.
He’d never made love to a woman so beautiful—but the newness here wasn’t about that. And
he wasn’t sure any one woman had ever aroused him so thoroughly, filled him with such need—but it wasn’t about that, either. Hell, he didn’t know what the hell it was that seemed to permeate his skin—his very soul—right now, he only knew that everything around him felt like more. Every color in the room felt richer, more saturated; every texture around them, in the curtains, the chair where she sat, the denim of her shorts, seemed somehow deeper, more touchable. The light in her eyes was more luminous, her skin tanner, smoother, softer.
The isolation he’d come to Half Moon Hill for was suddenly . . . a thing that felt all the more precious for being able to share it with her in this moment. He liked knowing they were the only two people anywhere near; he liked knowing they could take their time soaking in every nuance of what they were about to do together. And as for time—for Duke it stood still; there was nothing but this moment. No past with its bad memories and losses, no future wrought with uncertainties or loneliness—there was only now, a moment that felt like it might just last forever if he wanted it to.
He had no plan, no particular ideas of exactly how he wanted this to go—he’d come here on pure instinct and that’s what he was still running on when he leaned in to lower a kiss to her perfect inner thigh. And when she shivered a little in response, he did, too—and the want between them was so thick and heavy that he didn’t care if she saw. He’d left her the first time they’d had sex because it had seemed like the safe thing to do, and he’d been denying himself any of her since, trying to convince himself it hadn’t mattered, that it had been two bodies moving together, two people making each other feel good, nothing more. But the truth he found himself facing as he rained still more gentle kisses on her tender flesh was that the pull between him and Anna Romo was something more than that.
