“Yes, he’ll leave me.” And God, how she already dreaded that final farewell. “But he’s not any of those other things. Maybe he was, back when he was a kid. But people change. They grow. You might not have noticed, but he’s bent over backward to make this sale possible. If not for him offering to hold the mortgage, I would have to move River Joe’s, pack up and leave the building where you first met Buddy. Would you want that?”
“No. No, of course not. But that doesn’t mean you have to get involved with him, or pay him with your body like a...”
“Like a common tramp?” The words came out low and hard, but since Ruth was suggesting nothing more than what Lyddie herself had said to Zoë, she couldn’t cast stones. “I was faithful to Glenn the whole time we were together. I never even fantasized about another man, except maybe George Clooney once in a while. But I’ve been alone for four years.”
“You don’t have to tell me how long it’s been.”
“I know, Ruth. And I know you lost even more than I did, and I don’t know how you managed to keep going. But we did, both of us.” She touched the faded blue cardigan Ruth wore around the house, no matter what the season. “We kept going, but I feel like somewhere along the line, I stalled out. I’m frozen in some place I don’t want to be. You, the town, everybody has this picture of who and what I should be, and I just... I’m afraid that if I don’t do something now, while I have the chance, that it will be too late.”
“Would that be so bad? Your life here isn’t that terrible.”
“No, it’s not. I have the kids, and you, and a business I enjoy in a place that I really do love.” She wrapped her arms around herself and moved away from the window. “But I don’t like what I see happening. To me, to Glenn’s memory. People keep forgetting that he was human. Think. Do you believe it’s normal for an old-maid school teacher to obsess this way?”
“Anna isn’t obsessed.”
“Maybe not, but if she’s making my kid uncomfortable, I don’t think she’s exactly normal.”
“There’s nothing abnormal about remembering someone. About respecting what they did.”
“If that was all it was, it would be fine. But damn, Ruth, it’s going too far. Glenn was a good man. So was Buddy. But we’re in danger of forgetting how real they were, of turning them into cartoon heroes. Is that what you want for them?”
When Ruth merely tightened her lips, Lyddie plowed ahead, uncertain if she was making things better or worse. “I don’t want that. I want my kids to know everything about their father, the good and the bad, all the things that made me love him, from the way he sang them to sleep to the way he could never remember to put the bread back in the fridge after he made a sandwich. I want to give them that, and let them know how much he meant to me, and make sure they never ever forget him.” With a long breath, she added, “But I’m still here. I want a life, too. Nothing will be helped if I act like I died when he did.”
At last Ruth turned to her, anguish clear on her face. “I can’t lose those children. You and the children are all I have.”
It would do no good to point out that this was J.T.’s other major attraction: that there was no time to build emotional ties, no worries about falling in love and upsetting everyone’s lives. All she could do was simply say, “I know. And I have no intention of taking them away from you. I’m doing everything I can to keep things the same, to make sure—”
But Ruth shook her head, her mouth working as she strove to hold back tears. “Don’t you see, Lydia? It’s not up to you. It’s him. That Delaney boy could make the angels themselves turn away from the light. If he makes up his mind that he wants you, then you’ll have no say. You’ll be gone before you even know what he’s done.” Her face crumpled as the tears finally fell. “And I’ll be left with nothing.”
With that, she fled into the hall, no doubt headed for her bedroom. Lyddie stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded at last by the solitude she’d yearned for earlier.
Solitude. But no peace.
* * *
IF THERE HAD EVER been a slower day in the history of humanity than Tuesday, July 16, J.T. didn’t want to know it.
It would have been easier if he could have forgotten what lay ahead. But every action, every sentence, seemed to take him back to Lyddie. From the first sip of his morning coffee to the moment he hustled through the dairy aisle at the supermarket, aiming for some half-and-half but coming to a dead standstill in front of the pudding display, she surrounded him.
And drove him crazy.
He hadn’t been this nervous in years. He wasn’t blasé about sex, but other than the usual will-we-or-won’t-we deliberations that came with new relationships, he hadn’t really worried about it since he was a teen.
But he’d never been anyone’s first time after heartbreak. Never been anyone’s way back to life. Never been so scared-out-of-his-brain in love that he could barely breathe when he thought of leaving her.
And that was what left his hands shaking as he paced the length of the cabin dock in the dimming light.
Would she show?
He’d meant what he said. If she’d changed her mind, well, he’d live with it, taking consolation in the fact that he’d been deemed worthy of even the thought. But God, how he hoped...
His footsteps echoed in the lonely night, a slow counterpoint to the rapid drumming of his heart. He’d spent a good chunk of the day at the cabin, stocking the fridge, sweeping out corners, making up the bed with fresh linens. Everything was in place.
Everything except his partner.
He reached one end of the dock. Paused. Checked his watch.
8:37 p.m.
Not late. Not yet.
Maybe he should call. Tell her that if she didn’t want to go through with it, it would be okay. That way she could stay home and watch a movie and they would still be able to look at each other in the morning.
Or maybe—
Gravel crunched beneath car tires. His heart dropped, rebounded and bounced ridiculously in his chest cavity—all of which he knew was physically impossible, but damn, it sure felt like it.
A car door closed. A soft voice called, “J.T.?”
One giant load of worries slid off his shoulders, making it easier for him to fill his lungs as he headed toward her.
It was time.
She stood uncertainly beside her car, clutching her purse tightly to her side.
“You’re here.”
Her smile was small but the tilt of her chin was determined. “I’m here.”
He followed the direction of her gaze. What was she thinking?
“It’s lovely,” she said at last.
He glanced at the small cabin, covered with cedar shakes and trimmed in deep hunter green. “It’s a nice little place. If it was a rainy week you’d go stir-crazy, but it works.”
“I tried to get Ben to describe it to me, but all I got from him was that it felt a lot bigger than it looked.” She took a cautious step forward. “It’s good that you got to it before it fell apart. It’s sad to see something so pretty go untouched.”
He lifted a gentle hand to her cheek. “Yes. It is.”
She closed her eyes briefly at the contact. For a moment he worried she would bolt. She leaned deeper into the caress and rubbed against his palm.
“Let’s go inside.”
He’d never heard sweeter words in his life.
He held tight to her hand as he guided her up the steps. “Careful. That second stair is a bit soft. I still need to replace it.”
“Okay,” she said, but didn’t tug her hand away, even when they reached the small porch. She glanced around, a small smile softening her lips. “Love the glider.”
It had been an impulse buy that afternoon, spurred by the memory of the chairs on her porch on the night when he first knew he wanted to kiss her. Putting it together had taken three frustrating hours and left him with a gash on his thumb, but with that smile, he knew it had been worth it.
He followed h
er into the one-room interior and tried to look at it through her eyes. To the right, a small kitchenette. Green-dotted curtains danced at the open window above the sink. Past that, a tiny wooden table, on which rested a place mat, two wineglasses and a corkscrew. She smiled when she saw the glasses. Over on the left, a cushy tan love seat and a side table gave the illusion of a living room. And tucked into the far left corner—
He saw the slight hunch of her shoulders, the momentary cessation of movement, and knew she’d noticed the bed. He’d lay dollars to doughnuts that her reaction hadn’t been prompted by the fluffy new tan-and-hunter comforter he’d picked up on his shopping expedition.
“Lyddie?”
“Uh-huh?”
“You want some wine? I have champagne, or there’s red if you prefer.”
She glanced at the wineglasses almost longingly, then shook her head. “Not now. Maybe later.”
Later...
“If you want to, you know, sit out on the porch and talk, that’s okay. We don’t have to—”
“Yes. We do.” She looked directly at him for the first time that night. “I won’t kid you, J.T. I’m more nervous than I’ve been in years. Maybe decades. But I’m not going to spend the rest of my life thinking shoulda-woulda-coulda.”
He remembered what she’d said to him the day she offered her proposition. I want to feel alive again. She looked it now, with her lips slightly parted and a combination of desire and determination sparking in her eyes.
“Okay.” He tossed his keys toward the love seat. The jingle was swallowed up by the deep cushions.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “That’s more like it.”
He debated yanking his polo shirt over his head and sending it in the direction of the keys, but decided against it. Instead, he took her by the hand and pulled her farther into the cabin.
“Come on,” he said softly. She tossed her purse beside the keys. He dropped into the love seat, patting his lap with his free hand.
“Come here.”
The look she slanted toward him was equal parts amusement and disbelief. “No way.”
“Way.”
“I’m too old for monkeying around like that. I don’t bend that way anymore. I’ll break your legs.”
“I’ll take that chance.” He tugged her hand. “Shoulda-woulda-coulda.”
Her laughter was full-bodied and utterly contagious. “No fair.”
“I know.”
“All right.” She moved in closer, aiming for his lap. “But remember, you can call a halt at any time. I’ll be okay.”
He grinned at having his words parroted back to him, but when she hesitated, he decided she was taking entirely too long. She was the one in charge but he had a few needs of his own. And right now, he needed her in his arms.
So he pulled. Not hard. Just enough to disrupt her careful descent and send her tumbling onto his lap.
She shrieked. He laughed. His arms went around her, steadying her against him. Just as he’d imagined, her head nestled directly below his in a gratifying fit.
“That was uncalled for.” The words were indignant but the tone was anything but.
“Had to show you my knees were up to the challenge.”
She rubbed her cheek along his jawline and peeked up at him. He saw mischief and wonder and awareness, all in eyes the clear blue of the river on a sunny day. It was enough to make him tighten his grip just a little, slide his hand just a smidgen farther around her waist.
“How about the rest of you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you said your knees are up to the challenge. How about the rest of you?”
She was warm and soft, she fit him perfectly and she made him laugh. If he hadn’t fallen for her already, that combination alone would have pushed him over the edge.
“Why don’t we put it to the test?” He tipped her chin up and lowered his mouth to hers.
* * *
WITH THE FIRST brush of his lips, Lyddie knew she’d made the right choice. Yes, she was nervous. Yes, she still couldn’t believe she was actually going to climb into that gorgeous bed with this gorgeous man. But with that first taste she knew it would be okay.
She leaned into him, reveling in the feel of his hard chest pressing against her. His lips teased hers and she arched up higher, sliding her hand across the stubble on his chin. He was rough and firm and hot, totally and completely male, everything she’d been missing in her life for too, too long.
Long-forgotten hunger flared within her. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss, her lips and hands demanding that he keep pace. For a second he matched her, nipping at her lower lip, sliding his palm higher up her rib cage until it rested one agonizing fraction of an inch below her breast. Then he abruptly broke away, his heart slamming against her.
“Lyddie? Are you—”
She cradled his face with both hands. “J.T., listen. You’ve been really patient and considerate and all that jazz. But the time for that is over.”
Way past over.
“Don’t hold back now. Don’t worry about me. I want this and I want it strong and fast and soon.” She took a deep breath and let her hand slide down his stomach, aiming for the hem of his shirt. “Real soon,” she whispered as she made a beeline for that mouth.
His lips closed over hers, meeting her heat and kicking it up a notch with his own. He finally, finally cradled her breast, satisfying one hunger while starting a new one. She pushed against his palm and moaned into his mouth and gave deep and abundant thanks that she had found the one man in a million who could follow directions.
She tugged at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin. But instead of helping he pulled her in closer, stymieing her efforts but—oh, yes!—sliding his own hand beneath her loose cotton blouse. She knew she’d chosen the right clothes the moment his palm glided across her back and curled around, teasing the side of her breast. The damned bra was still in the way but she thought she could handle it a few more seconds...until his finger slipped beneath the lace and she jolted against him.
But she still couldn’t get his shirt untucked.
She tore her mouth from his. “This is not working.”
“What?”
“Wait.” She pushed herself off his lap, stood, then reseated herself, straddling him this time. She’d planned to say something light and funny but it was lost to the sudden exquisite pressure exactly where she needed it most.
Damn, but she had missed this.
She gripped his shoulders and bowed her head into his chest and breathed deeply, knowing she was close to falling off the edge, desperate to make this last. She’d waited this long. She could hold on a bit longer.
At least she hoped so.
“Permission to speak?”
Laughter welled up and overflowed. She drew in another breath, deeper, steadier, and drew back just enough to see the smile playing on his lips.
“Surely I’m not that bad.”
“Bad isn’t the word I’d use to describe you right now.”
“Oh?” Feeling a bit more in control, she dared to inch forward, finally able to tug at the shirt. “Never wear this again. The color is good on you, but it’s too frustrating. What word would you use right now?”
Her fingers finally hit flesh. His stomach was smooth and firm to her touch. She tilted closer once more, resting her forehead against his heart.
“I think the word I’d choose is wanton. Or maybe irresistible.” His hands began an exploration of their own, gliding up her ribs toward the hooks of her bra.
Her hunger jumped up another notch. Or twelve.
She reached higher, searching, not even knowing what she needed until she brushed crisp chest hairs. The feel of them curling around her fingertips made her suck in a deep breath, filling her with his musky-woodsy scent.
Male.
He was undeniably, overwhelmingly male, made to fit her, to fill her. He was everything she’d needed for so long, the biggest chanc
e she’d ever take. And in the morning the only thing she would regret was the hours she would have to pass until she could fill herself again.
She sought his lips, opening her mouth in a desperate need to drink him in. She needed more. Everything he could give her, beginning with the feel of his skin against hers.
She pulled back, whispering words between the butterfly kisses she dropped on the corners of his mouth.
“Want to play a game?”
He unhooked her bra. “Oh, yeah.”
“Okay. Here’s the rules.” She grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head. Not that he was fighting. “First one to get the other naked wins.”
“You always play dirty?” He sounded a little choked. Lyddie wasn’t sure if it was because his lips were in her hair or because she was nuzzling his neck, but when his hands slipped under the loose bra and surrounded her breasts, she realized she didn’t care.
“Tell me this isn’t a new blouse.”
She had an idea where this was going. “Ancient,” she lied.
“Any sentimental value?”
“Only if you rip it off me.”
“You didn’t tell me you were psychic.”
He tugged. She raised her arms. He pushed the fabric toward her elbows. She gave a moment’s thanks that the setting sun had reduced the light to mere shadows, then his lips closed over her breast. She rolled her head back in the cocoon of blouse still surrounding her, arms trapped upright, whimpering at the rough scrape of tongue across aching, puckered flesh.
“J.T.!”
“Mmm?”
“Get this off me!”
“Sorry.” He moved to the other side, swirling his tongue in a slow spiral from chest to nipple. “I’m busy.”
So was she. Busy holding on to the edge he seemed determined to push her over, busy trying to tug at the blouse with arms she could no longer move, busy falling deeper and deeper into the need and the heat and the delight that was J.T.
“Argh!” She gripped fabric and wriggled, desperate to both free herself and wrap herself around him. But her brain had been fogged by the mouth nibbling at her nipple. She forgot that wriggling would only increase the contact in other places. Lower places. Places that demanded immediate attention as she worked to get herself unclothed and unfettered.
Now You See Me Page 18
