Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love)

by Gracen, Jennifer

  “Where you goin’?” he asked.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “Wanna come with me?”

  “You bet.” He grinned. A new spark lit in his eyes. He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

  He led her out to the stone veranda out of a side door. There were a few people outside, ignoring the brisk air to smoke cigarettes under the outdoor lights. The sky was dark now, pure black, and tall bright lights were aimed at the garden to illuminate it.

  “It got cool out here quick,” he noted. He glanced down at her exposed arms and asked, “Do you want my jacket?”

  “No, I'm fine for now,” she said. “But thank you for asking.”

  “Let me know if you get cold.” Sam hesitated, pondering their surroundings, before he said, “Let’s go this way.” He looked down at her to check that this was okay, and she nodded with an anticipatory grin and a glint in her eyes. The blood started humming through his veins. He grinned back, then led her across the patio, carefully down the side staircase to the grass below. It was dark there, a small, hidden place at the bottom of the stairs before the expanse of lawn that lay beyond and led to the brightly lit garden.

  Lydia stopped; they were still holding hands, causing Sam to stop in his tracks with a jerk. He turned to look at her, brows furrowed in inquiry. Even in the dark, he could make out her features as she stood there, just gazing at him. He stared back at her for a few seconds, smiled warmly, then stepped closer to her. Silent, she took two small steps backwards to lean against the cold stone wall; she pulled him into the shadows with her, her eyes never leaving his, the wordless invitation unmistakable.

  Sam went to her without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her before lowering his mouth onto hers. The kiss was slow, sumptuous, sweet. Her mouth opened under his and he touched his tongue to hers, tasting her. He traced his tongue along her bottom lip before he dove in for deeper kisses. A soft sound fluttered from her and nearly undid him. He kissed her deeply, learning her, savoring her. Her hands moved up slowly to his shoulders and he felt her fingers dig into him. His arms tightened around her.

  She touched his face as the kisses heated up and their desire grew more intense. Her arms laced around his neck, pulling him closer as she kissed him back, opening to him. He tangled one hand in her hair while the other lowered to her back to press her more tightly against him. His mouth was hungry, taking, searching, and a soft groan rose in his throat.

  She broke away, gasping. He leaned his forehead against hers, also breathing a bit heavily. They stood in silence for a moment as they tried to gather their wits.

  “Wow,” she finally whispered.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he revealed in a husky whisper.

  She smiled as she looked into his eyes and whispered back, “Then do it again.”

  He smiled back, leaned in, and brushed his lips against hers once, twice, advancing slowly. Taking his time, he nipped at her lips playfully before kissing her again, a softly powerful kiss. She welcomed him and nestled herself in his arms. Her fingers ran through the waves of his hair as she touched her tongue to his, as she gradually deepened the kisses and pressed herself against him. His hands slid very slowly down her sides, gripping her hips with gentle heat. He pulled her tightly against him once more as they luxuriated in the feel of each other. As the minutes passed, the kisses raged on, and their embrace intensified—wandering hands, demanding lips, whispered words and sighs.

  Suddenly he pulled away, almost in alarm. “Wait.” He cocked his head, listening for something, and asked her, “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Lydia asked, slightly dazed. All she could hear was her own heartbeat thumping in her ears.

  Somewhere close by, a little boy was giggling. “That,” Sam said, and turned around. His eyes narrowed as he watched his four-year-old nephew shoot past them to run across the darkened lawn, towards the garden, completely alone. “Dammit,” he muttered, reluctantly releasing Lydia. “I'm so sorry, I'll be right back.” He went after the little boy, breaking into a jog. “Zack!” he called in a strong tone.

  The child froze, caught, and turned to face his uncle. “Uncle Sam?” he asked in a small voice. His big blue eyes were wide with dread, knowing he was in trouble.

  Sam got to him in a few strides once the boy had stopped running. He crouched down to look his nephew in the eye. “Do your mommy and daddy know you’re out here?” he asked.

  Zack frowned, his lower lip jutting out petulantly. He looked down at the ground before he admitted, “No. I escaped.”

  “Oh, you did, huh?” He lifted the boy up into his arms. “Well, I’ll bet they’re pretty scared right now, not knowing where you are. Grandma and Grandpa too. Do you know that?”

  Zack nodded glumly, unable to look his uncle in the face.

  Sam shook his head, then gave Zack a quick kiss on the forehead, swung the boy up onto his shoulders, and headed back to the ballroom. He stopped at the bottom of the side staircase, where the lights couldn’t touch, the shadows where Lydia was waiting for him. She smiled warmly at his return. His belly tightened with lust just from looking at her, so luminous in the moonlight.

  “I have to bring him back to his parents,” Sam said in apology. “They don’t know he’s out here, he just took off.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Lydia said, emerging from the darkness. She offered him a broader smile before she looked up at the blonde-haired little boy and said, “Well, you look comfy up there.”

  “Uncle Sam’s real tall,” Zack beamed.

  “C’mon, you,” Sam said, tightening his grip around the boy’s ankles. The three of them made their way back up the stairs, across the patio, and to the ballroom.

  “ZACK!” Paige cried from across the room as Sam entered with the boy on his shoulders. She and Alec rushed over to them.

  “We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Alec scolded his son.

  Sam carefully swung Zack down from his shoulders, placing him onto the floor to stand before his parents. “I found him out back, running across the lawn,” Sam told them. “Glad I caught him.”

  Zack looked miserable, knowing what was likely in store for him.

  “How could you just leave without telling anyone where you were going?” Paige demanded of Zack as she threw her arms around him. Lydia instantly recognized the tone of her voice: a combination of relief and fury, the pooled emotions of a frightened mother. She’d used that tone more than once herself.

  “Sorry,” Zack mumbled. “I was bored, Mommy. You and Daddy were dancing, Uncle Sam was gone, Hope and Cindy wouldn’t play with me, Grandpa wouldn’t play with me because he said he was tired, and Grandma wasn’t there.”

  “God forbid Grandma gets to go to the bathroom,” Alec muttered.

  “You had us scared to death!” Paige told him sharply, eyes still wide.

  “Sorry, Mommy,” Zack repeated. He kicked at the carpet with his tiny shoe.

  “Thank you, Sam,” Paige said to her brother-in-law. “That’s the second runaway child you’ve lassoed this evening.”

  Sam gave an easy grin. “Not a problem.”

  “Why do my children keep running off?” Paige looked back down to Zack. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again, do you understand?” she said in a stern tone, wagging a finger at her young son.

  “I understand,” Zack said softly. “I promise, Mommy, I won’t do it ever again. I’m sorry I scared you.”

  Lydia couldn’t help but gape at the little boy throughout the exchange. Zack had said more in the past sixty seconds than Andy had in his entire life. Zack spoke in full sentences. He was, for the most part, grammatically correct. He was clear and easy to understand. He spoke like a typical four-year-old boy would. He was maybe six months older than Andy. The difference in their speech was astounding to her. She suddenly felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Her insides twisted as she listened to the conversation between Zack and his parents continue. Something wel
led up inside her; she tried to swallow it back, but it was threatening to overtake her. She was having a hard time catching her breath.

  “Excuse me,” she whispered urgently, and rushed away, almost in a run.

  Sam had been so concentrated on his family that he hadn’t noticed Lydia reacting to Zack. But when she spoke, he caught the pale, stricken look on her face before she whirled away from them. Without hesitating, he went after her.

  She was already out the door before he caught up to her. She just kept walking, her breath coming in short spurts, not looking at him.

  “Lydia, what’s wrong?” Sam asked. She kept walking without a word. He was at her side as she practically flew down the steps, back to where only minutes before they’d been enjoying the glory of each other’s lips, each other's arms. Once they were in the dark space, away from the veranda, away from everyone else, he grasped her by the elbow and whirled her around to face him. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin, hard line.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice low and slightly frantic. His eyes searched her face for a clue. His hands tightened on her arms, not hard, just enough to will her to look up at him. “Lydia. Talk to me. What happened?”

  She shook off his hands and shook her head no, stone faced and silent.

  “I’m not leaving you here like this,” he said firmly. “So just tell me.”

  “I have a son who doesn’t speak, Sam!” Lydia cried, a wail of anguish. She was breathing shallow, shaky breaths, the struggle to keep herself under control taking everything she possessed. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and tears spilled out of her eyes and onto her cheeks. She hated herself for them, and brushed them away impatiently as she said, “He doesn’t talk. I don’t know if he ever will. No one knows if he can’t, or won’t, but he’s got about ten words in his entire vocabulary right now and he’s three and a half. How old is your nephew, four? Practically the same age. And hearing him talk… so clearly… it just…” She pressed her lips together as hard as she could, trying not to lose it. Her whole body trembled with the effort. She closed her eyes and tried to just stop.

  “Come here,” Sam murmured, his deep voice a caress of kindness. When she didn’t move, he reached out and gently pulled her to him. She crumpled against him. He held her close, rubbing her back, kissing the top of her head. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

  She buried her face in his chest, took deep, measured breaths, and used whatever self-control she had to calm herself down. She did not want to fall apart—not here, not now, not in front of Sam, or anybody, ever. Feeling sorry for herself, or for her son, was not an option. Admitting defeat was completely unacceptable. But damn it, sometimes…

  Lydia kept taking slow, deep breaths, as many as she had to until the wave of angst subsided, and the tears finally dried in her eyes.

  After a few minutes, she pulled back, unable to look at him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, horribly embarrassed. “God, I’ve got to take it easy on the wine. I'm really sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he admonished quietly. He gave her an empathetic grin. “It's okay.”

  She shook her head. “I should go.”

  “I wish you wouldn't.”

  “Why?” She snorted, turned away from him, and wrapped her arms around herself. She stared at the patterns of the stone wall before her. “Why are you still here? Seriously, Sam. Why would you want to stick around for this? I'm all over the place tonight. I can't even keep up.”

  “Lydia.” He gently turned her back to face him. With a steady hand, he tipped her chin up with gentle fingers, forcing her to look at him. “You think I’ve never had moments like that?”

  Her brows furrowed in confusion.

  “Sucker punched. When you least expect it, something from out of nowhere hits you and brings you to your knees, like you've been sucker punched. The pain you thought you handled, that you buried, rises up without warning and threatens to bury you?” His eyes stayed on hers, intent. “The tiniest thing can set it off. And all of a sudden you feel like the ground’s been pulled out from under you, and you're flat on your back gasping for air. I saw the look in your eyes… Lydia, I’ve been there. I’ve been sucker punched like that. I get it.”

  She nodded, understanding that he probably truly did.

  “Still happens to me at least once a year.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his voice neutral as he revealed, “Last time I got sucker punched was the end of August, at the park. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, reading my book, and along came a family who settled in on the next bench over to eat some ice cream. Mom, Dad, two little kids, a boy and a girl. The mother had long, thin brown hair, very similar to Chelsea's. And BAM. I sat there aching, wondering if that would've been her and me by now, wondering what our kids might have looked like. I wanted to crawl into a hole. I managed to get up and go home. But it ruined the rest of my day.”

  Lydia could only stare at him.

  “So no apologies to me,” Sam commanded. “No nasty jabs at yourself. Just deep breaths, and getting back on your feet. Alright?”

  She nodded, overwhelmed. It occurred to her just how easy it would be to fall for this man if she let herself. Then she realized she was already starting to. Ah crap. She bit her lip.

  “Are you okay now?” he asked, his gaze searching her face, tentative. “Better?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “I am. Thank you.” She sniffed once, wiped her eyes, her cheeks. She didn't know what to say, and stared at him. “You're incredibly sweet, you know that?”

  The half grin spread across his face. “Glad you think so. Glad I could help.”

  “I do, and you did. You really do have that white knight thing down.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “Ohhh, man. I think I need to fix my face.”

  “Come here, I can help with that too.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. He gently framed her face with his hands, pulled her against him, and kissed her mouth with exquisite tenderness. She was slightly resistant, still mortified at herself, but he kissed her over and over, slow, deep kisses that simmered, sweetness mixed with craving. He didn’t let up until he felt her mouth open under his, felt her body start to relax and the tension slowly leave her limbs, felt her finally succumb and melt into his arms. Then the kisses deepened, started to burn with want. Once she seemed more herself again, and she was kissing him back with unbridled enthusiasm, he pulled back to smile at her.

  “I could get used to this,” he said softly, his eyes sweeping over her face.

  “Me too,” she breathed. She curled her arms around his neck and went up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his, luring him back in. He dove in without hesitation.

  They kissed until their kisses and caresses began to turn heated and hungry. The physical pull was electric, intoxicating. His hands moved along her body, taking, and hers did the same to his. A soft whimper escaped her, and it seared through him. His fingers tightened on her hips.

  But with difficulty, he pulled away. He buried his face in the nape of her neck, still holding her tightly against him. “Lydia, I have to stop now.” He smiled into her skin, then nipped at her earlobe as he confessed in a husky whisper, “Because I don’t want to. And if I don’t stop right now, I’m going to blow off the rest of this wedding and ask you to come upstairs with me, and I don’t know if that’s really what you want.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Wow. You don’t hold back, I'll give you that.” She pulled back so she could look into his dark eyes and saw the yearning there, raw and palpable. She felt the burn in her belly, seeing the desire she felt mirrored in his gaze. It delighted her, gave her a new jolt as the power of it rushed through her. She kissed him again, then took a deep breath and expelled it heavily. “Okay, honesty in return: I don’t know either. My body says, ‘hell yes’. My head says, ‘not yet, are you nuts?’ So I’m a little torn. And when you're close like this, I can't think
clearly at all.”

  A soft laugh fell from Sam's lips. “Good to know.” He kissed her once more, deeply, tenderly. “God, you're beautiful.” He caressed her cheek, then stepped back from her. He briskly ran his hands across his face to break the spell and exhaled with force. “Why don’t we… go back to the reception? Eat something. Drink some more. Dance a little. Spend time with our friends and loved ones. Go to the after party, to have some more fun and put in an appearance.” His eyes shone in the darkness as he moved in again and bent his head to kiss her neck, scraping his teeth along her skin as he added in a seductive tone, “Both of us keeping in mind that we’ll still be together all evening… and still enjoying each other’s company…”

  She shuddered in his arms. He slowly worked his way down her neck, to the hollow of her throat, and back up again. Her breath caught, the smallest moan escaped her, and he smiled at the sounds.

  “And then what?” she asked in a ragged whisper, realizing her arms had snaked their way back around his waist.

  “And then… we can leave the after party together. Or not.” He pulled back and looked at her straight on. “Whatever you want to do. I’m leaving it in your hands, it’s your decision.”

  “Oh sure.” She chuckled sardonically. “Put it all on me, make me the heavy.”

  “Lydia,” he purred. His voice was thick with desire as he told her, “I want you. I think I’ve made that pretty clear. I'd love to be with you tonight. All night.” His eyes smoldered. “But the thing is… you may be legally divorced now, but it's very new, and you're obviously still on shaky ground about some things. That's just an observation, not a cut. It's just that… I want you to be sure that if we went upstairs together, you were truly one hundred percent okay with it. So yeah, I'm leaving it up to you. It's your call. And whatever you decide, I’ll respect your decision.”