Moondance

by Judith Arnold

  “Okay,” he’d said. “Then I guess we should get married.” Not the most romantic proposal in the world, but an expression of faith, his way of assuring her they would survive. She’d peered at him through her tears as he’d pushed her damp hair back from her cheeks, and she’d had that look, a look that seemed to say, If you have that much faith, I guess I can believe, too.

  His faith had been misplaced back then. But she seemed willing to believe again. And this time, he was sure their ventures would work out. Forget failure. They were a lot older now. They’d developed some muscle, some callus. They knew what they were doing.

  “Thanks for the encouragement,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

  He wanted more than appreciation from her. But for now, it would do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The food was delicious. The wine slid like liquid silk down her throat. But the best thing about the dinner was talking to Cory. Confiding in him. Picking his brain. Feeling, for once, that she was not all alone in the world.

  Over dinner, they talked about Wendy, about the scholarship she’d won that day, about her college. If Talia overextended First Aides and Cory overextended Tek-Palette, and both their businesses suffered for it, how would they pay for Wendy’s tuition? Cory reassured her—he’d been setting money aside for Wendy’s education all along. He’d be able to manage it. If necessary, they’d apply for additional financial aid.

  He’d always been sure things would work out. Talia couldn’t decide if he was admirably brave or absurdly reckless, but he always moved forward with the confidence that he’d get where he was going and nothing would go wrong along the way. He’d painted murals on public buildings, certain he wouldn’t get arrested—and he’d never gotten arrested. He’d painted those murals assuming that if people happened to see them, they’d recognize them as art and not vandalism. He’d gone to the Rhode Island School of Design, certain that once he earned his degree, he’d be employable—even in a field where people traditionally couldn’t earn much of a living. And he had. He’d gotten his degree and found work, and made enough to set aside money for his daughter’s college education.

  Talia had never shared his certainty, and with good reason. Things did go wrong. Her parents kicked her out. Her husband stuck her with a baby, his stoned mother, and a crappy minimum-wage job while he waltzed off to pursue his dreams.

  But for now, on this beautiful day, when her beautiful daughter had triumphed and she was eating a beautiful meal while gazing out at a beautiful sunset, she absorbed his conviction and made it her own. She would move forward, too. She would take this scary new step with her company and assume that everything would work out well.

  After dinner, she and Cory went outside. They walked down a narrow gravel path to a wooden stairway leading down to the beach. The sky had darkened from pink to mauve to a rich royal blue, a velvety background for the moon, which was as bright as a new dime. When the sun had sunk below the horizon, it had taken the day’s heat with it, and the air was pleasantly cool.She pulled off her sandals and descended the wooden steps to the beach, Cory joining her as soon as he’d removed his shoes. In his neat jeans and tailored shirt, he looked so different from the scruffy, long-haired rebel she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Yet she saw that rebel lurking inside this well-groomed man. She saw it in his eyes, dark yet lit from within by a wildness she’d been drawn to as naturally as the ocean’s waves were drawn to the shore. His smile still creased a wicked dimple into his left cheek. His hair might be shorter, but it still looked as thick and soft as mink.

  Last night, he’d made love to her and then walked away. She’d told herself she was okay with that; she didn’t want to get involved with Cory again, more involved than their shared parenting already made them. Last night, she’d believed he was just in town for Wendy’s graduation. But one thing had led to another, and they’d gotten a little carried away, and he’d been as spooked as she was by their moment of insanity in her bed. And as soon as sanity had returned, he’d fled.

  Now she knew he was not in town just for the graduation. More important, she knew she could trust him to give her good advice about her business. Over dinner, they’d discussed the financial ramifications, the way she could structure her business so that she would remain the CEO, naming Rhonda the head of the home health aide division. He’d sounded her out about some of the towns he’d visited in search of a Boston base for his graphic-arts company. She thought about him relocating to Massachusetts. He could see more of Wendy if he moved. Would he want to see more of Talia, too?

  She didn’t want to fall in love with him again. But standing on the beach with him, with the moon spreading its glow across the sand, she could feel herself opening up, feel the scar tissue softening and falling away.

  “Nice night for a moondance,” he murmured, gazing out at the water.

  “I don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

  He stood so close, she could feel the warmth of his chest against her back. Before her the waves curled against the sand and retreated in a rhythmic hush.

  “How does the song go?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to conjure the jukebox’s song. “A something night for a moondance,” she said. “Not nice. Something with more syllables.”

  “Fantabulous,” he said. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his smile, saw the dimple, saw the mischievous glow illuminating his eyes. “I don’t even think it’s a real word, but that’s what the guy sang.”

  “I guess you remember it better than I do.”

  He planted his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She felt the warm sand sift between her toes and caress the soles of her feet. “I don’t remember much of the song,” he admitted. “I remember that made-up word…and I remember that as soon as I heard it, I wanted to make love with you.”

  Once again, Cory was being blunt. Once again, his words made her both giddy and wary. She wasn’t an eighteen-year-old girl anymore. She knew exactly the danger he posed. He couldn’t knock her up this time—she understood how to use birth control properly now—but he could wreak havoc with her emotions. He could make her feel things no one else had ever made her feel, things she hadn’t even known about until he’d entered her life, and then he could disappoint her, and leave her stranded, facing all the hard work that sex and love and commitment demanded.

  But the moonlight shimmered across the beach, across his face, and she acknowledged the truth in what he’d said. As soon as she’d heard that song in the tavern a couple of days ago, she’d wanted Cory. She’d resisted that desire—and then the song had played a second time, as if the jukebox had known she needed convincing.

  There was no jukebox tonight. Only Cory and the lull of the ocean, and the salty breezes, and the moon. He pulled her closer, lowered his mouth to hers, and she closed her arms around him. Their feet shifted in the sand. This was their moondance. A night to make romance, as the song promised.

  “Come back to my room,” Cory whispered, his lips brushing against hers with each word. Each contact sent sensation through her, a heat so sharp it hurt. She wanted to lose herself in the safety of his embrace, even though she knew his embrace was anything but safe.

  He wanted her, just as the song said. He wanted her so much he couldn’t hide it.

  She wanted him even more. “Yes.”

  He loosened his hold on her, ending their dance. Only a temporary stop, she knew. They had to stop dancing long enough to leave the beach and go to his room. Once they were there, the dance would resume.

  She wanted to race back to the inn, to get on with it, to deny herself the chance to have second thoughts. But he moved slowly, pausing at the top of the wooden steps to dust the sand from his feet, offering her his arm for balance as she slid her sandals back on. He held her hand as they ambled along the path to the inn’s broad porch. His leisurely pace frustrated her, but that frustration fed her yearning.

  At last, they made it
through the inn’s welcoming front door, across its cozy lobby to the grand stairway leading to the second floor, up those stairs and then up another flight, down a carpeted hall, to his room. It was as charming as the restaurant downstairs had been, featuring traditional colonial décor and two large windows open to a view of the beach. Gusts of wind fluttered the curtains and filled the room with the sultry scent of the ocean.

  Cory closed the door. The click of the latch punctuated the moment like an exclamation point. She was here, she and Cory.

  She stopped scrutinizing the room, stopped smelling the ocean’s perfume, stopped admiring the sturdy oak furnishings. All she saw, heard, felt, experienced was the tall, buff man in front of her, yanking open the buttons of his shirt, then bowing to kiss her. His hands moved up her arms to her shoulders and then back, locating her dress’s zipper and sliding it down, tracing the ridge of her spine with his fingertips, pausing to flick open the clasp of her bra. The bodice of her dress slid down to her waist, and she cuddled into him, her breasts crushed against the firm, warm contours of his chest.

  He cupped his hands over her bottom and pressed her against him. Through her dress and his jeans she felt his erection, a hard, hungry bulge against his fly. Her hands worked to open his jeans and free him. He shoved her dress and panties down her legs, then lifted her off her feet.He lowered her onto the bed, which suddenly became her favorite piece of furniture in the room. It was covered with a summery white duvet, the cotton smooth and cool against her back. Her head sank into the down pillows. Her arms reached for him, and he stretched out above her, his long body fitting perfectly onto her shorter one, his feet tucked under hers, his knees nudging her legs apart, his arms propping him up just enough to let her breathe.

  He kissed her. Slowly. Deeply. His tongue stroked hers, savored hers, danced with hers. Was this kiss a moondance? she wondered, then answered in the affirmative. Everything they were doing right now—kissing, touching, stroking, breathing—it was all part of the dance.

  He played with her breasts, using his hands, then his lips. He stroked down between her legs and found her wet and wanting. She squeezed his buttocks, awed by his hard muscles, intoxicated by the grace with which he arched his back, the eagerness with which he rocked his hips to hers. She caressed his balls—she remembered how much he’d liked that, and apparently he still did, if his tortured groan was any indication.

  He rolled off her for a moment, yanked open the drawer of the night stand beside the bed, and produced a box of condoms. He must have planned this, she thought, trying to decide how she felt about that. A premeditated seduction? Well, not really, he couldn’t have seduced her if she hadn’t wanted to be seduced…and then he was ready and moving back onto her, and she stopped thinking and gave herself over to the sublime sensation of having Cory Malone inside her.

  Some things a woman never forgot. Making love with her first, best lover, the man she’d given herself to, heart and soul and signature on the dotted line in a City Hall office, was one of those things for Talia. She remembered how he moved, how his thrusts felt, how her body clung to him, clenched around him. She remembered his rhythms, the way he paused and regrouped so he could last longer, the way his breath broke into heated gasps and quiet moans. She remembered the way he could make her body so tight it hurt, and then deliver her, bring her release and relief, send wave after wave of ecstasy pounding through her, like the ocean’s tide breaking against the shore.

  And only then would he let go. She remembered how it had been…just as it was now. He peaked, shuddering in her arms, his skin damp, a final groan breaking free. Exhausted, he sank onto her, nuzzled the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and went still.

  She remembered how he always seemed to weigh twenty pounds more after they’d made love with him on top. Fatigue made him limp and heavy, yet he wouldn’t ease off her. She didn’t mind. Breathing was harder with him lying on her like this, but she’d survive.

  And if she didn’t, she sure as hell would die with a smile on her face.

  A long moment passed, and he lifted his head and gazed down at her. His smile didn’t produce a dimple. It was too gentle, too wistful. Nothing wicked about it at all.

  God help her, she was falling in love with him. Again.

  “Stay tonight,” he murmured.

  “I can’t.” The words flew out of her, defensive, protective. If she stayed the night, she would definitely fall in love with him. She couldn’t tell him that, but fortunately, a more pragmatic reason presented itself. “I have to be home when Wendy gets home.”

  “Then I’ll come back to your house with you.”

  “No.” She wriggled out from under him. “Then Wendy would know we were…well…you know.”

  He shifted onto his side, facing her, their heads a pillow apart. “Would that be such a terrible thing? We used to be married.”

  “And now we’re not married. Cory, let’s not make things more complicated than they have to be. I don’t know what happened here—”

  His grin came complete with a dimple. “Yes, you do.”

  She felt a blush burn her cheeks. “You know what I’m saying, Cory. Okay, we slept together—”

  “And it was fantabulous.”

  “Yes. It was that.” She allowed herself a sheepish smile. “But last night—I mean, we…well, you know… And then you walked out on me.”

  “You wanted me to leave,” he said.

  “What?”

  “We got it on, we had some excellent messy fun—and then you went off to take care of the dishes.”

  “The dishes had to be taken care of.”

  “That minute?”

  “It wasn’t that minute. It was a few minutes later.” And Talia was the person who took care of things. Cory did whatever he wanted, and Talia did the dishes. He went off to be a student, and she changed the diapers. He hobnobbed with artists and colleagues, and she worked at a lousy job and dealt with his mother. “There was food on the table. It would have gone bad if I didn’t get it into the refrigerator. And when you don’t at least soak dirty dishes, the food on them gets all dry and crusty and they’re much harder to clean.” If you ever washed a freaking dish, you’d know this, she almost added.

  He sighed. “I thought you didn’t want me there.”

  He sounded so dejected, she forgave him for not helping with the dishes. Almost. He could have offered his assistance. He could have said, “Let’s be true partners. If you wash, I’ll dry. One person should never be stuck with all the labor while the other pursues his dreams.”

  He hadn’t said that, though. He’d left. Talia honestly couldn’t imagine why he would think she’d sent him away.

  “How about…” He traced her lower lip with his index finger, a caress that ignited a fresh heat inside her. “I come back to your house and stay until Wendy gets home. And then I’ll leave.”

  So he wouldn’t spend the night? They wouldn’t make love in the wee hours and fall asleep with their legs intertwined? “In other words, you’d come to the house and keep your clothes on?”

  “Sure.”

  “And what would we do?”

  A dimpled smile. “You don’t have any dirty dishes we could take care of?”

  “No.” She didn’t think her concern about practical matters was funny.

  Apparently, he sensed her lack of amusement. “I’m sorry I left yesterday,” he said. “I thought you didn’t want me around. Tonight I’ll stay as long as you let me. You’ll have to shove me out the door when you want me to leave.”

  “And what will we do while I’m thinking about whether to shove you out the door?”

  “We’ll talk,” he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It seemed almost criminal to get dressed after having Talia naked in his bed. The denim of his jeans offended his legs. The cotton of his shirt felt nothing like Talia’s hands.

  Even sadder was watching her conceal her beautiful body by donning that dress. It was a pretty dress. A
very pretty dress. It was the kind of pretty dress that made you think, I want to tear that dress off her.

  But if the only way he could spend the rest of the evening with her was to keep his fly zipped and his shirt buttoned, he would do so. He doubted Wendy would be scandalized to find her father at her mother’s breakfast table the morning after, but Talia was a St. Agatha girl. She’d always been tentative that way, ambivalent, worried. Willing to take a few steps onto the tightrope, but then scampering back to the safety of the platform. She was daring, but also timid. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever known, but also a bit of a prude.

  Her contradictions intrigued him. Hell, everything about her intrigued him right now. He was thinking with his dick, and his dick was saying yeah, baby in a dozen different ways.

  He watched wistfully as she stepped into her dress, pulled it up and slipped her arms through the sleeves. Then she padded barefoot over to him, turned away, and scooped her hair off her neck. “Would you zip me?” she asked.

  Don’t do it! his dick pleaded. But like a good husband—something he’d never really been to her—he slid the zipper up, watching as, inch by inch, her gorgeous back disappeared from view.

  He should have picked her up and brought her to the inn for dinner. If he had, they wouldn’t have had to travel back to her house in two cars. Watching her climb into her minivan, he lowered the roof of his convertible. She coasted down the driveway, and he followed.

  Such a suburban-mom vehicle, he thought. But then, why not? Talia was a suburban mom. She’d driven Wendy around town in that van. She’d chauffeured Wendy to practices and games, play dates and parties. She’d filled it with bags of groceries and sacks of fertilizer, Christmas gifts, Christmas trees. She’d driven her grandmother to doctor appointments and bridge dates. She’d taught Wendy how to drive in it.

  She was so damned responsible.

  He admired that about Talia, but it didn’t exactly turn him on. He wanted to think of her not as a carpooling, chaperoning parent, but as his lover, in his bed, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips and her fingers digging into his shoulders as she came.