Always

by Deb Stover

  "That feels nice," she said, bathed in the orange glow of the flames.

  He should've taken his cup and sat in his recliner, but some invisible force prompted him to join her on the rug instead. "This rain seems to be settling in for the duration." He reached for his coffee and took a long drink, trying to ignore the voices in the back of his mind that were overjoyed to have Taylor Bowen here.

  Alone.

  She was so close. He could touch her if he wanted–and, oh, he really wanted–but he wouldn't. He'd vowed to put that–her–behind him.

  "You didn't keep the red Jeep."

  Startled from his reverie, he met her gaze again. The room was bathed in shadows, though it was late morning. Heavy clouds and fog shrouded the cabin, forming a cocoon of privacy so absolute it stole his breath and ignited his blood.

  "I...I didn't like the red one." He took another drink of coffee. "Blue suits me better."

  "Yes, it does." She fell silent again.

  He watched her staring at the flames, her expression solemn but intense. "And you kept Henrietta."

  "Yeah, I couldn't part with her." He cleared his throat and continued to watch her, burning to reach out and touch her cheek where the firelight made her glow like a ripe peach. Damn. The thought of peaches reminded him of other things, and his blood flow followed his gaze south. Her breasts filled out her knit top nicely. Really nicely.

  "Gordon, I came here to apologize."

  "You said that already." His words sounded terse, though he was only angry at himself and his inability to control his thoughts around this woman. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right."

  Taylor took a sip of coffee. "It's all right. We've both waited a long time for this."

  His heart pressed against his throat and his gut clenched. "For what?"

  She leaned forward and placed her cup on an end table, her breasts straining against her shirt, making him ache to fill his hands with her, to taste her, to bury himself inside her again. Get over it, Lane.

  Clenching his teeth, he put his empty cup on the table and draped his arms over his knees. He was so hard, this position pinched badly, but he figured the pain was what he deserved and might help bring his libido back under control.

  "Why are you here, Taylor?" He turned to look at her. "Really?"

  "To apologize." She turned to face him, tucking her legs beneath her.

  "For what?"

  She reached for his hand. His first impulse was to jerk it away, but she was so soft and warm and close. So Taylor. He couldn't bring himself to break the contact. "For what?" he repeated softly.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them to imprison him. Their green depths held him captive.

  "For not trusting you."

  He furrowed his brow, trying to follow her. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're–" He closed his eyes, then reopened them to search her face for an answer. "Sue."

  Taylor nodded slowly, her lower lip trembling. "She came over last night and we talked."

  He drew a shaky breath and held it, finally releasing it very slowly. "So now you know."

  "Yes, and I know how wrong I was for not trusting you." Her voice quavered ominously. "I...should've–"

  "Doesn't matter now, Taylor." He pulled his hand free of hers and stared at the flames. "Ancient history."

  "It matters to me."

  He tilted his head and looked at her. She looked vulnerable and desirable, which did nothing to abate his burgeoning lust. "Why does it matter now?"

  And why couldn't he use his anger to control his desire? There really was no justice in the world. Why did he want a woman who'd wronged him like this?

  "It matters to me, because I..."

  "Because why?" He met and held her gaze, reading her torment in her eyes. "Guilt?"

  She nodded slowly. "That's part of it," she admitted. "I messed up so many things by not trusting you. If only I'd come and talked to you..."

  He jerked his gaze away. The sense of betrayal he'd felt all those years ago returned with a vengeance and he clenched his fists. After several deep breaths, he met her gaze again.

  "I've never cared about anyone the way I cared for you, Taylor." He gripped his knees, struggling to keep his cool. She wanted the truth out in the open now, and he was determined to give it to her. All of it.

  "I..." Her face crumpled and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  "God, don't cry." He couldn't stand a crying woman. "Just...don't."

  She mopped at her tears with her sleeve, then sniffled. "I'm sorry." She reached for his hand again, but he maintained his grip on his knees.

  "I'm listening. Let's get this over with."

  She left her hand covering his. He desperately wanted to grab her and haul her into his lap. He wanted to hold her to him so she could never leave again.

  But she would leave. In three years.

  "I was so hurt when Sue came to me and told me she was pregnant with your child," she continued. "If any other girl had told me such a tale, I never would've believed it. Never."

  He nodded, knowing that was true. "You just left. You..." He leveled his gaze on hers. "You didn't even say good-bye. You threw it all away without a backward glance."

  "No, I never forgot." She shifted her weight until she knelt before him. "I never forgot."

  His throat burned and his head pounded. He'd shed his tears for Taylor long, long ago, and he wasn't about to do it now. "All right, so you've apologized."

  She reached out and touched his cheek, caressing him with her fingertips. "I carried your face in my mind when I left," she whispered.

  Just shoot me now.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how he'd felt when he went to her house the day after she left. The expression on her mother's face when he'd begged her to tell him where Taylor had gone. The way her father had berated him for hurting his little girl.

  None of that mattered now, but the fact that she'd left still mattered. She'd tossed their love aside. All she had to do was talk to him. He could have told her the truth, talked to Sue, and spared them all these years of heartache.

  "You just left," he repeated, standing and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Not a word to me or Sue or anybody." He whirled around and pinned her with his gaze.

  She staggered to her feet, holding her hands out to her sides beseechingly. "That's why I came here this morning, Gordon," she said, a tremor in her voice. "I'm sorry. I can't undo the past, but I want you to know that I'm sorrier for that than anything in my life."

  Silent tears spilled from her incredible green eyes, and he had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her. "All right, you're sorry." He looked away, unable to watch the pain in her expression a moment longer. He pulled his anger around him like a protective cloak, shielding himself from falling victim to her charms again. "You've apologized. Congratulations."

  "I guess there's no hope of you ever forgiving me."

  He whirled around to face her, disbelief nearly driving him to his knees. "Forgive you?"

  She nodded, tears shimmering on her lashes and cheeks. "Never mind." With a sigh, she turned to face the hearth. "It's too much to ask."

  Gordon continued to stare at her, the pain in his heart spreading. She'd broken his heart once, and he couldn't risk letting her do that again. Forgiving her would set him free. Then he could pretend none of it mattered anymore.

  It was his only defense against the truth.

  "I'll forgive you, Taylor," he whispered.

  She snapped her head around to meet his gaze, her brow furrowing. "You will?"

  "On one condition."

  She took a step toward him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. "What condition?"

  "That you never mention any of this again."

  Taylor had come here to apologize, and she'd done that. Now he was offering his forgiveness.

  For a price.

  Her soul.

  He wanted to bury the past and pre
tend it had never happened, while she was filled with the need to examine and understand it. He'd known the truth all along, while she'd just learned it. How could he expect her to forget it all now?

  For the first time since leaving Digby, she knew the boy she'd given her heart to hadn't betrayed her with her best friend. The horrible "truth" she'd carried in her heart all these years wasn't true at all. She couldn't ignore that.

  "I was so wrong. So very, very wrong." She shook her head slowly. "But ignoring the past isn't the same as forgiving."

  The expression on his face mirrored the pain in her heart. "Don't, Taylor," he whispered. "Don't resurrect all this. Let it go. It hurts too damn much, and we can't undo it."

  "I want your forgiveness, Gordon." She swallowed the bile burning her throat. "But I want real forgiveness–not just you sweeping it all under the rug."

  He chuckled low in his throat and bent to scratch Max behind the ears. The dog seemed oblivious to all the anguish in the room. "Is this the only reason you drove up here?"

  Taylor remembered Ryan's morning activities and cleared her throat. "No, there's another reason."

  "What?" Gordon grabbed a log and laid it on the fire. The hot embers flared to life, licking greedily at the new fuel.

  "Ryan."

  Gordon's eyes widened as he straightened and faced her. "What about Ryan?"

  Taylor explained what she'd seen this morning, and Gordon laughed. "I don't think it's funny," she said.

  "No, I don't suppose you do, but he's a ten-year-old boy." Gordon shrugged, then his expression grew solemn. "And..."

  "And what?"

  He sighed and scraped his hand through his hair. "He wants me to marry his mom and be his dad."

  Taylor nodded slowly, her suspicions confirmed. "And he considers me a threat."

  Gordon's mask fell into place again. "Maybe."

  "Sue's interested in Jeremy."

  Genuine surprise flared in his eyes. "Really? The yuppie? I thought you were engaged."

  Taylor shook her head. "We weren't engaged, and we both realized it wasn't right." She sighed. "He seemed like a different person when I saw him Sunday."

  The lamp in the corner flickered and went out. "Electricity's out and probably the phone," Gordon said, picking up the extension on his desk. "Yep. I'd better fire up the generator."

  He left the room before Taylor could respond. Gordon had no intention of discussing anything with her. She walked to the window and stared out at the heavy clouds. A shiver chased itself through her and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

  One thing was for sure. Tonight would be the longest night of her life.

  Chapter 12

  Tonight would be the longest night of Gordon's life.

  He turned on the radio in the kitchen so they could listen to the news and weather. From the sounds of things, the storm was settling in for the duration.

  "I can sleep in that big recliner in the living room," Taylor said as she helped him clear the table after dinner. "It's huge."

  "No, you take the bedroom and I'll sleep in the recliner." He'd never bothered to buy a couch, but now he wished he had.

  "I don't want to put you to any trouble," she said, rinsing the plates under running water.

  He flipped off the radio and covered the salad with plastic wrap. He was trying to conserve generator fuel for important things like the refrigerator, so he retrieved two more kerosene lamps from the cabinet and made sure they were full and ready. One already burned on the kitchen table.

  "No trouble, I like my recliner." He handed her a lamp. "There are matches in the tin on the dresser."

  "Are you trying to get rid of me, Doctor?"

  Oh, yeah, definitely. "Nope, but there's barely enough light to read by. Nothing to do but go to bed." He winced when he realized what he'd said.

  She cleared her throat and blinked, staring at him for several seconds. "Gee, we could talk."

  No, anything but that. Lightning struck somewhere nearby, and the floor rumbled beneath them.

  "Gordon, we really need to talk."

  He shook his head. "I'm in denial. Give me time to get used to this."

  "Get used to me knowing the truth?" She shrugged. "You've known the truth all along, and I'm the one who just learned it."

  "I don't want to discuss this. You made a choice not to learn the truth, and I'm making a choice not to discuss it now." He retrieved the burning lamp from the table and carried it into the living room. "I'd better stoke the fire. If the temperature drops much more, we'll have snow by morning."

  "I remember having snow on the Fourth of July when I was a kid."

  The Fourth of July. Did she remember their first time? Did she dream of that Fourth of July between their junior and senior years in high school? Did she remember every minute detail about what happened that day? What they'd shared? The promises they'd made?

  He paused in front of the hearth and faced her. The expression on her face tore at him. She remembered. Joy mingled with terror in his heart and made him swallow hard. Just don't talk about it, Taylor. He couldn't stand that. Not now.

  She brought her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide, green pools. "I...remember the last time we spent Fourth of July together," she whispered.

  "Don't." He set the lamp on the mantel and put more logs on the fire. "I'll get you a blanket, if you insist on sleeping out here."

  She didn't answer, so he took that as agreement and carried his lamp into his bedroom and set it on his dresser. He opened the closet door and saw his Taylor box–the one containing pictures and that blanket he'd kept all these years.

  He doubled up his fist and slammed it into his palm. Why did everything have to remind him? Why was she here, torturing him? Stranded with him?

  Alone?

  "Gordon?" she said from the doorway, startling him.

  He reached onto the shelf and grabbed a blanket that had no sentimental meaning whatsoever, a pillow and a pillowcase, then handed them to her.

  "Your last chance to claim the bed," he said, forcing a tight smile.

  "Got an old T-shirt I can borrow for a nightgown?"

  Without a word, he grabbed a yellow T-shirt from a drawer and laid it on the pile in her arms.

  "Thanks." Her gaze darkened and she pulled her lips into a thin line. "Go ahead and pretend for now," she said, lifting her chin a notch. "But by morning, I want you to be ready to talk about this. I'm not taking no for an answer."

  She whirled around and stomped into the next room, leaving Gordon alone with his memories.

  He closed the door behind her and walked woodenly to the bed and threw himself face down on it. The truth was, he wanted to forgive Taylor. Desperately. But he couldn't trust her.

  If he allowed himself to trust her, she'd have the power to hurt him. No matter what, he couldn't give her that power ever again. But by denying her that power, he was also denying himself the very thing he wanted most.

  With the door closed, the room grew frigid in no time. He undressed and climbed under the comforter, folding his arms behind his head. If he managed a wink of sleep tonight, it would be a miracle. He should've doused the lamp, but instead he kept staring at the patterns the flickering flame threw across the beamed ceiling.

  The woman he wanted more than any other was in the next room. Why was he shivering alone in his bed?

  Because you're a fool.

  Hours passed and he dozed off and on, but his thoughts and his dreams kept straying to the woman in the next room. Was she sleeping, too? Was she wearing anything under his yellow T-shirt?

  The thought made him harden and he grimaced in self-disgust. Would he ever stop wanting Taylor Bowen? "Damn."

  The floor creaked just beyond his door, and he held his breath as the doorknob turned. His heart thundered in his chest and he wanted desperately to call out to her.

  Slowly, the door opened, and she stood framed by firelight. Her hair cascaded down around her shoulders in a mass of dark curls. />
  Dear God. His gaze drifted down the length of her, savoring every inch of bare leg exposed below his T-shirt. His body sprang to life, even as his mouth formed the words, "Taylor, don't..."

  "I've been lying awake remembering, and I can't stop remembering." She padded barefoot to his bed. "Look at me, Gordon."

  He raised his lashes and met her gaze. Something bright and hot and dangerous burned in her eyes. "Do you know..." He bit the inside of his cheek to silence his words.

  She put her knee on his bed and cupped his cheek with one hand, then brought her other knee onto his bed and framed his face with both hands. "I only know this," she whispered, leaning closer to cover his mouth with hers.

  Gordon's mountain experienced far more than a mere mud slide as she pulled him closer, stroking his lips with her tongue until he growled and wrapped his arms around her to tug her down on top of him.

  She was soft and warm and Taylor. Sunshine and all things wonderful. Gordon lost himself in their kiss, tasting her singular, compelling flavor, savoring the molten flare of his blood.

  Her slight weight pressed against him, erotic and tantalizing. He deepened the kiss, glorying in the feel of her tongue stroking his. Easing his hand along her rib-cage, he found the fullness of her breast beneath the thin cotton of the T-shirt between them.

  A tremor surged through him, but he held himself in check, pulled back just short of his point of no return. She'd come here to apologize–not necessarily to make love. Breaking their kiss, he brought his hands to her face and stared into her eyes. He should hate her. He should fight this.

  He couldn't.

  "Taylor," he whispered, surrendering to the tumult of desire that banished every logical thought he'd strived so hard to maintain. "I've wanted you every day of my life. I want you now."

  Her nostrils flared slightly and a slow, sexy smile parted her lips. "How much?"

  He flashed her a grin and pressed his hips against hers. "That much."

  She licked her lower lip as he lifted the corner of his comforter in invitation, and she slithered beneath it and against him.

  Reckless, wanton hunger flared in Taylor's belly. She wanted Gordon. Needed his gentleness.