"No, really. I'm serious. It's in an alternate
dimension." He turned onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows to look down at her. "Nothing that happens here has anything to do with the real world. It doesn't count. When we get back home, it'll be like a dream. Like it never happened."
"Really," she said.
"Really." He bent his head and kissed her softly, his lips just brushing hers. "It's just this once, Libby. Just this once. And we never have to talk about it, or think about it, again."
He slid his fingers into her hair and stroked them out, spreading it across the pillow. She reached up and stopped him.
He squeezed her hand. "You're scared, aren't you?"
She bit her lip and nodded.
"You can decide," he said. "I stopped us last time because we weren't thinking clearly. But it's up to you this time. Entirely up to you."
He stroked her hair again, and she scanned his face, thinking. She could trust him, right? He was a man who kept his promises.
He really was.
"Maybe you need bomb-proofing," he whispered. "You know, like the dog. I could introduce you to all the things that scare you real slow. Real easy." He swept back her hair again, and this time she didn't stop him. "Until you got used to it."
She'd never get used to this. Her nerve endings were crackling like radio static.
"What scares you?" he whispered. "Does this?" He kissed her, reaching down as she started to respond and cupping her breast with one hand. "This?" His thumb flicked lightly over the tip, teasing, stroking. "Or maybe…" He squeezed gently, once, twice. "This?"
"That," she whispered, and he did it again. "Oh, that."
She wasn't afraid. Not really. Not with Luke. She trusted him.
The thought surprised her, but it was true, gloriously, miraculously true.
She lifted her arms and clasped his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, and then another, each more ur gent than the last as she released her inhibitions and let herself go, moving her hands down his body, stroking his back and pulling his hips into hers, cupping that tight denim-sheathed butt just the way she did in her dreams, lifting her hips to rub against him, feeling his response hard against her.
"Libby." He let out a shaky sigh and pulled away, looking down at her while he twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers, his eyes exploring hers, searching her feel ings. She met his eyes boldly.
"That worked," she said. "I'm not scared anymore."
"You're a fast learner."
"You're a good teacher."
She smiled and he kissed her again, long and hard. He wasn't holding back now, and she returned his passion with all the feelings she'd been holding in the past few weeks. Rolling over, he pulled her with him until she reared above him, straddling his hips. Looking down at him, she felt gloriously strong, totally in control, and she rocked against him, watching his face, reveling in her power as his eyes closed and he breathed in short, sharp gasps.
He slid his hands up under her T-shirt. Her bra was nothing, thin and elastic, and if he hadn't already real ized how much she wanted him, he knew now. He sat up so she faced him, sitting in his lap, and hiked the shirt up and off in one easy motion.
He stopped, just for a heartbeat, and scanned her face, seeking permission, and she felt her passion rise and deepen, grateful for his tenderness, amazed at his self-control. What was left of her own flew away the moment he lowered his head to her breast. She arched her back, pushing against the sweet tugging tension of his mouth, asking for more, and he gave it to her, using his hands, his mouth, his passion to drive her wild with want. She clawed at the flimsy elastic, tearing the bra from her body and tossing it onto the floor as he cupped her head and tilted her back onto the bed.
She writhed and twisted beneath him, needing more, more, more. She reached down and clawed at his belt, tugging at the buckle. He pulled her hands away and lifted them above her head, holding her captive.
"Take your time," he said. "We have all night." He shifted both her hands to one of his and used the other to stroke the tender skin just above the waist of her jeans. His fingers were gentle, barely touching, and she felt a flood of lust fill her to overflowing. She started to lift her hips, asking for more, but he shushed her and kept his touch light.
"All night," he repeated. "Go slow. Give me time to touch you."
His fingers danced over her skin, drifting from breast to belly and back, then skimming down over her jeans, touching, teasing, all the while watching her response, his eyes intense as she writhed under his touch. She closed her eyes. His touch thrilled her, but the naked emotion in his gaze was too much. She knew what she was seeing, knew what he was feeling, but she refused to name it, even to herself. He couldn't feel that way about her. Not now. Not yet.
Her heart wasn't ready.
But her body was. She closed her eyes and concen trated on the feel of his fingers dancing over her skin, and felt her body ripple like light on running water, shimmering at his touch. He moved his hand between her legs and she lifted her hips again, pressing herself against him, partly to intensify the feeling, partly to con trol it as it raged through her like a fire on an oil slick, burning up what little sense she had left. All she could think about was Luke—his hands, his body, his mouth, his eyes. All she wanted was Luke.
"Wait," she said. She shifted and struggled against him, pushing him away while she still could. He pulled back, his eyes puzzled.
"My turn," she said, straddling him again, pushing him down on the bed. Clutching his collar in both hands, she ripped it open, the snaps on his shirt flicking open one by one to reveal the hard, square planes of his chest, the dark hair flecking his tanned skin.
He groaned as she opened the clasp of his belt and unsnapped his jeans, rubbing the palm of her hand against him, making him gasp as she released him and shimmied the jeans down his hips, gasping herself as his boxers snagged and followed her hands. She reached up to his shoulders and ran her hands slowly down his body, savoring the heat of his muscles, pausing to run her fingertips over his chest, smoothing her hands down the soft skin at his sides. She was almost to her goal when he sat up again, holding her against his chest, gasp ing a faint protest into her ear before his tongue flicked out and set to driving her crazy all over again, licking and probing, the dampness intensifying the sweet cool sensation of his breath on her skin.
Now it was his hands at work, tugging on her belt, pushing her clothes away, sliding under the soft cotton of her panties. He paused, again looking in her eyes, asking permission before he moved his fingers down to stroke her. She was so slick, so ready, that one quick pulse of her hips slid him inside her, and once she started she couldn't stop. She tossed her head back, closing her eyes so all she could know was the river of pleasure flowing from his touch. Her eyes were still closed when he lowered himself over her and she felt a new pleasure pushing against her, into her, and the waves of ecstasy lifted and broke, then lifted again, higher, impossibly higher, and she rode them until they flung her back on the mattress like a leaf tossed by a storm.
As the ripples slowed, she opened her eyes to watch him. Every muscle in his body was straining against his skin, taut and full. His eyes met hers, and for once she could meet his gaze and let him see her feelings. She couldn't have hidden them if she'd wanted to, and she felt more naked now than she had when he'd stripped her clothes away, more vulnerable than when he'd touched her and tasted her. But she wanted him to see, just this once, how much she wanted him.
How much she needed him.
***
It was the look in her eyes that pushed Luke over the edge. Not her touch, not her warmth, not even her body, wet and welcoming. It was her gaze—honest and open, offering a heat that matched his own. It was a look that was full of possibilities, full of promises. If she could only trust him, they'd be a pair for the rest of their lives. Finishing each others' sentences. Sharing each others' thoughts.
But now that he had her tru
st, he wondered if he could live up to it. He felt like he was barely human at this moment—just a tangled Neanderthal nest of nerves and sensation poised at the edge of a high cliff, his mind clawing to pull his body back from the edge, his body intent on hurling itself over. He willed himself to stay with her, to stay present, to hold off the inevitable leap, but his body won. He clung to her gaze, willed her to stay with him as everything in his being flowed into her. Overwhelmed, overcome, he arched his back, threw his head back, and closed his eyes, losing her, losing him self, in the sheer bliss of release.
When he opened his eyes again, she held his gaze for one more precious second before she caught herself and shifted her eyes away, glancing around the room like a panicked animal.
She was still scared.
But like a horse taking one step toward him, then two, then three, she'd fought past her first fears and worked her way toward the trust he was looking for.
***
The nagging grind of a particularly insistent cricket woke Libby at dawn. The room was dark, but slits of daylight gleamed from the overlapping blinds, giving the room a faint, silvery glow. She opened her eyes and lay still, gradually moving toward consciousness.
As she wended her way out of her dreams and into real life, the edges of reality seemed to blur. Could she really be cupped in Luke's embrace, nestled naked against him, a cheap velour blanket draped over her hips and his? She closed her eyes again. Maybe this wasn't a reality she wanted to face.
She closed her eyes so she could think things through and come to a rational decision about how to proceed, but her memories of the night before were clear and bright, vivid as psychedelic posters under black light. She saw Luke as he'd been the night before and felt the world spin into a new and crazy orbit. She remembered how he'd paused and checked her face at every step, making sure she was ready, making sure she was will ing. He'd been tender, careful, caring—perfect.
He loved her. And he would never hurt her.
She was sure of that. The sun was rising in the East, morning had broken as it would every day, and Luke would never hurt her. All facts, all equally certain.
All equally miraculous.
Energized, she slipped her feet out from under the blanket and sat up on the side of the bed. She found her panties dangling from the lamp, her shirt tossed over a chair. Humming softly, she slipped them on and set about searching for her jeans. Ivan waited anxiously by the door, his brown eyes desperate.
"I'll take you out in a minute, buddy," she whispered. "Hold on."
She found her jeans and wriggled into them, then opened the door and followed Ivan across the parking lot.
"You just wait," she told him as he scouted out the perfect pooping place. "That bomb-proofing business? It really works." She kicked a pebble and watched it bounce across the parking lot. "You're going to end up really liking thunderstorms. You're going to wish it could storm every day."
***
Luke lifted his head and peered around the room.
She was gone.
Hopefully she hadn't left him here and taken the truck.
Not that he'd blame her if she had. He'd sworn to himself he'd wait until she was ready, but last night, the temptation had been too much for him. He'd taken ad vantage of the situation, telling her it was just this once. Convincing her they were in the Twilight Zone, outside real life. Promising her it wouldn't matter in the morning.
But it did matter—more than he'd ever believed pos sible. Making love to Libby had changed him forever. Whatever it meant to her, it wasn't something he could forget. He'd never be able to look at her again without seeing her as she'd been last night.
But she didn't have to know that.
He'd promised her it wouldn't matter. He'd told her they'd never have to talk about it, or think about it, ever again.
And he was a man who kept his promises.
Chapter 30
LUKE HAD EVERYTHING PACKED UP AND READY TO GO by the time Libby got back from walking Ivan. He'd even made the bed, smoothing the rumpled sheets, erasing every sign of the night before. The weather had cleared over night, and Ivan was back in the truck bed. She wouldn't even have to sit in the middle. He was sure that would be a relief.
"Ready?" He flashed her a smile—a friendly smile, not a seductive one, and he was careful not to look her in the eyes.
Don't think about last night, he told himself. Just pretend it didn't happen. You promised. You promised.
Libby looked puzzled. She'd probably expected him to jump her again the minute she walked in the room. No way. He was on his best behavior.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here." He was sure she didn't want to spend another minute in that hotel room. They needed to get on the road. Get back to reality, where she could feel safe.
She climbed into the cab of the truck and he flicked on the radio. It was hard to talk, and the music would fill the silence while they both worked their way out of the Twilight Zone. She glanced at him a couple times, as if she was about to say something, but he didn't encourage her. He'd promised her they wouldn't talk.
The trip back seemed to take forever. The two of them stared straight out through the windshield, pre tending to listen to the music. He wished he could think of something to say—something harmless, innocuous. But everything he thought of seemed loaded with in nuendo. He couldn't so much as talk about the wind without thinking of how her breath had felt on his skin. He couldn't comment on the sunlight bronzing the prairie with gold and silver without thinking about how her skin had glowed under his touch. He couldn't even mention how smoothly the truck was running without thinking of the sweet, soft sounds she'd made when they'd made love.
Maybe if they talked about someone else it would break the ice. He searched his brain for some innocent topic. There'd been something he wanted to ask her last time he was at her house. What had it been? He drove on, thinking. Oh, yeah.
"Hey, do you know Brandy?" he asked. "I saw her number on your message board."
"Brandy?" Libby squinted, as if she could barely re member the name. "Oh. No," she said. "It's just that I need to talk to her about Della. Probably this weekend. Why? You know her?"
Luke nodded. "A little. She used to come into town a lot, hang out. She's a fun girl."
Libby narrowed her eyes. "How much fun was she?"
"Not that kind of fun," he said. "She was just… nice."
She nodded as if she understood, but he wondered what she was really thinking. She probably figured he'd taken Brandy to the Twilight Zone, along with half the other women in town.
She probably figured he did that kind of thing all the time.
She had no idea what it had meant to him.
***
Libby jumped out of the truck the minute it pulled into Lackaduck Farm and mumbled an embarrassed good bye. She really didn't know what to say. She'd looked forward to the ride home, to sitting close and holding hands, but he hadn't even looked at her.
She'd thought the aftermath of their lovemaking would be different. She'd thought he was a man who kept his promises, and surely the tenderness of his love making had been a promise in itself. She'd trusted him, given in to that promise, and for a little while she thought she'd finally found the place where she belonged, the place she'd been running toward—but in the clear light of day, Luke had taken her straight back to where she'd started, and left her there.
Alone.
She leaned over the tailgate and gave Ivan a fare well hug before sending him off to be bomb-proofed, squelching a stab of envy. She could use another bomb-proofing session herself—although the process had been so successful, she probably didn't need it. She wouldn't have even flinched if Luke had jumped out of the truck and taken her breath away with a pas sionate good-bye kiss. It wouldn't have scared her at all if he'd carried her tote bag inside and set it in her bedroom, then coerced her into a repeat of the night before. She'd overcome all her fears—but apparently she'd overcome them for nothing.
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She waved good-bye as he pulled away with a jaunty toot of the horn.
David ran to greet her, a boisterous herd of puppies tumbling in his wake.
"What do you think?" He gestured enthusiastically toward the little structure that stood beside the barn in an overgrown paddock. It had been transformed from a sad, gray, broken-down shack into a sparkling white stable with dark green trim and tiny, green-painted shutters. It was adorable.
"Wow," she said, shoving Luke out of her thoughts and scanning the revamped outbuilding. "You've been busy. Now I need a pony."
"It was fun. I like to putter around and fix stuff." He met her eyes guiltily. "I gotta warn you about the dogs, though" he said. "Discipline went out the window while you were gone. They're spoiled rotten now."
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