by Rachel Lee
He wanted to move slowly, to savor every single instant of what might well be the last time forever, but when her hands clawed at his back and she tore her mouth from his to groan his name, he lost his last restraint.
Rearing up, he tugged at her sweater. She ripped at his shirt.
The spring night was chilly and getting chillier. He felt the cold air raise goose bumps but he didn’t care. All he could think was it was a damn shame the night was so dark. He could barely make her out, but memory recalled the size and shape of her breasts, the rosy pink of her nipples and areolas. When his hand cupped her, the feeling was at once so sensual and so familiar.
In an instant past and present slammed together and fused. That long-ago summer, they had been so eager in their lovemaking, impatient, filled with laughter, always in a hurry because later there would be another time. It was only after they were sated that they would linger over one another, lazily, gently, beginning to build the anticipation again.
He wanted to linger over her this time, but that thought was swiftly lost in need, and she was coming right along with him. He bent his head, sucking her nipple into his mouth, tormenting her with the lash of his tongue. She was already swollen for him, but his ministrations made her nipple grow larger and her groans grow deeper. Her nails dug into his back, urging him on. Her hips bucked up, her legs separating and winding around him.
It was going to be exactly like that long-ago summer. Except he couldn’t remember reaching this peak of hunger with her before. It was as if ten years had merely built the desire to nuclear proportions.
The jeans had to go. He had just enough sanity left to pull a condom out of his pocket before he yanked the denim off both of them. Kneeling between her legs, he ripped open the packet. She grabbed it from him, pulled out the condom and rolled it on him. The shaft of hunger speared him so intensely he thought it might kill him. He ached in every cell for her, for completion.
She pulled him down. She didn’t want to wait. So many things he wanted to do to her, all lost in a driving, overwhelming need. He lifted her knees, then dove into her. She twined her legs around his waist, opening herself fully.
They knew this path, one traveled many times before. But never before had it seemed so intense.
Almost before he knew it, they exploded together, soaring to the stars overhead and shattering into a million flaming pieces.
He wanted to never return.
* * *
Cold. It was the first sensation to penetrate Holly’s awareness after a climax so intense everything inside her had seemed to freeze in the moment of satisfaction. She had hovered there, as never before, held on its rainbow and denied for so long the return to earth.
She could feel Cliff withdraw, too soon, but necessary. In the dark she couldn’t see what he did with the condom, but suddenly his hands were there, trying to help pull her clothes back on.
She stopped him. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the rustling grasses that surrounded them. She ignored the night’s chill, a minor inconvenience, and levered herself up on one elbow, pushing him onto his back.
He didn’t argue. She wished she could see him better, but this was the darkest night she could ever remember. So her hands had to do all the work, drinking him in. She traced his contours, from his strong jaw down his neck, then lower.
It was like taking a well-remembered, well-loved journey, relearning his planes and hollows, the firmness of muscle over bone. She could feel the magic building again, the passion like a phoenix rising from hot ashes. Her touches were featherlight at first, but as she felt him quiver beneath each one, they grew firmer.
She rediscovered his small nipples, and bent to suck them and then give him a nip. The groan that escaped him filled her with a heady sense of power. He was all hers, for now, and that fueled her own desire, pumping it higher until she could barely hear anything but the drumbeat of her blood.
She trailed her mouth lower, caressing his hard belly with her lips, teasing him gently with her tongue, tracing patterns on him that she knew must feel cold as soon as her tongue passed.
He moaned again and his hand grabbed at her shoulder, as if he needed to feel that she was real. He didn’t push her or direct her, just hung on to her.
Man, did she understand that feeling. Then she reached the nest of tight curls between his legs, smelled his musky aroma mingled with hers. Control was slipping away from her again, but she clung to it desperately.
His staff was hard again, already, and her first brush against it caused it to jump. The invitation was clear. She lowered her lips to it, running her tongue along its length, then at last taking him inside her mouth.
He called her name, his hand on her shoulder tightening until his grip was almost painful. She showed him no mercy, taunting and teasing him until he quivered from head to foot. Finally, with a sharp jerk, he erupted.
Then, astonishing her, almost before the ripples of completion had finished running through him, he shoved her back and settled himself between her thighs. Gentle fingers brushed at her most tender flesh. She gasped as she felt him part her petals, as the cold air touched her where it seldom did, and then the heat of his mouth settled over that tight knot of nerves, a sensation so good it hurt.
She wanted it to go on forever, but the intensity was shattering her, and there was no way to slow her climb to the pinnacle. Riding the lash of his tongue, she soared upward at dizzying speed until finally, inevitably, she tipped over the brink and drifted like embers back to earth.
This time she didn’t stop him when he reached for their clothes. This time the cold penetrated the magic. Not a word passed between them until, at last, covered again, boots back on, they lay together in the bed of the truck with the glories of the heavens wheeling over them.
He wrapped her snugly in his arms, tucking her head onto his shoulder, throwing his legs over hers. He even managed to pull part of the blanket over her.
“Too fast,” he murmured finally.
“We were always fast.” With her head pillowed comfortably, she looked up at the stars and wondered what it all meant.
“Yeah,” he said. “Like rockets. Once the fuse was lit, there was no stopping the launch.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”
“I wish I could change it. I’d love to spend time lingering over you, but tonight is not going to be it. Too damn cold.”
“Hey, I thought it was fantastic!”
“We were always fantastic.”
In this way at least, she thought, but didn’t say it. They’d lit the fire he’d warned about earlier, and she had discovered that it was all still there: the need, the nearly furious pace of their passion—none of it had declined. But there had been some other feeling there this time, and as she tried to tease it out, she worried about what it might be. She had thought casually about having a quick fling to settle this, but she felt nothing had been settled. Far from it. The entire past had risen up, reminding her what she had walked away from so long ago.
And part of her knew that walking away again was going to be even harder. Why? She couldn’t say.
All she kept thinking, and feeling, was that the years hadn’t quieted anything at all. Maybe they’d even fueled it more.
A shiver passed through her before she could prevent it.
“We need to get you home,” he said. “Before you turn into an icicle.”
“I’d forgotten how cold it gets at night.”
“We’re not really into summer yet. You can still almost smell snow on the breeze some nights.”
A good description, she thought. Her body didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave his embrace. She wanted to stay just like this. But reality once again played the trump card as she shivered again.
“Let’s go home
,” he repeated.
Home? That caused her to walk down another corridor of reflection as he helped her out of the truck bed and into the cab. Where was home now? She shivered a few more times until the engine warmed up enough to blast some heat at her. Silence had again fallen between them, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. That this had been a mistake?
Maybe it had been, but she wouldn’t take it back. She had to make up her mind about some things, and quickly, she decided. No more playing around with a vague future. She had to nail it down. So where was home now? In Chicago? When she had arrived here, she’d been utterly certain she would return to her work there. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Another door had opened, and she needed to decide if she would walk through it. Even if she did, however, there was no guarantee that she would ever have more from Cliff than episodes like the one they had just shared.
She could move here and they could become neighbors. He might even help her with her project. But he might not want one more thing from her.
Could she live with that? Could she live without it?
She had thought making love would clear the table. Instead it had left her more mixed-up than ever, feeling like a dandelion puff adrift on the breeze. Where would she land?
She honestly didn’t know.
Chapter Nine
The next days were busy and weird all at the same time. Far from being underfoot, Lisa drove out each morning and didn’t come back until late afternoon. Holly couldn’t imagine how she was occupying herself.
Clint didn’t come by or even call. That troubled her, and while she realized he was probably seeking some necessary space after what had happened, she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. She understood it, it was probably wise, but to make love like that, then disappear off the face of the earth?
Then she remembered he had said something about needing to start vaccinations on his lambs and kids. Maybe that was keeping him busy. How the hell would she know?
She thought about calling him, but instead forced herself to attend other things. She spent a whole lot of time out walking the property, trying to envision what she would do with it. The walking stilled her thoughts and gave her some clarity, at least about that.
She laundered and organized her aunt’s clothes for charity. She went through all the papers in her aunt’s desk, trying to figure out what mattered and what didn’t. She put the photos she found into an envelope to place in an album later. It was surprising, however, to realize that after all the generations that had lived in this house, after Martha had spent her entire life here, there was so little detritus. Martha had kept her footprint small, all right. There was really nothing to get rid of, nothing to throw out. The house approached sterility.
She wondered if Martha had planned that, or if that was just the way she had lived. She cried when she thought about it, cried a few times because she couldn’t just sit down with her aunt and have one last chat about things. Anything.
Cliff.
He haunted her thoughts and she wished she had someone to talk to about him. Not that anyone was going to be able to untangle the mess inside her. No, she had created that mess, had been creating it steadily since she came back here. Now she had to deal with all the knots herself.
She told herself to stop thinking about him. She created a to-do list for her youth ranch idea and started with the lawyer, Carstairs, asking him to look into all the legal and liability angles. She couldn’t take a single step without knowing that much.
Then she called her friend Sharon back in Chicago.
“You’re thinking about doing what?” Sharon practically shrieked the words.
Holly repeated herself.
“I think that’s a fabulous idea! How soon do you need me?”
Mixed-up as she was feeling, Holly still laughed. “Hold your horses there, girl. I haven’t even found out what the legal aspects are yet. I’m mainly worried that if I don’t do this right, I might not really help the kids.”
“What in the world is wrong with you?”
“Well, taking them out of their environment and showing them something better and less frightening is great. But having to put them back...”
“Ah. You think it might be harder for them when they come home.”
“It could be. I don’t want to do that to them.”
“Well, if you want my internationally recognized opinion, it all depends on what you do. A lot of places offer opportunities to disadvantaged kids. You wouldn’t be the first or only, and it seems to work well. You broaden their horizons, keep them sharp for school and instill confidence.” She paused. “These children need confidence, Holly. They get so little from life. You need to show them other opportunities, open new doors for them to walk through. And give them plenty of positive strokes. God knows, they get few enough of them. So when do you need me?”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. I love the idea. I want to help. I know I’m a city girl, but I used to visit my uncle’s farm in Nebraska.”
Holly laughed again. “You’re on. But I’ve got to clear a lot of decks and hurdles first. And I’ll have to come back to Chicago to clear out things there. I don’t want to leave too abruptly. Make the transition smooth for my kids. At this point I don’t even know how fast I can act here. It might be pointless to start anything but the legal stuff before next spring.”
“Just as long as I’m on your staff. I’ll work for my supper and a place to sleep.”
The words touched Holly, making her throat tighten. “Thanks.”
“I’ll bone up on the psychological aspects for you. Now for the important question.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you meet your rancher again?”
Oh, man, she’d forgotten she had told Sharon about that a few years ago during an evening spent chatting with a bottle of wine nearby. Too much wine? Maybe. She didn’t remember getting drunk, but she guessed she had gotten relaxed. “Yes,” she said carefully.
Her rancher? She hated realizing that she wished that were true.
“So how was it? Tense? Has he forgiven you? Do you still feel the same?”
“He’s nice, it was tense at first, but he’s forgiven me and...we’re moving on.” Kind of a half truth, because she didn’t know if anything was moving or where. He’d vanished.
“Is he still a hunk?”
Much as she didn’t feel like laughing, she laughed anyway. Count on Sharon to cut straight to the chase. “Yes, he’s still a hunk.”
“Oh, yum. If you don’t want him, maybe I can catch a flight out tomorrow.”
Holly knew she was joking. Sharon couldn’t afford a plane ticket any more than she could. Buying one every year had stretched her budget to the snapping point. But apart from that, she felt a very uncharacteristic burst of annoyance at the remark.
She had no claim on Cliff, but that didn’t keep her from resenting the idea that Sharon might set her cap for him. Damn! Talk about confused.
Sharon was no dummy, though. “I was just kidding,” she said after a moment. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know,” Holly admitted, swallowing her irritation. “Anyway, if there’s anything between us, it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.” Which was true, especially after the long silence from Cliff. Maybe he had discovered the magic was gone. Hard to believe, considering what she had felt, but he wasn’t her, obviously. Or maybe he’d felt that connection between them awakening again and decided that distance was the safest course. “I don’t know,” she finally said to Sharon. “I poisoned that well a long time ago.”
“People change. You said he’s forgiven you. So you want my advice, girl? If you want him, go for it.”
Easy to say, harder to do, Holly thought when she finally said goodbye.
>
She was just deciding what to do next when she saw a dusty delivery truck coming up her drive. She hadn’t ordered anything. The driver must be lost, and she was probably the last person in this county who’d be good at helping him out.
She stepped on the porch, prepared to offer her phone if necessary, when the guy jumped out the passenger side, carrying a huge cardboard box. “Holly Heflin?” he asked as he mounted the porch steps.
“Yes.”
He passed her a handheld computer and stylus. “Sign here.”
Moments later he was driving away while she looked at an impossibly big box and wondered what it could contain. She’d have thought Martha had ordered something just before her death, except the box was clearly addressed to her. And she couldn’t make hide nor hair of the sender’s address.
Shrugging, she picked the box up and carried it inside, where she placed it on the kitchen table. Using a small knife from the drawer, she sliced the tape and opened it.
Foam peanuts in a variety of colors concealed the contents. She hated those peanuts and wished they’d go back to the old days of shredded newspaper. Not that anyone seemed to read a paper newspaper anymore.
Shoving her hand in, she felt another box. She pulled it out carefully without sending peanuts flying. Her heart almost stopped. She knew a florist’s box when she saw one. Sympathy flowers? But part of her was hoping for something else.
She quickly cut the green ribbon around the box and the tape holding the lid on both sides. She pulled away the lid and gasped at the spray of long-stemmed red roses. A card peeked out from between the stems and she quickly lifted it.
I know a dozen is traditional, the typed note on the card said. But this is one for each year. Cliff.
Ten red roses.
Card in hand, she sat down at the table and let the tears come. She wasn’t sure exactly how he’d meant that, but it somehow seemed to open up a part of her heart that she’d been keeping carefully closed. As the door on the past opened the last bit, agonizing pain filled her.
