Her thumbs rubbed over his nipples and were immediately followed by her tongue. Jace sucked air. His fingers tightened on her buttocks and pulled her hard against him, letting her feel his urgency. "Careful," he muttered.
But Celie shook her head and continued the hot wet kisses. "I've been careful way too long already." And her fingers began to work on the buckle of his belt.
Telling him she'd had enough of being careful was like throwing kerosene on a roaring fire. It did no good to bank the flames now. There was no chance to slow things down, to throw a little water on their passion. All Jace's worries were overtaken by desire. All of his panic was swallowed by need.
He'd waited forever. At least it seemed that way. "You're sure?" he rasped.
But she'd got his belt undone by then, and when her fingers slid down the zipper of his jeans, Jace had all the answer he needed.
As she freed him and he felt the cool air hit his heated, hungry flesh, he was tearing at Celie's jeans, making quick work of them, unfastening, unzipping, peeling them and her panties, in one deft movement, over her hips and down her legs.
She kicked them aside and pushed his down as well. They tangled around his boots and he stumbled and muttered a curse as they tumbled together onto the bed.
"Sorry," he mumbled, then swallowed the word in a gasp as her fingers traced the burning length of him.
"I'm not." Celie wriggled beneath him, making him crazy, bringing him to the verge of forgetting every sane, sensible thought he'd had about going slow and taking time and making it perfect for her.
"Cel'! Wait! Slow down! I—"
"Can't keep up?" she whispered against his lips, smiling at him while her hands drove him to distraction.
He grabbed them and held them, pinned her to the bed with the weight of him and took a shuddering breath as he looked down into her eyes. "I want," he said with difficulty, "for it to be good for you. I want it to be perfect for you. I don't want to … to take—" He stumbled over this last as she moved beneath him and the feel of her made him catch his breath. "I want it to be right."
Celie lifted her head to bring her lips to his. She kissed him softly, lingeringly. "It is right, Jace." She kissed him again, traced his lips with her tongue, raised her hips against his, rocking them together. "Take me."
He did.
He couldn't wait any longer. He'd waited forever. He needed her now.
And from the way she clutched at him, opened for him and drew him in, Celie seemed to need him, too. Her fingers dug into his back, her head tossed, and once more her hips lifted to welcome his thrust. "Come to me, Jace."
"Yesss." The word whistled through his teeth. He had Celie beneath him, Celie surrounding him, Celie loving him. At last.
At last, Celie thought.
It was the stuff of dreams. Of fantasies. Of thousands of nights of loneliness finally filled. It was Jace Tucker doing the most wonderful things to her, stroking her, touching her, kissing her, wanting it to be right for her.
It was right for her. It was the most right thing she'd ever done—welcoming him into her body as well as into her heart. Loving Jace was finding the other half of her soul.
And when he filled her, stroked her, shattered her—and himself—he took the pieces of all her broken dreams and once again made them whole.
He lay, spent, still shuddering on top of her, knowing he should move, that his weight had to be too much for her. And yet when he tried to, she held him fast.
"No," she whispered, hands clasped against the small of his back.
He lifted his head to look down at her, and the sight that met his eyes stabbed him to the core. "Oh, God. Did I hurt you?"
He'd never made a woman cry before! But Celie shook her head and smiled through her tears. "You didn't hurt me at all. It was wonderful. Marvelous. You're wonderful. Marvelous."
Jace blinked. He was? "Then why—"
She shook her head again and swiped at her eyes. "I always cry when I'm happy."
She was happy. She was in his arms, and she was happy.
Jace grinned, happy, too. Happier than he'd ever been in his life.
He laughed out loud and rolled over, hauling her on top of him. Her legs tangled with his, caught in the jeans and boots he'd never managed to shed. She sat up and began to extricate herself—and stripped off his boots and jeans, as well.
She ran her hands over him. Intimately. Possessively.
His breathing quickened. His own desire was immediately rekindled. And he reached for her, drew her back into his arms and began to love her again. Slowly this time. Tenderly. With all the finesse he'd lacked before. And she watched him, touched him, smiled at him.
The phone rang.
Jace jerked, biting off a curse as he reached over and grabbed it. "What?" he barked.
"Just wonderin' if you been makin' any progress," Artie said cheerfully.
"Yes," Jace said. "Go away."
As a girl Celie had imagined more romantic interludes than she could remember. She'd dreamed of mountain idylls, walks on a moonlit beach, dinners for two on a cozy terrace, and a hundred other incredible settings where she and the man of her dreams would commit themselves to each other forever.
But even Celie didn't believe it would happen just that way.
The next day they sailed all day—and Celie, of course, worked while Jace stayed out of Simone's way.
"I don't even want her to see you," Celie said. "I don't want her to think anything happened."
Jace just grinned. "She's only got to look at you to know something happened," he said with considerable satisfaction.
Celie felt herself turn red, and one look in the mirror in Jace's stateroom told her he was speaking the truth. Her eyes were sparkling, her mouth looked well kissed, and she actually seemed to glow.
It was embarrassing. It was wonderful.
"I don't want you coming there," she said severely.
Jace's grin grew even more wicked. "I don't want to come there, either," he said, deadpan. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her hard against him, so that even after a night of loving she could feel his growing arousal. "I want to come here. With you."
"Stop that! Behave." She pulled back and shook her finger at him.
He caught it and nibbled the end of it, sending a shaft of longing streaking through her, too. "You don't want me to behave," he said gruffly, and his eyes dared her to deny him.
"What I want has nothing to do with it," Celie said firmly. "I work here. I have to do my job."
"Tomorrow you're off, though? When we get to St. Maarten?"
"Unless Stevie is still sick," Celie agreed, "and I have to cover for him again, yes. I should be able to go ashore."
"Stevie won't be sick."
"You know that, do you?"
"He won't dare."
And he didn't. He was there bright and early when Celie went to check in. She half expected Simone, who obviously knew something was going on, to come up with some other way of preventing her from spending the day with Jace. But Simone was busy when Celie breezed in, and she didn't even look up.
"Have fun," Stevie called after her, grinning.
"I will," Celie said as she hurried to join Jace to go ashore.
It was the day she'd always dreamed of. The streets of Philipsburg, the port city on the Dutch side of St. Maarten, were crowded with tourists from ships as well as with other vacationers. It was hot and, away from the beach, there was little breeze.
But it didn't matter. They were together, hand in hand, hips and shoulders brushing as they prowled the narrow streets. Jace bought her a straw hat to keep the sun off, and Celie insisted that she get him a pair of shorts and a pair sandals so he wouldn't have to spend the day in jeans and boots.
"Nothin' wrong with jeans and boots," Jace protested when she dragged him into one of the steegjes, the little lanes between Front Street
and Back Street where she found a casual-clothing store.
"Nothing at all," she said.
"Jeans and boots are fine for Montana. Not for here. You'll be too hot. Besides," she grinned, when he came back out of the dressing room wearing a pair of shorts and looking self-conscious, "I like looking at your legs."
A flush crept up Jace's neck. "Celie! You're not supposed to say things like that," he growled, clearly embarrassed, as the clerk smiled.
Celie, unrepentant, just laughed. It was true—she did like looking at his legs. And, freed from constraints at last, she was going to enjoy every minute of it. For years she had tried not to look at him at all. Now she couldn't seem to stop.
She'd awakened early this morning and had resisted going back to sleep even though they'd been awake most of the night. Instead she'd simply lain there and feasted her eyes on Jace. She had traced the hard good looks, tough sinewy muscles, and the myriad nicks and scars on his taut, tanned skin that made him Jace. He was beautiful, she'd thought.
Though she knew if she ever told him that, he'd blush even more deeply than he was right now as the clerk handed him a carrier bag with his jeans and boots. He stood staring in dismay down at his bare, hair-roughened legs.
"I feel naked," he complained.
"Not even close," Celie said. "But if you want to really feel naked, we could go to the beach."
"A nude beach?" Jace said mockingly.
"If you want."
He gave her a hard look, decided she was joking and said, "Right. Let's go."
She took him by the hand and said, "Follow me."
Armand had been only too happy to see to her "education" the first time she'd come to St. Maarten. He'd blithely suggested they go to the beach, and she had agreed, only discovering after they arrived that clothing was optional. To his dismay she'd opted for it, insisting on wearing her bathing suit, as she had the two subsequent times she'd come.
She didn't know what she would do if Jace willingly doffed his clothes. But she didn't need to worry. He took one look, his jaw dropped, and he began hauling her in the other direction.
"No way," he said. "No blinkin' way!"
Celie grinned at him. "You don't want to strip off?"
"Me?" He shrugged as if that hadn't even occurred to him. "Hell, nobody's gonna look at me. I don't want a bunch of guys gawking at you!"
They went to another beach a distance away where they both wore bathing suits, and Celie got to put lotion on Jace and he got to put lotion on her, and afterward he muttered thickly that maybe they should just forget the beach and get a launch back to the ship.
But Celie said no. "You'll love the water. Come on!" And she jumped up and took off running toward the water.
Cursing, Jace levered himself up and chased her into the surf. And he did love it. They swam and played in the clear blue water and then lay side by side on the beach to dry off before heading off to have lunch.
There was no shortage of options for the meal—everything from gourmet French restaurants in Grand Case to you'd-think-you-were-in-the-states hamburger joints. They opted for conch fritters and cold beer at a sidewalk café where they could sit and watch the people passing by.
Except, Celie realized, they only seemed to have eyes for each other. Jace fed her a conch fritter dipped in saffron sauce, and she nibbled it all the way down till she was nibbling his thumb.
"You don't maybe want to go back to the ship?" he said plaintively.
But Celie just grinned and shook her head. "Not yet." The day was too perfect, too beautiful. She would savor it for a lifetime.
After they'd eaten, they walked around some more, looking in shops. There were a thousand of them, selling everything from diamonds and Rolex watches to seashells and silly T-shirts. Celie wanted to find presents for her mother and Walt, for Sara's soon-to-be-born baby and for Artie.
"I owe him," she said. "We both do. We need to find the perfect gift."
Jace groaned. "You look. I'll have another beer." He nodded hopefully toward a bar across the street where reggae music was pouring out. There were some lengths, Celie realized, to which even fairy-tale days didn't extend. Expecting Jace to enjoy shopping was one of them.
"All right. I'll meet you at the bar in an hour."
"Sure." He headed across the street eagerly. Celie, watching him go, thought he looked almost as good in shorts as he did in Wranglers.
He looked best of all, though, in absolutely nothing. Her cheeks warmed at the thought—and at the memory of his lean, hard, bare body. She giggled, amazed at how free and comfortable she felt thinking that way about him. It was as if all the desire and need and dreams that she'd held pent-up inside for years had suddenly found their focus and come pouring out. Which was pretty much the truth.
She was half tempted to run after him and agree to go back to the ship right now. But she did want to get something for Artie.
They really did owe Artie. A lot.
She got her mother and Walt a photo album for the pictures of their own travels. They had gone to Vietnam this summer to meet Walt's daughter. She was sure there would be plenty of photos to fill the album. She got Sara's baby a romper set with pineapples and palm trees on it and a CD of nursery songs set in reggae style.
Artie was harder to buy for. What did you get a ninety-year-old man who might not have everything, but who certainly had virtually everything he needed or might want?
What he would want, Celie decided, was to share a part of the cruise. So she ended up buying him a photo album, too. Then she got a couple of disposable cameras so she could take pictures of all the places she and Jace went. That way he could see where they had been. It had, after all, been his determination that had finally got them together. They might have gone on forever at cross purposes if he hadn't insisted on Jace coming on the cruise.
She'd walked halfway down Front Street
before she found everything she wanted. But finally, clutching her purchases, she hurried back to the bar. Jace was there, drinking a beer with the three blondes from the ship.
Seeing him surrounded by women, Celie felt momentarily awkward. But as soon as he saw her, a grin lit his face.
"Ah, good. Gotta go," he said to the blondes. He left them and his beer to join her.
"You didn't have to leave," Celie said quickly.
But he took her hand and walked her back out into the street. "Yes, I did. Where do you want to go now?"
It was getting on toward evening. They would have to be back at the launch in an hour or so. "How about just walking on the cliffs overlooking the beach?" Celie suggested.
Armand had shown her the cliffs above Cupecoy Beach. In her most recent romantic dreams, she'd imagined meeting her perfect man and walking there hand in hand with him.
Jace smiled. "Sounds good."
Celie took a picture of Jace in front of the bar, and then he took one of her. And then they got a passerby to take one of them together. "For Artie," she said. "We're taking pictures for him to share our trip."
"Of some things," Jace agreed. "Not everything."
Celie smiled. "No, not everything."
But on their way to the cliffs they stopped and took photos of the other places they'd been in St. Maarten. Then they took a taxi up to the cliffs. "Half an hour," Jace told the driver.
It was every bit as beautiful as she'd dreamed it would be, with the sun going down and the sky turning pink and orange and purple. The breeze ruffled her hair and touched her sunburned cheeks, and she turned and smiled at Jace.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she said.
"Mmm," he murmured. But he wasn't looking at the view at all. He was looking at her. He had hold of one of her hands and he drew her close and lifted his other hand to cup the back of her neck and tilt her face up to meet his.
And then he kissed her.
He tasted of the sea and the sun and the spicy saffron dip from the conch fritters. His mouth was hard and warm and persuasive against hers, and Celie responded, fulfilling her dream, kissing him in return, loving him, wanting this moment to go on forever.
And then Jace
broke off the kiss and stepped back.
Bereft, Celie opened her eyes to see what was wrong. "Jace?"
His face was inches from hers, his eyes dark and intent. "I love you," he said, his voice ragged. "Marry me."
And Celie knew only one answer to that.
"Yes," she whispered, and wrapped her arms around him to kiss him again. "Oh, yes."
* * *
Eight
« ^ »
"It is a shipboard romance," Simone said firmly, fixing Celie with a hard stare. "Zat is all."
"It's not all," Celie protested. "Besides, I didn't meet him on the ship. I've known him for years."
"Humph." Simone shook her head disapprovingly. "Even so. Everyone knows ze shipboard romances, zey don't last."
"Ours will," Celie insisted. "We're getting married! We've set the date." Celie waved her left hand in front of Simone's doubting gaze. On her ring finger was the solitaire diamond ring that Jace had given her last night when he'd asked her to marry him.
She'd been astonished to see the tiny black-velvet-covered box he'd pulled out of his pocket. "Wherever did you—" She'd stared at it, and then at him, amazed.
Jace had simply grinned. "You weren't the only one who went shopping."
While she had been out buying photo albums and cameras and rompers with pineapples on them for her family and Artie, it seemed that Jace had been buying her a diamond!
"He said I could bring it back," he'd told her almost diffidently, "if you don't like it. Or if—" he grimaced "—if you'd said no."
"I love it," Celie had said. And she certainly hadn't said no. It was the stuff of dreams. She might not even believe it now if she couldn't look at the ring on her finger. It was a simple, elegant solitaire with a white-gold band. Very traditional. Absolutely perfect.
Simone looked at it and sighed mightily. "Shipboard romance! It doesn't last," she repeated. "And if you quit before your six-monz commitment is over, Celie, you will not be able to come back."
"I don't want to come back," Celie said stubbornly. "I never wanted to do this forever. I only wanted to travel, to see the world, to meet people—"
A COWBOY'S PURSUIT Page 11
