"It's ringing," she told him. "Maybe no one is home. Oh, hello."
Dylan started as he realized she'd made a connection. Was it Laura? Was it someone else?
"Um, I was wondering," Rachel began, tripping over her words. "Who is this?" She paused. "Who am I?" She looked over at Dylan, pleading for an answer. He pointed to his ring finger and saw her glance down at the wedding ring Gary had placed on her finger nine years ago. "I'm— I'm Gary Tanner's wife," she said, her voice gathering strength. "I saw your number on Gary's phone bill, and I wondered who you were. What?" She paused again. Her face paled as she listened, and Dylan had to stop himself from ripping the receiver out of her hands. "Wait," Rachel said. "Don't go. Hello? Hello?" She slowly set down the receiver. "She hung up."
"What did she say?"
"She gasped when I said Gary's name. Like I'd just brought someone back from the dead."
"What else did she say?"
"She said, 'My relationship with Gary is over. Don't call here again.' They had a relationship, Dylan. She said it so clearly. It's true then. Gary was seeing this woman."
"You don't know what kind of relationship they had," he told her, forcing himself to go to Gary's defense when what he really wanted to do was put his arms around Rachel and hold her until the end of time.
"I do. I think you do, too," she said with a note of defeat in her voice. She got to her feet. "I think we just found the owner of that perfume bottle."
"Rachel, you don't know."
"Don't I?"
"We need to find out her name and who she is and all the rest." He stopped as she put her hands on his waist. A reckless gleam had entered her eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not sure."
"Then maybe you should take your hands off of me."
"Is that what you want?" she asked, her gaze fixed on his face.
She pressed her body against his, her breasts flirting with his chest. He had to fight to keep his hands in his pockets.
"This isn't a good idea," he managed to get out, even though his body was telling him otherwise.
"It's the best idea I've had all day. Kiss me, Dylan."
"No."
"Kiss me, Dylan," she repeated yearningly, her gaze drifting to his mouth.
"No." But he wavered inside. Why shouldn't he take what she was offering? Why shouldn't he indulge? Because she was scared and confused and hurting, that's why, he told himself with ruthless determination,
"Don't you want to?" she asked.
"I won't take advantage of you."
"Then I guess I'll have to take advantage of you." She stood on tiptoe and put her mouth to his.
His eyes closed at the contact, the delicious, unbearably sensuous contact. He wanted to pull away. This wasn't the right time, the right moment, but damn if her mouth wasn't working his in the most incredible way, her sweet kiss turning to pure sin as she opened her mouth and invited him inside.
And he went. God help him, but he went, sweeping her mouth with his tongue, tasting her from the inside out.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as she could get, her soft hips cradling him, her legs intertwining with his. It was better than any dream he'd ever had about her. If he'd been a better man, a stronger man, he would have pushed her away, but in truth he was just an ordinary man who'd wanted her for a long, long time.
He put his hands on her waist, his fingers bunching the material of her shirt, a shirt that covered her curves, curves that he wanted to travel, and travel slowly, caressing every last inch of her. But they had too many clothes on. He wanted nothing but skin, nothing but her.
Rachel moaned restlessly as if she also wanted more but wasn't sure how to get it. They moved toward the bed, stumbling slightly as they hit it with their legs. A second later, he was lying on top of her and she was looking up at him with desire in her beautiful blue eyes.
Desire for him? Or revenge against Gary?
He suddenly wasn't sure. Did she want him? Or did she just want to prove something?
"Don't stop," she whispered, cupping his face with her hands. "For God's sake, Dylan."
He didn't want to stop, but the voice in his head grew louder. It was too fast, too soon.
"We have to." The words came out before he could stop them, his mind winning out over his heart and his body. He got up before the other parts of him could argue that she wanted him and he wanted her, so what the hell was he acting so noble about?
"Dylan?" She propped herself up on her elbows, her face a picture of hurt. "Don't you want me?"
"Not like this," he said sharply. "You're hurt and pissed and this isn't what you really want. You'll regret it." He walked away from her and stared out the window.
"I guess I'll go then," she said.
He whirled around as she got to her feet. "Did you even know who you were kissing just now?"
Surprise flashed through her eyes. "Yes, I was kissing you, Dylan. I may be confused about some things, but I'm pretty clear about that."
"Because you were mad at Gary. You think he cheated on you. So you wanted to get back at him."
"Maybe that was part of it," she admitted. "But not all of it. We've always had chemistry. Maybe I just decided to stop fighting the attraction. Did you ever think of that?"
"If I thought you really wanted me, I wouldn't have stopped."
She stared back at him. "I do want you, Dylan. And I thought you wanted me."
His gut clenched. "I do want you. I always have. That's why I stayed away from you all these years. It's hell wanting someone you can't have, knowing they're with someone else, loving someone else, loving your best friend." He ran a hand through his hair, annoyed with himself for the words that had just come from his mouth.
"I'm sorry." She reached for him, but he sidestepped her touch. He couldn't handle that now. Her hand dropped to her side. "I didn't know, Dylan. I thought you'd moved on."
"I didn't want you to know. You married Gary, end of story."
"If it was the end, we wouldn't be here right now."
"We're here because of Gary. We've always been together because of him."
She didn't say anything, just stared at him with an expression that he couldn't read. Well, what did it matter? He knew what he had to say and he would say it. "Even though Gary is dead, he's still between us. I won't be his stand-in. I won't be the way you pay him back for the affair you think he had."
"It wasn't like that," she protested.
"Yes, it was. You wanted to punish Gary. That kiss had nothing to do with me. I know you didn't come here tonight to make love to me."
She didn't reply right away, then said quietly, "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes," he said forcefully. He couldn't let himself believe she'd wanted him for himself.
Rachel picked her purse up off the bed, "You're wrong, Dylan. I'm afraid that's exactly why I came here tonight. And I'm afraid that kiss didn't have anything to do with Gary."
* * *
Rachel's mouth still burned two hours later when she lay in her bed, the moonlight pouring in through the curtains of her open window. If Dylan hadn't stopped, she would have made love with him. And she probably would have hated herself for it. He'd been right to call a halt. She was too confused to be making love to any man, especially Dylan.
She turned over, reaching her hand across the queen-size bed, resting her palm on the space where her husband had once slept. Gary hadn't been beside her in months, six months. And they hadn't made love in more months than that. In fact, there were two creases in her mattress, one for her body, one for his, the middle of the bed rising slightly between the indentations made by two people who had slept beside each other, but not together.
When had that happened? When had they stopped meeting in the middle? When had sleep become more important than making love?
She couldn't remember a specific day, a big argument, or a frustrating fight. She couldn't remember any of those things. There should have been something significant
to recall. Otherwise it would mean that they had just drifted apart. What kind of wife let her husband just drift away? What kind of man let go of his wife?
They had loved each other. She knew that deep in her heart. But the passion between them, so fiery in the beginning, then tender after Wesley was born, had turned into something more comfortable than lustful. She'd enjoyed making love, but a distance had grown between them, and they couldn't seem to breach it. Just having weekends together wasn't enough for her to feel emotionally connected to him.
Making love had become unimportant. And that wasn't right. She realized that now. Why hadn't she realized it then?
And why did it seem to matter now -- with Dylan?
How could she want another man so soon?
Maybe because she'd always wanted him.
Her cheeks grew warm with guilt, embarrassment and shame. How could she have jumped on Dylan that way? She'd asked him for a kiss, and he'd said no. Instead of accepting that, she'd taken what he hadn't offered. Why? Out of lust, revenge, loneliness? Maybe it had been a little of each.
Her feelings for Dylan had always been complicated.
At first he'd just been Gary's best friend, a guy who didn't appear to like her all that much. That had changed as the three of them began to spend time together. Their weekends had been filled with parties and adventures, canoe trips down the Russian River, dancing at the local club in town, sometimes driving up to the University of California at Davis, where Gary had even more friends.
It had been three months of pure, unadulterated fun. But in retrospect, Rachel realized that while Gary was busy being the life of the party, she had been with Dylan. She couldn't remember what they'd talked about, but she could remember feeling smart and challenged and provoked by their conversations. They'd gotten closer, too close. And she could still remember the moment when they'd both crossed the line …
The rehearsal dinner was in full swing, but the lights were too bright, the music too loud. Rachel escaped to the patio for a breath of fresh air. Leaning against the concrete wall, she looked out at the moonlit valley, wondering why she felt so restless, so uncertain. She tried to calm down, to breathe deep, but the butterflies in her stomach were doing somersaults.
What was she doing, marrying a man she barely knew? Gary was handsome and sexy and fun, but would he be happy living on the farm?
She had to believe he would, because she didn't want to leave. The farm was where she belonged, the only place she belonged.
She turned, hearing someone step out onto the veranda. It was Dylan. Her heart sped up as he came toward her. She didn't want him here now. He saw too much.
But she couldn't stop him from moving closer, couldn't say the words that would send him back inside, couldn't do anything but meet his dark, questioning gaze.
"It's not too late, Rachel," he said, his face in the shadows. "You can have second thoughts."
The words terrified her. "It's way too late. I'm getting married in the morning."
"Does Gary know how scared you are?"
"I'm not scared."
"Your mouth is trembling."
"It's not."
He touched a finger to her lips and they quivered even more. "There's no crime in waiting, making sure of what you want."
"Gary is a good man," she said desperately.
"The best," Dylan agreed. He cupped her face with his warm, strong hands. "But you have to be sure, Rachel. This is too big a step not to be certain."
"I know," she whispered. "You need to let go of me."
"I'm trying," he said, but his hands didn't leave her face.
She looked into his eyes and saw the glitter of desire, the gleam of recklessness as his head drifted down toward her.
She had plenty of time to move, but she didn't. She had plenty of time to say no, hut she couldn't. It seemed to take forever for his mouth to touch hers, each second strung out like a long, taut wire, until finally, finally, he kissed her. It seemed like she'd been waiting forever for this moment.
His mouth was hot and firm, stubbornly determined. He didn't taste like the bubbles and champagne she associated with Gary; he tasted like a dark red wine, mysterious, potent. His mouth moved against hers, pushing her lips apart until his tongue could slide inside. She melted into him, her tongue dancing with his, her hands holding his head as he was holding hers, their hips stirring restlessly against each other. It was the most carnal, passionate kiss of her young life, and it scared her to death.
What was she doing? This was Dylan. This was her fiance's best friend.
He must have come to the same conclusion at the same time, for he pulled away with a rough and furious "No."
She stared back at him, her breath coming fast and ragged. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"Or me," he said. "I can't do this to Gary. You need to marry him. He loves you. He needs you."
"And I love him," she said forcefully, making sure they both believed it.
"We're going to forget this ever happened. We're not going to talk about this again."
"But –"
"Go, Rachel. Go, while I can still let you."
"Why did you wait so long?" she couldn't help asking.
"Because he saw you first."
She stared at him for a long moment, then went back inside, telling herself that she loved Gary, and she wouldn't look back at the man in the moonlight. Gary was the man she wanted. He was love and laughter, and she needed that. Dylan was too moody, too temperamental, too questioning. She was marrying the right man.
Rolling on to her back, Rachel stared up at the ceiling. Had she married the right man? Or had she taken the easy way out? She'd been so young, so naïve. She knew nothing of the world. She should have waited, but she'd rushed in, wanting a family, and Gary had seemed to want one too. Their romance had been whirlwind, head-spinning, and any doubts she had were always washed away with Gary's big smile. She'd wanted light in her life, and he gave her that, along with a child she adored. She'd loved him as best she could, and she didn't regret one minute of their marriage.
But Gary was gone, and she was alone, and Dylan's kiss was even better than she remembered.
Chapter Fourteen
Dylan filled Wednesday, Thursday and Friday to the brim. He hired electricians, plumbers, sheetrock workers and carpenters. He bought supplies and tools, set up accounts in town and met with the appropriate building department inspectors. When he wasn't working on the house, he was coordinating his other projects, in constant contact with his office and his crews in the field.
But every day, come three-thirty, he found himself looking around for a short, blond, freckle-faced kid who had become his afternoon shadow. Today was no exception, he thought, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he checked his watch. It was three-forty-five. Wesley was late. He hoped nothing was wrong.
He supposed he could call Rachel. He hadn't spoken to her at all since she'd left his hotel room late Tuesday night. He was a coward, that's why. He hadn't known what to say, how to act, so he'd avoided her. But he couldn't avoid her forever. They still had the issue of Gary's death to deal with, and yet another complication that he needed to share with her.
Might as well be now, he decided.
After asking Travis to make sure the tools were secured in the locked shed he'd put on the site the day before, he hopped into his car and drove over the hill to the apple farm. He stopped at the house first and found Wesley waiting on the step with a small suitcase and a sleeping bag.
"Hey, buddy," he said. "I was wondering where you were. Are you going somewhere?"
"The Cub Scouts are having a camp-out by Sullivan's Lake," Wesley said with a heavy sigh at the end of his sentence.
Dylan sat down next to him. "You don't sound too excited."
Wesley shrugged. "It's a father-and-son camp-out."
"Oh, I see."
"Grandpa is going with me."
"That's good."
"I guess. He can't go hikin
g because of his arthritis. And he won't be able to do the three-legged race or the swimming relay with me. He says the lake water is too cold for him. I don't even want to go on the stupid camp-out, but Mom says I have to." He added another sigh just in case Dylan couldn't tell how unhappy he was.
He needn't have bothered, because Dylan had a pretty good idea of how he was feeling. He hadn't had a dad around to do the father-son things either. Once or twice his stepfather had filled in, but he'd made it clear he didn't want to be there.
"So how long do you go for?" he asked.
"Just one night. We come back tomorrow at five." Wesley paused. "Hey, Dylan?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think you could go on the camp-out with me?"
"Uh ..." He didn't know what to say. He wasn't Wesley's father. He didn't belong on a father-son camp-out, that was for sure. But there was a pleading look in Wesley's eyes that told him how much the boy did not want to go with his elderly grandfather. "I don't know, Wes."
"Please. Grandpa doesn't want to go anyway. He'd be happy if you took his place. And you could do all the cool stuff with me, the hikes and the swimming and everything."
"But you'd have fun with your grandfather."
"Right." Wesley rested his head on the sleeping bag in his arms.
He looked completely dejected, and even if half of it was an act, Dylan couldn't help but respond. "Where's your mom?"
"She's making us some food to take."
"I'll be right back."
Dylan went into the house without bothering to knock, a habit he'd only recently begun to acquire, but it appeared that locked doors and knocking irritated people out here in the country; they preferred you just let yourself in and help yourself to whatever you needed. He'd never lived in a house like that, and it still didn't feel right to him to be walking down Rachel's hallway without her knowing it, but he pushed the feeling aside and ventured into the kitchen. He found her half hidden behind the freezer door.
"I'm almost ready, Wesley. I just have to fill the ice chest," she said, shutting the door. She stopped when she saw him. "Dylan."
"Hi."
"Hi," she said with a breathless catch in her voice.
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