Reason told her to back off, to keep her distance. It was too soon. It was too late. Either way, she was vulnerable. But desire told her to move closer, to let herself go, to lose herself in him.
Dylan's hand tightened on her waist; his chin brushed the top of her head. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't let those lips get close to hers. They weren't in Shenanigans in front of her aunt and uncle; they were in the recreation center in front of the whole damn town. The friends watching her now were the friends who had come to her wedding and to Gary's funeral. They wouldn't understand this relationship she had with Dylan.
"Relax," he murmured. "It's just a dance."
She wanted to believe him. But he was wrong. There was a lot more going on between them than just a dance.
The music finally stopped to a smattering of applause. Rachel turned her attention back to the podium. Mrs. Bailey, the Mistress of Ceremonies, motioned for a drumroll.
"The winner of this year's festival, our new Harvest Queen, is Miss Christie Wood," she said.
She clapped her hands with genuine pleasure as she watched her younger cousin rush up to the stage amidst a flurry of congratulations. After she was given a bouquet of flowers and a tiara, a speech was called for.
"Thank you so much," Christie said, her eyes welling with tears. "This means so much to me. I'm an apple girl all the way down to the tips of my toes. Nothing gives me greater pride than to be this year's queen."
"I'm so happy for Christie," she said to Dylan.
He smiled back. "An apple girl down to the tips of her toes. Must run in the family, huh?"
"I used to be that apple girl."
"Not anymore?" he quizzed.
"Not anymore." It was the truth, she realized. Somewhere along the way she'd grown up, she'd changed. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was a woman. And she didn't want just apples in her life. "Let's go."
He raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
She hesitated as he gave her the opening she needed to break for home, for safety, for everything she knew and held dear. But was home really where she wanted to go?
Chapter Twenty
Dylan didn't say anything as he unlocked the door to his hotel room. But then, he hadn't said anything after she'd told him she didn't want to go home. He'd simply walked her out of the building and down the three short blocks to his hotel. Since everyone was at the dance, there was only a teenager manning the front desk, a teenager who didn't even glance at them. That hurdle aside, Rachel had a bigger one to face, the one inside herself.
Dylan flipped on a light by the bed. The room was neat and tidy, but then Dylan was the kind of guy who had a place for everything and everything in its place. Where was her place? Where did she belong? She held her purse in front of her like a shield of armor, afraid to put it down, afraid to take a step forward.
"You can have second thoughts," he said, watching her closely.
His words triggered a memory of another time they'd stood like this, stiff and uncertain. The night before her wedding, he'd said the same thing. You can have second thoughts.
She'd pushed those second thoughts aside. She'd run back into the restaurant, looking for Gary, her dad, herself. There was nowhere to run this time, no one whose arms would envelop her in a big bear hug, no one except Dylan. If he opened his arms, she would run into them. But his arms remained at his sides, his hands in his pockets.
"Is it supposed to be this hard?" she asked.
"Maybe it's hard because it matters."
"I don't want it to matter. It could just be sex. Casual sex."
"It will matter. And it won't be casual," he said in a husky voice. "You and I both know that."
"I wish it had just happened, that we'd been swept away, no rational thinking involved."
"As soon as we touch each other, that will probably be the end of all rational thought," he said with a small smile.
She felt better with his smile, felt like she could handle this Dylan, the one who was amused and lighthearted. But what of the other Dylan, the one with fire and passion and complexity? The one who'd stayed in her head all these years. The one she'd instinctively known would overwhelm and consume her if given the chance. What about him? Could she handle him? She felt anxious, excited and scared all at the same time. Like a woman in love.
No. She wasn't in love with him. This wasn't love. It couldn't be. She'd promised to love one man for all time. But here was another. She cared about him deeply. He'd always had a piece of her heart. Was this love, too? Could she love two men in her lifetime? Was that fair to either one of them?
"Are you nervous at all?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Really? Because I'm feeling pretty nervous, too." She wet her lips as she thought about what she wanted to tell him. "I've only been with one man. Doesn't that sound ridiculous in this day and age? Most people have had a dozen lovers at least. But I was nineteen when we got married. Before that, I just didn't like anyone enough to -- you know."
"I wasn't asking, Rachel."
"I feel like I need to tell you. Not that you have to tell me. You don't. Your past is your past. I just don't want you to expect someone really experienced and ... Oh, God, I don't even know what I'm trying to say."
"Maybe you're trying to talk yourself out of this. Like I said before, it's up to you. I'm not holding you." He opened his arms wide to emphasize his point.
"I want you to hold me," she whispered.
"Are you sure? I want you to be certain of what you want and who you want."
She hated the hardness that came into his eyes. "I'm not here because I'm lonely and I'm missing Gary. Even though I am lonely and I do miss Gary." She let the words sink in, then went on. "That's a different issue. I'm here because of you, because everything has changed in the last few weeks. I'm tired of looking back, trying to grab onto something that is gone. I have no idea what's ahead, tomorrow or next week or next month."
"None of us do."
"I used to feel like I was walking on solid ground. I knew the path. I knew the sights. But I don't feel that way anymore. And it isn't just Gary's secrets that have made that ground shaky, it's you, too. You're in my heart. You're under my skin. You're in the air I breathe. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop wanting to touch you, wanting to be with you."
"I know what you mean." His eyes darkened with the desire he'd been holding in check.
"I want to live in the present, in this moment, at least for tonight. Is that wrong?"
"Not wrong, but tomorrow will come and probably regrets right along with it. You've always felt guilty about me. I've always been your deep, dark secret, haven't I, Rachel?"
She saw the challenge in his eyes and said, "Yes. But haven't I been yours? Haven't you felt guilty?"
"So where does that leave us? Do you want something to really feel guilty about?"
"No. I'm not going to feel guilty about this." She lowered her purse, then tossed it onto the bed. "I want to be with you tonight. There's no one else in this room, no one but you and me. There's no past and no future; there's only now."
"You're not going to change your mind, are you? I don't think I could take that, Rachel."
"I'm not going to change my mind." She walked over to him and cupped his face with her hands, speaking straight from her heart, from her soul. "I want you, Dylan."
"God, I want you, too," he groaned, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her body up against his. His mouth came down on hers in a fiery burst of passion. They no longer needed words. What had to be said could be said with their lips and their hands and their bodies.
Their conversation had been slow and deliberate, yet their lovemaking was anything but. Rachel had wanted to be swept away and she was. She was barely aware of Dylan stripping the clothes from her body. And somewhere along the way she helped him get rid of his clothes.
When they fell onto the bed, they were completely naked. She thought she'd be shy and awkward, but being with Dylan was like the most
natural thing in the world. She reveled in the freedom of being able to touch him in every conceivable way. His body was rough and textured as only a strong, powerful man's body could be, a man who worked outdoors with his hands and his back. His muscles rippled under her fingers; his heart beat faster with each touch; his groans deepened with each kiss.
She wanted the luxury of time to enjoy him, but Dylan was moving impatiently, hungrily, kissing her mouth, then her neck, his lips drifting to her breasts, her sensitive nipples, her belly and lower still. Each sensation, each kiss, set off another wave of pleasure. She couldn't think. She didn't want to think. Feeling was everything.
She selfishly took what Dylan eagerly gave. And when he finally filled her body, he also filled the lonely little corners, the guilty little desires. When the pleasure seemed too much, she tried to retreat. Dylan forced her to look at him, to move with him to each new peak, until she finally cried out, "No more." Their climaxes rolled over each other like two waves hitting the beach at the same time.
For a long while, the only sound in the room was breathing: fast, short gasps, finally settling into deeper, more satisfied breaths. She was aware of Dylan's weight now, but she liked it, liked the way he surrounded her, enveloped her.
"I'm too heavy," he murmured.
"Don't go." She rubbed her hands over his buttocks, feeling him stir within her as she did so. A wonderful sense of possession, of completeness, came over her. She felt whole again.
Dylan kissed the base of her neck, then pushed the sweaty strands of hair off her face. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah. Better than all right."
He smiled and rolled off her. Before she could protest, he'd moved her onto her side, with her head resting on his chest. She could hear the pounding of his heart against her cheek; she didn't think she'd ever forget the beat.
"How about you?" she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious about how generous Dylan had been with his attention and how she'd soaked it all up like a hungry sponge.
"I'm great."
She lifted her head to look into his eyes. "Really?"
"Really," he reassured her with a warm, tender smile.
"Good." She dropped her head back onto his chest and smiled. "Because you were magnificent."
"Well, I like that."
"Like a forest fire."
"That hot, huh?"
She laughed. "I shouldn't have said that. You won't ever let me forget it, will you?"
"It's indelibly printed on my brain."
She traced a circle on his chest with her fingernail. "Did I tell you that Wesley is spending the night at a friend's house?"
"No."
"Well, he is." She lifted her head one more time. "Do you want me to stay?"
"Yes," he said without any hesitation, but his eyes were somber when he added, "If you want to."
"Can I be on top next time?"
The smile came back into his eyes. "You can be wherever you want. Hell, you can tie me to the bedpost."
"That sounds interesting," she said, her words abruptly cut off by the ring of Dylan's phone.
Dylan glanced over at it. "I'll let it go to voicemail."
"It might be important."
"On a Friday night? How important could it be?"
But she saw the shadow in his eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing she was, that it could be about Gary. The investigator had promised to call by today. "I'm going to use the bathroom. Why don't you answer it?" She slid off the bed before he could protest.
When she'd finished in the bathroom, she put on the white terry-cloth robe hanging on the back of the door and returned to the bedroom. Dylan had retrieved his boxer shorts and was jotting something down on a piece of paper. A moment later, he said good-bye and hung up.
"Work stuff," he told her. "A call from one of my foremen on a job I'm running in San Francisco."
"Everything all right?"
"Good enough. They still don t think they can handle some of these things without me."
"You're the man."
He smiled. "You want to come closer and say that?"
She laughed. "Do you think I could borrow a T-shirt?"
"Well, you won't be wearing it for long, but sure you can borrow one," he said with a grin. "Top drawer of the dresser."
She moved to the dresser and was just opening the drawer when he said, "Wait." He jumped out of bed. "I'll get it for you."
"I can do it," she said, reaching into the drawer. Unfortunately, what she pulled out wasn't a T-shirt. It was white and lacy and silky. It was a teddy, a woman's teddy. "Whose is this?"
Dylan cleared his throat. "I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?" she asked incredulously. She turned the teddy over in her hand, the design suddenly very familiar. She'd seen this before. She'd admired the cut but had thought it too daring for herself. "Oh, my God!"
"What?"
"This is Carly's teddy."
"Carly?" he said, sounding shocked.
"What is Carly's teddy doing in your drawer?"
"It's not what you think," he said quickly.
"You're fooling around with my sister?"
"No! Hell, no," he said forcefully. "I brought the teddy with me. I found it in --"
"You found it in ..." She put a hand to her heart. "No." She shook her head in disbelief. "Tell me you didn't. Please tell me."
"I don't want to tell you anything. I don't want to hurt you, Rachel."
"Where was it, Dylan? You have to say the words."
"I found it in Gary's apartment," he replied heavily. "But I didn't know it was Carly's."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't sure it meant anything."
"And that perfume, I wonder if that was hers, too." Her mind raced. Her stomach churned and bile rose to her throat. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling nauseated. "My husband and my sister? Oh, God! When is it going to end? When will I finally know everything?"
"You have to talk to Carly."
"I don't think I ever want to talk to her."
"There might be a reasonable explanation. I'm sure there is."
"I don't see how there could be." She threw the teddy back in the drawer and slammed it shut.
"Do you want to go home?" he asked quietly.
She looked at him with despair. "Where is that, Dylan? Where is home? I don't think I know anymore."
He put his arms around her and drew her against his chest. "It's right here, Rachel," he whispered. "It's right here."
* * *
"I have had the best time," Carly said, twirling the empty champagne glass in her hand.
Travis smiled at her. "You're lit up like a Christmas tree."
"The bubbly did me in."
"Nah. It was the art. You're a cheap date. A few pictures and you're in heaven."
Carly waved her hand at the beautiful paintings adorning the walls of the gallery. It was after ten and the crowd was beginning to thin. She supposed they should go, too, but she was having a hard time tearing herself away. It had been an evening to remember, with conversations that at first had intimidated her but then had fascinated her.
"Isn't it all incredible?" she asked Travis.
He loosened his tie. "Not bad."
"It's not your thing, is it?" She didn't know why she felt disappointed. Travis was a country boy. He didn't belong here.
"It's your thing, and that's what matters. I'm glad you had a good time."
"I had a fabulous time, the best ever. I wish I could do this stuff all the time."
"Which one do you like the best?" He nodded toward the wall.
"The mirror," she said, walking over to the painting that had caught her attention the minute she'd come through the door. It was a shimmering abstract impression of a mirror, reflections barely there, hints of something, but no definition. "It's a trip into the imagination, into the world of the inner mind."
Travis tilted his head, considering her words. "I think the artist drank too much
wine."
She made a face at him, but he just smiled back at her. "I don't pretend to get any of this. But I get you, Carly. That's all you should care about."
"Maybe I don't want you to get me."
"Don't you? Wouldn't you like to be with someone who understands you?"
She turned away and put her champagne glass on a tray of empty glasses. "It was nice of you to bring me here, but it doesn't change anything. Antonio and I are having dinner tomorrow night."
"Does he know about it yet?"
"Yes. He called me as soon as he got back from New York."
"Carly, give it up. He's not the man for you."
"He is the man for me, and tomorrow night we'll share an apple tart for dessert," she told him, that desperate feeling returning to her stomach.
If she didn't get that apple into Antonio soon, she was afraid she never would. She was nowhere near as confident about him as she wanted Travis to think. But she had to succeed with Antonio. This gallery opening was the kind of thing Antonio did on a daily basis. He lived a cosmopolitan existence filled with champagne and beautiful people in beautiful clothes. That was the kind of life she wanted to lead, too.
"Travis?"
Carly looked up to see a tall, thin man with glasses bearing down on them.
"Roger, I didn't think you would make it," Travis said, shaking the other man's hand.
"I got delayed at the opera. Wouldn't you know it?"
"Actually, I wouldn't. I'm not much of an opera guy."
"I forgot. Please introduce me to your friend."
"Carly Wood, this is Roger Bentley."
Carly shook his hand, a little ill at ease because of his intense scrutiny. What on earth was this man looking at? Was there something stuck in her teeth?
"Beautiful," Roger murmured. "Just as you said. Did you enjoy the opening, Miss Wood?"
"Very much, thank you."
"Roger's brother is the owner of this gallery. You met him earlier, Carly," Travis said. "Roger owns another gallery in Union Square."
"A much larger one," Roger said with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Travis tells me that you are a painter. I would like to see some of your work."
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