Kindred Spirits

by Beth Ciotta

  She stretched up and kissed his throat, right where his shirt parted. His skin was warm, his male scent more intoxicating than wine. She felt him swallow, and excitement flooded her. She kissed him again, his throat, his collarbone. She released a fourth and fifth button and slipped her hand inside his shirt. His muscles bunched, and his breathing deepened.

  Power. In that moment, she felt her true power as a woman. She wasn’t rendered helpless, as she’d expected. She wasn’t at his mercy. She smiled.

  “Think you’re cute, huh?” He swept her off her feet, then carried her through the kitchen, the living room, and up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Third door on the left,” she whispered, her throat dry.

  “I know.” He crossed her threshold and laid her down on her bed. “I waited outside this door while you dressed for our date, remember? About five minutes after you dropped that towel.” He flicked on the small table lamp beside her bed, bathing the room in muted amber. “I came close to barging in and saying to hell with the movie.”

  She shivered with delight. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was trying to be a gentleman. But you’ve made it clear you don’t want a gentleman.” He fingered her buttons. “Hot, meaningless sex? Trust me, sweetheart. I can comply.”

  If he was trying to scare her, it didn’t work. The words hot and sex played over and over in her mind like a seductive melody. She didn’t even care that he’d turned on a light. She didn’t want to miss anything.

  With one hand, he popped her buttons open one by one.

  She lost her breath. So much for victory.

  He smiled, then kissed her throat. Her gaze drifted, unseeing, until it rested on the ceiling, which was painted like a summer sky. She’d done it that way when she’d first started dreaming about flying. Now she was dreaming of flying in another way. She felt no shame, no guilt for what she was doing. As self-protective as she’d been taught to be, she’d also been taught not to waste opportunities to experience all life had to offer. Experiencing sex with Rufus Sinclair was definitely an opportunity she did not want to miss. God knows when or if she’d ever have another like it.

  She closed her eyes as his mouth drifted down her neck, as he popped more buttons. She felt freed and strangely empowered as he spread her shirt open. His breath caught. She grinned. She hadn’t worn a brassiere.

  “Little devil,” he growled, nuzzling her ear. He suckled her earlobe, and she nearly cried from the unexpected pleasure. Burying her fingers in his hair, she coaxed him into another lingering kiss, then slipped her hands between them to unfasten his remaining shirt buttons. His chest felt warm and solid against hers, the soft smattering of hair tickling her breasts.

  She thought about earlier, when she’d placed his hand on her breast. She’d felt a brief thrill, and then he’d pulled away. She wanted to re-experience that thrill, only this time she wanted a longer ride. “Touch me, Rufus.”

  She didn’t need to ask twice. She felt warm, comforted, and madly aroused as he cupped her breasts. No man had ever touched her bare skin aside from her arms. She sank into the new sensation with no inhibitions. Until she felt his tongue flick across her nipple. That shot her upright, her breath staggering. She needed to have some control, at least a little rush of power to strengthen her resolve. Her eyes glazed, and she knocked him back so that she lay atop him.

  She pulled off his shirt and followed his example, kissing his chest, flicking her tongue over sinew and muscle, then lower to the hard plane of his abdomen. She’d known he exercised his body, but she’d never imagined male skin and bone to be quite like this. Like the indelible angles and curves of a marble statue. More stunning than the crisp wings and shiny prop of a spanking-new Jenny. Entranced, she continued her quest. He sucked in a sharp breath, inspiring her to move farther down. Her mind swirled with fire, out of control, and she wrapped her fingers around his belt buckle, then raised her hot gaze to his. He stared hotly back. When he groaned, she lost herself for good.

  She tugged at his buckle, unable to unhook it fast enough. Then she pulled down his zipper. God, she could feel the heat coming off him. Curious, she rested her hand on the hardness pressing against his underwear.

  “Take them off, baby.”

  His throaty command singed her. He stared at her as though he might devour her, and she suddenly welcomed whatever primal behavior lurked behind those eyes. Her shirt unbuttoned, her breasts bare, she felt as beautiful as a pinup in the girlie magazines she’d found hidden in the barn. She pulled off his shoes and socks, then tugged down his trousers. He lay in only his underwear and pure heat. Fascinated, she kneeled beside him and touched him again.

  In a blur of movement, he flipped her over so she lay flat on her back.

  Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. She should close the window, but he had her pinned to the bed. Even if he hadn’t, she wasn’t sure she could move. Anticipation had seized her limbs. She lay limp and trembling as he kissed her, obliterating any last rational thought.

  She simply burned.

  He removed her trousers, and her eyes nearly rolled up from the feel of his hard body against hers. He smoothed his hand under her cotton panties. Touched the soft mound of hair. Gentle but barely restrained. He touched her . . . there. She cried out, too far gone to be embarrassed.

  The sky cracked with a brilliant flash of lightning as he slipped his finger inside her. Zap! The queer electrical energy that had existed between them from the start came to life. Her nerve endings sizzled. He moved his finger, and she bucked. Zing!

  He kissed her neck, whispered in her ear. “So soft, Grace. So beautiful.”

  Her eyes burned. She nearly cried at the wonder of it.

  She didn’t want him to have the power to make her cry. “Now,” she said, afraid to hand him everything, even though it seemed she already had. She would take him. Not the other way around. “Do it now.”

  He stood and removed his underwear. Never once did his eyes leave hers. She silently bid him to hurry, which only seemed to slow his actions. He lay down softly atop her, his weight on his arms. He gazed into her eyes, intently and long, as though trying to brand her soul.

  “Grace,” he whispered, “I won’t let you forget me.”

  Damn him. She closed her eyes and wrapped her legs around him. “Give it your best shot, Ace.”

  And he did. He kissed her deeply, melting her mind, her bones. She felt languid, liquid. Hot.

  He parted her legs, eased his way inside.

  Years ago Izzy had told her about her first time in graphic detail. She’d warned her about the pain but said it quickly disappeared. Grace didn’t make a sound when Rufus claimed her innocence. No, that came seconds later, after the pain had faded, when he began moving inside her and a new world opened up and swallowed her whole. She clung to him, slid against him, bit his biceps. She matched his ferocity. Thunder rattled the windowpanes. Lightning flashed, and shadows danced on the walls. Shadows of two wild animals.

  She ceased to breathe as she breached the heavens, crying out as she touched the stars.

  He trembled atop her, rearing back his head and calling her name to the skies. She’d never felt closer to anyone in her life. Nor further away from herself. At first, she’d felt as though she’d found a part of herself that had been missing. Now, she felt she’d just met a stranger.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “GOOD MORNING.”

  Izzy opened her eyes and blinked at the ceiling. A pale blue ceiling. She must’ve stumbled into the blue room last night instead of her own. As her head throbbed, she realized she must have been more blotto than usual. She didn’t even remember the drive home.

  “I have just the thing for you.”

  She’d already forgotten the voice that had awakened her. She struggled up onto her elbows, and frowned. In the doorway, ho
lding a laden silver tray, stood Roy Tadmucker.

  What was he doing at Laguna Vista?

  Who cared? He’d brought coffee. Next best thing to Jimmy’s hangover cure-all. Except the coffee didn’t smell like Maxwell House. The gold-rimmed porcelain carafe didn’t look like her mother’s. Her blurry eyes focused on the seascape paintings hanging on either side of the doorway. She looked to the polished hardwood floors, the expensive walnut furniture, the quilted indigo bedspread . . .

  She stilled. She was in a strange bed. Worse, she was in Roy’s bed.

  He balanced the tray on a tall chest, then poured a cup of coffee. “Two sugars, correct?”

  “Mmm.” She tried not to panic. Waking in his bed didn’t necessarily mean she’d slept with him. After all, Roy was a gentleman. He would sleep on the floor before compromising a drunken lady. Holding her breath, she peeked under the sheets. She shrieked.

  The sound nearly split her head in two.

  “Try this.”

  She glanced at Roy, his smile warm, caring. Hands trembling, she accepted the offered cup and sipped. Java laced with cinnamon. Delicious.

  Speaking of delicious . . . He sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He must have come fresh from his bath, what with his smooth, shaven jaw and damp salt-and-pepper hair. The top few buttons of his white shirt were unfastened, and she could see a ribbed undershirt and a peek of silver hair matting his broad, tanned chest. She caught the scent of sandalwood and sighed. Manly. She’d never thought of Roy as manly. Not in a sexual way. Her stomach fluttered.

  She had a fuzzy memory of his kissing her toes, then her ankles, her calves, her thighs, then . . .

  She gulped her coffee, wishing he’d had the decency to spike it with rum. How was she supposed to face this situation sober?

  His smile broadened.

  Manly and smug. She passed him back the cup and saucer, tucked the sheet firmly beneath her armpits, then folded her arms over her chest. “You took advantage of me.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “I was drunk.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She didn’t know which miffed her more, that he was still smiling, or that he was acting so calmly. They’d slept together. He’d pleasured her with his mouth. She’d unzipped his trousers with her teeth and . . . Oh, God! Memory after memory of her night with Roy came flooding back as caffeine jolted her sluggish brain. She remembered how he had greeted her at the front door of his beach house, looking her up and down until he’d finally focused on her eyes. She’d felt a tingle. A funny little tingle. Then he’d leaned in and whispered a poetic adoration into her ear and the tingle had turned into a zap. Of course, she’d been three-quarters snockered and desperate for attention, but it hadn’t mattered. A zap was a zap. On a whim, she’d kissed him on the lips. After that he hadn’t let her out of his sight.

  The party had turned out to be a rip-roaring success. Lots of food, booze, and hip-wiggling jazz. Mayor Rooney had seemed especially pleased when busty, long-legged Betty Niles had popped topless out of a giant birthday cake. A stunt Roy had coordinated, and all this time she had thought him a prude.

  She blushed, remembering how he’d teased her to orgasm with his tongue. He was no prude. “A gentleman would have driven me home,” she said, trying to ignore the tingling between her thighs.

  “A man in love would have kept you here.”

  She blinked at him. Men fell in love with her all the time. She’d known Roy had a crush on her, yet . . . yet she’d never considered he might love her. It occurred to her that she’d never considered herself worthy of him. The realization made her bristle. “Since when are you in love with me?”

  “Since I saw you teach Millie Winters to fox-trot.”

  She thought back. “New Year’s Eve at The Gentle Lamb. Two years ago.”

  “The dance floor was jammed. Millie was sitting alone.”

  “She’d broken Willie Hathaway’s toe the night before. Wasn’t a man brave enough to risk her size-ten clodhoppers.”

  “Didn’t stop you.”

  She shrugged. “She looked lonely. I figured if she could just master the fox-trot, she could find herself a dance partner. I mean, who can’t fox-trot?”

  “It was very thoughtful of you. Then there was the night you gave Cora your pearl choker.”

  How had he known about that? Unless he’d been sitting at the next table. Watching, listening. Wouldn’t she have noticed him eavesdropping? But then, she’d rarely noticed him. “What was I supposed to do? Cora had lost hers. Her husband would have thrown a fit.”

  “That choker cost a fortune. I know. I was with your father when he purchased it for your birthday.”

  She traced a finger over the threads of the quilted bedspread. “Daddy can afford it.”

  “You loved that choker.”

  She fluttered a careless hand, avoiding his gaze. Unable to find the exact duplicate, she’d replaced her choker with an almost identical one. Her daddy never noticed, but she had. The replacement held no sentimental value. Still, she didn’t regret giving Cora her beloved necklace. The small gesture had saved Cora a beating from her violent husband. A husband who’d dumped her six months later for an older, wealthier woman.

  “Thank you for not telling Daddy.”

  He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “You’re a kind, caring woman, Isadora.”

  This time she did look at him. “Are you joking? Most people think I’m selfish.”

  “Most people don’t look deeply enough.”

  Roy, she was beginning to think, was not most people. She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. He was handsome in a quiet, subtle way, like tasteful furniture that complements rather than distracts. He was well-built for an older man. No paunch. No jowls. “How old are you?”

  “Forty-eight.”

  “Twice as old as me.”

  He winked. “Twice as experienced.”

  He kissed her palm, then her wrist. Her pulse thrummed beneath his lips. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking your mind off your hangover.” His lips grazed her skin, lingering at the crook of her elbow.

  “Who says I have a hangover?” She cringed at the hitch in her voice, even as she slid lower on the bed. She should leave. Now. She had things to do. She’d promised Mick that photo of Rufus.

  “You wince with my every whispered word.” He followed her down, moving over her. He kissed her neck. Nibbled her earlobes.

  Her eyes rolled back, and her thoughts grew muddled. When he pushed the sheets to her waist and cupped her breasts, her focus blurred. Her voice came out a husky rasp. “Maybe you should stop talking.”

  “Maybe you should spend the day in bed while I nurse you back to health.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she whispered, tugging at his belt. Mick could wait.

  RUFUS OPENED HIS eyes to the soft morning light. A cool breeze smelling of newly washed earth fluttered the curtains and raised goose bumps on his naked flesh. A startling sensation, considering that only hours before he’d fallen asleep smoldering like a wildfire taking a breath.

  He rolled over, burning for more. Burning for Grace.

  She was gone.

  He wasn’t surprised. They’d had sex. Now she could focus on business. No doubt she was in the barn, working away, repairing the wing. Problem solved. She’d told him straight out, hadn’t she? “Attraction. Friction. Combustion. Nothing personal.” It obviously was nothing personal. She’d left him without a word.

  As for his own agenda, it hadn’t quite worked out the way he’d thought it would. He’d promised Grace hot, meaningless sex. Well, he’d come through with the hot part. The meaningless part had gone out the window
the moment he’d entered her. He’d never felt anything tighter. Sweeter. The carnal look in her eyes as she’d stared straight into his soul had guaranteed that neither of them would ever forget the encounter. Indeed, her aggressive tendencies had carried over into bed, and yet she’d played submissive equally well, allowing him to take her to heights she’d never experienced. Heights he’d never experienced. Amazing Grace had taken on a whole new meaning.

  He traced his fingers over the indentation in her pillow and thought back to the boardwalk, to the moment he’d decided to give her what she’d been asking for all night. He realized now that when she’d threatened to go find Mahoney, she’d probably meant only to talk or to ask him for a ride. The man was her lifelong friend. But in that moment of arousal-hazed thought, he’d thought she’d meant to go to Mahoney for sex. To get it out of her system one way or another.

  He’d raged with jealousy. An intense, ugly feeling that had so shocked and sickened him that he hadn’t trusted himself to touch her or speak to her until they’d arrived at the farm. For the rest of the night, he’d bitten his tongue a hundred times. Swallowed a thousand words. I’m crazy about you, Grace. You’re the sexiest, most passionate, interesting woman I have ever known. Come with me to the future. It had actually hurt him to stifle his sentiments. It had hurt him to know she wanted no part of his heart. Last night had been a first for him as well, yet for him the wonder lingered.

  He couldn’t help but smart.

  He buried his face in her pillow, breathed in her scent. Sunshine, soap, and sex. He gritted his teeth and again cursed Karma, a notion growing harder by the minute to dismiss. How many times had he slipped out of someone’s bed in the early-morning light? No regrets. Speeding off to work with a whistle and a smile. This morning, he was the deserted partner in this narrow twin bed.

  It hurt like hell.