His hands and hips guided their speed and rhythm, so he would bring her to the edge of climax and then ease back. It was exquisite torture, and she let herself relax into his control, the tiniest movement sending waves of sensation washing through her.
She felt his hands tighten and his pace quicken. He drove deeper, and she exploded in an orgasm so potent she thought her internal muscles would tear in the delicious agony. She felt him strain and pump against her and call out her name as he came.
Then he slumped forward, still holding her hips up against him, his breathing loud in the interior of the car.
Shivers of afterglow rippled through her as he stayed inside her, gradually softening. As his breathing quieted, she began to hear crickets and rustlings from small creatures moving through the woods around the clearing.
She unlocked her ankles from his waist, and he let her slide down his thighs to rest on the quilt. He stripped off the condom and lay down beside her, shaking out another quilt to drape over them.
“Tim?”
“Give me a minute. I have to come back to earth.”
“Mmm, why?” She snuggled up against his big frame. “I’m still in the stratosphere myself.”
He wrapped one arm around her and took such a deep breath she could feel his ribs move. A warm bubble of satisfaction floated inside her. It had been good for him too.
She closed her eyes and drifted, aware of Tim’s scent and heat and pulse, yet not quite awake.
The feel of something in her hair made her stir and open her eyes. He had turned on his side and was looking at her while his fingers feathered over her scalp.
“How long was I asleep?”
“I don’t know. I slept too.”
She pushed up onto her elbows and saw the telescope. “Shall we look at the moon?”
“It’s climbed higher in the sky, so we must have been out a while,” he said, sitting up and throwing the quilt off.
She reached out to skim her hand up the beautiful planes of his back. His muscles bunched under her palm as he let her explore. “Is there a moon god?” she asked. “I think he should be called Timothy.”
“Actually, you’re not too far off,” he said. “The Egyptians had a god named Thoth who had something to do with the moon and writing, as I recall. I also remember he had the head of a baboon.”
“Hmm, I’ll stick with Timothy, then, because I prefer your human head.”
He took her hand and pulled her toward the open rear door. She tried to close the edges of her robe together with her other hand.
“Diana hunted nude,” he said. “I think you should do the same.”
“Didn’t Actaeon get torn to shreds by his own hounds as punishment for seeing her naked?” She let go of the robe so it hung open.
“I’m sure he felt it was worth it. I would.” He ran his fingertip over the curve of her breast, a touch as light as the brush of a feather.
“It would be a terrible waste to turn you into a stag, although it’s better than a baboon.”
He laughed and leaned down to kiss her. “Now scoot forward and look through this eyepiece.”
She put her eye to the telescope and gasped as the silvery moon’s craters and seas filled her vision. “It’s gorgeous, and it looks so close I could touch it.”
“Imagine walking on it.”
She lifted her head to see him sitting with his head tilted back to look up at the disc in the sky. “Would you want to do that?”
“It would be mighty interesting. They say Earth is beautiful when seen from space.”
“Did you dream of being an astronaut?”
“Doesn’t every kid who likes science?” He brought his gaze down to her. “I outgrew a space capsule pretty young, though.”
“Thank goodness,” she said, making a show of eyeing him up and down. She turned back to the sky. “Do you know the constellations? The only one I can find is Orion with his belt.”
He not only knew the constellations, he knew the myths behind them and entertained her with the stories of gods and goddesses wreaking their vengeance or showing their favor by tossing people and animals into the sky. She leaned against the warm, bare skin of his shoulder as he pointed upward.
After a while, she quit looking at the stars and just watched his face sculpted by the moonbeams, his hair shaded dark with silver glints. Certainty grew inside her; she wanted to stay with this man, to see what they could become together.
“Tim?”
He dropped his arm and turned toward her. “Am I boring you?”
“Never. I love listening to you.” She shifted away just enough so she could see his full face. Nerves clamped a fist around her throat, and she had to force herself to breathe before she could speak. “I’d like to stay here in Sanctuary. To see what happens between us.”
Her gaze was riveted on him; she wanted to catch every nuance of his reaction. That was the only reason she caught the look of yearning in his eyes and the tiny movement toward her before he looked away. It gave her hope before his words destroyed her.
“I can’t ask you to do that. You’d be giving up too much.” His hands were curled into fists on his thighs.
“You’re not doing any asking. I’m staying by my own choice.” Her heart began to crack open as she saw the resistance in his body. “If it doesn’t work out, that’s what I needed to know. But if it does...Well, can you imagine a whole lifetime of nights like this one?”
He shook his head without looking at her. “I didn’t expect this to happen now.”
“I never expected it to happen at all. I consider it a gift, a wonderful, unexpected gift.”
Now he turned toward her, his face hardened into unreadable lines. “I can’t accept this gift now, no matter how much I want to. ”
The shock sent a spear of pain through her. She had made herself vulnerable, and he had rejected her utterly. She seized the edges of her robe and pulled them across her body as she wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Claire.” His expression softened as he saw her withdrawal. “You know something about my past. I’m not sure I can change what it’s made me.”
“You can’t change what’s happened, but you can change what it means to you.”
“Maybe, but I can’t take the chance. Not at your expense.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry.”
She turned her gaze up to the moon, tears making its shape waver and blur. She let them streak down her cheeks and drop onto the silk of her robe. “I’m sorry too. You’re a wonderful man, and I could easily fall in love with you.”
That was a lie. She was already in love with him, but she had to hold onto a few shreds of pride.
“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“And I’ll never have a chance to.” She used the sleeve of her robe to wipe the tears away before she looked at him again.
He sat staring straight ahead, every muscle in his body clenched. She wanted so badly to offer him the comfort of her touch, but he had taken away her right to do that. She shivered, and her involuntary movement seemed to bring him back from whatever dark world he had strayed into.
“Are you cold?” he asked, yanking the rumpled quilt forward to wrap around her shoulders. His concern brought tears to her eyes again. “I’ll carry you to the front seat and turn on the heat.”
There had been no need for artificial heat before. His body had given her all the warmth she’d needed. Her breath caught on a sob.
“Claire, please...” His voice was taut with pain. He stood and picked her up, quilt and all, striding barefoot through the tall, prickly wild grasses. He deposited her in the front seat. “The key’s in the ignition. You can adjust the temperature here.”
She just pulled the quilt tighter around her as she listened to him dress and pack up the telescope.
When he got back into the driver’s seat, he turned toward her. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since...well, for a long time. I’m sorry I can’t...don
’t deserve to have you love me.”
She couldn’t help it. She reached across and cupped his cheek. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s the full moon. It makes people do crazy things.”
“That’s why they’re called lunatics.” His voice was almost normal.
She gave a little puff of forced laughter. However, the rest of the trip passed in silence. He pulled into the driveway of her house and turned off the engine. He sat with his hands locked on the steering wheel.
“Just say good night,” she said. “That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not. I’ll never forget tonight, never forget what you did me the honor of offering.”
“Good night.” She tried to open her door, to get away before she fell apart, but it was locked.
“Just a minute,” he said, hitting the switch that freed her. “I don’t want you walking alone.”
Shedding the quilt and tying the robe tightly, she decided not to argue, but waited for him to open her door. Before she could swing her legs out, he had her in his arms, cradled against his chest. She gave in and stretched her arms up around his neck, letting her fingers twine in his hair.
He walked up onto her porch, but instead of setting her down, he bent his head and brushed her lips gently with his. Regret, pain, and love seared through her, and she pulled herself up so she could kiss him back with all the longing she felt. His arms tightened around her like steel bands, and for a moment, she thought he would respond in kind, but he simply held her until she let her head drop back against his shoulder.
“Good-bye, Tim.”
He set her on her feet with heartbreaking care, and stood aside while she retrieved the key from her robe’s pocket and opened the door.
As she stepped inside, she heard him draw in a breath. She waited a moment to see what he would say, but there was only silence. She closed the door behind her, leaned her back against it, and slid down onto the floor in a heap of misery.
Tim pulled the big car into the garage. He had no memory of the drive from Claire’s house to his. All he had seen were images of Claire’s skin illuminated by moonlight, of her body arching under his hands, of the tears glistening on her cheeks.
He dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel. There had been a moment of insanity—of lunacy, he corrected himself with a savage smile—when he had nearly said, “Stay.”
The word had leaped into his mind and onto his tongue. He wanted desperately to speak it, to bind Claire to him.
But the enormity of her offer had hit him. He knew, better than most, what she was proposing to give up. Her perfect job in a place where what she did was considered important. The thrill of having her finger on the pulse of the art world. The vibrant, cultural life of New York City. She was going to leave all of that to take a chance on him in a town she had fought desperately to escape.
The sheer recklessness of it took his breath away. He flexed his hands on the wheel. What had she called him? Wonderful? Had Anais ever used that word about him? She teased him, she leaned on him, she showed him off to her friends as her “giant genius.” But she had been the older, more worldly partner in their marriage. He had been hugely flattered—and astonished—when the famous actress chose him over all her many other admirers.
She had never called him wonderful.
How did he dare question their marriage now? Claire had stirred up this maelstrom of guilt and longing. No, the guilt was always with him—it was the longing that was new.
His heart would always carry the scar of the bullet that had taken Anais’s life. As a doctor, he knew scar tissue could grow hard and insensitive. Maybe that would be a good thing, because right now, his heart felt savaged by the pain. He tortured himself with the dream Claire had conjured up, the fantasy of sleeping without nightmares because she was in his arms, of watching her face as she absorbed the beauty of a painting, of seeing her skin bared to both sunlight and moonlight.
He cursed as he opened the door and swung his legs out of the car. Walking out of the garage onto the gravel of his driveway, his eyes were drawn upward to the moon hanging high in the sky.
With fists clenched against his thighs, he threw his head back to shout, “For God’s sake, Anais, is this what you wanted?”
“I’M ARRIVING LATE Wednesday, Priscilla, so you can set up appointments starting Thursday morning,” Claire said into the phone. “Thanks for doing the legwork. I look forward to seeing the spaces you’ve found.”
She hung up and dropped her head into her hands. All she had done this morning was lie. To Priscilla that she was excited about looking at possible locales for the new gallery. To Holly that nothing was wrong, she just hadn’t slept much. To Brianna and Kayleigh that she couldn’t wait until the new kittens could come home with them, since she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be in Sanctuary by the time they were weaned from their mother.
The only person she hadn’t lied to was Davis when she told him she was giving him the commission on selling the Castillo. He tried to turn it down, but she felt she owed it to him. She had also cleared Tim’s request to keep the painting at the gallery until his house was finished.
She heard the front door open and quickly sat up straight. When she saw Paul stroll into the gallery with a devilish grin on his face, she nearly burst into tears. She was not in the mood for verbal sparring.
As he approached the desk, his smile vanished. He sat down in the chair across from her and said, “You look like your dog died.”
She just shook her head.
He reached out to where her hand lay on the glass top and covered it with one of his own. “Claire, this is Paul, your oldest friend. Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
He frowned at her. “Is it about Dr. Tim? Because I was just yanking his chain yesterday. I saw you two at the 4-H shindig. I wish you looked at me that way, but I know when I’m beaten. It’s the first thing you learn as a politician.”
“You’re sweet to try to make me laugh,” Claire said, smiling as the tears broke loose and streamed down her face.
“Jesus, Claire, what is it?” He pulled a package of tissues out of his pocket, drew one out, and handed it to her. “You never cry.”
She took the tissue and blotted her cheeks, her smile twisting as she thought of how many tears she had shed last night. “Life is full of irony. I’ve been counting the days until I could go back to New York, and now all I want to do is stay here.”
“And you can’t stay because...?”
She choked on a sob. “Tim doesn’t want me to.”
“Well, as a former mayor of Sanctuary, I can assure you that Dr. Arbuckle does not have the power to keep you away.”
“Oh yes, he does. I offered to stay to see what happened between us.”
“And he turned you down.” He handed her the whole package of tissues. “Damn fool!”
“I know. I don’t know why I did it, except I thought we might have something together.”
“I meant Arbuckle is a damn fool.” Paul sat back. “You know about his wife, right?”
“Of course. Everyone does.”
“Think about it. The woman he’s married to—and we assume whom he loves—chooses death over staying with him.”
“But—”
He held up his hand. “I’m not saying he did anything to make her do that. I’m just pointing out what it must feel like to him. Guilt, blame, loyalty to her memory, the need to protect himself from being hurt like that again—it’s all got to be boiling around inside him. Then you come along and offer him another shot, and he’s too screwed up to grab it.”
“So does that mean I should stay and wait?”
“No. It means you should make decisions that will protect you. He may never heal from that kind of mess. How badly do you love him?”
“Badly? That’s an interesting choice of words.” She looked down at the soggy wad of Kleenex in her hand. “Badly enough that I didn’t sleep at all last night.”<
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“That will pass.” He considered a moment. “Do you love him so badly you would give up the career you’ve wanted your entire life on the off chance he might love you back someday in some possibly damaged way?”
“When you put it like that, it seems pretty unrealistic.” Especially when she’d just gotten her professional confidence back.
“Here’s the other thing to consider. You just came out of an ugly divorce. Could Tim be a rebound relationship? In my experience, those don’t usually last.”
“In your experience?”
He sat back. “My experience as a lawyer. I’ve handled a lot of divorces.”
Everything Paul said was true, but then she thought of Tim cradling her in his arms in the moonlight, Tim touching Willow like she was worth a million dollars, Tim cooking pancakes with a Disney Princess towel draped over his shoulder, Tim driving like a madman when Holly was in trouble.
And she didn’t care about careers or rebounds or wives who killed themselves. She just wanted to make him love her as much as she loved him. “Oh God, I don’t know what to do.”
“I can’t give you an answer, especially since I’m not an entirely disinterested party.” He stood up. “All I can advise is to take care of yourself. You deserve that.”
“I appreciate the breath of sanity.”
Walking around the desk, he gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “If you need a friend’s company later on, call me. I’ve got some good bourbon.”
The thought of drinking herself into oblivion was all too tempting. “I might just take you up on that.”
A look of regret crossed his face before he turned and walked out of the gallery.
Claire made a quick trip to the bathroom to wash her face and repair her makeup. She finished just in time to meet some repeat clients. In less than half an hour, they had bought two of the largest Len Boggs canvases. Ordinarily, she would have been waltzing around the gallery at the thought of the commission, but she kept remembering Tim in his flannel shirt and jeans as he stood in front of one of the paintings she’d just sold. How little she’d known about him then, and yet she’d felt that tug of attraction, which had turned into a bond so strong it was tearing her apart to break it.
Take Me Home Page 25
