His hands were on her blouse, undoing the small buttons. He didn’t fumble, his fingers moving even as his eyes met hers.
She inhaled sharply as his knuckles grazed over the flesh of her breast.
“I want you now,” she told him.
He stripped away her shirt and let it fall to the floor. He kissed her shoulder blades, lifting her lacy bra straps and pulling them sensually down her arms, then releasing the snaps in back. At last he lowered his head, taking her breast into his mouth, laving the nipple with his tongue, then suckling hard on the peak so that she arched against him in a sudden swift rush of sensation so sharp that she cried out softly. Suddenly he was kneeling before her, finding the zipper to her skirt, pulling it down slowly. She stepped from her clothes, and he teased the flesh at her waist, then swept away her pantyhose and bikinis in a quick motion before burying his face against the softness of her belly.
He caught her buttocks and brought her hard against him as he kissed her abdomen and upper thighs. She closed her eyes, throwing her head back in response. And she trembled, wondering what he would do next, the anticipation exciting her nearly as desperately as the touch that followed.
For when he touched her so intimately, the shock tore through her system, the sweetness pervaded her, and she could not think. She could barely stand as she felt the delicious rush drenching her inside with hot, honeyed wonder. Then the world seemed to burst into brilliance and rush into black, and she could not stand. She was falling as the nectar and the ecstasy spilled from her.
She was in his arms as she fell, and he was catching her so that she landed on the lower bunk. He kissed her, and her fingers raked over his back, then slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. Lovingly, slowly, she peeled them down, stroking the flesh of his hips, her fingers moving to the soft down at his navel, then closing around the hard, pulsing life of him. He groaned, shuddering, and wedged his way between her thighs, then caught her hands and curled her fingers within his own, and plunged deep within her.
She cried out softly, loving the feel of him within her. Then he began to move, and she felt as if the earth itself was shifting beneath her. He stroked the flesh within her, touched, caressed and teased, then plunged deeply again, cradling her against him, savoring the sensation of being locked so tightly together. Slowly, then swiftly, he moved, and she rocked with him, sweetly aware that she was straining against him, wanting more of him, closing around him. She could feel the sheen of perspiration that covered her body and his, and the ever spiraling hunger that drove them both. Then release burst upon her, and she trembled and shook with the strength of her response. She felt the force of his body shuddering against hers again and again, felt the heated rush of his seed filling her.
And still he lay taut against her, holding her close. Then he groaned softly against her throat, kissed her, nipped her flesh and kissed it again. And in the growing shadows he lifted his head, and she saw that he was smiling. Only then did she realize that they were really only half on the bunk, and that he was twisted in a truly unreasonable position. She pulled him over her, stretching out against the wall of the cabin. They barely fit onto the bunk together.
“You know, Ms. O’Herlihy,” he whispered softly against her cheek, his fingers tenderly, idly stroking her flesh from her collarbone to her breast, “there have been numerous times—numerous times!—when we have been alone near sumptuous, comfortable beds. Beds with space, with softness, with support, with clean, fresh sheets and endless pillows. And you pick a two-by-four train car.”
“What?” she demanded, struggling to sit up.
“I may never walk again,” he told her solemnly.
“Oh!”
He laughed, pulling her close again. And his whisper filled her ear sweetly. “It was worth it. Whatever the sacrifice, it was worth it.”
“Sacrifice!”
“My spine is a pretzel.”
“Well, I’ll just go to my own cabin, then!” she told him.
He shook his head. “Not on your life, Kaitlin O’Herlihy,” he told her, carefully balancing his weight, his green gaze somehow sharp and tender and wicked all at once. “This is an odyssey, a challenge…an adventure.” He lowered himself against her slowly, still smiling.
The train whistled shrilly in the darkness, but neither of them noticed as he began to kiss and arouse her again, feeling the rebirth of a hot and flickering fire within him.
She shimmied down his body, giving in to every decadent and wanton desire that had ever filled her fantasies, touching him, caressing him, tormenting his hips and chest with tiny flicks of her tongue, rubbing her body against his. The space at their disposal was quite limited, but this was an adventure….
She breathed in the masculine scent that had haunted her dreams for years. She tasted the salty remnants of their love against his flesh. She teased and taunted with her hair and lips, kissing and arousing him everywhere until at last she closed her fingers around his renewed desire. Unbearably aroused herself, she kissed, she caressed.
Until he swore and proved that he could fit fully atop her, despite the limitations of the bunk.
The whistle shrilled again, or it could have been her cry of desire, of ecstasy fulfilled.
The night went on and on, as she lay against him, his arms around her, and he whispered with a trace of amusement and a satisfied shudder, “Beyond a doubt, Kaitlin, me love…this is the way to see America!”
Chapter 9
As it happened, it was one of the best train rides Kaitlin had ever taken. In more ways than one.
She was glad she had slept all day, because she didn’t sleep a wink during the night. And since they would have to change trains very early in New York, Brendan suggested with a sigh that they should rise at about five-thirty to shower and dress.
Then, listening to Brendan swear vociferously as he tried to fit in the shower and bathe at the same time, she laughed as she was sure she hadn’t laughed in years. He heard her and came bolting out, soaked and sudsy and insisting she come in and help him. She swore that they wouldn’t fit, but somehow they managed. And then he began to tickle her, until she was laughing and gasping at the same time, and they wound up making love one last time and having to shower all over again.
She slipped into her own cabin in time for the attendant to deliver her coffee and croissants, then she breakfasted while she applied her makeup. She had barely finished when the attendant came by again, warning her that they were about to reach New York.
Brendan came to get her luggage down, and they detrained together. The layover in New York was a little more than an hour, plenty of time to have a second cup of coffee and pick up a newspaper.
Kaitlin was surprised at just how warm and wonderful it felt to hurry for the next train together, to have him take her bags, hold her hand, be with her. She hadn’t realized just how alone she had been.
This time they were on a commuter train, sitting in regular seats, with dozens of people around them. They didn’t talk at all. He was reading a magazine, and she took out her mystery. Somehow, with Brendan beside her, she found herself absolutely delighted by the book, and she read on, turning the pages faster and faster until she realized that they had arrived in Boston.
They detrained again and walked to the street. And there a bit of the bubble burst, because they had to separate, having ordered rental cars from different companies.
“Do you really need a car?” Brendan asked her.
She nodded. “I’ll be running around with Donna and you’ll be running around with Bill. And I’m not staying with my parents, either. I decided on a motel in Auburn because I really didn’t know what hours I would be keeping.”
“I’m not staying with my parents, either.”
“I suppose you’re staying at your own place?”
He shook his head. “I told you—it’s too far out.” Then he smiled wickedly. “But, since the choices in Auburn are limited, I’m willing to bet we’re staying at the same motel
.”
She smiled slowly. “I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t go home after all.”
“Oh?”
“My father could protect me.”
He scowled. “Kaitlin, I didn’t—”
“You didn’t,” she interrupted, then added quickly, “not from you. From myself.”
“Tell you what. I’ll cancel my car, we’ll take yours into Worcester, and I’ll get myself a car there.”
She lowered her eyes quickly. Her heart was beating furiously, and she was ridiculously pleased because they were going to be spending a little more time together. They were going to be staying at the same motel. But they would be running around with Donna and Bill, and their time together would be limited.
He was already on the street, hailing a cab. He must have had the knack, because one came along instantly. They had the driver take them to the rental car company by the airport. Kaitlin stepped forward to pick up her car, and Brendan waited for her. When she had finished the paperwork, she met him with the keys in her hand. “Want to drive?”
“Sure.” He took the keys from her, and she smiled.
“I hate the Boston traffic. I’m not here enough. I always make a wrong turn and end up going in circles.”
“Well, I’ve got a confession to make,” he told her. “I still go in circles now and then, too.”
But he didn’t make any mistakes. He knew the expressway and the way to the turnpike, and from there it was simple.
He drove to Worcester, to another rental agency, parked and got out. Then he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ll see you later?”
She nodded. He retrieved his luggage, then stepped back and waved. She twisted the key and drove away.
By six o’clock that night she had checked into the motel, driven out to a neighboring town to see her parents and come back to Auburn to meet Donna for dinner. They hugged fiercely, not just relatives but friends all their lives. Donna, with her dark auburn hair and light blue eyes, looked enough like Kaitlin to be her sister. They had shared everything throughout the years, their opinions on boys, on clothing and music, then, when they had matured, their ideas on morality and ethics. Kaitlin was happy for Donna, but what should have been an easy occasion was suddenly very hard for her.
Things had changed last night. Unbelievably. She didn’t know what to think or feel, and she wanted to spill out the whole story to her cousin and ask for advice. She wanted to cry for help, but she was also desperate to keep her own counsel. She was more afraid than ever. Get out of my heart and out of my mind! she silently warned an absent Brendan as she listened to Donna’s enthusiasm, looked at the picture of the dress she had ordered and praised the bridesmaids’ dresses Donna liked.
They talked about the wedding, and Donna talked about Bill, and Kaitlin kept the subject away from herself for hours. They ate dinner, then went to the bridal shop at the mall, where Kaitlin was fitted for her gown. Then they took a ride to the reception hall and went by the church to listen to the organist and choose the music.
Finally they stopped for a drink at a club near Kaitlin’s motel, and Donna asked her how the train ride had been.
“The train ride?” Kaitlin murmured, stalling.
“Sure, how was it? Boring?”
Boring. Kaitlin lowered her eyes and ran her fingers over the table. “Uh, no, it wasn’t boring.”
“Long?”
“It, uh, it didn’t seem that long, either.” She kept her lashes lowered. Laughter was welling up inside her. She wanted to tell Donna about the episode in the shower. Donna would laugh, too, just like when they were young.
But she couldn’t say anything, no matter how close they were. The future was more frightening to her than it had ever been before.
Finally she raised her eyes and looked at Donna. “Brendan was on the same train.”
“Oh! That’s right, Bill told me he likes to take the train, that he needs the time.”
“Yes, something like that.”
“Well?” Donna’s eyes were wide, and there was a whisper of excitement in her voice. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Kaitlin asked smoothly.
“Are you two getting along? Are the sparks flying?”
“We’re both in your wedding party. And we want the wedding to be great. We’re working well enough together.”
“And that’s all?” Donna asked.
“That’s all,” Kaitlin lied sweetly.
“But he made the train ride go more quickly, huh? You two talked. He was entertaining?”
“Oh, uh, very entertaining.”
She realized Donna was grinning and looking past her. She whirled around to see that Bill and Brendan had come into the club and were standing behind her. Her cheeks reddened. Brendan was tossing his jacket over the chair beside her and taking a seat, his green eyes flashing with amusement.
“Kaitlin was darned entertaining, too, Donna,” he told her. He said it with a very straight face.
Kaitlin cast him a quick glare, then rose to kiss and hug Bill. Then she sat, and the men ordered drinks.
The conversation flowed smoothly. At least, Kaitlin thought it did. She wasn’t really a part of it; she just listened. And she felt Brendan so close beside her, and a chill streaked up and down her spine.
It might have been years ago. They’d all known each other so long. They’d taken day trips together as kids, long rides out to the cape, excursions into New Hampshire and Maine. Nights in New York City. It might have been forever ago.
But it wasn’t. She didn’t really know Brendan anymore. She had to keep telling herself that. He didn’t want to date, but despite what had happened on the train, she was afraid to rush. They’d hurt one another too badly in the past.
Suddenly she rose, kissed them all—even Brendan—and excused herself, saying that she was exhausted. She promised Brendan she would meet him at noon at the restaurant where they’d be having the party, and she told Donna and Bill she’d see them the next night. Then she left.
At the door, she felt Brendan’s gaze and turned. He was staring after her intently, but she couldn’t begin to read his expression, or his mind.
She met him at noon, as promised. He was precise and cool as they went over the menu, checked on the entertainment and listened to the war stories the maître d’ had to tell them. But when they were seated alone with sandwiches for lunch, he wasted no time.
“What was going on last night?” he asked her tensely.
“Nothing.”
He almost smiled. “It was definitely nothing,” he agreed. “Why did you walk away?”
“I was tired.”
“It was more than that.”
“All right,” she said softly. “You want to know what happened last night? I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
She leaned forward, plunging in. “Yes, of you. Brendan, we were divorced almost eight years ago. We were married for less than two. And when I went to the Keys to see you that time, one night destroyed my equilibrium for another year. I don’t want to fall for you again. We didn’t just hurt each other before—it was torture.”
He leaned back, staring at her. “So what do you want to do?” he asked softly.
“I—I don’t know.”
“Run away from it?”
She was silent, afraid that he would stand up and walk away, that they would never have a chance to really talk again.
What she wanted, she realized, was a declaration of undying love and devotion, a promise that they would make it. She wanted him to say that he had loved her forever, that there had never been anyone else.
But he couldn’t tell her that, and she knew it. There was too much time, and too much distance, between them.
“I don’t know what I want,” she said very softly.
He rose, and she thought he was going to storm away. But he didn’t. He touched her cheek lightly. “I do know what I want,” he said quietly.
And then he walked away.
When she followed moments later, he was nowhere to be seen.
At the motel she sat by her phone, staring at it, thinking she should call him and suggest that they drive to the party together—they were coming from the same place. But she couldn’t quite manage to dial. No, she couldn’t even manage to pick up the receiver. Brendan should have called her.
But he wasn’t going to. Not after the way they had left things at the restaurant.
She showered and dressed with plenty of time to spare. Then she sat by the telephone again. She had just about convinced herself to pick up the receiver when there was a knock at her door. She hurried over and threw it open.
Brendan was there. “I wondered if you were ready,” he said. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He was striking in his dove-gray suit, white shirt and maroon vest. His hair was clean and damp, a shining ebony. He wore clothes well, she decided.
And when he didn’t wear clothes…
Her mind was slipping. “I’m ready,” she said, and she was breathless. “But it’s too early to head out—”
“Let’s take a ride,” he told her.
She didn’t know where they were going, but she nodded. He picked up her shawl and drew it around her shoulders, then caught her hand and walked her along the hall.
They still hadn’t spoken when he seated her in his car, and she asked him softly, “Where are we going?”
His lips curved slowly into a smile as he stared ahead at the road. “I don’t know,” he admitted, and she smiled, too.
The car might have been a horse, allowed to take its own lead. They just started driving, and suddenly they were in the heart of Worcester, driving by the old neighborhood. They went by the triple decker where the O’Herlihys had first lived, then down to Burncoat Street, where her father had built their first house. They went by the high school and the pool and the park, and then they decided to see if the best little family-run Italian restaurant in town was still in business. It was.
“Too bad we’re out of time,” Brendan said morosely.
She laughed. “Brendan, we’re throwing a dinner party. An expensive dinner party, at that. And you want to stop for pasta first?”
Wedding Bell Blues Page 15
