Now she wanted to shout. Touch me. Make me feel all the things that have been missing from my life.
When he was over her—one hand on the headboard behind her head, the other beside her hip—he paused to stare into her eyes. “I want you, Anne. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”
Her heart did a little flip. Her throat was too tight to talk so she let her lips send the message. I feel the same way about you. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. She closed her eyes to experience every single nuance. His wonderful, masculine smell. His amazingly taut muscles. His hands, roughened from work, but hot and tender.
Will’s touch made her feel centered and focused in a way her career never did. At this moment, Anne was in control of her destiny. And, for the first time ever, she felt brave enough to share that power with the man she loved.
Eight seconds or eight hours? Will wasn’t sure he could tell the difference. Time ceased to become relevant the moment their lips met. This kiss was different from earlier kisses. Naked bodies. Crisp cotton sheets. Honest desire without any of the defensive posturing of the past few weeks.
This wasn’t a kiss to seduce. It was a kiss of the seduced. Will understood that he and Anne were giving in to their mutual needs. But he hoped—no, he believed—their feelings ran deeper than mere lust. He wanted to bring Anne satisfaction, to make this experience good for her. She’d told him she hadn’t made love in a long time. He planned to make up for that. He’d start by tasting every part of her—toes first.
He swept aside the sheet that hid her loveliness.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking.”
“Taking what?”
“My time.”
She groaned and reached out as if to draw him back. Her hand accidentally brushed against his arousal and Will flinched. Maybe the toes will have to wait.
He placed his hand on her belly. A darker image superimposed on a perfect white background. “No bikini for you, I see,” he said, making a slow, provocative circle with his thumb stroking the underside of her breasts.
“Left it home. In the drawer. Wasn’t expecting a pool. Or a man.”
Her honesty touched him. She hadn’t planned for this to happen any more than he had. “If we had a real pool,” he said, watching with satisfaction as her nipples tightened. “We could be skinny-dipping.”
“We might get caught.”
“That’s half the fun.”
Resting his left hand on the mattress beside her waist, he used his right to cup her breasts—first one, then the other. Perfect globes—firm, slightly upturned. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his thumb and finger tweaking the nipple to a point. “I picture you floating on your back. Arms outstretched above your head. Your breasts would rise and fall with each intake. Giving me time to kiss them.” Her lungs filled and he lowered his head to fondle her with his lips. “Lick them,” he whispered on her next inhale, his tongue bathing the erect nipple until she squirmed with pleasure. “Taste them.” He suckled until she let out a soft moan.
“Yes. Gotta get a pool,” she said, writhing with pleasure. “Next year.”
Will looked up. Her eyes were closed, head back, one hand gripping the metal headboard. Was that passion talking or had her plans changed? He’d overheard her mention returning to the Silver Rose next year when she was talking to A.J., but surely she wasn’t seriously considering a repeat stay. And why did it matter? He’d be back on the circuit in full swing by then, hopefully closing in on the title. He couldn’t think that far ahead, nor did he want to. Right now, all he wanted to focus on was pleasing Anne.
He leaned down to bury his face in the soft, feminine valley between her hips. Childbirth changed a woman, his experience had taught him. For the better, in Will’s opinion. He loved the arc of a woman’s hip, the hollow between pelvic bone and hipbone. He explored her belly button with his tongue then nuzzled her rib cage with his nose. No scars here.
When his hand cupped her feminine mound, Anne went still and opened her eyes. In the shadowy light, he could read both her desire and her nervousness. “I won’t hurt you, Anne.”
She sucked in her bottom lip. A Zoey look. It reminded him that there were all kinds of hurt. Then she tilted her pelvis and moved against his hand. “I know, Will. We both have things to lose, but we’re not going to think about that right now, okay?”
An echo of the voice he’d heard on the video chimed in his head: “You’re not a loser, are you, boy?”
As if sensing something was wrong, Anne reached out and closed her hand around him. Heat shot through his veins on a burst of yearning. Their gazes met as she manipulated her wrist in a provocative dance that overrode the hurtful voices. Here and now, he told himself. Anne. Now. Love.
He closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. And the truth.
And even though neither had said the words aloud, Will knew she loved him, too. That made him a winner. For the night, at least.
A.J. DIDN’T KNOW what he’d expected, but the Atlantic Ocean didn’t impress him. He and Esther had visited California’s Big Sur on their honeymoon. Now, that was an ocean. Rocky coast, rugged spires sticking up to send foaming white waves crashing skyward.
The part of the coast closest to Esther’s old hometown was anything but dramatic. The terrain was flat. There were marshes that he’d had to circle to find the proper outcropping on a point—a place that appealed to him for its distance from houses and people and boats.
He’d made an obligatory stop at her parents’ resting place early that morning. In truth he’d never forgiven the bitter old couple for voicing such fervent opposition to their daughter’s marriage. Not that he blamed them for being upset that she planned to move so far away. He could understand that. But little birds left the nest. That was the way Nature planned it. Their harsh prediction that Esther would fall into a den of iniquity with a bunch of gamblers was so far from the truth it had bordered on the ludicrous.
Through Esther’s persistent efforts, the gulf between them had been repaired, with Anne’s help. But A.J. had never felt comfortable around the older couple.
That was in the past, he told himself. Now, he was here to give their daughter back to them. And, God help him, A.J. wasn’t sure he could do it. The bronze box on the rock beside him was still sealed. His face and fingers felt numb, even though sunrise had brought a modicum of warmth with it. Low, gray clouds—fog, he presumed—remained poised on the horizon, ready to sweep in and whisk him out to sea.
Gulls cried as they careened overhead, perhaps wondering if his shiny box held something of interest. In the distance, the high-pitched squeals of children taking a morning walk with their parents mingled with the persistent crash of waves against the odd-colored rocks on the point.
“I suppose this is it, old girl,” he said, drawing the bronze box onto his lap. “Time to you-know-what or get off the pot.”
He smiled as he patted the top of the box. Esther had always hated that phrase. She claimed it was her first husband’s favorite saying. A.J. had never resented the man who’d shared Esther’s youth, and he knew Esther felt the same way about Peg. As a couple, their life together was a combination of who they were before they met and who they became after they married. A.J. was a better man for having known Esther. A happier man. He’d laughed more in her company than he’d believed possible.
“I will miss you something fierce, honey girl,” he whispered hugging the box tightly. Tears clustered in his eyes and his nose started to run. He had to loosen his grip to reach into his shirt pocket for his handkerchief.
I know, old man, he thought he heard Esther say. I miss you, too, but it won’t be long till we’re together again.
A.J. had had this conversation with his imagination for the past thousand miles. Once he crossed the Mississippi, he’d felt a heavy weight settle into his bones. He’d stalled for weeks in the mid-Atlantic states, pretending it was what Esther would have wanted. More than once, he’d started to
turn back so he could bury her ashes at the Silver Rose.
But somehow he’d found the strength to keep going. And now he couldn’t do it.
“Nope. I can’t.” A.J. started to stand up but he felt a powerful hand on his shoulder. It forced him to sit abruptly. When he looked around, no one was there. A shiver raced from his head to the tip of his toes.
Do this for me, my love.
He blew his nose then rested his chin on the box.
And for the kids.
A.J. had sensed for some time that something was wrong at the ranch. He could feel it in the way Anne sounded—too perky to be real. And the way Will seemed to be avoiding his calls. When they did talk, Will only answered questions about the ranch or the stock. He never mentioned Anne or the future.
Only Zoey was completely honest. When A.J. called last week, Zoey told him, “They don’t argue like Mommy and Daddy did when he still lived with us, but, Grandpa, they don’t talk much, either. This morning after riding lessons, I asked Will if he and Mommy were mad at each other and he said, ‘Adults don’t always agree on everything, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like each other and r’spect each other.’ Does that mean they’re still friends, or not?”
“I’m sure they’re friends, honey. Did you ask your mother how she feels about Will?”
“She said, ‘Not now, Zoey, I have a headache.’ You don’t think she’s sick, do you? Like Gramma Esther?”
A.J. had reassured the little girl that her mother wasn’t going to die anytime soon. “They’re probably just anxious to get back to their real jobs.”
“Either that or they’re in love,” Zoey said with such frank simplicity A.J almost laughed.
“What makes you say that?”
“My friend Tressa said her mother told somebody that on the phone. Tressa says people in love do stupid things and are sad all the time except right at first when they laugh a lot and buy new clothes.”
A.J. was struck dumb by the child’s observation.
“That’s why I don’t think Mommy’s in love.” Zoey continued. “She hasn’t been to the store in weeks.”
A.J.’s heart nearly burst with affection. “How ’bout Will? Has he been shoppin’?”
She was silent a few moments, apparently giving his question due thought. “I don’t think so, but he’s been talking about getting a new truck. Does that count?”
Unable to repress a chuckle, A.J. had answered as truthfully as he dared. “It just might, sweetness. We’ll have to keep an eye on them and see what happens.”
A.J. sighed and put the conversation out of his head. He had no business fretting about Will’s and Anne’s problems. They were adults. They would do what was best for them without his interference. He shouldn’t have to rush through this very important step in his mourning because they couldn’t fall in love and live happily ever after, like him and Esther. “Dang kids have to make everything so complicated,” he muttered. “Won’t they ever grow up?”
We never did. A.J. lifted his head and saw Esther standing before him, as healthy, robust and beautiful as she’d been before her illness. A rush of tenderness overwhelmed him. Memories of their life together flashed through his mind. He wondered if he was having a heart attack.
You’re not going to die, my love. Not yet. You still have work to do. Do you want more grandchildren or not?
“I can’t do it, Esther. I can’t let you go.”
Those are just ashes, my love. This is the reason you came. To honor my parents and live up to your promise. Let Maine have my ashes. I’m still right here beside you, in spirit.
Suddenly, A.J. felt an abiding sense of peace. He knew why he’d come all this way. His promise. “I’ll bring her back,” he’d vowed so many years ago. “And a Cavanaugh never goes back on his word.”
He set the bronze urn on the rock and clumsily rose, his knees catching from sitting still too long. After brushing his hands on the seat of his pants, he picked up the metal box and walked to the water’s edge. Best get this done, he thought. I gotta get home. Darned kids can’t even manage to work together a couple of months without doing something foolish.
As the gray ash mingled with the dark, frothy water, he heard Esther’s distinctive laugh. Falling in love is never foolish, you old goat. Love is life eternal. Now, get home and fix things.
It wasn’t until he was in the motor home headed west that he recalled Esther’s words. Do you want more grandchildren or not? A.J.’s heart lifted and he reached over to turn up the volume on the radio.
Smiling, he turned to the empty passenger seat and said aloud, “So, tell me this, Miss Smarty-pants, if my grandson and my stepdaughter have a child, will it be my grandchild or my great-grandchild?”
There wasn’t an answer, but then he wasn’t expecting one. Instead, A.J. felt a wonderful, life-affirming laugh bubble up from a place deep inside his chest. An Esther kind of laugh.
He had to pull off the road to wipe the tears from his eyes, but they were good tears. Healing tears.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ANNE AWOKE to a low, placid sound. She recognized it as breathing. A man’s breathing. Will.
Turning her head on the pillow, she opened her eyes. What a gift! A handsome man beside her. Tendrils of pale yellow light slipped past the slits in the miniblinds that rattled with the morning breeze. The window, she noticed, was open. Had she cried out his name?
She smiled. Oh, yeah. She’d lost count of how many times.
Lifting herself up on her elbows, she looked around the room. Boots upended. Jeans in a heap. Will had stashed the telltale condom wrappers, though.
What a sweet and thoughtful man, she thought. And virile. Three times in one night. Four if you counted the shower. And, boy, did she.
She’d never in her life made love four times in one night. The wonder of it made her grin. Eduardo paled by comparison. Exotic Spanish artists be damned, she thought with a rueful grin. Give me a cowboy any day—or night.
Moving with care, she slipped out of bed. Her good humor paled slightly when she spotted the alarm clock. She’d forgotten to set it, for the second time since she’d moved here. She had a good excuse, though. Her partner had kept her too occupied to think about anything other than mad, passionate sex.
She tiptoed into the adjoining bathroom and nearly landed on her bare rump when her foot connected with a puddle of water. Her grin returned. Fact: two people in a tub of bubbles equals spillage.
She used a damp towel to mop up the moisture as she waited for the shower to warm up. The shower. “We need to rinse off these bubbles, don’t we?” he’d asked with such an innocent smile. She closed her eyes and pictured their squeaky-clean bodies rubbing up against each other like otters in kelp, Will’s tongue introducing her to an aspect of her personality she hadn’t known she possessed.
Possessed. Good word. Perhaps the only explanation for her behavior. Never, not even during her earliest days of marriage, had Anne responded to a lover with such inhibition. She’d liked the feeling. Too bad she couldn’t…
Anne pushed away the thought. Reality loomed, but she preferred to face it after a cup of coffee. Today was definitely not a day for tea.
Fifteen minutes later, Anne walked into the kitchen. Most Sunday mornings were low-key. People who were leaving used the time to pack. New guests wouldn’t be arriving until much later in the day. Two-week guests liked to sleep in or sip coffee on their porches so they could say goodbye to the people they’d met.
As Anne expected, Joy was bustling about her domain, preparing for the ten o’clock brunch, humming along with a hymn on the radio.
“’Morning,” Anne said, making a beeline for the coffeepot. “How was your night off?”
“Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” Joy called out, her back to Anne. She was intently scrubbing a pan at the sink. “The grandkids and I rented a Disney movie.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Kinda cute. About a bunch of dogs in Alaska.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s happened
here that I don’t know about?”
Anne tried to hide her blush behind the steam from her coffee mug. “Um…not much.”
Joy gave a little yip. She looked out the window toward Will’s cabin then back at Anne. The question was obvious.
Anne gave up the bluff. She couldn’t hide what they’d done. Besides, she wasn’t ashamed. Worried, maybe, but not ashamed. “He’s upstairs.”
“Oh my gosh,” Joy exclaimed. The skillet in her hand dropped into the water, sending suds flying. Joy grabbed a towel and dried her hands as she scuttled across the room to give Anne a rib-cracking hug. “Well, good for you…both.”
Anne’s coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup. “Spilling,” she peeped.
Joy quickly knelt to wipe up the mess. “All I can say is it’s about time,” she said, giving Anne a good-natured wink. “And A.J. is going to be tickled pink that new blood is taking over the Silver Rose. And family, no less.”
Anne’s sip of coffee lodged in her throat. She swallowed with difficulty. “Joy, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. Will and I care for each other but we don’t have any plans for the future. Nothing…long-term, I mean,” she said, stumbling over the word as a wave of regret washed over her.
“Oh, pshaw,” Joy said, returning to the sink. “A plan is like a recipe. It gives you the guidelines to go by, but you add your own quantities and spices to make it fit your life and taste buds.”
She rinsed a pan and placed it on the drying rack before turning to face Anne. “Everybody raves about my calico bean recipe, but I never thought it was anything special until I tossed in a few of those chipotle peppers. I’d heard of ’em on the cooking channel but didn’t know how they’d taste. One day, I saw a can in the store and, on impulse, bought it. When I got home, I called your mother up and asked her what she thought. And being Esther, she said, ‘Go for it. What’s livin’ without change?’”
A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 22
