by Inara Scott
And now, of course, he’d have to make peace with coming here without Nan.
The realization hit her abruptly: Garth must be preparing, on some level, to say good-bye to Nan, and he’d tangled Seesaw up in his feelings about her. That had to be why he’d avoided coming out. She knew better than anyone that his work was mobile. If he’d really wanted to come to Seesaw, he could have done so at any time.
Maybe he’d been avoiding the trip because of his memory of losing his parents, or maybe he didn’t want to face the fact that he’d have to start coming up here alone. Either way, visiting Seesaw was probably the last thing he wanted to do with Nan back at home, obviously struggling.
Melissa peeked at Garth, but his usual mask was in place as he stared at the road. She wanted to touch him, but didn’t. Instead, she watched the road, and the way his fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
He cleared his throat. “I was planning to come out anyway and check on things.”
“Sure.” She leaned forward to adjust the radio. “Sure you were.”
…
They drove into Essex Village around noon. Melissa felt a little of Garth’s somber mood lift as they passed through the town center. Tightly packed, quaint old buildings of white wood and brick, with signs proclaiming their ages—1776, 1779—conspired along with the crisp fall air and faint smell of cider and cinnamon to create a picture that was almost surreal in its old New England charm.
Garth stopped so they could get a good view of the marina, with its combination of expensive yachts and fishing boats, and the Connecticut River, with sheltered coves to the north and south. They stopped at a bakery for coffee, and then bought fresh bread and apple butter. Garth took them to a tiny bookstore, where he browsed the travel books and Melissa found a paperback thriller she’d been wanting to read for months.
“New Zealand?” she said, looking at the cover of the travel guide he’d purchased. “You have plans to visit?”
“In March. I’ve wanted to go for years.”
“Lord of the Rings fan, by any chance?”
Garth’s mouth turned up into a sheepish half-grin. “Guilty.” He lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, and checked his watch. “Did you want to do any other shopping? There are quite a few boutiques.” He pointed to a windowed storefront across the street, which had a display of clothing and jewelry in the window. “Lily’s Closet is very popular. You wouldn’t know it from the outside, but they’ve got a large shoe section in the back.”
“Spend a lot of time there, do you?”
“You discovered my dark secret,” Garth said. “I collect women’s shoes.”
Melissa placed her hand over her heart, feigning shock. “I declare, Mr. Solen, did you just make a joke? About women’s shoes?”
He shook his head. “If so, it was entirely unintentional.”
She laughed. A couple on the other side of the street looked over at them and then turned to each other and said something under their hands. Deliberately, Melissa laced her arm through the crook of his elbow and smiled. Through her grin she said softly, “I think the locals are getting interested. We might want to head out.”
He followed her gaze. A moment later, an older woman with perfectly bobbed white hair emerged from an antique store across the street and waved. “Hello, Garth dear!” she hollered, in a voice that reminded Melissa of a charging bull. “Lovely to see you!”
“Don’t stop,” Garth whispered. “That’s one of Nan’s old bridge partners—if we land in her clutches we’ll never escape. Just wave and look engaged.”
They waved vigorously but kept walking. Garth slipped his arm around her waist. The intimacy of the contact sent her pulse racing. Melissa was acutely aware of the imprint of his hand, the movement of his hip against hers, and the way his fingers slid against the delicate skin of her stomach. Despite the cool breeze off the water, the proximity of the lips she’d begun to fantasize about somewhere around the Connecticut border soon had her cheeks flushed with heat.
They drove about a mile out of the village before Garth pulled off Main Street onto a side street, and from there, turned into a wide gravel driveway a few houses down from the corner. “Here we are.”
Like most of the houses in Essex, Seesaw looked at least a hundred years old, possibly more—a square, two-story Victorian with a wrap-around porch and glassed-in mudroom off the side door. The large grassy yard behind the house was scattered with falling red and yellow leaves, but otherwise appeared carefully maintained. The paint was fresh and bright. Melissa had no doubt Garth had the house maintained in pristine condition.
“I’m not sure it gets more charming than this,” Melissa said. She glanced at Garth, wondering how he felt now that he was faced with the house.
Garth sat for a moment just looking at the small garage at the end of the driveway. He blinked a few times but otherwise remained still, revealing nothing of whatever inner battle he might have been fighting. Finally, he opened his door and got out of the car. Melissa came around and met him by the trunk.
He pointed toward the back yard as he grabbed the small box from the bakery. “There it is.”
She followed his gesture, smiling when she realized what he meant. “Oh! The seesaw!”
In the far corner of the yard stood a playset of the old aluminum variety, with two swings held by rusty chains and a straight slide. The seesaw stood off by itself, a dark red plank of wood resting against a thick silver pipe
Melissa started toward the play structure. When Garth didn’t immediately follow, she beckoned toward him. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing. I’ll bring in our bags. You can come in when you’re ready.”
“You’re not even going to check it out?”
“I can see it from here.”
“It’s not going to bite you.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Garth replied. “Have you been on one of those things recently?”
“In fact, I have,” Melissa said. “With my niece just a few weeks ago.” She gestured again. “Come on. We’ve got to get a picture for Nan.”
He followed her, holding the white bakery box in one hand. “Fine, but I’m not getting on it. You must be far more agile than I am if you still ride these things.”
“I don’t know about agile,” she said, “but I do a lot of babysitting. It keeps me young.” She stopped beside the aluminum slide, which sparkled with the reflection of the sun. “My nieces and nephews would love this place.”
“How many do you have?”
“Four. My brother Ross has three, and Joe has one.”
“It’s been a while since anyone below the age of thirty has been out here,” Garth said. “This thing would probably fall apart if they tried to play on it.” He rested his free hand on top of the wooden seesaw.
“Are you so sure about that?” Melissa asked. She tugged the box from his hand and set it on the ground. “Let’s try it and see.”
He raised a brow. “You’re kidding, I assume.”
“No way.” She was glad she’d worn her jeans and comfortable flats. She stepped over the far end of the seesaw, grabbed the handle, and flashed him a smile. “Come on, are you scared or something?”
Garth crossed his arms over his chest. “That is the oldest, dumbest trick in the book.”
“Don’t forget, I work with you,” Melissa said. “I know how competitive you are.”
“I’m not getting on the seesaw.”
“Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy,” she chided.
“I am not a fuddy-duddy.”
“Anyone who has to say they aren’t a fuddy-duddy obviously is a fuddy-duddy.”
“You need to stop using that word. It sounds ridiculous.”
Melissa grinned. “Fuddy-duddy, fuddy-duddy!”
Garth put his hands over his ears and winced. “Fine. I’ll ride the seesaw. But you’ll have to watch out. I’m a bit bigger than you are.”
“Don’t be so cocky,” she advised. “You’r
e out of practice.”
He grabbed hold of the other end of the seesaw and swung one leg over. Melissa cautiously lowered her weight onto her side, keeping her feet on the ground. But of course as she did, Garth lowered his own weight, jerking her high into the air.
“Whoa!” Melissa slipped to one side and almost lost her balance. She righted herself a moment later. “Okay, fine. You’ve got some skills.” She bounced experimentally, but couldn’t move her side any lower.
“How’s it going up there?” Garth asked, cocking his head politely. “Need anything? A drink, perhaps?”
He held her easily while she flailed around, swinging her feet in the air. She bounced again, harder this time, but couldn’t move him.
“Darn you, Garth Solen,” she grumbled.
“What’s that? Did you just say, ‘Yes, Garth, you dominate the seesaw’?”
Melissa scooted to the very end of the board and bounced again. Garth didn’t move. Then, deliberately, he lowered himself all the way to the ground. Melissa soared up another few feet, bounced, and then stopped.
She groaned, swinging her legs with all her might. Garth let her down a few inches, and then brought her back up with a jerk. The movement caught her mid-bounce, and she lost her balance somewhere between the sky and the smooth red wood.
“Whoa!” Melissa landed in the soft grass with a grunt. When the shock wore off, she rolled to one side and rubbed her sore bottom experimentally. Nothing broken.
“I can’t believe you…” she started to speak, but as she looked up Melissa realized Garth was laughing. Not smirking or smiling, or even chuckling, but full out laughing.
Her heart flipped.
“Nice. Very nice.” She manufactured a scowl to cover the sudden rush of emotions the sound of Garth’s laughter had evoked. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. I think I hurt my…” She patted the edge of her bottom. “My you-know-what.”
Garth stepped off the seesaw and approached her. His dark eyes were still dancing with humor. He held out one hand. “Can I help you up? I hate to see a woman and her you-know-what on the ground.”
She held out her hand and shook it demandingly. “You better help me up, you seesaw-shark.”
With a smile lingering on his face, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She lost her balance and tumbled forward, falling against him. She put out her hands to steady herself, and found herself clutching a strong, male chest.
“I’m so…sorry…” she trailed off as she looked up into his eyes.
He gazed down at her, an odd expression on his face. His lips lay together in a relaxed line. With one hand, he tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a good sport,” he said softly.
“I, uh…”
“Even if I could kill you for getting us into this mess, I have to admit that I’m glad I’m here.” He held her gaze for one long moment.
Kiss me, damn it!
The words appeared unbidden in her brain.
Kiss me now!
Her unconscious shouted again, apparently determined to reach him.
He did not move. They remained pressed against each other, Melissa’s hands resting against his chest, her legs touching his thighs. Heat seared along the length of their contact.
A deep longing kept her motionless, pressed against him. All that she could think was how desperately, madly she wanted him to touch her.
And then he did. And her world exploded with desire.
Chapter Eleven
He started with her lips, covering them in a gentle kiss that slowly deepened and strengthened. When he nipped at her lower lip, flames fanned from her toes to stomach. Abandoning any pretense of control, Melissa wrapped her arms around his neck and touched him with her tongue, moving against him in a silent invitation. She was rewarded with a groan, and then his arms closed around her waist.
“Melissa,” he breathed, touching his lips to her jaw, the line of her neck, the delicate flesh at the hollow of her throat. “We shouldn’t…”
“Shut up,” she said, and she trailed her hands down his back, reveling in the length of muscles along his spine. Something about the sky and the trees and the magic of this place had messed with her brain, and she couldn’t imagine not touching him.
She shouldn’t want him. She shouldn’t want any of this. She was rebuilding her life and her heart. An affair with Garth was the last thing she needed.
And yet…didn’t she need this, too? Physical contact, the way her senses came alive when he was near? Wasn’t there a price to be paid for safety as well as risk?
Shut up and stop analyzing…not everything has to make sense!
He buried his hands in her hair and dragged her closer, pulling her in, tasting her as if he could draw her inside of him through the force of his passion.
Melissa wanted to drown in his touch, in the mastery and power of it. She eased her hips into his, moving her head against his hands, wanting him to hold her even tighter, to clutch her to him with even more power.
Astonished at her own boldness, she dropped her hands lower, to rest just below the waistline of his pants. Muscles flexed there, and he ground more deeply against her.
“You went first,” he muttered, and then she felt him skim his hands down the side of her rib cage, settling at her waist. With a quick, easy motion he pulled her turtleneck out of her pants and slipped his hands underneath. They rested on the soft skin of her stomach.
She arched into the touch. “Who cares,” she said, her speech garbled by the fresh rush of desire between her legs. “Permission granted.”
He didn’t hesitate. Large, broad hands swept from her ribs to the line of her lacy bra, where they tickled the hard nubs of her nipples.
Melissa sighed and arched deeper, praying he wouldn’t stop.
Pressure. All she could think was that she desperately needed more pressure.
Harder, she begged him silently.
He obliged with a thumb, lightly brushed against the hard peak. Then again, a thumb and forefinger. A gentle squeeze. The promise of more.
Her knees buckled. A soft moan emerged from her lips.
“No, that’s his car, he must be here somewhere. Anyway, Janey said she saw him in town.”
A male voice broke the privacy of the erotic moment. He must have been out on the street, talking to a companion. Garth froze, and then his hands disappeared from her skin. Melissa wrenched herself back to the present.
“Should we go around front?” a female voice replied.
Garth swore. “Neighbors,” he growled under his breath.
“Well, hey!” The man again. “Is that you, Garth?”
With a plastered smile on her face, Melissa turned around. Garth’s arm remained at her waist. She leaned into it gratefully, feeling equal parts embarrassment and frustration.
A couple who looked to be in their mid-forties made their way up the gravel driveway. The man wore a pink oxford with a logo on the breast and a pair of neatly pressed khaki pants. He had blond hair that crested in a wave at his forehead. Melissa suspected hairspray was involved.
“Howard. Yolanda.” Garth nodded in greeting, his voice smooth and polite.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt, but we wanted to say congratulations!” Yolanda’s hair had evidently been dyed to match her husband’s, and she must have used an equivalent amount of hairspray to achieve the perfect helmet that stood about three inches above the crown of her head and ended in a flip at her shoulders. She wore pink lipstick and a scarf tied in a jaunty knot at her neck.
They looked ready to set sail.
“We heard the big news.” Howard smiled and continued toward them, revealing a full complement of perfect white teeth. “Couldn’t believe it at first. Our Garth? A secret fiancée? Whirlwind romance?” He glanced at his companion and they both laughed. “No way!”
They reached the top of the driveway. Yolanda glanced down at the grass and frowned. Melissa suspect her displeasure had something to do with her
white flats, each adorned with a navy blue bow.
“I guess seeing is believing!” Howard guffawed and Yolanda tittered.
Garth’s arm tightened around Melissa.
“No man is an island,” Yolanda observed, nodding wisely. “Even our Garth.”
Melissa decided if either of them used the phrase “our Garth” one more time, she would punch them in the jaw. “I’m Melissa Bencher,” she said, forcing a polite smile.
“Howard and Yolanda Fendle.” Howard dragged his wife over to where Garth and Melissa stood. He extended a meaty hand toward her. “Old friends of the family.”
From the steely glint in Garth’s eyes, Melissa suspected “friend” was a gross exaggeration.
“We met Garth when he was just a little boy,” Yolanda gushed. “At sailing camp.” She glanced at Howard as if sharing a private joke. “He was in the younger group, of course. Howard was an instructor. He races now. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
Melissa cocked her head to the side as if considering it. “Hmm. Howard Fendle? Can’t say that I have.” She smiled kindly. “But I don’t really follow—what is it? Sailboat racing?”
Howard grunted. “Yacht racing. We won the Louis Vuitton Cup in 2000.”
Melissa kept her face blank. “Oh, of course. Very impressive.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Garth did not appear inclined to speak. Yolanda shifted uneasily from one bow-adorned shoe to the next.
“Sorry we can’t stay and chat,” Melissa said. “We were just getting settled in.”
“I guess you were.” Howard gave Garth a nudge. “Heh, heh.”
Garth’s jaw tightened. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Do you have plans for dinner?” Yolanda asked. “I’m sure there are lots of people who’d love to meet Melissa and wish you well.”
“I’m afraid we’re only here for tonight,” Garth replied. “Perhaps next time.”
“Of course.” Disappointment flashed across Yolanda’s face, but she masked it with a lipstick smile. “You give us a call before you come and I’ll get it all set up.”
Garth remained impassive. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
