by Naomi Horton
"All right." He looked at her then, and even from across the room it was like a physical touch, his gaze holding hers for a long, taut moment.
Then he smiled slightly, just a hint of lazy acknowledgment that he was as aware as she that something had happened in the past few minutes that was catching them both by surprise. Was still happening even as he stood looking at her. Could evolve into something else again should they both agree to it.
The smile widened and his eyes warmed, locked with hers. Then he turned away and started looking through the cupboards as though nothing had happened at all.
* * *
Chapter 8
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Andie stood there awkwardly for a minute or two, not quite knowing what to do. She didn't want to get dressed again. Just the thought of putting on those sopping wet jeans and blouse made her shudder. But she wasn't certain that staying wrapped up in nothing more substantial than a scratchy wool blanket was what she wanted to do, either.
Then she finally just padded across to the fireplace, too confused at the moment to know what she wanted, other than to get warm and dry. Her leather camera case was lying on the coffee table where Conn had dropped it, and she picked it up and carried it across to the fire, shaking muddy water from it. She sat down on the braided rag rug, as close to the fire as she could get without actually singeing herself, and opened the case to check her camera and film.
Conn heard Andie swear and glanced around in time to see her snatch up something from the rug and stuff it back into her camera case. "Is your film still okay?"
"What?" She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the fire's heat, and stared at him. Then she blinked. "Oh. Yeah. The film's fine." She smiled slightly and closed the case, setting it on the hearth. "I'm just going to kill Tracy, that's all."
"Again?" He had to laugh. "What did she do this time?"
"Got in the last word, as usual."
"What about?"
But Andie shook her head, letting her gaze drop, and wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and tugged the blanket more tightly around her. "Nothing important."
Conn just nodded, then went back to what he was doing. The box of biscuit mix he'd found made it sound easy, but he was starting to have his doubts that they were going to have fresh baked buttermilk biscuits with their soup. Another minute or two, in fact, and he was going to toss the whole mess out.
But then it looked as though it was going to work out after all, and he dropped mounds of biscuit dough into a baking dish he'd found, shoved it into the oven and hoped for the best.
To his profound surprise, he opened the oven a few minutes later and discovered that he hadn't done half badly at all. They were lumpy-looking things, and a couple of them had scorched, but all in all they looked edible. And if smell was anything to go by, they might even be good.
Pleased with himself, he dumped soup mix into a couple of mugs and poured boiling water on top of it, tossed the biscuits into a small wicker basket he'd discovered in the top cupboard, added the tinned butter he'd found, put the whole works on a tray that had been on the counter and carried it in to where Andie was sitting by the fire.
Andie was staring into the flames and she looked up when he came in. Her eyes met his and Conn felt his gut tighten, that little sizzle of sexual awareness between them still there.
She felt it, too, and let her gaze slide from his. Conn eased out a tight breath and set the tray on the stone hearth, telling himself it was nothing he couldn't handle. Just a few stray sparks left over from that morning in his house, that was all. The storm. The fire and lamplight. Knowing she was deliciously naked under that old plaid blanket she had wrapped around her. Knowing one tug on that knot was all it would take…
He wrenched his thoughts back into line and dropped onto the rag rug beside her, forcing himself not to notice the way the firelight spilled down the silken curve of her shoulder. "This isn't what I planned for this afternoon," he said gruffly, "but it's hot."
"And biscuits." Her voice was rough. "How did you manage that?"
"Read the back of the box."
"Oh." She picked up one of the mugs and took a cautious sip of the steaming hot soup. "It's good."
"When I promise a lady a picnic, she gets a picnic."
She nodded again, still not quite meeting his eyes, and Conn found himself noticing for the first time in years that she still had freckles. Not many, but they were still there, scattered across the bridge of her nose just the way they'd done twenty-odd years ago. She'd always hated them, he recalled suddenly.
"Lemon juice."
She'd been tearing a hot biscuit in half and stopped, looking at him questioningly.
Conn had to laugh. "I was just remembering that summer when you were about fourteen, and you kept rubbing lemon juice on your freckles to bleach them out."
"What on earth made you think of that?"
"You still have a few – here." He reached out without even thinking and ran the tip of his finger across her cheek, his gut pulling a little tight at just that innocent a touch. Very carefully, not sure what was going on but knowing it could get him into trouble, he drew his hand back.
Andie had gone very still. He could see the pulse in her throat and found himself staring at it, fighting a sudden urge to lower his mouth to that exact same spot and—
"This is nice."
Andie's voice sounded a trifle breathless and Conn tore his gaze from her throat to meet hers. "The soup?"
"The picnic." She looked away again after a moment, tearing off another piece of biscuit although she hadn't tasted the first bit yet. Then she glanced at him, smiling. "It was a good idea, Devlin. And I apologize for the hard time I've been giving you lately. I keep forgetting you're newly divorced and not quite back to normal yet."
Conn managed a humorless smile. "So do I. Judith and I were separated for so long that by the time the actual divorce came through, I had a hard time remembering I'd ever been married to her."
"Do you think you'll try again? Getting married, I mean?"
Conn blew out his breath, thinking about the question. "I don't know," he finally said. "I'd still like some of the things that being married means – loving someone, having someone love you. Kids." He frowned slightly. "I'd like kids."
"Me, too."
Her voice sounded subdued, and Conn glanced at her, finding her staring into the fire. It made him frown, thinking of Andie and children. He'd never thought of it before. Had never considered her as a wife and mother. "Is that why you're thinking of marrying DeRocher?"
She blinked, as though startled out of a daydream. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that's part of it. And the other things you mentioned. The loving. The being loved."
"Do you love him?" He asked it bluntly, watching her face.
"Of course. I wouldn't marry him if I didn't love him, would I?"
But it was a lie; Conn knew it even as she was saying it. Anyone else would have missed it. But he knew her too well.
"And Marc Beck. What's he? Just a distraction?"
Andie's head came up, her eyes suddenly cool. "You know me better than that, Connor."
He winced slightly, suddenly feeling like a fool. "Yeah, I do. I'm sorry."
She nodded after a mistrustful moment, looking only partly mollified. "I could ask you the same question about Olivia Woodruff."
Conn had to chuckle. "Now there's a distraction!"
"If you like silicon."
Conn gave her a startled look. "Like hell!"
Andie's mouth curved up in a gentle smile. "Perhaps. But she seemed pretty knowledgeable when she said she could put me in touch with a cosmetic surgeon who, as she put it, 'does spectacular boob jobs.'"
"She said that?" Conn blinked. "To you?"
Her smile widened slightly. "Mmm. I guess she thinks I'm a little flat-chested."
Conn gave a grunt of thoughtful consideration, eyeing Andie's front with more than normal interest. "I don't see anything the matter with your chest. In
fact, I've always figured you had a pretty nice chest."
"And coming from a man who knows chests, I consider that a compliment."
"Are you saying I like big-breasted women?"
"I'm saying you just like women, period."
He thought it over. "Guess I can't argue with that. God knows, I've married my share."
"More than your share," Andie said with a snort.
There was more truth than humor to the words, but Conn threw his head back and let loose with a belly laugh, the first he'd enjoyed in a long, long time. It felt good, washing away some of the moody glumness that seemed to hang over him lately. "Can't argue with that, either," he said, still laughing.
Too bad marriage couldn't be more like this, he thought. Sitting in the firelight laughing over old times, relaxed and comfortable, each knowing the other so well he didn't even have to finish his thoughts half the time. Too bad he couldn't marry his best friend…
As before, he found himself just watching her. Never noticing until now how graceful her hands were, the fingers long and slender. Or the curve of her bare shoulders, burnished by firelight, the skin glowing like smooth satin. Or the soft swell of her lower lip… He stared at that lip, thinking that she had the most kissable mouth of any woman he'd ever known – sweet and warm and responsive.
There was a tiny crumb there now, and he reached out and cradled her chin with his fingers and brushed the crumb away with his thumb. Slowly. Loving the feel of her mouth as he traced its curve with his thumb again, outlining her upper lip, then down to the moist cleft between.
Her lips parted and he felt the delicate touch of her tongue against his thumb and watched, heavy-lidded, as she took it into her mouth, her eyes locked with his. And it was then, in that heartbeat moment that seemed to last an eternity, that Conn realized they'd been heading for this moment all day.
He took his thumb from between her lips and traced her lower lip again, and then, slowly, knowing there was no rush whatsoever, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her slowly.
She didn't seem to be any more surprised by it than he was, lips already parting in welcome, greeting the probing touch of his tongue with hers. Her hands touched his bare shoulders delicately, almost tentatively, one running up through his still-damp hair, the other curling around the back of his neck.
He drew his mouth from hers finally, laughing, and brushed her hair back from her face to gaze down into her eyes. "We said this sort of thing wasn't going to happen."
"I know." She traced his face with her eyes, feature by feature, as though she'd never really seen it before. "This is crazy."
"Damn right." And then he was kissing her again, seriously kissing her this time, just letting himself go with it, losing himself in the sweet magic of her. It felt right… God, anything that felt this good had to be right!
"We probably shouldn't be doing this," she murmured against his mouth a minute or two later, her mouth browsing along his lower lip.
"I agree. Absolutely." He lowered his mouth to her shoulder and caressed the soft skin with his lips, his pulse rate all over the map, willpower slipping badly. She smelled of rainwater and firelight, and he could feel the weight of her breast against his arm, the pressure of her thigh along his, and knew he was well on his way to losing it.
"Andie, I want to make love to you!" He groaned and turned his head away, knowing he should be pushing her away from him while he still had the strength. But then his mouth found hers and he was kissing her again, hard and deep, and knew it was already too late.
Andie opened her mouth fully to his, tasting his desire, hot and metallic, knowing she should be stopping him, that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. That she'd regret it in the morning. That, if they made love, working with him ever again would be all but impossible.
There were a thousand reasons – ten thousand reasons – not to let this go on … and yet she could no more have stopped him than she could stop the rain still hammering down on the shingled roof.
And then he was pulling her down onto the rug and the blanket she'd so modestly tied around her had fallen open and she was naked to him, her skin so sensitive that even the weight of his breath made her moan softly. The years dropped away and it was as though those twelve long years had never existed, as though they had made love just that morning, her body still remembering every touch of his hands and mouth.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmured, nuzzling her throat, her breasts, her belly. "How come we've never done this before, Andie?"
"We have."
"Long ago," he whispered, mouth moving, promising. He captured one taut nipple between his lips and teased it with his tongue. "Too long ago. I love your skin, like silk. Love the way you smell and taste and feel…"
She lifted his head and kissed him, thinking fleetingly that if she was ever going to say no, it had to be now. That this wasn't going to change things, that he wasn't suddenly going to fall in love with her and everything would be perfect. It was making love to her he loved, not her – not Andie, not his best friend. Nothing would be different afterward.
And yet, suddenly, she didn't care. For the moment he did love her, as deeply and passionately as any man had ever loved a woman. She was in his arms, and that was all that mattered. For now, anyway. And tomorrow … well, she'd deal with tomorrow when it arrived. Smiling a little, she slipped her arms around him and simply gave herself over to his magic.
And magic it was. He knew her by heart, a conquering hero retaking stolen lands; knew where to touch, and how, and just the right words to growl against her ear. Knew things she'd all but forgotten, the sly touch of his tongue, the caress of a fingertip, the exact way to coax sensations from her she'd never dreamed of having again.
He nudged her thighs apart gently with his, fingers gently teasing her, readying her, pleasing her – and then, suddenly, he went very still. "Andie…" He nuzzled the side of her throat, her ear. "Andie, tell me it's all right. Tell me you're taking something." He groaned, resting his forehead on her shoulder. "Please be taking something."
Andie's eyes flew open as she realized, finally, what he meant. For one insane instant she had her mouth open to say yes, that she was taking the Pill and everything was fine and they could make love, a tiny, tiny part of her thinking of what it would be like to have Connor's child. Of being able to fulfill even that small a part of the dream.
"Oh, Connor…" She closed her eyes, mind spinning, wanting him so badly, she was half out of her mind with it.
"Don't tell me." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a harsh groan. "Andie, Andie … this isn't what I want to hear!"
"My camera," she whispered, panting slightly, body so achingly ready for him she was trembling. "Get my camera."
Conn lifted his head and gazed down at her, his expression making her laugh out loud. "No, I'm not suggesting we just take pictures and forget the rest! There's – just hand me the camera case."
Obviously thinking she'd lost her mind, he reached around and picked up the damp leather case from the hearth.
"Open it. You'll find what you need…"
Still looking skeptical, he opened the case and peered inside. Then a slightly wicked grin canted his mouth to one side as he fished out one brightly wrapped contraceptive. "Should I even ask why you carry these in here?"
"It's a long story, but you can thank Tracy. She's the one who put them there, for reasons I'm not even going to start to explain."
"Tracy?" He looked surprised. "Little Tracy? Your kid sister knows about things like this?"
"My kid sister thinks she invented things like this."
"Ahh." He grinned, then lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her long and gently. "And here I thought I'd invented it."
"And here I thought," Andie said as she slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him back down against her, "that you'd just taken a good idea and made it better."
"I have an idea right now you might be interested in."
"I thought you might. And I think I am."
"Good." He gave a throaty laugh and started unwrapping the contraceptive. "How many of these do you have, anyway?"
"A handful. At least."
"That sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one," he murmured, easing himself between her thighs. "Could take all day, though."
"I have all day." Andie's breath caught. "Oh, Conn…"
"Then I suggest we get started," he whispered against her ear.
And did.
The last thing Conn was conscious of was hearing Andie give a low, throaty moan at the first intrusive touch of his body, and thinking a little insanely as he pressed downward and inward that making love to her was like coming home. And then there was nothing but hot silk and the sound of her sigh and an explosion of pure sensation as he made that first long, slow, slippery slide into ecstasy itself.
He moved gently and very, very slowly at first, wanting it to last forever, unable to even think of being anywhere but here, so deep within her they breathed with the same breath, felt the same heartbeat. She wasn't just his for the moment, but part of him, part of the fabric of his world, of everything that made him who and what he was.
She moaned again softly and he braced his arms and watched her with a kind of breathless wonderment as she arched under him, small white teeth across her lower lip as though to hold back a cry of pleasure, eyes closed. Her breasts lifted, the dark tips swollen, and the downy skin on her abdomen and belly glowed with firelight.
He drank in the sight of her loving him, unable to take his eyes from her as she lifted her hips to meet his downward thrust, the muscles in her belly tightening, her fingers clenching convulsively on his shoulders. Why in God's name hadn't they been like this all along? Why had he been searching for something that had been here from the beginning, looking for the semblance of love when he could have had the real thing?
He lowered himself over her again and cradled her head in his palms and she opened her eyes, and he read things there that took his breath away. Not saying anything, he simply smiled down at her and a moment later she smiled back and then he stopped thinking, stopped trying to figure it out, stopped trying to make sense of something that made no sense and just let himself go.
