Think About Love

by Vanessa Grant

  "After the ceremony," she said. "We'll sign then."

  "A skilled evasion," he murmured. His hand slid into her hair and she felt her head tilt back, her lips tingling, parting.

  His mouth was just a breath away from hers when she pulled back.

  "Sam, I want to kiss you." He brushed her lips with his thumb, and they had no choice but to part for him. "Earlier, I thought you wanted it, too."

  "Your parents," she breathed. "Your sister. My grandmother."

  "They're in the car. No one's going to be surprised if we spend a minute alone here, in the shadows."

  He drew her arms around his neck and she gave her lips. The gentleness burned away as their mouths met. She felt herself swept into his heat, his hand hard on her back, her breasts throbbing against his chest, his tongue teaching her the sultry headiness of their mouths pleasuring each other.

  The curls of his hair sprang tightly around her fingers as she pulled his head down. Closer and she kissed him back, her mouth hungry, needy, unable to get enough.

  "God, Sam...." He groaned and his hand covered her breast.

  She heard herself whimper; then she sagged as his thumb brushed over her throbbing nipple. He staggered, cursed softly, pulled her into him, and dove deeper into her mouth, to her very center.

  Someone honked a horn.

  She clung when Cal's mouth slowly drew back from hers.

  She could feel his breath, hard and ragged, against her face. She heard someone laugh.

  "Come on, Calin, time to go!" Adrienne, his sister, called from the car.

  Samantha couldn't seem to let him go. He stared down at her, too dark here in the shadows beside the veranda for her to read his expression, but she felt his pulse, beating with hers. His hand... his hand on her breast, aching sweetness. She couldn't talk, covered it with hers.

  Cal turned his hand and threaded his fingers through hers, then lifted her hand to his lips. His laugh was harsh. "What the hell have we been doing this last eighteen months? Why haven't we done this before?"

  "Cal, I'm not ready for this."

  He took her hand. Darkness. "You're exhausted. You'll feel better after the wedding."

  Then he was gone.

  She listened to the car driving away. When it was gone, she heard silence, then the nighttime chorus of frogs. She closed her eyes and slowly felt the peace of the island seep over her.

  Only a few minutes ago, she'd been wrapped around Cal, burning in his arms, hidden from Dorothy and his family by shadows, but only a few feet away. And for a moment, she'd needed his touch more than life itself.

  The frogs fell suddenly silent. She heard the door open, turned and saw Wayne step outside.

  "Nora's tucked up on the sofa with a romance she's been wanting to read. I brought you a glass of wine, Samantha."

  She took the glass from his hand, stepped up onto the veranda, and sank into the big wicker chair, glad of the shadows. Wayne leaned against the rail.

  She held the wineglass in her hands, thought about the question for long seconds, then asked, "Why did you marry my mother, Wayne? Don't answer if—"

  "It's time we talked about her," he said mildly. "It was a long time ago. There's no pain left. Sadness, a sense of failure, but not pain."

  She put her glass down in the little table where she'd been using her computer all week. "You didn't fail."

  "She was entrancing, fascinating. I married her for lust, of course, but also, she needed me. I guess I thought it was love, but Jeanette doesn't do love. She’s like a comet—blazing, exciting, until the instant she burns out."

  Samantha said, "I don't know anything about marriage, how to do it."

  "You've got her fire. I used to see it in your eyes sometimes when you were a kid, before you became so damned controlled. When you told me you were getting married, I worried that you might try to do marriage from a distance, in complete control, the opposite of the way your mother did."

  "Control is important." She felt the sensation again, Cal's mouth in hers, her own hunger. She would never forget now.

  "Love is important, too," said Wayne. "I saw him kiss you when he arrived."

  "Do you know how many times I watched her fall in love? Seven husbands now, isn't it? Not to mention the men in between. In the end, they all go sour."

  "In the end she always leaves. What are you afraid of, Samantha? The only part of your mother in you is the energy, the fire, but in you it's solid, enduring. When Kippy needed you, when Dorothy called you last week, you came right away." He leaned forward. "That's love, Sam. Falling in love is the fire, and it's splendid, but it's nothing without the other—without day-after-day loving. You've taken on this child now, you've made a promise to little Kippy in your heart, and if the going gets tough, if that promise means you have to rearrange your own life, it doesn't change the promise, does it?"

  "No, it doesn't. You did the same for us, Wayne. You had no real obligation, but you looked out for Sarah and me, fought for us when we needed it."

  "Jeanette's promises were like water. She would promise whatever was necessary to get what she wanted, but when she was called for payment she ran every time. Love is only partly about passion and lust. The rest of it is character and commitment. You have both, and so does your man."

  She couldn't tell him there was no love, couldn't say anything at all. But he was right even so. The heat and madness she'd felt in Cal's arms, still throbbing in her belly, wasn't the point. Marriage, any marriage, was about keeping promises, and she and Cal would keep theirs.

  Sex aside, this was a business partnership. They were two strong-willed people forging an alliance for mutual benefit. Once all these people went away, life would get back to normal, a new normal with Kippy woven into the fabric of Samantha's life and Cal back at work on the Lloyd project. They would probably have sex, but not that often. They would both be far too busy.

  Samantha Moonbeam Jones and Calin Antony Tremaine were married in midafternoon on the sun-bathed lawn of the home Dorothy Marshall had lived in with Samantha's grandfather.

  Samantha's hand trembled as Cal slid the plain gold band onto her finger. Trembled still as she placed the matching ring on his. Two gold bands. Two hands. Her family watching, and Cal's. She would not let this be a mistake.

  She trembled as his lips covered hers, afraid she might overreact the way she had the last two times.

  "Breathe," he murmured, his hand against her cheek. "And kiss me."

  She lifted her arms to his shoulders, joined her lips with his, felt his hand at her waist, firm, protecting her. His lips were gentle, almost soothing, and she felt herself relax.

  He kissed her again, very softly. "If we can crack Lloyd together, we can do this."

  Someone took a picture, and she felt Cal's hand on her shoulder. Steadying her. Then he led her to the table where the commissioner was waiting with documents to be signed. She hadn't seen Cal give the two copies of the prenuptial agreement to the commissioner, but there they were, and she signed her name with a steady hand.

  Then she stood with Cal and heard the commissioner say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine."

  Someone started the music again, a CD playing on the stereo Nora had pulled out onto the veranda earlier. Then Samantha was walking with Cal toward these people who were their family, surrounded by old evergreens.

  Cal stood at her side, his hand resting on the waist of her simple white sheath dress. Then Wayne was hugging her, saying, "I love you, honey. You're going to be fine."

  Nora kissed her cheek and whispered, "He's a major hunk. Enjoy him."

  Samantha flushed hotly and found herself being hugged by Katherine, being held against her generous curves. "You' re absolutely glowing. Welcome to the family, dear."

  Glowing? She felt a wreck.

  "It's lovely to have a small wedding," said Adrienne, hugging her tightly. "So much nicer than those two-hundred-people deals where the bride and groom are crippled with stage fri
ght."

  Samantha laughed; it was that or sink into a ridiculous pool of nerves. It was done now, whether it had been wise or not. She drew in a deep breath and turned to find herself enveloped in Dorothy's arms.

  "You be happy, do you hear, Moonbeam? You're a good child, you always were. Don't be afraid to fall in love."

  "Grandma...."

  Dorothy stepped back. "Now go off and have your honeymoon."

  Honeymoon?

  At her side, Cal murmured, "Are you going to call yourself Mrs. Tremaine?"

  "I don't know. I haven't even thought of it."

  "Been busy?"

  "A bit." When he smiled, she felt her tension ease. This was Cal. She'd worked with him for eighteen months. She'd argued with him, supported him, struggled with him to make Tremaine's the best they could make it.

  They'd been good partners, were still.

  Cal was nervous. He didn't figure he should be, not after the way Sam had responded to him last night when he held her in his arms, but reason aside, as they drove north on Vancouver Island, Cal found himself worrying about the resort, about the night.

  A breathless, mad kiss, the woman who was now his wife moaning in his arms. His blood flamed as he remembered the softness of her breast, the hard bud of her nipple under his thumb, the heat of her mouth.

  He thought of the resort somewhere ahead of them. Cabins by the water, privacy amid the luxury of nature. His father had booked the resort, and he wasn't likely to have booked twin beds or separate rooms.

  As much as he ached to hold Samantha naked in his bed, he wanted this marriage to work even more. He'd promised her nothing would happen until they both wanted it, and he had no right to assume that last night indicated consent. Not when she'd been trembling when he kissed her after the ceremony, her eyes wide with nerves or terror.

  She'd looked stunned when his father presented them with the gift certificate to Haida Sunset. She couldn't be afraid of him. He didn't believe she was really afraid of anyone, except perhaps the social worker and judge who held the power of Kippy's future. He'd soothed that fear, he thought. Brenda had told them she was recommending they be given custody, and Cal had already briefed Dexter and his own lawyer to work on adoption proceedings to make it permanent.

  When they went to court next week, Kippy's future should be secured.

  Theirs—Cal and Samantha's—was going to be trickier. Despite the fact that she was obviously attracted to him, Sam hadn't answered last night when he'd asked her if she trusted him. They'd worked together smoothly for months, but he was beginning to realize that the trust they'd developed between them at Tremaine's wasn't automatically going to translate into their marriage.

  He'd have to earn her trust, and rushing her into bed— even if it was a king-sized one— was not the way to do it. Marriage and the prenuptial—postnuptial—agreement aside, a man had no right to assume that two incredible kisses constituted consent to sex. And he didn't.

  But when they walked into the room at Haida Sunset and found the bed that would inevitably dominate the room, it was going to look like he'd assumed just that.

  When Cal unlocked the door to the small cabin, Samantha walked in ahead of him. She heard him set their suitcases on the floor.

  She stopped three steps inside the door, facing a king-size bed with a floor-length maroon spread. Cal's family had given them this weekend, and of course the room had only one bed.

  Big, very big. Room for two people to sleep without touching.

  Cal said, "The bed wasn't my idea."

  She needed to say something. Last night he had kissed her, touched her, and she'd felt flames. Now....

  What next? Undress together or one at a time? Here, or in the bathroom? When? Would the room be filled with early evening light?

  Dark would be easier.

  "Samantha?"

  Coward, staring at the bed, afraid to face him. Thirty-one years old; too old for these jitters. She forced herself to turn, to meet his gaze. The gray of his eyes seemed darker, inscrutable.

  "I told you that when we make love, it will be because we both want it. I meant that."

  "What do you want, Cal?"

  "I want you—when it's time."

  She felt a wave of sensation, heat flooding her face.

  He dragged one hand through his hair. "What I don't want is to put pressure on you. I wish to hell we hadn't ended up staring at this damned bed when we've hardly had five minutes alone with each other."

  If he touched her... if he lowered his mouth to hers as he had last night....

  "Not tonight," she said, a whisper instead of a voice. He stood in front of her, six feet of pure man—broad shoulders, narrow hips, and mouth tight with tension.

  "It's your call, Samantha."

  She should do something. Move, walk to the window, break their locked gazes.

  Just kissing her, his mouth stirred flames. What would it be like to lie with him, to feel his mouth on her breast, his erection against her naked belly?

  Stop it!

  He captured her hand and lifted it to his lips. Her heart slammed into her rib cage as he pressed a light kiss into her palm. She lifted her chin slightly.

  "What are we going to do about the bed?"

  "I could sleep on the sofa," he said.

  "It's a love seat. You'd be crippled by morning."

  He grimaced acknowledgment. "Let's have dinner; then we'll tackle the bed."

  "Tackle?" Laughter bubble inside Samantha at the image of Cal taking a flying tackle at the monstrous king-size bed.

  "Badly chosen word," he admitted, and somehow they were laughing together.

  She found it easier then to turn away and walk to the window. Outside, the shadows from tall cedar trees blurred the path leading to the ocean.

  "We're a hundred feet from the beach," she said. "Let's walk after dinner."

  When she turned to face him, the look in his eyes sent uneasiness flooding over her. He would reach for her... she would step into his arms and this tension, this hideous tension, would melt away when their lips met.

  "Do you want to change for dinner?" he asked abruptly.

  She shook her head. She'd been too many years without touch, without sex. This feeling of control slipping away... just hormones. A psychologist would probably call it repression, all those years. And now....

  The dining room occupied the ocean side of the resort's central building, a few hundred feet along the path from their cabin. Cal walked beside her, not touching, somehow making her more aware than if he had put his hand on her shoulder or her waist.

  When she stepped on an uneven piece of ground and stumbled into him, he caught her arm and she gasped.

  "All right?" he asked, releasing her abruptly.

  "Yes. I just tripped."

  "Your shoes?"

  "They're fine. I'm fine."

  She wasn't fine at all. She was jangling with nerves. She'd said not tonight, hadn't she? And he'd agreed. So why couldn't she relax? She'd walked with him a thousand times, down the corridors of Tremaine's, on sidewalks, in restaurants. Walked side by side without touching. Except for the last few days, since she'd agreed to marry him. Now, when they walked, he often touched her, a hand on her waist, her arm, a touch on her shoulder, as if her consent had conferred the right. And she'd... somehow his touch on her had begun to seem right, natural. Just like the times he lifted the baby's weight gently out of her arms.

  The baby. If Kippy were here....

  She hadn't realized how nervous she'd feel once they were alone, with no baby to care for, no wedding to plan, no prenuptial clauses or company contracts to discuss. Nothing. No agenda, just Samantha and Cal... and a king-size bed.

  In the dining room, the hostess seated them at a window table that looked out on the island-studded ocean.

  "What's that island?" asked Cal when they'd ordered their drinks.

  "Hornby Island. I spent a few summer nights there in my teens, camping."

  "I didn
't get this far north on my cycling tour."

  The waiter delivered two glasses of wine and Cal lifted his to her. "To us."

  "To us," she agreed. "To our partnership."

  They both ordered—seafood nibbler for Cal, and Neptune salad for Samantha. Cal questioned her about the Gulf Island chain that included Gabriola and Hornby islands while the ocean turned from blue to gray and the sky slowly darkened.

  "Tell me about your childhood," Samantha asked, a fork filled with greens and crab halfway to her mouth. "Did you grow up in San Francisco?"

  "Denver."

  "Cold winters."

  "Makes you tough," said Cal. "Addie and I were born in LA. My parents met when Dad was a medical student, Mom a trauma nurse. They got married two months after they met, had me a year later. Not wise, Mom always said, but they were in love and they got by between his student loans and her nursing salary."

  "I thought she was a doctor?"

  "Not then." Cal speared a small round ball of something and chewed it with evident pleasure.

  "What is that? Scallop?"

  "Stuffed with something delicious. Want one?" He speared another and offered it to her.

  She parted her lips and he slipped the tasty morsel inside her mouth. She couldn't look away from him, trapped by the intimacy of his casual action.

  "It's good," she mumbled, disobeying Dorothy's strictures not to talk with her mouth full. "Delicious. When did your mom become a doctor?"

  "After Dad finished his residency. He did his residency in Denver, started a practice there. I was about six when Mom went back to school, fourteen when she finished her internship in Denver. Then she got a chance to do her residency in obstetrics under a doctor she admired in San Francisco, and we moved."

  "Your father moved his practice?"

  "They supported each other. She got him through medical school; then he got her through. Together they made sure we had what we needed. Love. Consistency. Good role models."

  His strong confidence came from his family, his secure childhood... and something else, a fire deep inside. She wondered what sort of child he had been, wondered how old he'd been when he started taking charge of his own life.