“I have to protect my father. Nothing’s changed.”
“But you said it yourself. It hasn’t worked.” Her hand swept over the floor where they’d found Myron only hours before. “He’s still drinking.”
“It’s too late,” Hank insisted. “I made my choice.”
“But what about—”
“Stop it, Gwen,” he interrupted. “Even if I agreed with you, it’s pointless to consider it because no one would believe me. Not now. Too much time has passed. Everyone would think I was lying. Would your parents look at me any differently if I claimed that what happened to Pete wasn’t my fault?” He laughed a humorless chuckle. “If anything, it would make it that much worse.”
Gwen suspected that Hank was probably right. Her mother and father would likely make the same assumption she had, that he was trying to make it easier for them to be together.
“Besides,” Hank continued, “how would I do it? Go door-to-door and tell people that I’m innocent? Put an ad on the radio? No, this is the hand fate dealt me. Heck, I pulled these cards out of the deck myself. Hard as it is to accept, I can’t change this.”
She shook her head. “I don’t like people thinking the worst of you.”
“Not everyone does,” he said, stepping closer. “There’s Skip,” he explained, placing his hand against her cheek. “And there’s you…”
And there’s me…
It hadn’t taken Gwen long to realize that Hank wasn’t the person everyone in town made him out to be. Every moment they spent together revealed something new. Hank was charming, kind, and funny. He was considerate and hardworking. He was even supportive of her dream to become a writer. And just then, staring up into his eyes in the dimly lit kitchen, as the storm’s fury continued to rise outside, she found him to be incredibly handsome.
Hank was everything she’d ever wanted in a man.
So when he leaned down to kiss her, Gwen willingly surrendered to him and his touch.
At first, their kiss resembled those they’d shared before; soft yet full of emotion, restrained yet holding the promise of more. But then something changed. Their lips parted to allow their tongues to touch, igniting a hunger inside Gwen that demanded to be sated. With every passing second, she found herself wanting more, needing it. She didn’t know whether this new desire came from herself, Hank, or the both of them, but she quickly decided it didn’t matter. Whatever its origin, she didn’t resist.
Their lips weren’t the only parts of their bodies that wanted more. Gwen’s hands slid up his arms, crossed the muscular peaks of his shoulders, and became entwined around his neck, pulling him close. Hank’s found her waist before starting to slowly slide up the front of her blouse. Gwen understood that he was going to touch her breasts, but she made no move to stop him. She nearly trembled with anticipation as he inched upward…
But then Mother Nature interrupted.
Lightning lit up the stormy sky, almost immediately followed by a deafening boom. A second later, the lights went out, plunging them into total darkness. Gwen was so startled that she yelped.
“That knocked out the power,” Hank said, flipping a light switch to no effect, “but there’s a generator in the workshop.”
Gwen looked at the pouring rain. “We aren’t going out in that, are we?” she asked. “Why don’t we just stay here, where it’s dry?”
And dark, so we can get back to kissing…
Hank looked around the room. “Ever since my mom died, there’s something about being in this house that’s bothered me. Maybe it’s because it’s where my father does most of his drinking. Whatever the reason, it makes me uncomfortable. I’m more at ease in the workshop.”
As if on cue, the rain intensified. “We’ll get soaked,” Gwen said.
“Then I guess we’ll have to change out of our wet clothes.”
Gwen knew exactly what Hank was intimating. But he was giving her a chance to say no, and she had no doubt that he’d respect her decision.
“Let’s go turn on that generator,” she said, her heart racing.
Hank led the way from the house and into the storm. It wasn’t far to the workshop, but as she ran across the wet grass, dodging puddles and trying not to slip in the mud, Gwen was battered by the rain. Flashes of lightning lit the way. By the time Hank threw open the double doors, they were both drenched from head to foot. As rainwater pooled on the floor beneath them, Gwen couldn’t stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Hank asked.
“We’re quite the pair,” she told him as water dripped from her hair. “I bet this is exactly what we looked like when you pulled me out of the river.”
Now it was Hank’s turn to laugh. “The spitting image,” he agreed before disappearing into the black depths of the workshop. Moments later, Gwen heard machinery sputter to life, then a bulb was switched on.
“That’ll keep the lights on for a while, but I don’t know how much gas is in the tank,” Hank said. He walked over and placed his hands on Gwen’s arms; she was trembling slightly. His brow furrowed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Gwen nodded. It was just like when she’d ended her relationship with Kent; she had no doubt. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Hank led the way out of the shop’s larger workspace to a small room at the back. It wasn’t much; a cot, a nightstand, and a rickety chair piled high with old newspapers. A sink stood in the far corner.
“I wish it was nicer,” he said. “Give me a second and I can—”
“It’s perfect,” Gwen told him.
Hank didn’t turn on any switches as they moved toward the cot; the only light was what filtered in from the outer room, though it was enough to see by. For a moment, they were content to look at each other, their hands entwined. When Gwen shivered, Hank pulled her close, his skin warm even after the rain.
“Thank you,” she said, her cheek pressed softly against his chest.
“For what?” he asked.
“Saving my life,” Gwen answered, though she was talking about far more than just his diving into the Sawyer River. Because of him, because of the risk Hank had taken for her, the road she’d been traveling on had unexpectedly forked, and Gwen had chosen to take a different route, one she believed would lead to a far happier future. This was where she was meant to be.
“Any time,” Hank answered, then tilted her face toward his, his eyes dancing in the meager light, and kissed her.
Though thunder continued to crash all around them, the storm was no longer capable of interrupting their passion. Gwen pressed into Hank and shut her eyes, giving herself over to his touch. When his hand rose from her waist to gently caress her breast, Gwen gasped into his open mouth, the pleasure she felt too undeniable to hold back.
Wanting to feel his bare skin, Gwen started to undo the buttons of his shirt. What followed was a flurry of undressing, as items of wet clothing were removed, one after the other, and strewn into a pile on the floor until there wasn’t anything left to take off. Another flash of lightning revealed the full length of their naked bodies, a sight that fueled both of their desires.
When they slid beneath the cot’s woolen blanket, Gwen allowed her hands to roam across Hank’s muscular flesh. She touched his arms, his broad chest, and his washboard stomach until she finally decided to go lower. She took him into her palm, pleasantly surprised by his size, the ardor of his passion, and the heat that his body radiated. She stroked him gently, from base to tip, causing his breath to catch and a deep, thunder-like moan to escape his lips.
But while Gwen had been busy exploring Hank, he’d been doing the same to her. Although his touch was insistent, his skin rough on account of his work, Gwen yearned for more. She encouraged him with a gasp, a tremor shooting through her body, or by whispering his name into his ear. Hank cupped the heft of her breast before teasing her nipple. He ran his fingers down the length of her rib cage as masterfully as a classical pianist at the keys. His lips and tongue caressed her ne
ck, an earlobe, the curve of her jaw before once again finding her mouth. But it was when his hand moved between her legs, gently yet insistently spreading them farther apart, allowing him to truly touch her, discovering just how excited his advances had made her, that she began to shake with pleasure.
“Hank…” she managed as she arched her back, the storm inside her body rivaling the one continuing to rage outside the window.
“I want you,” he said, nearly breathless.
In answer, Gwen spread her legs wider, encouraging him to come between them, his body raised above her, held in place by his strong arms.
She placed her hands on his cheeks and stared into his eyes. “I love you,” she told him, the words coming from somewhere deep inside, made of far more than physical desire, as heartfelt as they could possibly be. She wasn’t thinking about her parents. She wasn’t thinking about Kent. Gwen was thinking only about Hank Ellis, the man who had stolen her heart.
With a tenderness in stark contrast to the passion burning between them, Hank entered her. Inch by inch, he lowered himself, so that when their hips were finally pressed together, Gwen was nearly overcome with pleasure.
“Gwen, I—” Hank began, but she kissed him before he could say more.
He started to move in and out, slowly at first, but their excitement quickly escalated, causing Hank to thrust faster. For Gwen, it felt as if she was climbing a musical scale, each note higher than the last. It was so pleasurable as to be nearly painful, but she had no desire to stop. Rather, she wanted it to last forever.
“Oh…oh, Hank…” was all she could manage to say.
Events spooled out before her like a film missing some of its frames. One image came into focus but then was gone, replaced by another: her hands sliding up and down his body, incapable of staying still; beads of sweat dotting Hank’s face; another tongue of lightning illuminating the night sky. Over it all, she heard the rhythmic sound of their skin colliding, a melody of lovemaking.
“I can’t…I can’t last much longer…” Hank gasped.
Gwen couldn’t answer. As his movements reached a fever pitch, it felt as if she’d reached the top of an oceanside cliff and then jumped off, plunging toward the water; when she struck its surface, her whole body trembled and shook. One of her hands grabbed Hank’s arm so tightly that she feared drawing blood, while the other crimped a fistful of the blanket. An instant later, Hank shuddered, his hips coming to a hard and sudden stop, and Gwen was filled with warmth.
Though he had to be exhausted, Hank didn’t collapse on top of her but carefully lowered himself to the side, their bodies sliding apart. Gwen rolled toward him and snuggled close, both of them slick with sweat but fulfilled in every way. As each of their chests rose and fell, sleep beckoned. Gwen surrendered to its sweet embrace knowing that this was what she’d spent her whole life looking for but had never managed to find.
This was love.
Chapter Twenty-One
GWEN WOKE TO the sound of birds singing. She opened her eyes, but the sunlight was too bright so she shut them again. For a moment, she wondered if last night had been a dream, nothing more than a figment of her imagination, but then she felt someone move, warm skin brushing against her own. She turned her head and looked again. Hank slept at her side.
Last night had been a dream, but very, very real.
Making love to Hank had been more than Gwen could ever have hoped for. She remembered every touch, every breathless word, every moment of pleasure. Amazingly, she hadn’t once thought of Kent. Even though she’d only just ended things between them, the break felt clean, final. The truth was, she had been with the wrong man. So while one relationship had ended, another beckoned, holding out the promise of happier times, of a chance to live the life she’d always wanted.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t problems, too.
Over and over, like a record needle skipping on a scratch, Gwen thought about what Hank had told her of the night Pete had died. She understood why he’d initially lied; protecting his father was noble, but she couldn’t accept that Hank would willingly ruin his own reputation to do it. It was too high of a cost.
Gwen knew that she could always choose to let the matter lie; she wanted to be with Hank regardless of whether people knew the truth about Pete’s death. But she wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t right. Something had to change.
So it was then, lying beside Hank in the cot, looking up at the ceiling of the workshop, that Gwen made a decision of her own.
As carefully and quietly as she could, Gwen slid out of the cot and padded across the floor to her clothes. Fortunately, they’d mostly dried during the night, though they were badly wrinkled. She dressed quickly, her eyes rarely leaving Hank, watching for any sign that he might be waking.
Once she was fully clothed, Gwen dug in Hank’s pants pocket, quickly finding what she was looking for: the keys to his truck.
“…gonna try to hit it in the…” he suddenly muttered, an arm flopping out from under the blanket.
Gwen froze, holding her breath, her heart pounding, convinced that he was about to wake. She could only imagine what Hank would think, wondering what she was doing, why she was sneaking away like a burglar. Inevitably, he’d have questions that she would struggle to answer.
But then, just as abruptly as Hank had stirred, he settled, his breathing steady, and returned to sleep, allowing her to steal out the door.
The morning sky was a brilliant blue, though the air was cool, making her shiver in her damp clothes. Gwen opened the truck’s door as quietly as she could, cringing when the hinges gave a squeak. She got inside, not bothering to shut the door behind her, and put the key in the ignition. This was the moment of truth. Gwen knew that the second she started the engine, Hank would wake. If she couldn’t manage to get the truck moving fast enough, if it sputtered and stalled or she wasn’t able to put it in gear, he’d reach her before she could drive away.
What Gwen was going to do was for Hank, but he couldn’t be a part of it. Not yet. She was convinced that he wouldn’t understand.
“So here goes everything,” she whispered.
Turning the key, she heard the engine shudder to life, the sudden noise deafening to Gwen’s ears. She pumped the gas pedal, silently praying that it would catch; when it did, she nearly shouted with joy. Grabbing the gearshift, she put the truck in reverse and sped back down the drive so fast that the tires sprayed gravel. Reaching the road, she tromped on the brakes, pointed the truck toward town, ground the gears in her impatience to get moving, and then once again pressed the accelerator. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hank stumble groggily out of the workshop, the wool blanket wrapped around his waist, wondering what in the heck was going on. Seconds later, he was lost from view.
Gwen gripped the steering wheel tight. She wouldn’t allow herself to look back. She was determined to keep going, to do what she had to.
Their future depended on it.
The unexpected sound of the truck rumbling to life was like a buzz saw cutting through Hank’s peaceful sleep. He shot wide awake and sat up in the cot, so disoriented that he had trouble telling up from down. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes, but he looked around anyway, trying to get his bearings. He leaped out of bed, clear-headed enough to snatch up the blanket so that he wasn’t running around naked, and hurried for the door. Stepping outside, his feet wet in the dewy grass, he saw his truck back out of the driveway and onto the road before speeding away. There was a familiar face behind the wheel.
“Gwen!” he shouted, waving his arm. “Gwen, wait!”
But it did no good. Seconds later, the truck was out of sight, leaving Hank alone and more than a little confused.
He went back into the workshop, leaving wet footprints on the floor, retreating to the rear room as he tried to make some sense of what had just happened. He noticed that Gwen was no longer curled up in bed and that her clothes weren’t piled on the floor; even though Hank had just seen her drive away, in his add
led state, these facts seemed firmer confirmation that she was no longer there. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and started to think things through.
Why didn’t she wake me?
Where’s she going?
What did I do to make her leave like that?
Hank didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, but he imagined that none of them were good. Maybe last night Gwen had been vulnerable, still reeling from the confrontation with Kent and her parents, and had allowed herself to get caught up in the moment. In such a state, she’d willingly made love to him, but the next morning, her head finally clear, she had realized what a terrible mistake she’d made. Wanting nothing more than to get away from him, Gwen had dressed silently, snuck out to his truck, and raced away, too ashamed of herself to face him, to even ask if he’d drive her back to town.
Maybe their relationship was over before it had really even begun.
Leaving his still-wet clothes on the floor, Hank headed for the house. Inside, he took a quick shower, hoping it would chase away the clouds in his head while he figured out what to do next. Dressed, he paced the kitchen, trying to come up with another explanation for Gwen’s behavior but failing.
“Think, damn it, think!” he exhorted himself.
In the end, Hank knew he had to speak with her. If Gwen was actually rejecting him, he wanted to hear it from her lips. Even if he had to endure more insults, or take another punch, he had to know what he’d done. He would ask for forgiveness and ultimately accept her decision, no matter whether it was good or bad.
Hank picked up the telephone receiver, then dialed. After about a dozen rings, the other end of the line was answered.
There was a deep sigh. “Yeah…” a sleepy voice said.
“Skip, it’s Hank.”
A long pause. “What time is it?”
“I need you to come pick me up,” he said, ignoring the question. “Now.”
“Somethin’…somethin’ wrong with your truck?”
“Just get over here!”
Sunday Kind of Love Page 21
