by Jane Graves
But was that really true? Hadn't she been questioning all this before Nick even arrived?
"So Randall can pick up a phone and make people jump," Nick said. "If that's the number one quality you're after, it looks as if you've found your dream man."
"There's more to it than that. It's just the feeling…" She shrugged weakly. "The feeling that I don't have to worry."
"Worry? About what? You have it all. You're beautiful, you're smart, you have a good job—"
Just then a bolt of lightning zinged down from the sky, followed by the crack of thunder. She jumped involuntarily and closed her eyes.
"That's what I worry about."
"The storm?"
"In a way."
"I don't understand."
Even now, her heart pounded at the memory, one that had been indelibly etched on her brain. "When I was a kid, maybe six or seven years old, I heard my parents talking in the kitchen. 'Rain is coming,' my mother said. 'If it's heavy and the crop doesn't dry out before harvest and we lose it, what are we going to do?' My father pounded his fist on the table and said, 'Damn it, Treva! I'm doing the best I can!'"
Sarah paused, hating the way the memory made her feel, even now. "It was terrible. My father never shouted. Ever. Even when he was quiet again, I heard those words echoing through the whole house, beating against the walls, practically shattering the windows."
"What happened then?"
"My mother put her hand on my father's and said she was sorry. He apologized, too. Then he told her they'd get through it, they always did, and they both went about their business. But after that day, whenever they lowered their voices, I knew they were talking about money. And from then on, every time I heard thunder, I thought back to that day and wondered if this was going to be the time when they wouldn't get through it."
"But they did get through it."
"That's easy to say now. But back then…" She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. "A few years later, we had a terrible winter. It was unseasonably cold, below freezing. We were so broke the utility company turned off our gas and we went without heat for six days. My parents kept saying we were going to be just fine, but I literally thought we were going to die."
"You were just a kid. Sometimes it's hard to make them understand that things might not be as bad as they seem."
"And I'm an adult now, right? So what's the problem?"
"I didn't mean that."
Sarah sighed. "I just always told myself I was going to do better. I was going to have so much money that I never had to worry. My parents borrowed money to put me through college because they wanted me to have an easier life than they had. My father used to say, 'For the love of God, Sarah Lynn, don't marry a farmer.' I told myself that if I had enough money, they'd never have to worry again, either."
"So you like Randall's offer to pay their mortgage."
"Of course I like it! What's not to like? It gets my parents out from under an obligation I wish they'd never saddled themselves with in the first place."
"And it's your fault they did."
She paused. "Yes."
"Don't let guilt make you compound the mistake. How would your parents feel if they knew you married Randall just to make life easier for them? And he doesn't really care about your family. Yeah, he'll shove money at them if that's what it takes to make you happy, but actually relate to them? That'll never happen."
"He just doesn't understand them. What it's like to be farmers, where you're at the mercy of wind, rain, bugs. What it's like to be from a small town, where all the socializing goes on at the local diner, the beauty shop, or the bingo parlor. He just can't relate."
"But that's where you came from. How can he understand you if he can't understand them?"
Up to now, she hadn't cared if he understood that part. She'd spent the past several years trying to strip herself of anything that said small-town Texas girl, from her accent to her dining habits to the clothes she wore, so she could become part of a world like Randall's.
"I left that life behind," she said.
"Why?"
"I just told you what it's like in Big Fork."
"It doesn't sound so bad to me."
"Compared to a life where everything surrounding you is beautiful and nobody worries about money?"
"Don't let that stuff blind you. I've lived in those houses. I grew up with that kind of money. Sounds like the biggest cliché ever, but that kind of stuff doesn't make you happy."
"But it can sure take away a lot of the misery."
"Misery? When in your life have you ever been truly miserable? You have this wonderful, accepting, loving family, and all you can think about is becoming part of mine, which is none of those things. Why would you want to do that?"
The question hit Sarah hard, and her stomach churned with confusion and uncertainty. If Nick was right, she'd taken a wrong turn and ended up in the wrong place. It was as if the beautiful life she'd envisioned was at the end of a dark and lonesome path, and the thought of that was absolutely intolerable.
"I told you already," she said. "Security is important to me."
"Sarah," Nick said gently, "security isn't about money. Security is knowing there's another human being on this planet who'll be there for you every day of your life, and if hard times come your way, you'll face them together."
She thought about her parents holding hands and smiling at each other. Even after thirty three years of insanely hard work, financial disasters, and constant uncertainty about what tomorrow would bring, they were still together. Still looking ahead to the future.
Still in love.
A painful longing scratched at Sarah's throat, making it feel tight and quivery. She slid her hand to her chest, trying to calm herself, but every breath felt harsh and raspy.
Then tears filled her eyes.
No. She couldn't cry. If she did, Nick would know. He'd know that no matter how much she protested, the prospect of moving to Chicago with Randall made her feel as if her life was ending rather than just beginning. She blinked wildly, trying to hold the tears back, but it was impossible. She choked on a sob, and they came pouring out.
And with them came the truth.
"You're right. You're right! I don't want to move to Chicago! I saw that house, and it was so beautiful, but all I could think about was how big and empty it looked. How lonely I was going to feel if I lived there. How Randall's mother had decorated it so it would never be truly mine! My life is in Houston. My parents are nearby. I love my job. God, Nick. I don't want to move to Chicago!"
"Then don't."
"But Randall is taking over the company. He has no choice but to move there. And that means if I want to marry him, I have to move, too."
"If he were the right man for you, you wouldn't think twice about it. You'd follow him to the ends of the earth if that was what it took to be with him."
She had the most horrible feeling that Nick was right. But how could she know for sure that it wasn't just bridal jitters that made everything seem so dismal? That if she didn't marry Randall, she wouldn't regret it until the day she died? She was just so damned confused.
"Call off the wedding," Nick said.
"I can't do that. I can't."
"I came to Montego Bay to make sure you don't marry Randall, and that’s what I intend to do.”
"That's not the only reason you came here. You want more than that."
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't come here just to stop the wedding because you think Randall is wrong for me, did you? You came here to take me away from him."
Nick looked at her incredulously. "Yes! Of course I did! Don't you know that by now?"
"But he's your brother! Your brother, and you actually came here to steal his fiancee? My God, Nick. What kind of man does that?"
He stared at her a long time, and his frustration slowly melted away. His gaze shifted and his expression softened, until he was looking at her with total adoration, as if the sun ros
e and set only for her. He leaned in and slipped his hands along her cheeks.
"I'll tell you what kind of man does that," he said. "A man who loves you more than his brother ever will."
Sarah froze. Love? Love? Had Nick just said he loved her?
She started to protest, to tell him just how impossible that was, but before she could speak, he pulled her to him and kissed her. She was so shocked that she started to jerk away, but he circled his hand behind her neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Her brain fired off a warning bell. No! Don't let him do this. You can't let him do this!
But she couldn't fight it. She couldn't. Her tense muscles went limp. The clang of the warning bell gradually receded until it disappeared altogether, and with it went every reservation she had. In the span of a few seconds, she became as vulnerable to him as she'd felt in that Park City movie theater the moment the lights came up and she met his eyes for the first time.
The wind blew and the rain came down, but still he kissed her, ignoring everyone else on the café patio, acting as if they were the only two people left on earth. It was as if the past year had never happened and they were still together, really together, in exactly the way she'd dreamed about but had never admitted to herself. Every time Randall kissed her, she always had the sense that something else was on his mind. Not Nick. When he kissed her, he tuned out the entire universe until she became his universe. He was strong, passionate, full of life, and every time she was near him she absorbed those things, and it lifted her head into the clouds and made her heart sing. Sex with him had felt like a grandiose gift from God with their name on it, and she'd wanted it to go on forever.
But love?
Then slowly his kiss changed. The wild insistence he'd begun with muted to a more gentle connection, and his hands softened from clutching to caressing. It was a slow, deep, loving kiss that left no doubt in her mind he was telling the truth.
When he finally pulled away, he stroked his thumbs along her cheeks, looking at her in a way that said he was nowhere near satisfied yet. "We're stuck here," he murmured. "Overnight."
"Yes."
"There's an inn next door."
"I know."
He paused. "How many rooms do we need?"
Oh, God. What was she supposed to say to that?
She desperately wanted to look at this logically, but logic had left her the moment Nick's lips touched hers. Now she was running on pure emotion, driven by something inside her she'd never known existed until she met him. She'd come to Jamaica to marry Randall, to have the life she'd always dreamed of. Now she was only a few words from throwing it all away. Could she actually do that?
"Just one," she whispered.
Nick kissed her again and she slid back into oblivion, hoping she never found her way out again.
17
Somehow Nick and Sarah made their way through the rain and mud to the inn, where they encountered the slowest desk clerk in the history of the world. Nick answered his questions with remarkable patience, even as he tap, tap, tapped his credit card on the counter and gritted his teeth. Nonsmoking room? Yes. King sized bed? Yes. Continental breakfast? Yes. Jacuzzi for two? Hell, yes.
Finally he grabbed Sarah's hand, and they hurried down the hall to their room. He fumbled the door open, and she rushed in with him. He spun her around, kicking the door shut with his heel at the same time. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her up next to him. Yes. This was it. This was exactly how she remembered the feeling of being with Nick—exciting, exhilarating, and a little bit reckless.
But instead of kissing her, he paused for a moment, then leaned away. He picked up her left hand and stared down at her engagement ring. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, waiting to see if any lingering doubt remained.
It didn't.
She slid the ring off and eased away from him to tuck it into the side pocket of her purse. She tossed the purse aside, and when she did, she caught sight of herself in the dresser mirror. She slapped her hand against her mouth to stifle a scream.
Her hair was dangling from her head like moss on a swamp stump, and rain-diluted mascara drizzled in skinny rivulets down her cheek. Her dress was soaked and clung to her legs. She pulled it away with her fingertips, but when she released it, it fell back against her thighs and stuck as if she'd Superglued it. She twisted around and looked over her shoulder. Mud was caked on her dress from the waist down with a scattering of grass and leaves mixed in. She knew she was disgustingly dirty, but until she saw her reflection, she hadn't known just how disgustingly dirty. She felt about as alluring as a hippo traipsing across a rainsoaked riverbed.
Nick came up behind her, circled his arm around her waist and kissed her neck. She shuddered away and spun around. "Are you kidding me?" she said, gesturing wildly at herself. "You want this?"
He drew back with surprise. "Of course I want that."
"No. I'm a mess. Let me clean up first."
She tried to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Hold on, there. You're not going anywhere."
"Nick—"
"Are you assuming I'm a patient man? If so, you would be wrong about that."
"Just a quick shower."
"No. No shower."
"We'll ruin the bed linens."
"I'll pay for them."
"That's such a waste. Just let me—"
"Apparently I haven't made myself clear." He inched toward her, his gaze so hot it practically singed her eyelashes. She instinctively took a few steps backward and bumped into the wall. Nick placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head.
"Here's the deal," he said, his voice low and feral. "I don't care if you're covered in mud from head to toe. I don't care if you've been swimming in toxic waste. I don't care if the CDC has quarantined you with a deadly flesh-eating virus. I've been dreaming of making love to you every single night for the past year, and it's going to happen now!"
Sarah crinkled her nose. "Flesh-eating virus? Seriously?"
He backed away and threw his hands in the air. "That's hyperbole, Sarah! You're killing me here!"
She smiled. Stifled a laugh.
He huffed with irritation, folding his arms and glaring at her. "Well, now you've done it. I don't feel like it anymore."
She laughed. "Ha! You? Not feel like it?" She looked at his crotch. "God is going to strike you dead for lying."
Just then a bolt of lightning crashed so hard the windows rattled.
"See?" Sarah said. "He's listening."
"That's not funny."
"It will be eventually. Give it a few years."
He grabbed for her. She laughed and tried to run past him, but he caught her wrist and hauled her next to him so tightly her breasts were crushed against his chest and the hard length of him was pressed against her belly. When she felt the evidence of just how much he wanted her, it nearly took her breath away.
"My God," she whispered.
"Still laughing?"
"No sir, I am not."
"Still want that shower?"
"What I want," she murmured, "is dirty bed sheets."
"Thank God."
He tucked her head into the crook of his elbow and kissed her, a wild, hungry kiss so intense it drove every other thought from her mind. Somehow they made it to the bed. He fumbled with the zipper on her dress, but it was stuck. He muttered a curse, finally abandoning the effort and simply yanking her skirt up and her panties down.
He stood up, reached into his pants pocket, pulled out something and tossed it on the bed. She turned to see three condoms staring back at her.
“Thank God,” she said on a breath.
“If there was the slightest chance I’d be with you like this,” he said as he ripped his pants off, “I wasn’t going to let anything stand in our way.”
He hurled his pants aside, then lay down beside her, kissing her over and over, interspersing his kisses with words of adoration, some sweet, some X-rated, and all of them telling her t
here was no place on earth he'd rather be. When he moved his hand down to touch her between her legs, she gasped at the sudden intensity of it, but he covered her gasp with another kiss, using his mouth and his hands to set every nerve on fire. She twisted left and right, trying to move away at the same time she was desperate for more. He followed every shift of her hips, forcing her to feel every blissful, overwhelming, breathtaking moment. He read every sigh, every shudder, every ragged breath she took, easing inside, pulling back, his fingers dancing lightly, then working intensely, causing a crescendo of feeling that pushed her right to the edge.
Suddenly he stopped. She groaned with frustration, clenching the sheets and crying for more. He rose above her, nudged her legs apart, and plunged inside her. She gasped with pleasure so great she couldn't breathe, groaning and clasping his shoulders, her fingers digging in, demanding more. More! Nick thrust with blinding speed, his breath scorching hot against her ear, his muscles bunching tightly beneath her hands. For a few paralyzing moments, her whole world converged into a tight, hot locus of concentrated sensation. She was close…so close…so close…
In the next instant, her whole body exploded in a white-hot burst of pure sexual heat. She screamed. Even with the rain, the people in the next room had to hear her, but she didn't care. Nick was right. He was so right. There was another woman inside her, a woman who lived for the moment, who let herself go, who screamed when she felt like it and let the chips fall, and it felt so damned good to finally let her out again.
As the echo of her voice faded, Nick let out a strangled groan and buried himself deep inside her.
"Sarah…oh, God…Sarah…"
He stumbled over the words, barely able to speak between gasping breaths. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes closed, gritting his teeth against the wild shudders she felt ripping through his body. Sarah had never experienced anything like it. Never. Even during those days in Park City, when the sex had been wild, crazy, electrifying, still it hadn't felt like this.
It's because he loves you.
She pushed that thought out of her mind, too scared to accept it. It felt too raw, too new, too intense. With so much she still had to face, she refused to hope that maybe it really was true.
