Born to be Wild

by Anne Marie Winston

  Celia felt a clutch in her stomach as he continued, his face grim and stony.

  “But the storm changed course and caught them. I was in radio contact with them for five hours and then…nothing.”

  “Oh, Reese.” She turned in his arms and circled his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

  “The coast guard never found them, although a few pieces of their boat did eventually wash up.” He dropped his head to rest against hers.

  Poor Reese. He’d lost his family—through circumstances she still didn’t entirely understand—then he’d found a friend—and lost him, too. She didn’t speak, sensing that words would be superfluous. The comfort he needed from her superceded oral communication. So she simply pulled him more closely to her and rubbed small circles over his back.

  “Celia?”

  “Yes?” She pressed a kiss to his jaw.

  “There’s something else I’d like to tell you about Kent and Julie—” But his voice was interrupted by a loud banging at the back door. They both jolted.

  “Who in the world is that?” It had already begun to rain and the wind had picked up significantly, although she doubted the winds were gale force. Wrenching open the door, she held it tightly to prevent the wind from ripping it out of her hands. “Roma!” Her friend was drenched, her fine black hair plastered to her head despite the raincoat hood she had over it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Greg fell off the ladder.” Her friend’s voice caught. “I hate to impose, but do you have time to help me finish the windows?”

  “Of course!” She turned to call to Reese but he was standing right behind her.

  “We’ll both come,” he said. “Have you taken him to the medical center?”

  “My father did. Mom’s keeping the kids.”

  “How bad do you think he is?” Celia was already reaching for her raincoat on a hook in the mudroom.

  “He’s going to need stitches, I think.” She made a gesture toward her eye. “He cut his eyebrow open pretty deep.”

  Celia winced. “Bet he’ll have a shiner.”

  They covered the block and a half to the Lewises’ home in short order, and despite the increase in wind and rain, they were able to help Roma nail plywood over her larger windows and put asterisk-shaped crosses of gray electrical tape over the remaining ones.

  Just as they were finishing, Roma’s father and Greg returned. Rather than stitches, the cut in his eyebrow was covered by a shiny clear coat of something that resembled nail polish. Roma’s father explained that it was a special skin sealant—a type of superglue for humans—that wouldn’t leave as much of a scar as stitches might.

  “I made clam chowder,” Roma told them in a half shout over the rising roar of the wind. “Come on in and have some. The least I can do is feed you after working you like that in the middle of this storm.”

  “Oh, that’s all right—”

  “Thanks. We’d love to.” Reese cut in right over Celia’s attempt to wriggle out of the offer.

  “Great.” Roma turned and headed for the door. “We’ll hang your coats by the woodstove so at least they’ll dry a little before you go out again.”

  As they followed her into the house, Celia cast Reese a dark glance. “Why did you do that?”

  “I thought it would be nice to get to know your friends,” he told her quietly. “Unless there’s some reason you’d prefer I didn’t.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s not that…”

  “Then what?”

  But Roma’s voice saved her from a reply. “Come on, you two. It’s getting nastier out there by the minute!”

  They weren’t in the house ten minutes when he realized why Celia had been reluctant to stay for dinner. He’d thought—feared—that perhaps she didn’t want anyone to see them together. But it wasn’t him at all.

  Greg and Roma Lewis had three small children. The oldest couldn’t have been more than six, and they plainly adored Celia. An older woman he assumed was Roma’s mother was feeding a baby girl when they walked in, and the infant squawked and reached for Celia with a wide grin that displayed four teeth and an astonishing amount of drool.

  “I know, I know,” the woman said, her voice amused. “Gramma can’t compete with Aunt Celia. Here.” She handed the spoon to Celia. “Would you like to finish the job?”

  “I’d love to.” Celia took a seat and began feeding the baby, and Reese watched in fascination as she coaxed the little mouth open by repeating a ditty about a choo-choo train entering a tunnel, complete with the whoo-whoo of a whistle. This was a side of her he’d never seen and for the first time he could finally envision her as a mother.

  Roma introduced him to her parents and her husband, Greg, who shook his hand before wincing and settling into a rocking chair with an ice pack pressed against his head. “Thanks for helping Roma finish up,” he said. “I don’t know how the hell that happened. One minute I was on the ladder, the next I was eating dirt.”

  The smaller of the two boys wandered over and surveyed his father with a puckered brow. “Daddy have a boo-boo?”

  Greg nodded. “A big boo-boo. But I bet it would feel a lot better if someone kissed it.”

  “Me, me!” the little boy demanded. His father carefully leaned forward and the child gingerly delivered a loud, smacking kiss near the wound above his eye.

  “Ah,” said Greg. “It feels better already. Thank you, William.”

  The little boy nodded with satisfaction and moved away again.

  Reese felt a surprising tightness in his chest. He could barely remember Amalie at that age; Kent and Julie had died mere months before and he had still been trying to adjust to the role of father. Without a lot of success, he added mentally. The little girl had been withdrawn and silent for months after her parents died. It had been more than a year before the two of them had begun to really adjust to their new family status.

  He glanced at Celia without quite realizing that he wanted to share the touching moment with her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was watching little William as he toddled off with a toy in his hand. There was such naked pain on her face that he nearly reached for her before he caught himself. Checking Roma, he caught her watching, as well, and when her gaze flashed his, he saw that Celia’s friend was fighting tears.

  It was then that he realized why Celia had tried to decline Roma’s invitation. It hadn’t been reluctance to have him get to know her friends. He’d been ridiculously self-centered in coming to that conclusion. She simply hadn’t wanted to open the door and admit the pain and loss she lived with every day. He mentally kicked himself around the room. How could he not have realized the impact that a small child—much less a houseful of them—would have on her? And hadn’t she told him her son would have started kindergarten this fall? Roma’s oldest child looked to be about that age. Talk about rubbing salt in a wound.

  He took deep breaths, feeling extraordinarily agitated. He couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering like that. Without thinking, he sprang to his feet. “Listen,” he commanded.

  Everyone in the room except for the smallest child fell silent and turned expectantly to him. Avoiding Celia’s gaze, he spoke to Roma. “That wind is getting stronger by the minute. We’d better take a rain check on that dinner invitation, Roma, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid we’re asking for trouble if we stay much longer.”

  “You’re welcome to weather the storm here with us,” Greg offered.

  “No,” Roma said. “Celia feels just like I do. If something’s going to happen to my house, I want to be there to straighten it out right away.” She had looked away but then glanced back at Reese as she spoke, and he saw approval in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Reese is right,” Celia added. She handed the baby’s spoon back to Roma’s mother and stood, leaning forward to press a kiss to the little one’s forehead. “We’d better go while we still can.”

  The baby’s little face screwed up and she immediately started to fuss.
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  “Well, at least let me send some chowder along with you,” Roma said above the din. She quickly ladled soup into a large jar, screwed the lid on tight and wrapped it in a dishtowel. “That should keep it from burning you,” she said as Reese put it in the pocket of the capacious oilcloth raincoat Celia had given him before they’d set out.

  “Thanks,” Celia told her.

  “Thank you,” Roma said. “I’d never have gotten everything done in time by myself.” She stretched up and planted a light kiss on Reese’s cheek as Celia moved off to say her goodbyes to the rest of the family. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I opened my mouth before I thought.”

  “Yeah, but you did it for the right reasons.” They grinned at each other.

  “Get her home safely.”

  “Don’t worry.” Reese smiled down at Celia’s best friend, absurdly pleased at her apparent acceptance of his return to Celia’s life. As Celia came to stand beside him again, his gaze caught and held hers for a long moment. “She’s not going to get away from me.”

  A few moments later they stepped out into the storm again.

  “Yikes,” said Celia. “You were right about the wind getting worse.”

  Reese took her hand, bending his head against the stinging pellets of rain hurled at them by the blast of the wind. “Did you think I was kidding?”

  “No,” she said, “but I did think you might be exaggerating as a way to get me out of there faster.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The wind was making it difficult to converse without shouting. “You can thank me again once we’re home.”

  That startled a laugh from her and they fought their way the short distance back to Celia’s sturdy house.

  They hung their dripping slickers in her mudroom and hustled into the warmth of her kitchen. Reese set the clam chowder on the butcher-block counter and they worked together to assemble a small meal, which they carried in and set on the low glass-topped driftwood table in front of her large fireplace made of water-smoothed stone.

  “We’ll have to let the fire burn down soon,” she said as they lingered over coffee afterward, “because the wind will start driving the smoke back into the house.”

  Reese surveyed her, nestled into a mound of pillows with a cranberry-colored woven blanket draped across her lap. “That’s all right,” he said. “There are other ways to keep warm.”

  “Reese…”

  “Celia…” he teased. He rose, holding her gaze, and he saw her swallow visibly. “Let’s clean up these dishes.”

  Her eyes widened. She chuckled then, tossing a balled-up napkin at him as she rose and began to stack their plates. “You like keeping me off balance,” she accused as she brushed past him into the kitchen.

  He followed her with a second load. “That’s because I live in hope that you’ll fall into my arms.”

  Celia set down the dishes and moved aside so he could do the same. “Reese,” she said, her voice troubled, “we just had this discussion. You’ve been here less than a week. I know I invited you to stay here during the storm, but…we barely know each other.”

  He made a rough sound of denial and moved forward, capturing her waist in his hands. “That’s not true and you know it. We knew each other about as well as any two people on the planet thirteen years ago and I don’t think either of us has changed that much.” He took her hand and lifted it, pressing her palm flat over his chest. “You still make my heart beat faster,” he said. “And I still want you as much as I ever did.”

  Her face softened and he felt some of the tension leave her body. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

  “Only to you.” His voice sounded rough and rusty even to his own ears. Slowly he gathered her closer until there was no space between their bodies. “I have missed you so damn much,” he said.

  “I missed you, too.” She brought her hands up to cradle his face as he dropped his head and sought her mouth. Her response to his kiss was everything he’d imagined during the many fantasies he’d had in which they met again. But there was one difference—he’d lost the desire to hurt her as she’d hurt him.

  He pressed the tip of a finger to her lips, accepting the instant current of electric attraction that arced between them when he touched her. Then he walked her backward across the room, deliberately letting his body bump hers with each step.

  She stopped when she came up against the wall, and her hands flattened on his chest. “What are you doing?”

  He ignored the question as he slipped one arm around her and pulled her against him, sliding the other up to cradle her jaw. “I’ve never been able to forget you.”

  Her eyes closed. “I know the feeling.” Her voice was rueful. Then her palms slid slowly from his chest up to his shoulders, and she leaned into him, laying her head in the curve of his neck.

  Euphoria rushed through him as her breath feathered a warm kiss of arousal down his spine. The memory of the kiss they’d shared last night had simmered in the back of his mind all day, of the way she’d softened and let herself relax against him. It was the same thing she’d always done years ago, as if the moment he touched her she became his and his alone. It was an intense turn-on and he wondered if she had any idea how it made him feel when she made that soft sound of acquiescence. Her body aligned with his perfectly when she stood on her toes, and when he’d had her lying open and trusting on his lap, it had been all he could do to restrain himself from yanking open his own pants, stripping hers off and fitting himself into the soft, wet warmth of her spread legs.

  Tonight he wasn’t going to walk away without finishing this.

  Six

  Reese threaded one hand into her hair and tugged her head up from his neck, nuzzling along her jaw to her mouth. As his lips slid onto hers, she opened her mouth eagerly, and with that welcome, his tenuous control fell away.

  He ran his hands down her back and pulled her hard against him, feeling the full weight of her breasts press into his chest. She’d had beautiful breasts thirteen years ago and he was fairly sure they were even more lovely now. They’d certainly felt fine last night, though it had been too dark for the thorough inspection he longed to make. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and wriggled herself closer, he tugged up the short T-shirt she wore and laid his hand against the smooth, warm flesh of her midriff.

  She didn’t protest or draw away and he realized that since last night she’d come to some kind of peace, some decision about letting him back into her life. Encouraged and incredibly aroused, he let the shirt ride up over his wrist and forearm and he slid his hand steadily higher until his fingers touched the lacy edge of her bra. The underside of her breast rested on his knuckles and he raised his hand and brushed back and forth over the tip of her breast beneath the fabric.

  Celia moaned. She drew back and he knew a crushing disappointment, until she yanked the T-shirt over her head and threw it on the floor. Her eyes met his and her gaze was clear and steady as she stood before him in a black bra that did next to nothing to conceal breasts that were fuller and even more lovely than he remembered. When her hands drifted to the bottom of his own T-shirt, he was galvanized into action and he tore it over his head and let it drop even as his hands reached around her to unclasp her bra.

  Her eyelids flickered as the fabric came away. He hooked his fingertips beneath the straps and pulled it down and off so that her breasts fell free and unfettered, swaying gently with each gulp of breath she took. Her nipples were a dusky copper, large and dark, and he groaned, bringing both hands up to fill his palms with the silky globes.

  He’d been missing her for so many years and until this moment he hadn’t allowed himself to truly think about what it was he’d missed. She was looking down at his hands and she lifted her own, covering his palms and pressing them hard against her flesh. “Touch me,” she whispered.

  He was touching her, but it wasn’t enough and he knew exactly what she meant. Releasing her breasts, h
e put his arms around her and drew her against him, skin to skin, and they both murmured at the intense pleasure in the contact. He bent his head and sought her mouth, and the passionate kiss they exchanged sent fiery streamers of desire streaking through his body, demanding more, more, more.

  He lifted her into his arms without breaking the kiss and carried her to the wide sofa in front of the old stone fireplace. On the rug, he stood her on her feet again. He wanted her naked, wanted to touch every gently curving inch, wanted to explore her secrets, to wallow in the familiar and to discern the changes the years had wrought. He unsnapped her pants and tugged them down, slipping his thumbs into the black cotton bikini briefs she wore and taking them off in the same motion. They pooled around her ankles and he took a moment to slip her feet out of her shoes and socks, then sat back on his heels and looked up the length of her.

  Her face grew pink. She made an involuntary gesture as if to cover herself and he chuckled, catching her wrists and holding them at her sides. “Don’t. I want to see you.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the soft curve of her belly, just above the dark tangle of curls. “How can you still be so beautiful?”

  She laughed, although the sound was strained. “I have stretch marks.” But her hands gently sifted through his hair, scratching lightly over his scalp and sending shivers of arousal through him. “You’ve got on too many clothes.”

  He rose. “That can be fixed.” He pulled her hands toward him and set them at the buckle of his belt. “Help me.”

  She looked down, concentrating on the task, and he sucked in a harsh breath at the feel of her fingers against his stomach. Slowly she opened the belt and pulled it wide, then undid the front button of his khaki pants. He was so hard and ready that his clothing was uncomfortable, and when her small fingers gently slid down the tab of his zipper, he had to steel himself against the surge of pressure that threatened his control.