by Laura Abbot
Then, worse even than that, her idiot mother was going to do it. Shack up with that man! The mere thought of it gagged her. Had her mother lost her mind? Didn’t she read the magazines, watch “Oprah” or anything? Men like that were after one thing. Sex. Hot and heavy.
Gripping the bathroom counter, Abby shut her eyes, trying desperately not to picture her mother naked—with him—rolling around on satin sheets like in R-rated movies. She didn’t care what Mom had tried to tell her in their stupid mother-daughter chat. About a woman’s needs. About how she liked Brady and how you couldn’t find happiness without taking some risks. That was crazy. She and her mother were happy. They didn’t need anybody else. Despite the hot tears lurking behind her lids, Abby slowly opened her eyes.
Crap. The zit was still there like a giant neon UGLY sign blinking its horrible message to the world.
Studying it, she felt sick. She couldn’t get Tonya’s words out of her mind. “I always get these huge zits right before my period.”
Her stomach did another flip-flop. Oh, God, no. Please. Don’t let it happen. Not this weekend. Not in Dallas.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NELL HAD ARRANGED her work schedule so that she could be off by two, pick Abby up at school and deliver her to the airport for her flight. That had left her just enough time to race home, freshen up, throw the last few items in her suitcase before Brady arrived at five. She caught her breath when she saw him. His black golf shirt set off his dark eyes and tanned skin and he exuded pure animal magnetism. She might have backed out there and then except for his broad grin, deepening his dimple, that made her feel special. Tingly. Not at all the way the librarian mother of a thirteen-year-old ought to feel.
“Ready?”
She didn’t know if she was reading something into his question, but it was fraught with promise—and danger. “I…I’ll be just a minute.”
She ducked back into her bedroom, leaned against the closed door and tried to calm her rioting emotions. Was she doing the right thing? There was an awful inevitability to the next few hours, and she knew, whatever happened, it would shift her world. And yet…
She managed a wry chuckle. She wanted this. This whatever-it-was.
She picked up her suitcase, lifted her chin and returned to Brady, a smile masking her insecurities and doubts. “I’m ready.”
He took her bag from her, then led her to his SUV. He glanced skyward. “Looks like we have a beautiful evening ahead of us.”
Hoping he was, in fact, referring only to the weather, she nodded in agreement. He helped her into the front seat and then they were leaving her house behind. Superstitiously she kept watching it in the passenger side mirror, as if once it was no longer visible, her security would disappear.
Apparently tuning in to her uncertainty, Brady picked up her hand, dwarfed in his, and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “You haven’t done this in a while, have you?”
“What?” The word came out staccato.
“Had a weekend away. With a man.”
“No.” She laughed shakily. “I’m kind of rusty in the dating game.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Then it hit her. This must be difficult for him, as well. He’d been married a long time. Had clearly loved his wife. Oh, God. She might be his first relationship since Brooke’s death, just as he was her first since Rick. She looked up shyly, studying his face. Wondering if he was as nervous as she was. In a gesture of understanding, she caressed the back of his hand with her thumb. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we? I guess we’ll fumble our way through this together.”
“To tell you the truth, I feel like a geeky teenager on a big date with the prom queen.”
She blushed. “I’ve never been confused with a prom queen.”
He turned his head, and the look on his face reduced her to a pool of honey. “Then somebody just wasn’t looking, because you’re beautiful.”
Nell hardly knew how to react to the compliment. Rick had called her his “funny face.” Lovingly. At first. “Beautiful” was out of her league. “Thank you,” she murmured. “You almost make me believe it.”
He had a wonderful laugh that rolled up from deep in his chest. “You don’t get it, do you? You are beautiful.” Then he looked at her again, the humor fading from his eyes. “Somebody must’ve really done a number on you.”
Was she that needful? That transparent? “They did. Uh, he did,” she amended.
“Your husband?”
“I…wasn’t what he wanted.”
“He was a fool.”
“But that’s all in the past.”
“Yet you haven’t forgotten how he made you feel, have you?”
“Not really.”
“Well, starting right now, we’re going to change that.”
“How?”
“For starters, repeat after me, ‘I am beautiful.’”
She crossed her arms and sent him a dubious look. “Right.”
“No really. C’mon. Try it.”
She felt like a fool, but softly she mumbled, “I am beautiful.”
Brady gave her a playful knock on the head. “Not like that. With gusto. Like this.” He bellowed the phrase, then repeated it. “Join in now. One, two, three…”
And she was doing it. With him. There they were. Two grown-ups driving down the highway hollering, “I am beautiful!”
But that wasn’t the most amazing part. No, it was the way he was looking at her.
For the first time ever, she believed it. She felt beautiful.
Best of all, Brady seemed to believe it.
AFTER A LEISURELY DINNER at one of the resort’s highly regarded restaurants, they walked along a lighted path toward their cabin. Pausing at a picturesque footbridge crossing a gurgling stream, Brady leaned against the rail and surveyed the scene. Nell could practically hear the wheels turning in his brain. Already he’d taken in quite a bit, commenting at dinner about the check-in procedure, parking situation, signage and layout of the facility.
“I like the space and openness. Guests need to feel they have room to breathe.”
Nell nodded. “The landscaping contributes to that sense. Just manicured enough, not overly cultivated, yet colorful. I’ve never seen such gorgeous mums.”
Brady took her arm, then, and they strolled on. Maybe this really was a business trip. Maybe she’d overreacted. Seen more in the invitation than was there. Their cabin, perched right above the lake, was commodious, the comfortable pine furniture and rust and forest-green North Woods fabrics welcoming. The two bedrooms, each with its own bath, flanked the living room with its vaulted ceiling. A lakeside deck ran the full width of the cabin. If the decor was intended to make the guests feel pampered, it was working.
When they reached the cabin, Brady turned a single lamp on low, then busied himself in the tiny kitchenette. “How about some spiced cider? On the deck?”
Nell retrieved a sweater from her room, then waited for him in the two-person wooden glider. Lights from the other cabins were reflected in the calm water of the cove, and in the sky above, stars were visible. She pushed slowly back and forth, content to rest in the moment. Before anything else happened.
“Here,” Brady said, shouldering open the door, “get it while it’s hot.”
Nell took the warm mug and waited for Brady to join her. Soothed by the cinnamon-clove fragrance of the cider, she basked in the illusion that, for the time being, her real life had vanished and all that mattered was sight, smell and the comfort of Brady’s warm body beside her as they rocked to and fro. He said nothing, perhaps, like her, caught up in the spell of the night.
Across the cove, a late fisherman motored past the No Wake buoys toward the marina, but other than that, the placement of the cabin provided seclusion.
Finally Brady broke the silence. “What do you think so far?”
“It’s wonderful. I felt as if I was on vacation almost from the moment we arrived.”
“I’d like to help others feel that same
way. You know, it wasn’t until I got to the Ozarks that I experienced any calm on this trip.”
“You’re not the first to say that. We like to think mystical qualities reside in these hills and waters. Early Native American tribes certainly thought so.”
She nursed her cider, the scent and taste conjuring up the vivid foliage and brilliant blue skies of autumn. She felt languid, peaceful, when she supposed she should be tense and expectant.
“How did Abby feel about your coming with me?”
Pop went the balloon of self-delusion. “She wasn’t thrilled, as you might expect. It’s not you. She’d be the same with any man I dated.”
“She worries about you.”
Nell shot him an arch look. “Oh, yes.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“But she doesn’t know that.” Nell hesitated. “I…we were hurt once. It’s made her cautious.”
He chuckled sardonically. “I guess that makes three cautious people.” He took the empty mug from her hands and set it with his on the deck, then settled his arm around her shoulder. “I like being with you, Nell. You make no demands.”
“We’re lucky. It feels like starting fresh, doesn’t it?”
When his fingers leisurely traced up and down her arm, she found it difficult to focus, lost in the sensations generated by even that smallest of caresses.
He stretched out his jean-clad legs, stopping the motion of the glider. “I have a confession.”
“Oh?”
“Before…I couldn’t think of Brooke without wanting to howl at the moon. But now?” The hand on her arm stilled. “Oh, hell, this is going to sound stupid.”
“Not to me,” Nell said quietly.
“It’s as if she brought me to you. As if…we’re supposed to be here. Together.”
Nell turned her face to his. “I feel the same way.”
For a breathless moment, neither moved. Then, with a jerk of the glider, he rose, drew her to her feet and enclosed her in a hug that made her forget the stars, the lake, everything but the musky smell and muscled body of the man she wanted—in every way. She had time only to whisper “Brady,” before his lips closed over hers in a kiss so deep, so needful she was helpless with longing. Urgings and instincts she had thought dead spiraled through her. She cupped his face, the rough feel of his whiskers beneath her fingers driving her to meet his lips, his tongue, with joyful abandon.
Then, as she slid her arms around his neck, his lips sought her eyes, her temple, and again her mouth. His hands moved restlessly over her back, then clutched her closer, nestling her hips against his erection.
As if jerked from a warm pool into harsh cold, she tensed, a gasp trapped in her throat. He wasn’t going to stop.
Then came an equally disturbing thought. She hadn’t wanted him to. She refocused on him—his needs, his gentleness, his hands caressing her short hair, his breath smelling faintly of clove. Yes. No. A primal scream ripped at her chest, clawing for expression. Closing her eyes, she fought the olfactory comparison cruelly toying with her mind. Clove. Juniper. Gin. Clove, juniper…oblivion.
She whirled away from Brady, leaning for support on the railing facing the lake, drawing deep breaths of clean night air. He took a hesitant step toward her. “Nell?” The concern in his voice tore at her heart. “Are you all right? Did I do something…wrong?”
When she slowly pivoted, the hurt in his eyes pierced her. “No,” she whispered. Laying a hand on his cheek, she prayed for the right words to somehow explain what had to feel to him like rejection, the last thing he needed. “I thought I was ready.” Her throat caught. “I want to be.”
He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I want you, Nell, but only when you say it’s all right.”
If she could have changed her mind in that instant, she would have, but before she could act on that impulse, he’d put his arm around her and was leading her inside to the cozy sofa facing the fireplace. After he settled her with a fleece throw around her shoulders, he sat on the hearth, hands clasped between his knees.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“No apology needed. I came on too strong.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” she gave a harsh little laugh “—I’m rusty.”
“We both are. And we have time.” He smiled then, in a way that again made her feel beautiful. Lulled, she was unprepared for his next words. “Tell me what he did to you.”
She didn’t have to ask whom he meant. Her eyes filled with tears and all she could do was shake her head.
Then Brady was beside her, cuddling her against him. “Talk to me, Nell. Get it out.”
She struggled for the breath trapped in her rib cage. “He…he thought something was wrong with me. I couldn’t respond like he wanted.”
She felt Brady’s jaw clench against her temple, but he said nothing. Just waited.
“He said I was prudish. That I, uh, wasn’t woman enough to satisfy a man. Satisfy him.” Hot with shame, she buried her face in his shoulder.
He tipped up her chin. “Was it always like that?”
Nell thought about his question. “No, I guess not at first. I don’t remember when things got worse. Maybe after Abby came. I tried, but it didn’t seem to matter what I did. Whatever it was he wanted, I couldn’t give.”
“So he found someone else?” Brady’s tone was guarded.
“Yes.” She lifted a finger to wipe the tear that trickled down her cheek.
“How did that make you feel?”
“Like I was sexless. Worthless. A failure.” She couldn’t believe she’d said the words aloud, after so many years of having them hurled at her—and believing them.
“That selfish son of a bitch,” she heard Brady growl before he took hold of both shoulders and turned her to face him directly. “He was the failure, Nell, and I don’t care how long it takes, I intend to prove it to you. What about your needs? How much concern and consideration for you did he exhibit?”
She shrugged helplessly, giving him his answer. “I tried so hard to save the marriage.”
He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. “I’m sure you did. You define the word giving.” He pulled her into his embrace. “Now, let me give to you.” He kissed her hair. “What you need right now is a good night’s sleep.”
Rewrapping her in the throw, he led her to her bedroom, pausing at the door to kiss her again with a tenderness that felt like balm. “Good night, beautiful lady,” he said, then quietly closed the door as he left.
Nell leaned, weak-kneed, against the door, her fingers finding the knots in the pine. Brady’s kindness and understanding, his self-denial, shook her to the core. She had not known there were men like him. Had never expected she would be given a second chance.
She’d told him. Not everything, but almost everything. She knew she owed him the rest.
She drew the throw even more tightly around herself in a futile effort to thwart the chill racking her. No. Not yet. He would hate her when he learned the truth.
Liquor had not saved her with Rick.
It could ruin her with Brady.
BRADY LAY ON HIS BACK staring at the bedroom ceiling for a good hour after he left Nell at her door. As he’d suspected, that bastard of a husband had done a number on her. If he was any judge, she was well out of her marriage. He’d known men like that—in locker rooms, at business meetings—for whom women existed merely as pawns in games of sexual supremacy. A my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours kind of infantilism. What her husband had done to Nell probably bordered on abuse. And she’d bought into his low opinion of her.
Damn it! He socked his pillow, then rolled onto his stomach. Nell had no idea the extent to which she’d turned him on tonight. It had taken every ounce of willpower to send her off to her own bed. Brooke had taught him sensitivity and tenderness went a long way toward satisfying a woman, so he would be patient with Nell. Gritting his teeth, he acknowledged it wouldn’t be easy, though. He ached with need
s of his own—to feel Nell’s warm, naked flesh beneath his, to cup her small, soft breasts in his hands, to fill her until she cried for joy.
The ache in his groin was a powerful signal that after months of merely existing, he was living again and that, in time, his stormy days would pass, replaced by a vibrant rainbow named Nell.
A CLICKING NOISE, like a bird tapping on a window, drew Nell from the fuzzy depths of a dreamless sleep. She snuggled into the covers in an effort to escape wakefulness. Scritch. She turned toward the window, then cocked open one eye. Scritch. Scritch. Irritated, she rolled out of bed, padded across the floor and parted the drape. In the faint light, she saw that her “intruder” was a small twig scraping back and forth against the glass in a strong wind that must’ve come up overnight.
Returning to her bed, Nell glanced at the clock. Six. Too early to get up. She settled back in bed. Wide awake. Lying there picturing Brady in the crisp yellow Oxford-cloth shirt he wore to dinner, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his pressed jeans that hugged his firm thighs, she wondered what would have happened last night if she hadn’t suddenly been rocketed into the past. Would they have continued, making their way slowly, or not so slowly, to a bed—reaching for each other eagerly in an effort to release that combination of lust and need propelling them both toward intimacy?
Even as she pictured it, she became aware of a pulsing low in her abdomen, a hardening of her nipples. She closed her eyes, inhaling against the message her body was sending. Now. She could go to him. All she would have to do would be get up from the bed, tiptoe through the living room, then crawl in beside him. And she would do it without liquor to blur her vision and numb her inhibitions.
Scritch. Maybe he was awake, too, waiting, as she was, for the moment they’d been heading toward since they’d first met. Yet she’d undoubtedly hurt him last night with her sudden retreat. He didn’t ask for that hurt, didn’t need it. On the contrary, what he needed was… Oh, God, Lily had nailed it. He needed the comfort and oblivion of love and sex.
