“You mean, now that you’ve had a chance to go to the library and research my explanation like it was part of some thesis you were working on?”
Clearly stung, she reddened and looked away.
He said, “Honey, I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry you couldn’t accept my version of things on faith.” He saw her swallow hard as she nodded again. Softening to her, he added, “But I’m also sorry for the part I played in all of this. I shouldn’t have kept Miami a secret from you. I realize that, now. And for that I apologize. I guess we’ve both been partially to blame.”
After a long pause, he said, “Maybe it’s best that this happened when it did. I mean, what do we have in common— really have in common—besides the fact that our mothers killed themselves? Maybe you and I just weren’t meant to…”
She bit her lip, and he knew she was struggling to hold her emotions in check. He resisted the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her, much as he wanted to. If he held her, he would want to kiss her. And if he kissed her…
No. There had been enough complications, enough confusion, for one summer. Why add pathos to what should be a clean end to things?
A minute or more ticked by. He turned and gazed out at the Sound, trying to follow her line of sight. Near the horizon, the tiny silhouettes of two sailboats drifted slowly to-ward the east, and the Atlantic.
“Liz called,” he said, his eyes following the boats’ stately progress. “While you were at the library. R.H. had a series of angina attacks and decided to cut his sailing trip short.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to look at him. “He’s in Fort Lauderdale now, but he’s booked a morning flight. She’ll meet him at La Guardia and drive him back here. They’ll be arriving around one, tomorrow afternoon.”
Chapter 12
TUCKER SPENT THE AFTERNOON and early evening in the black Jag, touring Long Island’s back roads for hours, with no particular purpose or destination. A long drive usually relaxed him, distracted him from his troubles, but this one just felt pointless. The only thing that kept him behind the wheel was the knowledge that if he went back to the house, he would have to interact with Harley. Psyching himself up to leave, getting used to the idea so he could find the strength to do it, was hard enough. If he had to look at her while he thought about it, it would be impossible.
It was dark by the time he pulled the car into the driveway. The lights were on in the house, and he saw shadowy movement behind the kitchen curtains. He sat in the driver’s seat for a minute and then got out and walked across the brightly lit patio and the dark lawn to the low stone wall overlooking the Sound. He sat facing the inky, moonlit water and breathed deeply, imprinting in his mind the distinctive fragrance that existed in this one spot and no other—lavender and thyme, salt air and seaweed.
The fragrance of Hale’s Point. He would miss it.
He patted his T-shirt pocket and sighed. That was a reflex that would take some time to lose, but one that was worth losing.
The waves were unhurried tonight, a steady hush… hush… hush. There were other sounds, a lazy summer symphony carried on the warm breeze. He heard the distant drone of a powerboat way out on the water.
The ambient light behind him disappeared, leaving the yard that much darker; she must have shut off the patio lights. He turned around just in time to see the sudden appearance of a glowing blue rectangle in the darkness as the pool lights snapped on. Where was she? Ah, there…walking across the patio to the shallow end, wearing that white terry-cloth robe of hers. She started untying it, and he turned back to face the Sound, leaning forward, elbows on knees, concentrating on the ceaseless, comforting hush of the waves.
Their uneven rhythm was soon accompanied by gentle splashes from the pool as Harley took her evening swim. It was a short swim; he soon heard a different kind of splash and knew she was climbing out onto the deck. He glanced back over his shoulder and froze, staring.
She was naked.
Her lithe body shone like wet marble as she walked over to the outdoor shower and turned it on, testing the water.
She had swum in the nude. Did she know he was there? The Jag sat in the driveway, and she would have heard him drive up. Still…
She stood beneath the spray and rinsed off, her back to him. Then she turned toward him, tilted her face up, and let the water flow through her hair as she ran her fingers through it.
She was perfect. He had never seen anyone like her, so flawlessly proportioned, tight and firm, with no excess anything. Tucker had always admired simplicity of design, a byproduct of his love for cars, boats, and planes. Sighing with regret, he turned back toward the water.
Presently he heard the soft whisper of footsteps on the grass. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw her walking toward him, complete with robe, her wet hair slicked back. The robe was very white in the dark, and she had both hands in the pockets. He lifted his legs over the stone wall and sat facing her as she approached.
She came to stand before him, withdrew one hand, and held it out to him. He took it in his. Her eyes beckoned him, a silent invitation, breathtaking in its frankness. He instantly grew hard.
When he found his voice, he said, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Her expression carefully neutral, she nodded. She had clearly expected this. Without releasing his hand, she took a step forward and knelt before him, his long, jeans-clad legs flanking her. Softly she said, “Then we should make the most of the time we have.” They had been his words. He had said them to her that first night, when he had come to her room, reckless and overeager. Overeager for her body, not for her. That was before he had fallen in love with her. Before everything had gotten so thrilling and wonderful, so full of potential… and so ultimately impossible.
He realized he was staring at her, overwhelmed and uncertain. It was she who acted, she who let go of his hand to reach up with both of hers and guide his head down, meeting his mouth with her own in a deep and passionate kiss. She had never taken it upon herself to kiss him before, and after a moment’s stunned hesitation, a flood of longing washed through him, like a dam breaking somewhere deep inside.
His arms encircled her; he couldn’t have stopped them if he’d wanted. He held her tight, clamped between his legs, his mouth crushed to hers, her scent and her warmth filling him, consuming him. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. The kiss was blindingly intense. When his lungs were searing and his heart ready to explode, he tore his mouth away, gasping her name.
He watched in slow motion as she fell back onto the grass, and realized as he followed her, settling onto her and fitting his body to hers, that she had pulled him down with her. Their mouths found each other’s again as they molded together in a hungry embrace.
They rolled to the side; he stroked her wet hair, her shoulders and back, cupped her bottom through the terry doth and pressed her toward him so she could feel the effect she had on him. She slipped a leg between his and moved her hips, and he moaned, pulling her hard against him and guiding the rhythm of her movements with his hands. All his reservations evaporated in the wake of his overpowering need.
Too overpowering. He was too close, it was happening too fast. It was her first time, he would have to go slowly, but at this rate that wouldn’t be possible. He drew away from her and lay back on the cool grass, his chest heaving. Closing his eyes, he willed control over himself.
Her fingertips, cool and soft, brushed his hair, his face, his throat. He opened his eyes and saw that she was sitting next to him, looking down. Her moonlit face was clouded with sadness, and he knew she already grieved for tomorrow. He took her hand, pressed her palm to his lips, and kissed it.
“Don’t think about it,” he murmured. “Think about now.”
She banished the grief from her eyes. “I don’t want to think at all.” She reached for the sash of her robe, fumbling with its double knot. Instantly his hard-won control vanished, replaced by unstoppable desire. Impatience drove him as he grabbed her shoulders a
nd pushed her to the ground, straddling her and yanking at the knot until it loosened.
A heartbeat’s pause… Slow down, Tucker, take it slow. The robe—that damn robe that had taunted and teased him all summer—was unbound, but unopened. Slow, now. For her.
Harley sensed his inner struggle. She looked up at his face, incandescent against the night sky, as he slowly parted the robe and gazed down at her. Surprisingly, she felt not the least embarrassed under his rapt scrutiny, just as she had felt no shame earlier, swimming in the nude, hoping he would see her, come to her, join her. She had been forced to come to him, but that was all right. That was good. After the way she had screwed things up, that was as it should be.
He touched a finger to her brow; she must have been frowning. “No thinking.” he reminded her softly.
She forced a smile. “I forgot.”
He buried his hands in her hair and massaged her scalp until it buzzed with pleasure and her eyes closed of their own accord. Lowering his touch, he traced light, feathery paths across eyelids and cheekbones and lips. She found it oddly moving for him to devote this kind of attention to her face when her body lay exposed beneath him.
He did not ignore it for long. Her throat was next, and his delicate ministrations drew a purr from her. He ran a finger lightly back and forth along each collarbone, and then paused. Her breasts felt warm from his nearness even before he lowered his hands to lightly rest on them. When he caressed her—gently, as if he were testing fruit that he didn’t want to bruise—she moaned, and felt her nipples tighten. He grazed them with his palms, then captured one and leaned down to take it in his warm mouth. His teeth lightly scraped the tender flesh, igniting currents of pleasure that shot through her like lightning.
She opened her eyes. He was still fully dressed. That wouldn’t do. She sat up, pulling at his T-shirt, which he whipped over his head and tossed into the darkness. She kissed his throat and those impossibly wide shoulders, her hands exploring him eagerly, while his tangled in her hair. When she reached the scar tissue on his left side, she paused. She considered his leg, his chest, his back, the terrible wounds.
“Tucker… this won’t hurt you, will it?”
He chuckled disbelievingly. “You’re worried about hurting me? I’m terrified of hurting you.” His brows drew together. “The first time… it could hurt.”
She felt a curious thrill at this acknowledgment that they were actually going to make love. “Then we’re both terrified,” she said. “You’re terrified that you’ll hurt me, and I’m terrified that I’ll disappoint you.”
“How could you possibly—”
“I don’t know if I can… I mean, Brian always said I was probably fr—”
“Brian’s an idiot. I told you.”
“But—”
He eased her back down and hovered over her. “You’re not only thinking too much, you’re talking too much.” His mouth dosed over hers in a deep, delicious, thought-erasing kiss. He followed that with a series of licks and nibbles along her jaw that ended at her ear, into which he whispered, “I’ll show you how wrong Brian was.”
Reclining on an elbow, he watched his hand trace a warm path down her chest and abdomen to her lower belly. He paused briefly before continuing, his fingers brushing ever so lightly…. She gasped and stiffened, clutching a fistful of grass in each hand.
“Easy,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I know, but—” Her words caught in her throat as he intensified the caress, stroking her in a languid rhythm. It was hypnotic; she closed her eyes and lay still, consumed by sensation. She heard his breathing, and hers, and felt the prickle of the grass beneath her open robe, but otherwise her senses were focused exclusively on his tantalizing touch. Her hips rose without her willing it. As if that were his cue, he slipped a finger deeper into her moist heat. Jolted, she drew in a sharp breath and opened her eyes to stare into the smoky depths of his.
His smile was reassuring, his raspy words almost inaudible for the blood roaring in her ears. “Easy,” he repeated. “Give in to it. Go with it.” He leaned over her, his mouth descending on hers for a remarkably tender kiss, his intimate caress never pausing. “God, you’re so beautiful.” he murmured.
Suddenly self-conscious, Harley turned her head, trying in vain to hide her face even as she writhed beneath his touch. As if sensing that she didn’t want him watching her, he lowered his head to her breast, where he bestowed flickering little licks on an ultrasensitive nipple. Drawing it into his mouth, he sucked, hard this time, using his sharp teeth and the dancing tip of his tongue to escalate the torment.
The hand that played between her legs grew bolder, generating an itch that grew into a kind of exquisite agony, grew and grew until she thought her heart would burst if she had to endure another second of it. Close… So close to…something. He found the tiny, hidden source of her pleasure, and one fleeting touch was all it took to draw a startled cry from Harley. Her back arched, and she grabbed his arms, her fingers sinking deep.
He withdrew his hand. “No!” she groaned.
“I want to be inside you when it happens.” Rolling to the side, he reached for his fly, but she got there first, unbuttoning with a lust-induced haste she had never felt before. Raising his hips, he swept jeans and shorts off in one swift motion.
Harley stared. He noticed, and lay still, giving her time to look. She sat up straight and closed her robe around herself, feeling the same incredulous fear that she had felt once as a child, when a doctor whipped out a hypodermic about twice the size she’d thought it would be. He reached out and gently stroked her arm through the rough terry cloth. Trailing his fingers down to her hand, he took it and pulled it toward his erection.
“Tucker, I don’t think—”
“Shh.” He brought her hand to rest on the rigid shaft, which jerked at her touch. “Don’t think, remember?”
She hadn’t expected the tightly stretched smoothness of it, the heat, the little pulses that quivered within. He closed her fingers around it, drawing her fist slowly along its length.
His breathing quickened. “I told you a long time ago that it would be great between us, and it will. You trust me, right?”
“Yes, but…” But that will never fit inside me.
Tucker sat up and lowered her onto her back, leaning down for a lingering kiss. “Trust me. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll be as careful as I can.”
He reached for his wadded-up jeans. “Speaking of being careful…” He withdrew his wallet from the back pocket, slid the little square packet out, and ripped it open.
Wanting to prove that her attack of nerves was behind her, Harley said, “Let me help with that.”
He positioned the condom and showed her how to unroll it onto him. She smoothed it up and down with firm strokes, pleased that she could feel his heat through the latex. He seized her by the shoulders, inhaling sharply.
“Am I doing it wrong?” she asked, her wicked smile belying the innocence in her voice.
“Absolutely not,” he growled, but his hand clamped over her wrist and pulled her hand away. “It’s too right. You’re a quick study.”
She lay back in the grass and opened her arms to him. “Always have been.”
He eased himself down onto her, took her in his arms, and brushed his warm lips across forehead and eyelids, nose and cheeks and chin. Maneuvering himself between her legs, he rose onto an elbow, took her right hand in his, kissed it, and brought it down between them. “You guide me.”
He gazed directly into her eyes as she took somewhat tentative hold of him, tilted her hips, and led him to her narrow entrance. Her breath caught as he pressed inward. So warm and hard, so much to take in… She stretched to accommodate him, her flesh burning.
“You’re so tight,” he breathed. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, relieved, but then she reached between them with her hand and felt that he had barely entered her.
He kissed her eyelids and whispered against them, “Rel
ax completely. And trust me.”
She felt his long arms tighten around her, holding her still, and she wrapped her arms around his back. Murmuring reassurances, he pushed into her, very slowly, paused, and then pushed again, and again. Despite the discomfort, it was a strange and wonderful feeling, to be penetrated by this man, possessed by him. She wanted to remember everything about it.
When it seemed as if he could make no further progress, he moved his hands to her hips, slid them beneath her, and pulled her toward him. He pushed harder this time, and she winced, but with the second thrust she felt something give way inside, and he collapsed on her with a groan.
When he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were smiling. He guided her hand to the juncture of their bodies, where they were intimately connected. He was completely inside her now.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
Enormous and hot and hard. “Amazing,” she whispered.
He rested his forehead on hers. “It feels amazing to me, too. I’ve wanted this for so long. So many times I’ve wondered what it would feel like to be buried inside you. I never dreamed it would feel this good.”
Rising over her, he braced himself on one arm and reached down to gingerly touch her aching flesh where they were joined. The touch galvanized her, sweeping her back into a state of high arousal. His nimble fingers increased their tempo, spiraling her to the edge of something dark and extraordinary before retreating to a gentler caress. Again he picked up the pace, and again backed off, denying her release.
She writhed unselfconsciously, clutching his arms, her robe, the grass. She yanked two fistfuls right out of the ground. He drew himself gradually out of her, just a bit, and then pushed back in. Again, and then again, slowly, carefully… It was torment. It was unendurable. His ragged breathing and the quivering strain she felt in the hard muscles of his arms and back betrayed his own frustration, and the control she knew he struggled to maintain.
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