by Lisa Kleypas
The next few minutes were like a fever dream as we grappled frantically. The fine mesh of my panties caught on the delicate buckled strap of my shoe, resisting Gage’s efforts to untangle it until he finally tore the fabric with his fingers. He pulled my dress up to my waist, my skin sticking to the cool leather beneath me, one of my widespread legs dangling wantonly to the floor, and I didn’t care, the need was pulsing everywhere.
His fingers gripped the top of my dress, yanking it down until my breasts were freed with a delicate bounce. I groaned at the heat of his mouth at my breast, the edges of his teeth, the flicking tongue. Reaching between us, he tugged at the fastenings of his pants. My eyes widened at the feel of him, hot and ready, demanding entrance…then everything blurred as my body yielded to the wet slide, the stunning invasion of hardness within softness. My head fell back over the unyielding bar of his arm and his mouth raked greedily over my exposed throat. He began to thrust in a heavy rhythm that made me squirm and pant.
The car stopped at a red light and all was still except the push and stroke inside me, and then the vehicle was turning, gliding forward with increasing momentum as if we were on a highway. I took him again and again, straining to pull him as close as possible. I clawed at his clothes, I needed his skin, couldn’t reach it, needed, needed…his lips returned to mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth. He was filling me everywhere, driving deeper until the low sweet spasms started, ricocheting from my body to his. I shuddered, breaking the kiss as I pulled in huge lungfuls of air. Gage caught his breath, let it out like the hiss of a greenwood fire.
Drunk with endorphins, I was as slack as an empty pillowcase as Gage lifted me from the seat. He swore, bracing my head on his arm. I’d never seen him look so upset. The black pupils of his eyes had nearly swallowed the silver irises. “I was rough with you.” His voice was ragged. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I just—”
“S’okay,” I whispered, the last tremors of delight still echoing through my body.
“It’s not okay. I—”
He was silenced abruptly as I pulled up enough to kiss him. He let my mouth move against his, but he didn’t respond, only held me and pulled the gown back over my chest and down my naked legs, and wrapped me back up in his tux jacket.
Neither of us spoke after that. I was still on sensation overload, barely registering when Gage pressed a button and spoke to the driver. Still cradling me in one arm, he poured another drink and consumed it slowly. His face gave nothing away, but I felt the ferocious tension in his body.
Held securely in Gage’s lap, I drowsed a little, lulled by the car ride and the warmth of his body. It was a rude awakening when the car stopped and the door was opened. I blinked as Gage jostled me awake and helped me out.
Knowing how messed up I was, how obvious the reason for our dishevelment, I shot a quick embarrassed glance at Phil the driver. He made a point of not looking at either of us, his expression strictly marshaled.
We were at 1800 Main. Gage stared at me as if he expected me to object to spending the night at his condo. I tried to weigh the consequences of staying or leaving, but my mind was too addled. In the welter of my thoughts, only one stood out: however I chose to deal with Hardy, this man was not going to stand aside politely.
Wearing Gage’s tux jacket over my dress, I went through the lobby and into the elevator with him. The rapid ascent of the elevator caused me to sway on my high heels. Gage reached for me, kissing me until I was red-faced and out of breath. I stumbled a little as he pulled me from the elevator. With an easy motion, he picked me up and carried me—actually carried me—down the hallway to his condo.
We went straight to the waiting silence of the bedroom, where I was undressed in the darkness. Now, after the hasty coupling in the car, the urgency had eased into tenderness. Gage moved over me like a shadow, finding the softest places, the most acute nerves. The more he soothed, the more I ached. Breathing in long sighs, I reached for him, thirsting for the hard planes of muscle, the resilent flesh, the midnight silk of his hair. He coaxed me open, his mouth and fingers harrowing delicately until all my limbs were widespread and my body rose in a shuddering plea to receive him, and I moaned each time he slid inside me. Again, and again, until he had gone past all boundaries, inside me, immersed, possessing and possessed.
As the cowboy saying goes, a horse shouldn’t be ridden hard and put away wet. That also applies to girlfriends, especially those who have gone a while without sex and need a little time to get back into the habit of it. I couldn’t say how many times Gage reached for me in the night. When I woke up in the morning, muscles I didn’t even know I had were aching, and my limbs were strained and stiff. And Gage was being very considerate, starting with bringing me coffee in bed.
“Don’t bother trying to look remorseful,” I said, leaning forward as he tucked an extra pillow behind my back. “It’s obviously not a natural expression for you.”
“I’m not remorseful.” Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, Gage sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’m grateful.”
I hitched the sheet higher over my naked breasts and took a careful sip of the steaming coffee. “You should be,” I said. “Especially after that last time.”
Our gazes held, and Gage laid his hand over my knee. The warmth of his palm penetrated the thin fabric of the sheet. “You all right?” he asked gently.
Damn him, he had an unerring ability to disarm me, showing concern just when I expected him to be arrogant or bossy. The nerves in my stomach tautened until my insides felt like a trampoline. Everything was so good with him, I wondered if I could give him up for the man I’d always wanted.
I started to say I was fine, but instead I found myself telling him the truth. “I’m scared of making the biggest mistake of my life. I’m just trying to figure out what the mistake is.”
“You mean who the mistake is.”
That made me wince. “I know you’ll be angry if I see him, but—”
“No I won’t. I want you to see him.”
My fingers tightened on the heated sides of the cup. “You do?”
“It’s obvious I won’t have what I want from you until the situation is resolved. You need to find out how he’s changed. You need to see if any of the old feelings are still there.”
“Yes.” I thought it was very evolved of him to show such understanding.
“That’s fine with me,” Gage continued, “as long as you don’t go to bed with him.”
Evolved, but still a Texan.
I gave him a quizzical smile. “Does that mean you don’t care what I feel for him, just as long as you’re the one I’m having sex with?”
“It means,” Gage said evenly, “I’ll take the sex for now and work on getting the rest later.”
Chapter 23
From what I gathered, Churchill’s evening hadn’t been much better than mine. He and Vivian had ended the night with a brawl. She was the jealous type, Churchill said, and it wasn’t his fault if other women had been friendly to him.
“How friendly were you to them?” I asked.
Churchill scowled as he used the remote control to flip the channels from his bed. “Let’s just say it doesn’t matter where I get my appetite, long as I come home for dinner.”
“Good Lord, I hope you didn’t say that to Vivian.”
Silence.
I collected his breakfast tray. “No wonder she didn’t stay last night.” It was time for his shower—he’d gotten to the point where he could manage solo. “You have any problems getting showered and dressed, just buzz me on the walkie-talkie. I’ll get the lawn guy to come in and help you.” I started to leave.
“Liberty.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m not one to poke in other people’s business…” Churchill smiled at the look I gave him. “But is there anything you might want to talk to me about? Anything new happening in your life?”
“Not a thing. Same old, same old.”
“You started up something wit
h my son.”
“I’m not going to discuss my love life with you, Churchill.”
“Why not? You did before.”
“You weren’t my boss then. And my love life didn’t happen to include your son.”
“Fine, we won’t talk about my son,” he said equably. “Let’s talk about an old acquaintance who’s started up a nice little bypassed-oil recovery outfit.”
I nearly dropped the tray. “You knew Hardy was there last night?”
“Not until someone introduced us. Soon as I heard the name, I knew right off who he was.” Churchill gave me a look of such understanding, I wanted to cry.
Instead I set the tray down and made my way to a nearby chair.
“What happened, sugar?” I heard him ask.
I sat, my gaze anchored to the floor. “We just talked for a few minutes. I’m going to see him tomorrow.” A long pause. “Gage is not exactly thrilled about the situation.”
Churchill gave a dry chuckle. “I imagine not.”
I looked at him then, unable to resist asking, “What did you think about Hardy?”
“Got a lot going for him. Smart, nice manners. He’ll take a big bite out of the world before he’s done. Did you invite him over to the house?”
“God, no. I’m sure we’ll go somewhere else to talk.”
“Stay if you like. It’s your house too.”
“Thanks, but…” I shook my head.
“Are you sorry you started up with Gage, sugar?”
The question undid me. “No,” I said instantly, blinking hard. “I don’t know what to be sorry about. It’s just…Hardy was always the one I was supposed to end up with. He was everything I dreamed of and wanted. But damn it, why did he have to show up when I thought I’d finally gotten over him?”
“Some people there’s no getting over,” Churchill said.
I glanced at him through the salty blur in my eyes. “You mean Ava?”
“I’ll miss her for the rest of my life. But no, I didn’t mean Ava.”
“Your first wife, then?”
“No, someone else.”
I blotted the corners of my eyes with my sleeve. It seemed there was something Churchill wanted me to know about. But I’d had just about all the revelations I could handle for the moment. I stood and cleared my throat. “I’ve got to go downstairs and make breakfast for Carrington.” I turned to leave.
“Liberty.”
“Huh?”
Churchill appeared to be thinking hard about something, a frown gathering on his face. “Later I’m going to talk to you about this some more. Not as Gage’s father. Not as your boss. As your old friend.”
“Thanks,” I said scratchily. “Something tells me I’m going to need my old friend.”
Hardy called later that morning and invited me and Carrington to go riding on Sunday. I was delighted by the prospect, since I hadn’t been on a horse in years, but I told him Carrington had only been on carnival ponies, and she didn’t know how to ride.
“No problem,” Hardy said easily. “She’ll pick it up in no time.”
In the morning he arrived at the Travis mansion in a huge white SUV. Carrington and I met him at the door, both of us dressed in jeans and boots and heavy jackets. I had told Carrington that Hardy was an old family friend, that he had known her when she was a baby and had in fact driven Mama to the hospital the day she was born.
Gretchen, wildly curious about the mysterious man from my past, was waiting in the entrance with us when the doorbell rang. I went to open it, and I was amused to hear Gretchen murmur, “Oh, my,” at the sight of Hardy standing in the sunlight.
With the rangy, developed build of a roughneck, those striking blue eyes, that irresistible grin, Hardy had a larger-than-life quality any woman would find appealing. He swept a quick glance over me, murmured hello, and kissed my cheek before turning to Gretchen.
I introduced them, and Hardy took Gretchen’s hand with obvious care, as if he were afraid of crushing it. She fluttered, smiled, and played the part of gracious Southern hostess to the hilt. As soon as Hardy’s attention was diverted, Gretchen gave me a significant glance as if to ask, Where have you been hiding him?
Hardy, meanwhile, had lowered to his haunches in front of my sister. “Carrington, you’re even prettier than your mama was. You probably don’t remember me.”
“You drove us to the hospital when I was born,” Carrington volunteered shyly.
“That’s right. In an old blue pickup, through a storm that flooded half of Welcome.”
“That’s where Miss Marva lives,” Carrington exclaimed. “Do you know her?”
“Do I know Miss Marva?” Hardy grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I do. I had more than a few helpings of red velvet cake at Miss Marva’s kitchen counter.”
Thoroughly charmed, Carrington took Hardy’s hand when he stood. “Liberty, you didn’t say he knew Miss Marva!”
The sight of them hand in hand caused a tremor of deep emotion inside me. “I never talked about you much,” I said to Hardy. My voice sounded odd to my own ears.
Hardy stared into my eyes and nodded, understanding that some things mean too much to be expressed easily.
“Well,” Gretchen said brightly, “you all go on and have a good time. You be careful around the horses, Carrington. Remember what I told you about not going near the back hooves.”
“I will!”
We went to the Silver Bridle Equestrian Center, where the horses lived better than most people. They were kept in a barn that featured a digital mosquito and fly control system, and piped-in classical music, and the stalls had individual faucets and light fixtures. Outside there was a covered arena, a jumping course, pastures, ponds, paddocks, and fifty acres of land to ride on.
Hardy had arranged for us to ride horses that belonged to a friend. Since the cost of stabling a horse at Silver Bridle rivaled some college tuitions, it was clear Hardy’s friend had money to burn. We were brought a palomino and a blue roan, both shining and sleek and well behaved. The quarter horse is a big, muscular breed, known for its calmness and good cow sense.
Before we rode out, Hardy sat Carrington on a sturdy black pony and took her around the corral on a lead. As I expected, he charmed my sister completely, praising her, teasing until she giggled.
It was a gorgeous day to ride, cold but sunny, the air carrying the whiff of pastures and animals and the light earthy fragrance you can never isolate but is really the smell of Texas itself.
Hardy and I were able to talk as we rode side by side, Carrington a little ahead of us on the pony.
“You’ve done well by her, honey,” he told me. “Your mother would have been proud.”
“I hope so.” I looked at my sister, her hair done in a neat blond braid tied with a white ribbon. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”
“Wonderful.” But Hardy was staring at me. “Marva told me some of what you’ve gone through. You’ve carried a lot on your shoulders, haven’t you?”
I shrugged. It had been difficult at times, but in retrospect my burdens and struggles had been ordinary ones. So many women had to contend with much more. “The hardest part was right after Mama died. I don’t think I had a full night’s sleep in two years. I was working and taking classes and trying to do my best for Carrington. It seemed like everything was always half-done, we were never on time, I couldn’t seem to get anything right. But eventually everything got easier.”
“Tell me how you got involved with the Travises.”
“Which one?” I asked without thinking, and then my cheeks heated.
Hardy smiled. “Let’s start with the old man.”
As we talked, I had the sense of uncovering something precious and long-buried, fully formed. Our conversation was a process of removing layers, some of them easily dusted away. Other layers, requiring chisels or axes, were left alone for now. We revealed as much as we dared about what had happened during the years that separated us. But it wasn’t what I had expected, being with Hardy again.
There was something in me that remained stubbornly locked away, as if I were afraid to let out the emotion I had harbored for so long.
The afternoon approached and Carrington became tired and hungry. We rode back to the barn and dismounted. I gave Carrington a handful of quarters to get a drink from a vending machine at the main building. She scampered off, leaving me alone with Hardy.
He stood looking at me for a moment. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling me into the empty tack room. He kissed me gently, and I tasted dust, sun, skin-salt, and the years dissolved in a slow, sure rush of warmth. I had been waiting for him, for this, and it was just as sweet as I remembered. But as Hardy deepened the kiss, tried to take more, I pulled away with a nervous laugh.
“Sorry,” I said breathlessly. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Hardy’s eyes were vivid with heat, his voice reassuring. He gave me a quick grin. “Got carried away.”
Despite the pleasure I took in Hardy’s company, I was relieved when he took us back to River Oaks. I needed to retreat, to think, to let all this settle. Carrington was chattering happily in the back seat, about wanting to ride again, having her own horse someday, speculating on the best horse names.
“You’ve launched us into a whole new phase,” I told Hardy. “Now we’ve gone from Barbie to horses.”
Hardy grinned and spoke to Carrington. “You tell your big sister to call me whenever you want to ride, honey.”
“I want to do it again tomorrow!”
“You have school tomorrow,” I said, which made Carrington scowl until she remembered she could tell all her friends about the pony she’d ridden.
Hardy pulled up to the front of the house and helped us out.
Glancing at the garage, I saw Gage’s car. He was almost never there on Sunday afternoons. My stomach did one of those funny flips that happens when you’re on a roller-coaster ride, heading into the first big drop. “Gage is here,” I said.
