She could feel him tremble as if he warred with the urging of his passion. When he reached for her again, he guided his hand leisurely down her body, along her collarbone to her shoulder, down her arm. Allie shivered in reaction to his featherlight touch as he caressed the pulse point on her wrist, moved back up to rub his thumb across the crook of her elbow.
He slid his palm across her ribcage, between her breasts, fingers skidding close to the soft mound. Circling one breast with the heel of his hand, he kept his gaze fixed on her face as if to measure her response. Impatient with the T-shirt between them, Allie reached for the hem, intending to strip it off. But he caught her hand, hooked it back behind his head.
She wanted to scream at him that he was going too slowly, but then fingertips grazed her sensitive nipple and the sound that spilled from her throat was a long, low moan. Flicking at her nipple with his thumb, he watched her, seeming to drink in her passion. Then he lowered his head and pulled her nipple into his mouth.
His hand had moved to her other breast and while his fingers teased and tortured there, he grazed her nipple with his teeth through the wet knit of the T-shirt. Sensation shot from the hard buds of her breast to her core, pooling between her thighs and driving another moan from her. Her restless legs tangled with his, then she drew them up, letting him settle between them. She tightened her thighs around his hips, pivoting her pelvis forward until she could feel him intimately pressing at the V of her legs.
He rasped in a breath, his lips and hands still for a moment. His eyes squeezed shut, tension centered in his jaw, in the throbbing pulse at his throat. Another shaky breath, then he reached unhurriedly for her shirt, kissing and stroking as he pulled it up then off her. He kissed each breast, then moved lower, fingers hooking in her panties. He waited for her to lift her hips, then he drew them from her body.
He sat back on his heels, his gaze burning into her, his arousal begging for her touch. She reached for him, curving her hands around the hard flesh, stroking along its length. He threw back his head, hands fisted, a groan dragged from him.
Then he grabbed her wrists, pulled her hands away, anchoring them above her head. Arching his body over hers, he kissed her throat, his lips moving softly down, between her breasts, along the line of her ribcage. Her breath caught as her skin rippled in response.
Releasing her hands, he glided his fingertips along her arms, dipping in lightly at her throat, then following the trail of his lips between her breasts. His mouth moved lower, his tongue flicking at her navel, then her hipbones on either side. His hands gripped her hips as his lips continued their moist path lower, to the juncture of her thighs, to the soft curls there.
When his tongue dipped into the cleft of her thighs, her eyes flew open as her hips arched from the bed. His hands tightened on her, holding her in place as his intimate kiss continued. He splayed his hands, thumbs reaching to part her soft folds, tongue stroking her center, bringing her wave after wave of pleasure.
She groped for him, fingers threading through his hair. She couldn’t lie still. With her hips held in place, her legs thrashed on the bed as tension built between her thighs. Frantic with sensation, she locked her gaze with his, saw triumph burning in his gray eyes.
When she thought she would die of the pleasure, he thrust his fingers inside her and sent her rocketing into ecstasy. Her body seemed to explode. Her fingers went lax in his hair, her arms slipping nerveless to the bed.
Before she could recover, Lucas rose up to cover her body. With one swift thrust he entered her, filling her. Immediately another climax flooded her, clenching her muscles around him, driving a moan from her throat. His face buried in her neck, Lucas thrust into her, again and again, until she spasmed into another incredible peak.
She knew the instant he joined her in paradise, could feel his entire body go rigid in reaction. Her entire world centered in that moment on the joining of their bodies, the intimate link between them. Her heart leapt in sheer joy, struggling to bring to life emotions she’d fought to keep at bay. Emotions she refused to think about just now as the aftermath of their lovemaking lapped at her, bringing her back down.
Her thighs still clutched his hips, holding him tight. She relaxed them, still keeping him cradled between them. Her hands drifted across his back, grazing his scar with the lightest touch.
She waited for him to lift his head, to show her his soul through his eyes. Because surely they’d battered down the barriers between them at last, setting them both on a new path. She had only to see his eyes to be certain.
But rather than raise his head, he levered himself from her, eased from between her thighs. When she thought he would stretch out beside her and take her into his arms, he turned away, seating himself on the far edge of the wide bed. He kept his back to her as the chill morning air bit into her flesh.
In the dim light filtering through the shut plantation shutters, the scar across his back was only a shade darker than the rest of his skin. Even still, Allie’s heart sank at the extent of the mark, from just below his shoulder to nearly his waist in a roughly triangular shape. She wanted to move her hand over it, to wipe away the memories, wipe away the pain. But when she reached over to touch him lightly at the base of his spine, he flinched away from the contact. Rising to his feet, he moved to the shutters, opened them slightly to gaze out at the burgeoning day.
Allie sat up, clutching the sheet over her breasts. “Lucas.”
“We’d better get ready for work.” His voice sounded dead. “I’ve got a meeting first thing.”
Stunned, Allie scrambled for something to say, to bring back the intimacy. “Lucas, we should…shouldn’t we talk?”
His shoulders tightened briefly. “About what, Allie?”
Allie felt suddenly sick. He wouldn’t acknowledge what they’d just done, the incredible passion they’d shared. She watched with uneasy fascination as his left hand squeezed into a fist. Their intimacy had done nothing to strip away Lucas’s barriers; in fact it had rebuilt them, stronger than ever.
Tears gathered in her eyes and she shook in her effort to suppress them. “I’ll go get dressed,” she gasped out, hurriedly grabbing up her T-shirt, throwing it over her head. She had no idea where her panties had gotten to, didn’t want to take the time to look for them. She nearly ran from the room and back to the sanctuary of her own.
She slammed the door shut, pressing her back against it as if to hold the emotions at bay. But they took hold of her anyway, taking the strength from her legs so that she collapsed to the floor. Her sobs sounded loud and ugly in the room and she feared Lucas would hear her. But when he didn’t come to check on her, she cried even harder with the realization that if he had heard her, he didn’t care enough to see if she was all right.
He didn’t care, he couldn’t care. He’d locked his heart so tightly against the pain of his past, a hurt he refused to share with her, he might never learn to care. He would certainly never learn to love.
Allie buried her face in her hands, felt the tears slipping between her fingers. Heaven help her, she was already three-quarters in love with him. Their lovemaking had tipped her precariously close to a precipice she ought to never have approached. Because once she made that leap, once she gave her heart completely, she had no hope of surviving the jagged rocks of Lucas’s indifference.
After that morning, Allie had ample time alone to nurse her wounded heart. Lucas suddenly found it necessary to tour all of TaylorMade’s manufacturing plants, to judge their efficiency and issues of worker safety. Although in the past he might have taken Allie with him to assist, there was no question of that now. He left her at home and Allie ached at being pushed aside that way.
Each day she sat at her desk, his open empty office looming behind her, her work a blur of numbers and meaningless words as she created spreadsheets and typed documents. Lucas called seldom, as if he could bear only a minimal amount of contact with her.
Now, as she negotiated the curves of Interstate 80 on her
way to her Sunday visit with her father, Allie again recalled her most recent conversation with Lucas. He’d phoned late on Friday, asking for status on several pending projects. She’d hung onto every clipped word, tried to draw out the conversation as long as possible. Then, just before he said goodbye, he announced he’d be staying in Chicago at least until Tuesday. She thought her heart would break from loneliness.
She passed the Reno city limits sign and started watching for the exit for her father’s care home. Although she tried to hold them at bay, images of her lovemaking with Lucas tormented her. If only she hadn’t gone to Lucas’s room to comfort him, if only she hadn’t touched him, if only she hadn’t lain down beside him late into the night.
She should never have questioned him, never have let him kiss her, should have escaped from his bed the moment passion had flared between them. She agonized over every separate act, over each step she’d taken until it had been too late to turn back.
If only. A useless, useless sentiment. Her real mistake had been in thinking that making love with Lucas would make a difference, that it would bring them closer. She had only herself to blame for the heartache that never seemed to ease.
Allie pulled into the parking lot of the care home, found an empty space next to her sister’s car. Rather than all the family members visiting French at once, they tried to space out their time with him. On a bad day, too many people all at once agitated and frightened French, when he couldn’t remember their faces. On a good day, their separate visits were a pleasant diversion, stretching out his enjoyment of their company.
Allie reached her father’s room, then hesitated in the doorway. With a glance she took in her sister’s tense face, her father’s scowl as he sat in an orange plastic chair by the window. Her heart sank. Today would not be a good day.
Sherril gave Allie a quick smile that was nearly a grimace, then bent to kiss the old man goodbye. French ducked away, scooting his chair back out of her reach.
With a sigh, Sherril touched her father lightly on the shoulder. “See you later, Dad.” She gave Allie a quick hug as she passed. “Good luck,” she whispered.
On top of everything else, Allie wasn’t sure she could bear an awkward, combative visit with her father. She was half-tempted to turn around and leave, certain French wouldn’t even notice her absence. But when she looked at the lonely old man hunched in the chair by the window, she knew she couldn’t bear to leave him alone.
“Hi, Dad,” she called out as she eased into the room. “It’s me, Allie.”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard her. Familiar tears pricked at Allie’s eyes, tightened her throat. They’d lived with this cruel illness for nearly two years, but fresh grief always overwhelmed her when she first saw him.
She grabbed the other chair in the room and slid it over close to him. Seating herself carefully, she avoided contact. “How are you, Dad?”
For another long moment, he stared out the window as if she didn’t exist. Then slowly, he turned to face her. “Elizabeth?”
An ache twisted Allie’s heart. “No, it’s Allie, your daughter.”
French put his frail hands on her shoulders. “Elizabeth, is that you?”
Allie was about to correct him again when his eyes lit with an incredible joy. “Elizabeth! You’re here!” He smiled, a gesture he’d nearly abandoned in the last few months. Love shone in his face.
How could she destroy the illusion his ravaged mind saw? She forced a smile. “Yes, I’m here.”
He drew her into his arms, hugged her tightly. “They told me you died. But I knew you couldn’t have. I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”
Tears filled Allie’s eyes, wet her cheeks. She drew back as her father let her go, tried to swipe away the tears before French saw them.
But she wasn’t quick enough. “What’s wrong, Elizabeth? Is it the kids? Are they okay?”
Allie gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “Fine, everyone’s fine.”
“Is it Allie?” He laughed, a dry, rusty sound. “Don’t you worry about her, Elizabeth. She might be as headstrong as her old man, but she’s a good girl.” He beamed, pride lighting his face. “She’ll do fine.”
For a moment, Allie could scarcely breathe. Her father, French Dickenson, proud of her? An unexpected joy bubbled up inside her. “Allie’s fine, Dad. She’s just fine.”
At her quiet words, French stared intently at her as if trying hard to figure something out. “I’ve been sick,” he said slowly. He peered at her a long time. “Allie? When did you get here?”
Allie swallowed back the threat of fresh tears. “Just now. How are you doing, Dad?”
He slumped in his chair, rubbed at his face. “Tired…so tired.” He reached for her hand. “Help me to bed. I need a nap.”
She supported him with an arm around his waist, her stomach churning at his slight weight. Once he was settled under the covers, she sat back down and waited until he fell asleep. She stayed a long while, watching his thin chest rise and fall, her throat constricted with the effort not to cry.
She kept her tears in check as she drove home, as she walked into the quiet, lonely house aching for Lucas. With all her heart she wished she had him to hold right now, had him to comfort her. But he might as well be on the moon as in Chicago, so distant was he from her. Distant and no way to bring him close.
When she passed his bedroom door, she couldn’t resist the pull of his wide, neatly made bed. She stepped inside the room, kicked off her shoes, then undressed in a daze, leaving her slacks and blouse in an untidy pile on the floor. In bra and panties, she climbed beneath the thick comforter.
If she couldn’t have Lucas, she would have this pale substitute—the soft pillows, the warm covers still imbued with his scent. With a sigh, she nestled in the bed and let sleep take her, bringing her dreams of Lucas.
An interminable three weeks passed without Lucas and Allie thought she would go mad. When he called the office early Monday morning to inform her he intended to spend at least another week in New Jersey exploring a possible merger opportunity, it took everything in her not to shout at him in her frustration. But what could she say? I want you here with me? Please come home, I need you? That would only drive him further away.
Instead, she dutifully took down the contact information he gave her and arranged for two of his vice presidents to continue filling in for him. She considered heading back home, taking the rest of the day off. The stress had begun to wear on her so much she’d been sick to her stomach the last few days. But curling up in Lucas’s bed listening to the quiet of the empty house just seemed too lonely.
When the phone rang again, every nerve in Allie’s body stood at attention in hopes it was Lucas calling back. Her heart fell when the man at the other end of the line asked if Lucas was in. Allie recognized the voice; she’d taken enough messages from Lucas’s attorney friend, John, to know him when he called.
She took a breath to calm herself, to erase the disappointment from her tone. “Sorry, John, he’s in New Jersey this week. I can give you the number of his hotel.”
“Yeah, sure—no, on second thought, you can tell him as well as me.” He laughed self-consciously. “Can’t quite get used to him having a wife.”
Allie pinched the bridge of her nose, driving off the ever-ready tears. “It’s still new for us, too.”
“Just let him know, next time you talk to him, I can set up a home visit any time.”
“I guess he’d have to be home for that, wouldn’t he?” She sucked in a breath, wishing she could suck back in the bitter words as easily. “Sorry. Things aren’t much fun around here when he’s gone.” Praying John would assume her irritation arose from the extra workload with the boss gone, Allie waited through the extended silence.
“Is everything going okay with you two?” he asked finally.
Her lower lip stung from the pressure of her teeth. “Fine. We’re fine.”
“Allie…” John paused. “I pro
bably know Lucas better than anyone. If you wanted to talk…”
The sympathy in his voice tipped her over the edge. Knowing he couldn’t help but hear the tears in her voice, Allie struggled to get the words out. “Are you free for lunch?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “Give me a place and time and I’ll be there.”
So shaken, she could barely think, she stuttered, “Cocina Caldera? Is noon okay?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there.”
After hanging up, she rose from her desk and went into Lucas’s office where she knew she’d have some privacy. She wiped away her tears, blew her nose and downed a drink of water from the cooler. In all the roaring fights she’d had over the years with her father, he’d never brought her to tears. A month and a half married to Lucas and she seemed to cry every day.
She’d had enough. She was tired of moping around, letting her aching heart rule her day. Determined to ferret out some answers from John at lunch, Allie swiped at her face with a tissue one last time and strode back to her desk. The rest of the morning she spent buried in work, holding thoughts of Lucas at bay. But he always hovered there, never quite out of sight.
Seated at a table near the door, Allie saw John enter Cocina Caldera and look around him. His gaze skimmed right over Allie, lighting on Inez as she moved gracefully through the restaurant with her arms full of plates piled high with food. When Inez glanced his way, her confident stride stuttered a little before she continued on toward her destination.
John watched her as she unloaded the plates, chatted with her customers. Allie looked from John to Inez, and had to smile, wondering what might be brewing between the two of them.
“John!” Allie called out, knowing he’d never notice her as long as Inez was in the room. She waved. “Over here.”
He snapped out of his trance, walked over to join her at the table. “Sorry I’m late. I got a last-minute call.”
“I haven’t been here long.” She handed him a menu. “I appreciate you taking the time to have lunch with me.”
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