He had noticed her hesitation. “Are you sure? If you’d rather do something else—”
“No, it’s fine.” If they couldn’t check in until later, she would take it as a sign—he wasn’t the only one who believed in omens.
They were able to check in right away. The hotel stretched along the shoreline, three floors high and only one room wide, so every room had an ocean view. Their room was on the second floor, and it was large and comfortable, with two queen beds, a fireplace with a TV mounted above it, a mini-fridge and microwave, and a plush couch and chairs. The western wall was largely glass, with sliding doors leading to a balcony overlooking the beach. Frank slid back the small window above them to let in the soothing sound of the surf.
“Which bed do you want?” he asked. Teresa indicated the one nearest the door.
“Are you sure? This one is closer to the view.”
“This one is closer to the bathroom,” she said. She put her bag on the bed and checked out the bathroom. It was very nice, with a deep tub and deluxe shower head. The whole arrangement was cozier than she had expected, with a slightly rustic charm, and it made her feel a little more relaxed. She went back for her bag and said, “I’ll change in the bathroom.”
She put on her denim shorts and halter top, slathered on sunscreen, and studied herself critically in the mirror. Her shoulders and legs were too pale, and she had put on a few pounds since high school. She had never minded before; she wouldn’t want to be some anorexic stick. Brett had liked her the way she was—at least until he succumbed to Lacey Norman’s more voluptuous charms.
When she came out of the bathroom, Frank was wearing swimming trunks and putting on sunscreen. He looked at her and smiled. “Oh, I like that,” he said. “I think it’s more becoming than a bikini.” He held out the tube. “Do my back, and I’ll do yours?”
She spread the fragrant cream on his back and shoulders, feeling the firm, well-defined muscles beneath. He was altogether too attractive with this much bare skin showing. When she was done, she turned around and let him return the favor. He accomplished the task quickly and almost impersonally, but it made her feel little shivers of pleasure.
As they went out, she couldn’t resist taking a last look at herself in the full-length mirror near the door, and he said, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”
The beach access was only steps away from the hotel, down an easy flight of stairs. The sand was thick and warm and then, farther out, packed hard and pleasantly damp under their bare feet. They walked down to the water’s edge to test the temperature—it was cold enough to be invigorating. At first they only waded along the edge, the small waves breaking around their ankles, but soon enough they were splashing each other and laughing. Teresa meant to just get her feet wet, but in no time at all she was soaked and conscious of her shorts and top clinging to her skin. They gradually ventured farther out. Teresa was a strong swimmer, and she wasn’t afraid, but it occurred to her this was a metaphor—she was getting in deeper and deeper.
When they were tired of the water, they sat on the rocks and let the sun dry their clothes. The beach was not crowded, but there were plenty of people around. Families, couples, lone joggers, and groups of young people passed where they sat. He pointed out an unusual group of rock formations about half a mile away and suggested they walk up the beach to look at them.
They ambled slowly, hand in hand, talking about inconsequentials. A young Asian couple stopped them and asked if they would take their picture with the ocean in the background. Frank took the camera, snapped the picture, and engaged them in conversation about the camera’s features. “Would you recommend it?” he asked. “My lady might be in the market for a new one.”
My lady. She was still having a little trouble processing the offhand reference when he took her hand and they moved on. They stopped again when a group of boys throwing a football around let it get away from them. Frank scooped it up and kicked it back to them with impressive control. “Is there anything you aren’t good at?” she asked.
He looked at her, surprised, and then smiled. “Yes, but I’m trying not to let you find out about them.”
“Why?” she asked. “I wouldn’t want you to be perfect.”
The rock formations were indeed interesting, bigger at the top than at the base, where the waves had eroded them. They encountered a lot of driftwood and seaweed and no other people, so the spot had a very appealing wild beauty.
By the time they made their way back, the marine layer was beginning to drift in, and the beach was nearly deserted. They walked more slowly than before, and Frank draped his arm around Teresa’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”
“What would you like to do for dinner? The hotel restaurant is good—not too fancy—or we could try somewhere else, or call room service.”
“Whatever you want,” she said again.
“Let’s do room service,” he decided. “And go out for breakfast. Or would you prefer breakfast in bed?”
“No,” she said, “room service sounds fine. Breakfast is my favorite meal to eat out.”
He was more pleased than surprised. “Me too.”
“We may be passing the great compatibility test,” she joked.
When they got back to the room, Teresa called Alix to check on Aiden. Alix gave him the phone so he could say, “Night, Mama.” He sounded cheerful enough, but his voice brought tears to her eyes.
Alix came back on. “He says to tell you—wait, wait—I can’t keep up. Oh, okay—never mind, he can tell you everything when you get back. Everything is fine. He’s happy as a clam. How’s it going?”
“Fine,” she said firmly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” When she hung up, Frank was watching her. He put a comforting hand on the back of her neck and kissed her forehead. “She says he’s fine,” she said, “but I’m not sure. You were right; it would be great if we could text.”
“Next time we’ll have him with us,” he said. “Good thing, too. I understand he has to get used to the idea of me, but I don’t think it’s healthy for you to leave him with the bartender so much.”
“Alix isn’t a bartender,” Teresa objected. “She owns the grill, and she’s my best friend.”
“Maybe so, but I noticed she uses some pretty rough language at times. I don’t think she’s the best influence. And her little girl has no manners. She could be bullying the boy.”
Teresa bristled. “So says the great childrearing expert.”
He chose to be amused. “Got your dander up,” he said. “I just think it will be better to include him next time. I’m sure he could use a good male role model, too.”
“He had Brett…”
“And look how that turned out.”
“So, okay, what’s your parenting philosophy?”
“My pare—? I’m sure you’d know best.”
“You’re not one of those guys who expect little boys to man up all the time?”
“No, I’m not that guy either. Even if your ex is right and you’re a little overprotective, I would never interfere.”
“I’m not overprotective.” She tried to sound calm and sure, not defensive.
“I didn’t say you were,” he said soothingly. “Shall we look at the room service menu?”
They’d both had fish and fries for lunch, so they ordered Beachfront burgers with chili and coleslaw. While they waited for the food, they sat on the balcony and watched the sunset. It was pretty spectacular, the pink-and-blue sky mirrored on the water, the white foam of the waves glowing against the darkening ocean. Their chairs were about a foot apart, and Frank took Teresa’s hand. “I want to meet your son,” he said. “What do you think he would like to do?”
She considered. “He did want to go to Oktoberfest…”
“Isn’t it all beer and—”
“No, it’s more like a local fair. The beer garden is separate, and you have
to be twenty-one to get in. They have live music and booths and rides for the kids. Brett was planning to take us.”
“It sounds perfect,” he said. “Casual, low key—we could meet as if by chance. If he isn’t comfortable around me, we can go our separate ways without making a big deal of it.”
“Thank you,” she said. He moved his chair closer and put his arm around her.
The food was wonderful, the burgers big and juicy, the chili piping hot. The sun and salt air had made them hungry, and they relished every bite. They ate slowly, talking comfortably as they watched the last remnants of sunlight fade. When they were finished, Frank put his hand on the back of Teresa’s neck and kneaded gently. “You’re still thinking about Aiden,” he said. “You’re a little tense.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, but not very convincingly.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Lie on your stomach on the bed, and I’ll give you the super-special, world-famous McAllister massage.”
She laughed, but she got up and lay on her bed. He switched off the lamp between the beds, softening the light in the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and started slowly, rubbing her neck and running his fingers through her hair. After a minute he moved so he was straddling her and dug the fingers of both hands into her scalp, her neck, and her shoulders. It was wonderful, sending shivers of pleasure through her. She had had massage therapy once after a pulled muscle, and this was very much the same, at least at first. The therapist had played soft music in the background, but here the constant, soothing sound of the ocean relaxed her more than any music would.
His hands moved down her bare back. They were warm and comforting. Her scalp tingled, and her muscles relaxed under his fingers. She lay with her cheek on her folded arms and let herself drift a little. His hands slid under the waistband of her shorts and massaged deeply. Teresa sighed with pleasure. He moved farther down, stroking her legs. “This is great,” she said gratefully. “I should do you now.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said softly. “This is only about you. I want you to relax. I want you to trust me.” He continued, taking first one foot and then the other in both hands for an all-over massage. It was the best part yet, and she murmured with pleasure.
“Turn over,” he said. She did. He smiled into her eyes, and after a moment she had to look away. “Relax,” he said. She closed her eyes, and he took her face in his hands and caressed it, gently at first and then more firmly, continuing the massage. The therapist had never done this side of her. It was delicious. His hands moved on to her throat and her bare shoulders. His fingers slid under the halter strap and down to the neckline. Because of the bare back she wasn’t wearing a bra. This was another line she should draw—therapists didn’t cross it—but she didn’t say anything.
From the beginning this had been more sensuous than sexual, but now it was getting more personal by the minute. His hands were on her breasts, at first through the fabric and then underneath, stroking and cradling. She was neither frightened nor aroused, but he was very definitely making her feel something strong and deep. She held her breath, and he said, “Relax,” again. He finally moved on, his hands warm on her bare midriff and her belly, down inside her shorts. Teresa moaned softly.
Draw a line, she told herself, but she didn’t stop him. She was being manipulated, but she liked what he was doing. He moved on to her upper thighs, deeply kneading muscles that were a little tired from the beach, and on down her legs, with briefer attention to her feet this time, and back up the insides of her calves and thighs. One hand slipped between her legs. It was both an unpressured, natural continuation of the ritual and very deeply arousing.
She opened her eyes and looked into his. “This is supposed to relax me?” she asked.
“Yes.” His hands were still now.
“This is supposed to make me trust you?” The thing was, she really wanted to trust him.
“Yes. Are you relaxed? Are you ready to go to sleep? Do you want me to kiss you good night and get in the other bed?”
She wanted to say yes, and she thought he would accept it, but she didn’t. When she didn’t answer, he took her face in his hands again and kissed her, not for goodnight, but deeply, intensely, and for a long time. Damn, he was good! “I love you,” he said.
“It’s too soon,” she protested, but in the moment, still tingling from the massage, with the sound of the surf under everything, she felt something very like love. She had never been so ready for anything in her life. I can’t be bought, she thought, but it seems I can be seduced.
****
Teresa turned her head toward the sound of the surf. They hadn’t closed the drapes, and she could see the moonlight, diffused by the overcast, touching the waves. She could hear Frank breathing, and when she stirred, he put his hand on her neck and kissed her shoulder. “You are something else,” he said. She turned to look at him, and he smiled. He was lying on his side, propped on one elbow, looking down at her admiringly. “You were with me all the way, weren’t you?” She didn’t know what to say and just nodded. He touched her lightly, stroked her shoulder, and kissed her gently on the lips and then on the forehead. “Was it like that with Devlin?” he asked.
Teresa sat up abruptly. “We are not having a discussion about him,” she said. It was one line she could definitely draw. She was still wearing her halter top, a little askew, but she had lost track of her shorts. Unbidden, a memory surfaced—the first time with Brett, he had thanked her, as if she had done him a favor. He had been so sweet to her, but that was in the past. “I don’t want to hear about other women you’ve been with either,” she said.
Frank sat up too and put his arm around her. “There haven’t been too many,” he said. “I’m more of a one-woman man. I’m sorry if the question bothered you; I was just curious.”
“Or you wanted me to stroke your ego.”
He was amused. “Teresa the Terror,” he said.
“What was your wife like?” she asked. She could be curious too. “I don’t mean in bed,” she added. When he hesitated, she said, “I’m sorry—do you mind talking about her? Is it too painful?”
He shrugged. “She was like you in some ways, but tougher. You have a softness and vulnerability I find very attractive. She was gutsy, energetic…”
“How did she die?”
“An accident,” he said grimly.
Teresa rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s in the past,” he said firmly. He looked at her. “Did Devlin treat you all right? I mean besides…”
“Yes, and I guess he didn’t want out of the relationship. He’s trying to get me to take him back, but I told him to cut his losses.”
“Did you tell him about us?”
She shook her head.
“It might be kinder; cut the cord once and for all.”
“I wasn’t sure we had anything to tell yet,” she said. She pulled away a little. “Hey, I thought we weren’t going to talk about exes.”
“You’re right. This should be all about you.” He kissed her cheek. “What would you like to do now? We could go down to the beach again or go out for dessert or stay here and…talk.” He grinned.
Teresa was half distracted now, trying to figure out how she felt about all of this. She didn’t answer, and he put his arms around her and held her close. She was relaxed and comfortable now, but wasn’t this all happening too fast? She was having second thoughts she should have had first. “I’d like to take a shower,” she said. She could feel the grit of sand under her top, and hot water always made her feel refreshed.
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
He released her, and she got up and took her bag into the bathroom. She had chosen her clothes with care, washed her hair the night before, shaved her legs, put on lightly scented skin lotion—and he had wanted her when she was sweaty and sandy, with her hair damp and tangled. Not very romantic.
She showered quickly and put on her nightg
own. It wasn’t fancy, but she looked nice in it. She had gotten a little color in spite of the sunscreen. She rubbed lotion on her arms and put a touch behind her ears—locking the barn door. When she came out, Frank was wearing one of the hotel’s white terry bathrobes. He had closed the drapes, turned on the electric fireplace, and turned down his bed. “Oh, I like that,” he said, coming to meet her. He put his arms around her and said, “You smell good.”
“Lavender,” she explained. She reached inside the robe to rub his shoulders. She was feeling something new now, something tender, loving, intimate, possessive. She kissed him. She wanted to give in to this sense of well-being, of the inevitability of a future together, of love, but wasn’t it too soon?
“Teresa,” he said, again as if her name was a special endearment. “I want to sleep with you. I want to hold you all night.”
“It sounds very romantic,” she said, “but what if I snore? What if I need you to let me breathe a little?”
“Breathing is overrated. I never want to let go of you again.” He kissed her, and then he lifted her in his arms. It had never happened to her before—Gene hadn’t even carried her across the threshold on their wedding night.
“Frank!” she cried, laughing, but a little scared—what if he dropped her? He was strong, but she wasn’t very light. He didn’t drop her—or he did, but deliberately, from about an inch above the cool, clean sheets of his bed. They were both laughing, and he started kissing her randomly, here and there. This can be a lot of fun, she told herself. Enjoy it while it lasts. “Remember when you asked if it was too soon for me to date?” she asked.
“Yeah, and you said it depended on the definition.”
“It turns out it was too soon,” she said, “and now it’s too late.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, as if it made sense to him. “But sometimes things just happen.” He kissed her again and slid his hand up her thigh, under her nightgown.
Teresa remembered she was a responsible adult. “We need to use protection this time,” she insisted.
“Are you sure?” he asked. His hand kept moving up, and he kissed her shoulder. “You have a son, but every woman wants a daughter. I’d love to make a little girl with you.”
The Rebound Effect Page 6