by Patricia Kay
God, she was sweet. He closed his eyes and listened to the muted sounds of the evening. He felt enclosed in a safe, warm world where nothing from the outside could ever touch him or Ronnie. A sense of well-being and something else, something hard to define, seemed to permeate his body. And it was more than the ordinary afterglow of good sex. This was more like the feeling of coming home after being away a very long time. This was a feeling of lightness, a desire to keep Ronnie here, next to him, always. As if this were where she belonged.
His hand caressed her hair, then her cheek. Her breathing had slowed, and he could feel her feathery breath on his chest. He stroked the strong, smooth muscles of her back, then the sweet, round contours of her bottom. Ronnie trembled against him.
"Oh, Alex..." she murmured. "I ... I never thought I could feel this way ... that it could be like this," she said softly.
His arms tightened. "You're wonderful," he whispered.
Her hands played with the hair on his chest, and Alex could feel himself responding, growing harder inside her.
Alex's grip on her tightened, and he began to move his hips against hers. She lifted her head, and he pulled her head against his, kissing her with an almost savage intensity. Soon the flames began to grow once more, leaping and building until he and Ronnie were spun into the vortex of fiery passion once more.
Later, as they lay beside each other, sated and exhausted, Alex kissed her gently. His hand cupped one small, perfect breast, stroking its smooth, soft skin. He could feel her heart beating against his palm. Outside, the muted sound of a car passing on the road beyond and the steady singing of crickets seemed to echo his own jumbled feelings as they whirled in his mind, a mixture of happiness and guilt. Guilt because she'd given so generously without asking for anything in return. He pulled her against him, tucked her head under his chin and closed his eyes. "Oh, Ronnie," he said. "I hope you're not sorry."
"Sorry?" Her arms tightened. "Don't be silly. I'm happier than I've ever been. It ... it was absolutely wonderful, and I loved it, and I'm not sorry in the least." Then she chuckled—a soft, endearing sound. "I'm only sorry we wasted so much time."
He smiled. She was enchanting, this little dynamo who had somehow wormed her way into the recesses of his heart—a place he'd never intended to let anyone occupy again. "Well, we've still got a lot of time left," he said. His hand moved in lazy circles against her back. "Including a very long night."
The next morning, Alex awakened at the first faint pinkness of dawn. A lone bird twittered and chirped outside the bedroom window, and a soft breeze lifted the gauzy curtains and rattled the blind. Ronnie stirred, but soon settled back into sleep. Alex propped himself on his arm and looked at her. Her soft lips were slightly open, and he could just see the tip of her small, pink tongue. Her dark lashes rested against smooth cheeks, and her thick, curly hair lay in dark, moist tendrils around her face.
They had eventually banished the chenille bedspread to the floor last night and now lay on the blue and white flowered sheets. Sometime during the night, one of them had pulled the top sheet up over them, because Ronnie's body was concealed from the waist down, but Alex could see her lovely breasts—the skin whiter than the skin of her neck and shoulders. Her hip jutted in a tantalizing curve from her narrow waist, then sloped downward again as it blended in with her shapely thighs and legs.
As Alex watched her sleep, he could feel his body once again stirring with desire. She was amazing, he thought. Completely captivating and capable of bringing him to the point of total surrender. Why did he feel this overpowering need for her? What was it about her that had melted every defense he'd built, every barrier he'd thought existed between him and his ability to feel this way again? Again? Be honest, he told himself. You've never felt this way before. You were obsessed with Margo, true, but you never felt this protectiveness, the total sharing and understanding you felt with Ronnie last night.
He wanted to reach out and touch her, kiss her into wakefulness. He wanted to see those blue, blue eyes looking at him as he brought her body to the peak again. He wanted to watch each reaction, store it in his mind to be savored over and over again.
But he held back, because mixed with the swelling feelings of desire were trickles of uneasiness. Hadn't he always known Ronnie wouldn't give herself lightly? So what did this mean? Did she think, hope, that their becoming lovers would mean a more permanent commitment? Alex's stomach muscles tightened. He'd decided after the fiasco with Margo that he'd never marry again. In his gut he felt marriage wasn't for him. Now he wondered if he'd inadvertently led Ronnie to believe otherwise. He rolled over onto his back, clenching his fists in frustration. God, he hoped he hadn't misled her. She was too fine a person for him to play with her emotions. Filled with conflicting feelings, Alex rolled onto his side, away from Ronnie, and fell into a fitful sleep.
* * *
Ronnie opened her eyes. Bright sunshine filled the room, and the air felt warm with the promise of a hot day. Birds chirped outside her window, and she could hear the O'Hara children laughing and shouting. A cat meowed, and Ronnie turned to look out the window and saw Alex's back.
Remembrances of last night flooded her mind and filled her body with tingling awareness. Alex. She smiled, stretched, and rolled toward him, putting her lips against the smooth contours of his muscled back. She kissed him with light, nipping kisses and slid her arm around him, stroking his chest and pulling herself against him as she touched him. She felt him come awake, felt the tightening of his muscles.
She sat up and bent over him, kissing his ear and murmuring playfully, "Wake up, lazybones. We're wasting a perfectly good day by lying in bed. Besides, I've got to get to work. What time is it, anyway?" Then she spied the clock on his dresser. "Good grief! It's eight!"
Alex sat up. "I forgot to set the alarm." He looked at her, his gray eyes filled with warmth.
Ronnie loved the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his face was still flushed with sleep. She wished she could call in sick. "I've got to get home, but I'd better call in and say I'll be late," she said regretfully.
Alex got up and padded toward the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "Go ahead. In the meantime, I'll get dressed."
"I wish you didn't have to," Ronnie said softly, but he had already closed the bathroom door. She would have liked to look at his body in the light of day. Last night she'd been too shy to really look, and the light had faded fast. She wished she could stop to examine her feelings. She wished they could make love again. She wished she could stay.
Sighing, she got out of bed, collected her clothes from the floor, and hurriedly dressed. She walked over to Alex's dresser and picked up his hairbrush, giving her hair a couple of swipes. Then she stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes had a slumberous look, and her lips looked swollen. Her skin glowed. Why, anyone who looks at me can tell what I've been doing, she thought. Then she smiled. And I don't even care.
The bathroom door opened, and Alex emerged in a white, terrycloth bathrobe. His gray eyes studied her gravely. Then he walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. He bent down and kissed her softly. "Veronica, there's something I have to say."
She opened her mouth, and he kissed her again. "No. Be quiet. Let me talk."
Please don't apologize, she prayed. Please don't.
"I have to say this," he said, his voice gruff. "I know you told me you're not sorry, but I can't help feeling a little guilty about what's happened."
"I ... I don't understand why you should feel guilty," she said softly. "I'm a grownup. I made my own choice. You didn't force me."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I know that, but I also know what sort of person you are, and I can't make you any promises. I ... I wish I could, but I can't."
"I know," she whispered. "I always knew that. That's not why we made love, is it? We made love because we wanted each other, we wanted to give each other something, and there's really no need for promises, is there?"
She saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes, then his hands relaxed their grip, and he pulled her against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat echo her own, and she closed her eyes and breathed in the earthy, male smell of him. "I don't want promises from you, Alex."
"Are you sure?" His voice rumbled against her hair.
"I'm sure. Let's just enjoy what we have ... what we've found together ... and not worry about the future."
Then his mouth found hers in a deep, drugging kiss, and Ronnie really believed what she'd said. This moment was enough. If this moment were all she ever had, it would be enough.
Chapter 7
If the beginning of the summer had seemed like a golden, magical time to Ronnie, the last half of the summer, after she and Alex became lovers, seemed like a fiery, blazing interlude of passion and desire. Each sense fully awakened. The sun shone brighter and hotter, the sky shimmered with a more intense blue than ever before, the leaves glistened in emerald splendor, the vibrant pinks and scarlets of the roses deepened, the song of the birds harmonized with silver clarity, and Ronnie's own body existed in a tremor of constant arousal and heightened awareness.
All Alex had to do was turn that melting gray gaze her way, and Ronnie could feel herself tingle. Her skin seemed more sensitive, and even the lightest cloth rubbing against it could produce that breathcatching expectancy and need.
She couldn't believe how wonderful she felt. She was afraid everyone who looked at her would know what was happening in her life. She avoided Sam as much as possible, terrified he'd take one look at her face and eyes and body and instantly know how completely committed to Alex she was, how he'd invaded her mind and skin and soul.
Ronnie didn't kid herself. She loved the sex, but she also knew she loved Alex—loved him with everything she had in her—loved him so completely she couldn't imagine how she'd ever existed in a world without him. Or how she'd go on with her life once he left Juliette.
But she closed off that part of her mind. She tried not to think about how devastated she'd be when he was gone. She pretended; pretended everything was the same as it had always been, that the only thing different about her was that she finally understood what being a woman was all about.
But down deep, down in the recesses of her heart, she knew nothing was the same. Or ever would be. Alex Summerfield had come into her life and taken her heart, and that heart would always belong to him. He'd also taken her body, and her body would bear his imprint forever. It would ache for him when he was gone, and no one else could ever make it feel quite the same way he had.
So she moved through the days of July and early August in a world where reality was Alex and his smile, his rich voice, his smoky eyes, his kisses and his hands and his touches—touches that brought her to those shattering peaks of pleasure that seemed to be all she thought about.
Ronnie had never considered herself sensuous. The realization that Alex had unearthed the hidden Ronnie, and the discovery that she had responses and desires never before awakened both surprised and shook her. To someone who had always been in control of her life, this sudden loss of control, this sudden dependence on another person, was almost frightening. But like a starving person to a banquet, she was inexorably drawn to Alex.
People noticed the change in her. One morning Maisie said, "You sure are lookin' good, sheriff."
"Why, thanks," said Ronnie. She smiled, thinking of the way Alex had looked at her when she'd left his bed only an hour earlier.
"Who's the guy?"
"What...?" Ronnie's head jerked around, and she stopped in front of Maisie's desk.
Maisie grinned and blew an enormous bubble, then popped it. Her red hair bobbed up and down as her head moved. "You heard me," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes. "There's got to be a guy. A woman doesn't have the kind of glow you've got if she's spendin' her nights with a good book!"
Ronnie could feel her face heating up.
Maisie giggled, but before she could make another comment, the telephone buzzed, and she turned her attention to the caller. Ronnie took the opportunity to escape to her office, but Maisie's comment gave her something to think about.
Only a few days later, Joyce MacAllister, a new deputy, stuck her head around the doorway of Ronnie's office and said, "Hey, Ronnie ... uh, I mean, sheriff.
Ronnie looked up from the deposition she was reading. "It's all right to call me Ronnie when no one else is around, Joyce."
"Well ... uh ... a bunch of us are going over to Saratoga tonight. Would you like to go with us?" Joyce pushed a strand of blonde hair back and repinned it. Her hair was very long, but she refused to cut it. Instead she twisted it into a thick chignon and kept it confined with pins. The department had a rule about hair. Anything above the shoulder could be worn loose. Anything that hung below the shoulder had to be pinned up.
"Thanks, Joyce. I appreciate the invitation, but I'm busy tonight."
Joyce grinned, then astounded Ronnie by winking. "I was hoping maybe the two of you were no longer seeing each other," she said. "Give the rest of us a chance."
Ronnie could feel that damned blush invading her face again. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, but she ducked her head, avoiding Joyce's eyes and pretending not to hear the knowing laugh as Joyce walked away.
That night she told Alex about the two episodes, adding laughingly, "See what you've done? I have no secrets anymore. Everyone in the office is probably talking about me behind my back. And this is too small a town for them not to realize who the man is!" She punched him, and he grabbed her. The two of them wrestled for a few minutes, finally falling on the floor like two children.
Soon the playful touches changed, became intimate, sensual, heated. Alex saw Ronnie's eyes grow heavy with desire as his hands roamed demandingly over her responsive body. He forgot everything then—everything except this vibrant woman in his arms. But later, as they lay quietly, side by side, he thought about her telling remark.
What am I doing to her? he wondered. Was it fair for him to monopolize her this way, to keep taking and taking without giving her anything in return? He knew his behavior was weak and selfish, he knew he was taking advantage of her generosity and sweetness, but he couldn't bring himself to put an end to their love affair. Dozens of times over the past weeks he'd told himself he'd pack up and leave, get away from Ronnie and the temptation to keep taking what she offered, but each time they were together his resolve would crumble. His need for her would override both his good sense and his promises to himself.
Looking at her now, he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. She was so beautiful. Her face, flushed from their lovemaking; her mouth, swollen from his kisses; her eyes, hooded and heavy; her body, silky and smooth. How could he bear to leave her? How could he stay?
He knew he had to take some kind of action ... and soon. The situation couldn't go on like this forever. In less than three weeks he was scheduled to leave Juliette and go back to New York City.
Alex buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair and held her close. He didn't want to think about anything tonight. All he wanted was Ronnie, here, in his arms. Tomorrow was soon enough for decisions.
* * *
Ronnie rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. God, she felt tired today. She smiled to herself. Well, was it any wonder she was tired? Alex had seemed almost insatiable the night before. But Ronnie thought she understood his need. He would be leaving soon, and she knew he felt some of the same desperation she felt when she allowed herself to think about the future.
Her intercom buzzed, jolting her out of her semi-daydream.
"Sheriff? It's Miss Agatha on line one," said Maisie.
Ronnie picked up the phone. "Hello? Miss Agatha?"
"Hello, Veronica," said Miss Agatha in her precise voice. "I haven't seen you for a while."
"I'm sorry, Miss Agatha. I've been so busy."
"Doing what?"
Ronnie smiled. Miss Agatha wouldn't consider her quest
ion an invasion of Ronnie's privacy. "Oh, this and that. You know..."
"No, I do not. Otherwise I wouldn't have asked."
Struggling to keep the chuckle out of her voice, Ronnie tapped her pencil against the smooth metal desktop and said, "Jogging, gardening, swimming, dating ... you know ... normal things."
"I hope you're not too busy to keep an eye on that scoundrel, Alex Summerfield."
Ronnie laughed.
"You may laugh, my dear, but I assure you, this is no laughing matter," said Miss Agatha crisply. "This is a serious affair."
Oh, you bet it is! Ronnie thought. "In what way?" she asked seriously.
Miss Agatha dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think Mr. Summerfield is here to spy on us."
Ronnie's mouth dropped open.
"Well? Say something," Miss Agatha ordered.
"I ... I can't think what to say," Ronnie said honestly. Was Miss Agatha's mental health impaired? Ronnie had always thought the old lady to be astute and sharp, but perhaps old age had caught up with her. Maybe she'd become senile. "Wh ... what makes you think Alex Summerfield is a spy?" she finally said.
"Because he acts suspiciously!"
Ronnie frowned. "How so?"
"Well," Miss Agatha said slowly, "yesterday I caught him peeking in my kitchen window!"
Ronnie laughed at the absurd picture of a stealthy Alex peering through Miss Agatha's window.
"You may laugh, young lady, but I found his behavior quite odd!"
"Yes, I can see how you might." Ronnie smothered another chuckle, then in her best "sheriff' voice said, "And what did you say to him?"
"Veronica," Miss Agatha said haughtily, "when you are trying to determine what someone is doing, you do not say anything. You merely watch. And wait."