by Lori Wilde
Barely there, but that tiny touch lit her up like the Fourth of July sky. Move your hand! But instead of jerking away—instead, oh instead—she curled her thumb around his finger. Instantly, a brick of tears log-jammed her throat.
Do not cry! Under no circumstances are you to cry.
Mark’s hand covered hers and he leaned closer. “Dance with me, Carrie.”
It was a terrible idea. She opened her mouth to tell him no, but he was already off his stool, her hand clasped in his, dragging her toward the dance floor.
And just like that, she allowed herself to be led.
He slipped his arms around her, his gaze locked on her face. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.
He could read her so well. Even after all those years. His gentle voice prodded, urging her to tell him everything. The tears were in her mouth now, salty and so close to slipping down her cheeks. She would not let him know how much he affected her.
“You mean besides the fact you highjacked me into dancing with you?” she sassed and gulped down the tears. There. She’d won.
“Uh-huh.” His grip tightened around her waist as he two-stepped her around the other dancers. He moved with instinctive grace, never once taking his eyes off her face.
“I don’t want to dance with you.”
“I know.” He pulled her closer still. “You can tell me anything, Carrie. I want you to know that.”
Oh, yes. Just open her mouth and say, I love you. How well would that really go over?
He guided her head to his shoulder, and like a fool she just kept it resting there, breathing in the manly scent of his cologne.
Her stomach gave a shaky, vulnerable quiver. He was so much more than he once was. Masculine as ever, but now all the rough edges were polished off. He was on a whole different plane. A Hollywood big wheel. She was only Carrie MacGregor from Twilight. But Mark? He was a star.
From the jukebox, Chris Issak was singing “Wicked Games.” She had to agree with the lyrics. She did not want to fall in love, but it was far too late. She’d fallen for him in high school, and no matter what she told herself to the contrary she’d never really gotten over him.
“Do you remember when we danced like this at the nightclub in Caesar’s Palace?” he whispered in her ear.
Carrie remembered all too well. She lifted her head from his shoulder, stared into his eyes. “That was a very long time ago.”
He cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb sliding over her jaw, his gaze hooked on her mouth. She could almost taste him. The way he used to taste, once upon a time. Did he still taste the same?
“Carrie,” he said softly, her name rolling off his tongue like a prayer.
As if he really, truly cared about her.
She stopped moving in the middle of the dance floor and rooted her feet, causing him to have to stop, too. “This was a really bad idea.”
“So is this,” he said. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
Then there, underneath the mistletoe on Thanksgiving Eve, her former husband kissed her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mark closed his mouth over Carrie’s delectable lips and the circuit board of his brain lit up. At last she was in his arms once more. Illogically, it felt as if he’d been holding his breath for eight long years, and finally he could breathe again.
Dimly, he was aware of a smattering of applause, the sound of the jukebox changing, and then came John Mayer singing their song. “Your Body is a Wonderland.”
Meddlesome, small-town folks. A guy had to love them. People you knew. People you could trust. People who had your back no matter what. The kind of people he had not found since he’d left Twilight in his rearview mirror. How much he had willingly given up for success.
His people.
Her sweet mouth turned salty, and Carrie gave a little shiver. Her shoulders trembled as if she was crying. Carrie? Crying? On another woman, maybe, but this was tough, sassy, tart-mouthed Carrie MacGregor. He’d never seen her cry. She was a rock.
Slowly, he peeled his mouth from hers. “Carrie, are you crying?”
She smacked a palm against his chest, pushed back. “Screw you.”
Yeah, well, that thought had been primary in his mind since he’d looked over that balcony and seen her on the street. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m not crying!” She swiped at her eyes. “Don’t for one minute think you have that kind of power over me, Mark Leland.” Her cheeks flushed.
Around them the other couples had stopped dancing. They were drawing an audience.
“Babe, I’m so sorry,” he said. It was inadequate. Too little, too late. He knew it.
“If you’re really sorry, then get me the hell out of here.”
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.
“Do you want to be with me or not?”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He took her hand and pulled her toward the exit, ignoring the hoots and catcalls from the bar patrons.
But once he had her outside, he didn’t know what to do with her. He’d walked over here from the B&B.
Carrie seemed to understand his dilemma. She pulled car keys from her pocket and tossed them to him. “You drive.”
“Where should we go?”
“Use your imagination.”
Was this right? Did she want what he thought she wanted? Should he take her where they used to go? The fishing pier beside the old Twilight Bridge that spanned the Brazos River not far from the house where Carrie grew up.
She climbed into the passenger side of a white VW bug. “You coming?”
Oh yeah, baby. You betcha. His breath slipped out in hot, excited exhalations as he climbed into the front seat and fumbled with the side latch, sliding the seat back far enough to accommodate his long legs. He was so hot and bothered by the thought of being with Carrie again that he couldn’t think straight and for a moment got turned around. He took off in the wrong direction and had to make a U-turn.
He reached across the seat, found her hand, and squeezed it. “Are you sure about this?”
“Shut up and drive, before I change my mind.”
He pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator, bulleting the VW past the Twilight city limits.
Carrie clung tight to his hand. He looked over at her. God, he couldn’t believe it. He was going to be with her again. His heart kicked against his chest wall.
It seemed to take forever to get to the Brazos River, but in reality it was only a few minutes. Neither of them spoke. The moon was just coming up as he turned down the road leading to the old wooden suspension bridge.
Except the old bridge was no longer there. In its place stood a nice new stone footbridge.
“What happened to the bridge?” he asked.
“Long story.” Carrie waved a hand.
“It’s all changed.” He felt confused by this new development. Disoriented.
“A lot of things have changed. You’ve been away a long time.”
It was true. He’d changed as much as the bridge. “I know,” he said huskily.
They sat there in silence, and for a minute he thought she was going to call the whole thing off. He fully expected it. This was not a smart thing to do. He opened his mouth to say so but never got the words out.
“The old pier is still there,” she whispered. They’d made good use of that pier more than once. “There’s a blanket in the back seat.”
She opened the door and got out. He reached over the back seat, found the blanket and joined her in the darkness.
The river flowed lazily toward Lake Twilight, moonlight glinting off the smooth surface. The air was cool and damp, but not uncomfortably so. Carrie trailed out toward the bridge and Mark rushed to keep up with her. He took her hand and guided her down the sloping embankment to the water. A vapor
security light mounted on the side of the bridge shone a misty gray light.
How many times had they come down to the water like this, hand-in-hand?
Carrie wore snug-fitting blue jeans that showed off her slender, curvy hips, a white T-shirt, tweed blazer, and cowboy boots. They could have been teenagers again, sneaking off to be alone.
Beside the bridge, a wooden fishing pier extended into the water. Their boots clattered against the sturdy cedar. They’d jumped naked off this pier more times than he could count. But that had been in the hot summer months. Not in the chill of November.
She took the blanket from his arms and bent to spread it out on an area of the pier that was cloaked in the shadow of the bridge. When she straightened, Mark pulled her close to him, felt the rapid thudding in her heart, and realized his heart was pounding just as hard and fast.
They stood looking at each other in a silence as long as the new bridge, as wide as the years that separated them. Her hair had started to curl in the humidity. She smelled so good. He loved the way her body felt molded against his. As if she belonged there. As if he belonged to her.
He wanted her. Oh yeah. He was harder than he’d ever been and he had no doubt that she could feel the strength of his desire, but he was content for the time being just to stand there savoring the moment.
Her hand crept between them, her fingers crawling up to stroke the hollow of his throat, as if she couldn’t believe they were together again, her gaze locked with his. They breathed in the same air.
It wasn’t just him. She was feeling it too!
The magic. The past rushing to meld with the future. The truth of the sweetheart legend. He and Carrie. Meant to be together forever. It startled Mark how much he wanted it to be true. Was there a way to reconcile his old life with the new one?
Carrie went up on her toes.
Mark lowered his head.
They met in the middle. A mutual kiss.
He reached for her hands, laced their fingers together. She arched her back, pushed against him, her breasts pressing into his chest. He had to have her.
Her teeth parted inviting him in.
That ripped his control. He darted his tongue between those teasing teeth, kissed her with every ounce of passion that had been gathering in him since he’d returned to Twilight.
There were so many reasons they should not be doing this. They hadn’t talked about the future. Hadn’t discussed their expectations. But the desire was too raw, too insistent for talk. Only action would serve. He had to act. Had to make her his once again. Had to correct the mistakes he’d made. Had to make amends, and the best way he knew how to do that was with his body.
No two ways about it. They were going to make love. Right now. Right here on this same pier where they’d made love several times before in the blush of their wide-eyed youth.
He kissed her until they were both shaky and clinging to each other. The kiss was hot and hard and full of everything he felt for her. All the feelings he’d tried to bury, tried to ignore and deny. Carrie! To have her in his arms again. Bliss.
He hungered for her in a way he had never hungered for another. His blood ran like lava, rising and surging, pushing through his body, down into his groin. Hell, he was lost. Gone.
There was nothing on the earth for him but her. The sound of her soft little sighs, the feel of her tender flesh, the taste of her. Damn, but she tasted like victory. Sweet and hard-won.
They fit. She curved into his planes. This was meant to be. They’d been high school sweethearts, and on his way to college he’d stop to throw a penny into the Sweetheart Fountain and make the happily-ever-after wish. Hoping against hope to reclaim her one day. Giving their future over to fate. Surrendering to a force beyond them.
The power of fated first love.
The kissing went on and on, and he never wanted it to end, but Carrie finally pulled her lips away. She was panting, her eyes filled with a lusty sheen. He knew his eyes reflected the same.
He tracked his hand down her spine, stopping at that sweet curve just above her fabulous ass. She was so slender. Delicate. But her fragility was an illusion. She was strong, both mentally and physically. In high school she’d played slow-pitch softball. The star of the team. He used to go to her games and cheer her on, just as she’d been in the bleachers when he’d quarterbacked Twilight to the district championships. She’d been so tough when her mother had been diagnosed with ALS and her father then sank into alcoholism. He remembered everything about her. The long talks they’d had. The way she swore she was never going to let her family’s troubles define her. He admired her so damn much.
The air between them quivered with expectant energy. All it would take was the crook of a smile and he’d be all in.
“Mark.” She reached out to touch his cheek. “Are you really here or am I dreaming again?”
She’d been dreaming of him? The same way he’d dreamed of her. Why had he fought so hard to forget her?
Hell, how could he stop when the woman he loved was looking at him like he was her wildest fantasy come to life?
“Mark,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”
That was his Carrie. Direct. Honest. It was a damn slippery slope, and he was tumbling head over heels down it.
Carrie convinced herself it was all a dream. Being here again with Mark. In the same place where she had first given him her virginity. It had to be a dream.
But here he was, so very real when she put out a hand to touch him, big and warm and masculine. Her stomach jumped, and her knees wobbled. She felt knocked off kilter, and she couldn’t trust this feeling.
It was dangerous, especially if this was not a dream.
Whenever she was around him, her brains turned to mush, and she was seventeen again and madly in love.
She wanted him with a bone-deep hunger. She needed him, and Carrie had never needed anyone. Flynn often scolded her because she didn’t like taking help from people. She was independent and proud. Always had been.
Which was why she’d said they made a mistake when they returned from Vegas. Dumping him so that he didn’t have to dump her. She’d been too damn proud to admit how much she needed him. Neediness was not attractive, and yet here she was. Needing him all over again.
Except this was worse than before, because this time she knew better. Knew he was going to go right back to L.A. when this was all over. Right back to his smooth, shiny life. A life she could never be part of. The same issue that had broken them up before was still there. It had not disappeared. They had conflicting goals, valued different things.
But for this one beautiful moment in time, she did not care. All she wanted was to feel him inside her again.
Later. She could pick up the pieces later.
She shrugged out of her jacket.
Mark did the same.
She reached for the buttons of her blouse.
He kicked off his cowboy boots.
God, he looked amazing in his cowboy clothes. Just the way she remembered him. Texas boy. She knew that wasn’t who he was anymore, but it’s how she liked him best. He was a chameleon. He had an amazing ability to fit in wherever he went. She was envious of his skill.
He cocked his head, looking both inquisitive and devastatingly sexy. “You sure?”
“Shh. You are ruining the dream.” If he kept talking, she’d change her mind, and if she changed her mind, she knew she’d kick herself for it later. This might not be forever after, but it didn’t have to be. For right now was enough. It had to be enough because just like before, she refused to be a weight around his ankle.
He unsnapped the cuffs of his western shirt. She grinned and slipped off her boots. The wooden planks of the pier felt cool and familiar beneath her feet. Let it be. Just let this be whatever it is. Doesn’t need a label. Don’t need a name. Go for it. No regrets.
Wasn’t that exactly how you ended up in Vegas married by an Elvis impersonator?
The thought stopped Carrie in her tracks. She’d always been impulsive. Too driven by emotion. In her head, she took a page from Flynn’s cautious playbook and tallied all the reasons why this was a bad idea, all the ways this could hurt them both. Yet her heart overrode her brain. Who cared? She had him here now. She could pick up the pieces later. Right?
“What is it?” Mark murmured, instantly attuned to her shift in mood.
“Too late,” she said. “It’s too late for this.”
“You’re running scared.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And rightly so. This isn’t going to lead anywhere but trouble for us both.”
“Carrie.” He reached out to her, and she took a step back, suddenly feeling the cold. “It’s all right.”
He moved closer, cupped her chin in his palm, raised her face and kissed her again. Long, slow, soulful.
Carrie melted. All resistance fled. This was Mark, and they were together again. Even if only for the briefest moment in time.
At that moment a swathe of light swung over the bridge, and a vehicle pulled up to the boat ramp, catching them in the blinding headlamps.
They sprang apart, scrambled for their clothes.
The car door opened, shut—once, twice—but the engine was still running. “Carrie?” Flynn’s voice drifted on the night air.
Two people appeared at the top of the embankment, her sister and her brother-in-law. She couldn’t see their faces in the shadows, but she heard Jesse’s throaty chuckle.
Carrie stomped her feet into her boots while simultaneously threading her arms through her blazer. She sprinted up the embankment ahead of Mark.
“Yes?” she gasped when she reached the top.
“You told Dad you’d be home by seven to start Thanksgiving dinner preparations. He tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer. He got worried and called us. We were just headed into Twilight to look for you when Jesse spotted your car.”