"Another half-hour," said Sunny. "I'd hate to give our guests the bum's rush." Especially you, she thought, stealing a look at Robert. It had been so long--and there was so much she wanted to know about him.
Her assistant hurried away to give the painters the go-ahead and Sunny turned back to her ex-husband. She had already noticed there was no ring on the appropriate finger, but that in itself meant little. One of her most persistent would-be suitors had been a ringless married man.
"Are you married?" asked Robert.
She blinked. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
"So are you?"
"No." She took a shaky breath, remembering something about a wife and children. "Are you?"
He shook his head. "Widowed."
"I'm sorry."
"And I have two kids."
She took another deep breath. "Two?"
"A six year old boy and a twelve year old girl."
"Oh."
"Do you like kids?"
"I like them just fine." She'd given him children, whoever his wife had been. A sharp stab of envy knifed at her heart. "It must be difficult, being a single father and all."
"I'm luckier than a lot of people," he said, eyes locked with hers. "I can afford help at home. Mrs. Jennings keeps us all on track."
She tried to imagine him driving a carpool or fixing school lunches, but failed miserably. He had everything they'd ever wanted...everything they'd ever dreamed they would one day have together.
"Sunny!" Her assistant's voice rang out. "Roscoe needs some help over here."
"Go help Roscoe," said Robert with an easy smile. "I'll still be here when you're finished."
Her heart did a strange little dance inside her chest. "You will?"
"I'm taking you to lunch."
"That sounds wonderful."
"Know where we can get some good food?"
"Oh yes," she said with a pleased smile. "I know just the place."
***
She hadn't been his wife since Bill Clinton was in office, yet the minute Robert stepped inside her house overlooking the river, he instantly recognized her personal touch in every corner of every room. From the floor-to-ceiling wall of cuckoo clocks in the foyer to the lemon yellow hammock suspended from the exposed beams in the living room, the place was pure Sunny.
"Help yourself to some wine," she said, heading toward the narrow staircase to the left of the foyer. "I'm going to change into something more culinary."
"Nothing wrong with what you have on." Covering up those legs of hers would be a capital offense.
To his amazement color flooded her cheeks as if she had read his mind. "The glasses are in the kitchen. Second cabinet to the left of the sink. Pour me some red," she said, running a hand through her tousled curls with a quick, yet graceful, motion. "I'll be right down."
He stood at the foot of the stairs, blatantly watching her until she disappeared through the door at the top of the landing. Her slender hips still swayed gently when she walked, like a provocative metronome. It was nice to know some things didn't change. He'd spent the better part of high school enjoying the way the back pockets of her jeans moved to the syncopated rhythm of her walk. You wouldn't think a man would remember something like that after all this time. He'd finished law school, remarried and fathered two children, but still the memory of Sunny in her faded jeans lingered.
Sunny was the first girl he'd ever kissed, the first girl he took to bed, the first to claim his heart. It was only logical he'd feel something toward her, a tug of emotion over what they'd once shared. They'd loved with the intensity of youth, the fire of innocence. They'd believed in the sanctity of marriage, believed that the vows they'd taken with such hope for the future would last a lifetime. For an instant he caught the scent of orange blossoms in the air and he glanced about the room, looking for a potpourri hidden away somewhere. He couldn't find one but that didn't mean it wasn't there.
Nobody imagined the scent of orange blossoms.
***
Sunny prayed he didn't notice the way her hand shook as she accepted a glass of red a few minutes later.
"To old friends," he said.
She smiled. "To old friends."
They clinked glasses. Sunlight streamed in from the stained glass window on the far wall, casting shadows of sapphire and ruby across the polished oak floor of her living room. She wished she'd turned on the radio, anything to mask the thundering of her heart inside chest. What had she been thinking of, inviting him back to her house like this? They should have gone to a restaurant, some nice, anonymous place in the center of town where she knew everyone and everyone knew her.
She felt painfully aware of his presence, the faint citrusy smell of his skin--the way she longed to run her hands through his thick, silky hair. Get a grip on yourself, Sunny. This isn't a date. This is your ex-husband. Ex-husbands didn't make your hands tremble or your pulse beat faster. And they certainly didn't make a woman dream of slow kisses in the moonlight.
Or of second chances.
"There's a beautiful view of the river from my back porch," she said after taking a sip of wine for courage. "Why don't we take our drinks outside?" Space and fresh air would help her recover her equilibrium.
But sitting outside didn't help. The scent of orange blossoms followed Robert and the world itself seemed too small to contain the emotions in Sunny's heart. For an endless time neither one spoke. Sunny made no effort to excuse herself to prepare the lunch she'd promised him. Robert made no attempt to leave. After a while he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. They'd held hands like that back in high school, enraptured by the way their fingers meshed so perfectly. Everything had seemed miraculous back then, as if a benevolent God watched over them, making sure no harm could ever come their way.
They watched as the sun began to disappear behind the trees, blushing the sky with the pink and orange flames of evening.
But it was always you, Robby. From the very beginning, it was you and you alone, she thought.
I loved Christine, but no woman ever touched my soul the way you did, he thought in return.
The night breeze off the river grew chilly.
Still holding hands, they rose and went back inside.
The house seemed to reach out and embrace Robert.
To Sunny it felt like a home for the very first time.
He built a fire in the hearth while she prepared a simple dinner. The domestic intimacy between them felt simultaneously familiar and terrifying--a wild combination of emotions that charged the cottage with electricity. There was a sense of destiny about them, as if the fates had conspired to bring them together once again, to give them one last chance at happiness.
Robert pulled a folding table close to the fireplace in the living room, and Sunny set the table with cherry red water glasses shaped like tulips and plates she had painted to resemble giant cabbage leaves.
"Chopsticks?" he asked as she laid the ivory utensils across the lime green linen napkins.
"Live dangerously." She took her seat opposite him. "Chopsticks improve the taste of everything."
"Of potato salad?"
"You'd be surprised."
"You haven't changed," he said, refilling their wineglasses from the half-empty bottle of Chardonnay on the red lacquer butler's table. "Still taking the road less-travelled."
She took a sip of wine. "That's where you find the best scenery."
He started to say something flip about the scenery being just fine from where he sat, but the words stayed locked inside his throat. This was the real thing. Not dinner with some friend-of-a-friend-who's-dying-to-meet-you. Not just a way to pass a lonely spring evening while the kids were out of town.
This was Sunny.
"It looks great," he said, gesturing toward the food on his plate, "but I'm not hungry."
She pushed her own plate away. "Neither am I."
The look in his eyes was as hot and dangerous as the fire burning in the hearth. "
Do you still believe in love at first sight?"
Her eyes fluttered closed for an instant as the impact of his words ignited an answering flame deep inside. "Robert, I--"
Her words ended abruptly as he pushed back his chair and stood up. He reached for her and, as if in a dream, she placed her hand in his and rose from her chair. She felt his touch in every part of her body and she wondered how it was she had managed to live without the other half of her heart. The feeling was dangerous and mad and totally irresistible.
Slowly, deliberately, he drew her into his arms, pulling her so close that her body seemed to melt against his.
"Put your arms around me, Sunny."
Lifting her chin, she met his eyes. The look in them was smoky. Unmistakable. The boy she had married years ago was gone. He was a man now in every way. Taller. Broader. More self-confident. She shivered with pleasure as he threaded his fingers through her hair. More demanding. She placed her hands on his shoulders.
"You've been lifting weights," she murmured. He ran his thumb over the swell of her lower lip. "I always imagined you'd play squash or something. Don't all successful lawyers play squash?"
He placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up toward him. "I don't want to talk about sports, Sunny."
"You don't?"
"And I don't want to talk about the law firm."
Her laughter was low, her excitement deeply female. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing," he said, dipping his head toward hers. "Not one damn thing."
And then he drew her closer still until the last of the emotional barriers between them incinerated before the primal rush of passion their first kiss brought to life. His mouth was hard and demanding; her lips, soft and yielding. She answered his need with a fierce need of her own and he didn't leave her wanting.
All that they had shared was in that kiss and in the dozen kisses that followed.
"Robby...oh God...." Her voice drifted away on a wave of pleasure. "This is crazy."
"Yes," he said, his lips hot against the curve of her breast. "Crazy."
"The sofa," she said as her knees grew weak. That soft and welcoming sofa before the fireplace where she'd watched Top Model reruns alone.
Moments later they lay together, greedy for the feel of skin against skin. He cupped her breasts beneath her t-shirt, letting his palms tease her nipples until they grew taut and hard. She felt that touch in the deepest, most secret part of her body. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Robert moved her hands away then ripped it open, scattering buttons across the floor. In the space of a heartbeat he stripped her of her t-shirt, then eased her jeans and panties over her hips and legs. The night breeze rippled over her heated skin. He devoured her with his eyes, as if he owned her, body and soul.
She reached for his belt buckle and he laughed deep in his throat. Moments later they were both naked, so ravenous for the sight and sound and smell of each other that they had no time for preliminaries.
Only a raw and primitive mating could satisfy their need.
Their lovemaking was sweet and savage, as swift as the river flowing beyond the open window and when it was over and she lay in his arms with her cheek resting against his chest, Robert knew without a doubt that he'd never let her go.
"Sunny."
She burrowed closer to him. "Hmm?"
"We're getting married."
At Last
(Book #1 - The Idle Point Series)
Prologue
The last person to actually see Graciela Taylor on the day she left Idle Point, Maine forever was old Eb at the Stop & Pump. Maybe if she’d planned her getaway a little better – or had any idea at all that she was going to leave her fiance standing at the altar – she would have seen to it that her gas tank was full. As it happened, the needle on her fuel gauge hovered over the E and she was forced to make a right into Stop & Pump and pray Old Eb wasn’t in a talkative mood. She might have taken her chances that she’d make it to Portland before the engine sputtered then shut down, but that was too risky. The last thing she wanted was to run out of gas on Main Street and bump into Noah on his way home from the wedding that wasn’t.
Old Eb peered out from his office, then did a double-take which didn’t bode well for her speedy getaway. He’d been around since long before Gracie was born and he’d seen everything there was worth seeing around Idle Point and a few things he’d rather forget. He was the one who’d found Gracie’s mother dead at the bottom of the ravine, trapped in that old Chevy with the horn blaring . He was the one who’d found Gracie, thrown clear from the wreck and crying to beat the band. He was the one who wrapped her in blankets and held her close while they waited for her father to identify his wife’s body. She and Eb had a history. If he had any idea what she was up to, it would be all over.
“You forgetting where you’re supposed to be?” he asked as he ambled over to where she stood next to the old Mustang she’d bought four years ago with the money she’d saved working in the kennels for Doctor Jim. “They’re down at the cove waitin’ for you, Gracie. I’d be there myself if I didn’t have to earn a living.”
She smiled, wishing she’d taken time to exchange her short lacy white dress for the pair of jeans and a sweater. She looked like exactly what she was: a runaway bride. “I’m on my way,” she said, carefully not specifying her destination. She was too fond of Eb to lie to him.
Eb checked his pocket watch. “Thought the clambake began at two o’clock,” he said. There was a sharp note of curiosity in his voice as his faded blue eyes took in her outfit. “It’s near to half-past. You can’t be late for your own goodbye party.”
Eb knew that she was due to leave for Philadelphia the next morning to begin her first year of veterinary school at the University, the goal she'd been striving for since she was barely old enough to walk.
“I know,” she said, “but I’m running on fumes and . . . “ She shrugged. “You know how it is. There was so much to do.” He was a native New Englander, same as she. Didn’t he know New Englanders were famous for minding their own business?
Eb checked her oil and cleaned her windshield while the tank guzzled down the gallons. If he wondered why Sam the Cat was grooming herself on the passenger's seat, he never said. Gracie peered nervously over her shoulder every time she heard a car approach. A clean getaway, that was all she wanted. When the dust cleared and the hurt feelings mended, maybe then they could talk. She’d left a note for Noah on the kitchen table. She told him that she was sorry, that she hadn’t planned on any of this, but wasn’t it better to put an end to it now before it was too late?
Besides, how did you explain to the boy you’d loved since kindergarten that leaving him was the best thing you could ever do for him.
Eb screwed the gas cap back on good and tight.
"What do I owe you?" she asked as she reached for her purse through the open car window.
Eb plunged his gnarled hands deep into the pockets of his overalls. “Just get yourself a good education, girlie, then come back home to us where you belong. I've waited a long time to dance at your wedding. I want to see you all set up with a job and a husband and a few babies.”
He didn't have any idea what he was saying.
You don’t understand, Eb. There was supposed to be a wedding today but I backed out. We were going to throw aside all of our plans and run away to Paris together. Can you imagine, Eb? I love him and he loves me but we don’t have a chance in the world of being happy together. His father has seen to that. That’s why I’m going to get behind the wheel of my car and get away from here before I start believing in fairy tales.
Noah had been part of her life for as long as she could remember and he had owned her heart almost as long. Even during those years when he was away at boarding school, he was never far from her mind. Not that he’d known she existed until he came back to Idle Point after his father’s first heart attack and everything fell into place. Loving him seemed as right and natural as breath
ing; marrying him was simply the next step.
Noah and Gracie had been together since senior year of high school and they had stayed together despite the best efforts of their families to break them up. You wouldn’t think their fathers’ paths would have crossed very often, not even in a small town like Idle Point, but the hatred between the two men was legendary and the poison spilled over onto their children. They had learned through experience to keep their love hidden away from their families. When they went off to college – Noah to B.U., Gracie to the University of Pennsylvania – everyone was sure distance would put an end to their teenage love affair. Nobody but Noah and Gracie knew of the weekends spent sharing pretzels on the steps of the museum in Philadelphia or strolling near Independence Hall, talking about the home they would build together, the family they would raise. Gracie would join Doctor Jim's veterinary practice while Noah wrote the Great American Novel.
She’d heard the whispers from some of her so-called friends, the ones who wondered how a plain girl like Gracie who lived over by the docks managed to land someone like Noah. Gracie was serious and ambitious and poor. Noah was a rich man’s son who thought life was his for the taking. He’d flunked out of B.U. and if he had some game plan for his life, he wasn’t sharing it. He wasn’t serious about anything, didn’t Gracie know that? One day he'd call her up and say, "You know there'll never be anyone else like you, Gracie, but I've met someone else and . . . "
Everyone but Gracie knew that was going to happen one day. Why couldn’t she get it through her head that she was fooling herself? Their poison-tipped words hurt but a long time ago Gramma Del had taught herself how to deflect the sting and hold her head high. They never knew how good their aim was. Noah loved her for who she was inside, not for how she looked, not for what she owned. He didn’t care that she was tall and skinny and blessed with brains, not beauty; with a heart, but not a bank account. They loved each other and up until last night she had believed that was all they needed.
Whoever thought it would be Gracie who broke Noah's heart?
She had Simon Chase to thank for ruining their lives. He’d shown up at her father’s house an hour ago. Sixty minutes was all it took to shatter her dreams. Her future father-in-law was an imposing man, tall and white-haired and blessed with the natural arrogance of the born Yankee aristocrat. His bad heart had slowed him down but the fierceness of his gaze when he looked at Gracie hadn't softened a bit. She had always suspected that Simon didn't like her but she'd never imagined the depth of it until that afternoon.
A Soft Place to Fall (Shelter Rock Cove) Page 32