He’d touched a nerve when he’d challenged her about when exactly it was that she felt like a fraud. Because, truth to tell, she felt something strong and vital when she was kissing PJ, and it was a feeling she had not yet captured with Jon. There was sweetness in kissing Jon, a sense of connection.
But nothing like the soul-searing full-on connection she seemed to feel with PJ.
And today everything that happened had only made those feelings—that connection—more intense, on levels that had nothing to do with kissing.
Maybe it had begun on the way out here today—a drive she’d dreaded for the wayward feelings PJ had been evoking ever since she’d walked into his office two days before. And yes, the feelings were there, but as they’d talked during the drive, she’d felt an understanding in him that she’d never experienced with Jon.
Jon was a wonderful, kind, committed man. He had given his life so far to his profession. But he’d sensed something lacking, just as she had. When they’d met at the hospital it had been like finding a kindred spirit.
But not quite as kindred as PJ.
She and Jon wanted the same things, but sometimes she wondered if he really knew who she was. He’d never listened to her the way PJ had today—the way she now remembered that PJ always had.
And while she had tried to know Jon—and his work—better, too, he never shared much of it. Whenever she’d asked, he’d given brief weary answers. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he often said. “I want to get away from it when I’m with you.”
She understood that, but somehow she felt shut out. Sometimes she wondered if Jon thought she was too stupid to understand what he might tell her.
Admittedly maybe she would be. But she wished he would try. It might bring them closer together.
PJ had told her about his windsurfer today. She hadn’t understood all of that, either. But he’d made the effort. And simply seeing his eyes light up as he’d talked about the breakthroughs he’d made and when he realized he’d actually made really significant developments was worth every bit she didn’t totally comprehend.
She’d felt a growing sense of connection with him on a whole other level than simple sexual awareness.
And then there was the connections she made with his family. Her family now, according to his mother.
Of course Ally had told herself that wasn’t true, that she had no right to be feeling the sense of welcome and belonging she had felt almost at once. She’d connected with his sister Martha. She’d been delighted with his sister-in-law Tallie and amazed that Tallie had actually baked her cookies to say how happy she was that Ally was part of the family.
It wasn’t just that they were marvelous—Tallie, after all, was an accomplished baker who had given up being president of Antonides Marine to become apprentice to a baker in Vienna—it was that she’d made them expressly for Ally.
“I owe you,” she’d told Ally frankly. And when Ally had looked at her blankly, Tallie had elaborated, “If you had stayed in Hawaii, I’m sure PJ would never have come back to New York when he did. Which allowed me to shanghai him into taking over for me so I could leave, which meant Elias could go crazy wondering where I was and come halfway round the world to track me down. So in reality, I owe you my husband and my marriage and—” she patted her bulging belly “—my family.” She’d positively beamed adding, “That’s easily worth a truckload of cookies.”
Even PJ’s mother had welcomed her. And Helena Antonides would certainly have been within her rights to demand a whole lot more allegiance to her son—not to mention presence—than Ally had ever given PJ. And, ultimately, even his grandmother had, in her way, been kind.
His grandmother had—at least he’d said she had—told him to kiss her.
Ally’s face warmed at the thought.
And then there were the babies. Maybe it was seeing all those little Antonides babies that had intensified her feelings. Maybe it was balancing one of Elias and Tallie’s twins on each hip and finding herself imagining what it would be like to hold a wriggling little facsimile of PJ. Or maybe it was being handed month-old Liana, the Costanides’s only granddaughter, and rocking her to sleep. Or maybe it was seeing PJ do the same thing with his overwrought overtired nephew Edward when no one else could calm him down.
She’d studied a host of paintings of mothers and children in her university art classes, but as far as she was concerned, they were missing the boat by not having one of fathers and children as well.
PJ could model for them all. The look of quiet tenderness on such a masculine face touched her heart. Dear God, he would make beautiful babies. The thought was seriously tempting.
But the truth was, the biggest temptation was PJ himself.
And far from getting him out of her mind by coming to give him the divorce papers in person, she had actually opened a Pandora’s box of feelings and needs and connections that she was having an increasingly hard time shoving back in.
And exactly how spending the night in the same bed with PJ was going to shut that box she wasn’t sure.
But when she opened the door to the bedroom, she stared around in astonishment.
PJ was gone.
Lukas took one look at her when she came down stairs in the morning and said cheerfully, “Wow. Must’ve been quite a night.”
It was just past eight, but she’d never really slept. Had barely closed her eyes. Half a dozen times during the night she’d told herself she should call Jon. Jon was the one who mattered.
But she hadn’t called him. Hadn’t even been able to think about him. Had only thought about PJ—about what she’d said to him, about his reaction.
She wished he’d come back, wished she could take the words back, soften them, apologize. And she’d vowed to do so as soon as he reappeared.
But though she lay there waiting, tensing at every sound in the hallway, none of the sounds had been PJ. She’d waited and waited.
He’d never come.
By dawn it was too late to call Jon—and she couldn’t have done it then, anyway. It felt all wrong. If it were right, Jon would make the first move and call her.
Not that it mattered. After she had sorted things out with PJ, she would call. She’d brought her phone down with her and set it on the small desk in the kitchen as she tried to muster a bright smile to meet the interested gazes of all of PJ’s family.
“Night?” she echoed, not quite sure what he meant.
But his grin made it abundantly clear as he shoveled in another bite of his breakfast. “Both you and PJ look, um, well…not exactly well rested.” The grin broadened.
“Lukas!” His mother pointed a spoon at him. “Don’t be rude.”
“Who me? I’m not rude. Just observant.” He shrugged unrepentantly. “And envious.”
He certainly had nothing to be envious of, Ally thought grimly.
“Where is PJ?” she said. “I was…in the shower,” she explained, hoping it would sound as if that was how she’d missed hearing where he had gone.
“Gone surfing,” Lukas said. “How come you didn’t go along?”
“I’m sure Ally was still asleep when he left,” Helena said. “He likes to be out there early. Sit down. Have some breakfast.”
“I’d have stayed in bed,” Lukas said with a wink.
His mother thwacked him on the head with her spoon.
“Guess you’ll have to find a girl of your own,” Martha said unsympathetically. “Got any sisters at home for him?” she asked Ally.
“I’m an only child. I think I’ll just go look for PJ,” she said to his mother, “instead of eating now.” She couldn’t have forced down a mouthful anyway. “If you don’t mind.”
Helena smiled at her. “Not at all. Go right ahead. You two can have breakfast when you come back.”
Ally escaped gratefully out onto the deck overlooking the beach and the ocean beyond. The morning air was almost still. The slightest breeze was blowing in off the water as she made her way across the lawn a
nd down the steps to the sand. It was already warm and humid.
Out on the water she could see a lone surfer sitting on his board, drifting, as a set of waves began building behind him. The waves here were nothing like the ones in Hawaii. These were small, tame waves. Not a challenge for PJ, which might have been why he let them slide underneath his board, not paddling to get into position to ride any of them in.
Or maybe it was just that he didn’t want to talk to her.
She didn’t blame him, she supposed. In her confusion last night, she had created an awkward situation. PJ had gone and he had never come back. And Ally had sat there, huddled and miserable, knowing she had driven him away.
And having done so, rather than feeling relieved that she wouldn’t have to share the bed with him, she felt bereft.
Now she sat down on the cool sand beside his towel and, pulling her knees up against her chest, wrapped her arms around them as she watched him.
He had to see her, but he made no move to catch a wave or paddle in. He kept sitting out there, letting his hands dangle in the water, moving them just enough to keep his position, his gaze mostly on the horizon, not on the beach. Not on her.
Another set of waves rolled in, he made a slight move to catch one of them, but didn’t, instead letting it roll past.
Ally felt her frustration increasing with every wave he ignored. Finally she stood up and stared out at him. She knew he was looking at her and, she imagined, was pleased that he’d waited her out and that she’d got tired of sitting there expecting him to finally come in.
She kicked off her flip-flops and walked down to the water. She wasn’t wearing her bathing suit. But the shorts and T-shirt she did wear were just going to have to get wet.
The water was cool as she waded out. The sea lapped her calves, then her knees, then her thighs. She kept walking. He had stopped glancing back at the swells building behind him now, and was completely focused on her.
She was close enough to see his brows draw down. He sculled with his hands, turning his board toward the shoreline. She was up to her waist now. A wave broke just beyond her, and as it surged past, it soaked her up to the neck.
“What the hell are you doing?” His irritation was obvious.
Ally didn’t answer, just dove under the next wave and came up on the other side, far closer to him now. Water streamed down her face. She shook her hair back, wishing she’d thought to put it in a ponytail. But who knew she’d be going swimming?
She pushed off the bottom as the water lapped against her chest and, keeping her gaze fixed on him, began paddling the last ten yards. He watched her come, his hands not drifting in the water any longer. His arms were folded across his chest.
He made no move toward her as she closed the distance between them and grasped the nose of his board.
“What’re you doing?” he repeated, sounding annoyed and not at all welcoming. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re chicken,” she replied.
He frowned blackly. “I’m chicken?” he echoed her words. “How do you figure?”
“You knew I wanted to talk to you this morning. You wouldn’t come in.”
“I’m surfing, in case you didn’t notice.”
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” she said smiling up at him. “Didn’t see you catch a wave. Saw a few good ones you ignored.”
“They weren’t good enough.” He looked away, jaw set.
“Ah, what a pity,” she said in a light mocking tone. “Waiting for the wave of the day?”
“What difference does it make to you?” There was a hard edge to his voice. He still didn’t glance her way.
“PJ,” she said, willing him to look at her, waiting until he spared her a bare glance before she said, “I’m sorry.”
His gaze jerked back to meet hers. He didn’t speak, but he was clearly interested now.
“I apologize,” she said sincerely, all flippancy gone. “I shouldn’t have said what I did last night. Shouldn’t have acted the way I did. It was the way I acted when you came to my opening. I was…chicken then.”
He stared at her in disbelief.
“I was,” she admitted. “And I was last night, too. Chicken. And confused.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, “You’re not the only one,” he muttered, and turned to stare out toward the horizon.
Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it would be easier to continue, to explain, if he didn’t look at her.
Ally pressed on. “I wanted—” she began, but then she stopped because the truth was she didn’t even know exactly what she wanted “—I didn’t know what I wanted. I guess the bed situation was the last straw. I don’t know what’s happening between us,” she admitted. “I guess I…wanted to find out.”
His head came around and he looked at her again, his expression unreadable. And then he said skeptically, “And you expected to find that out with no kissing?”
“I told you I was confused.”
He reached out a hand. “Come here.”
For an instant she didn’t move, caught by the feeling that she was standing on the edge of a chasm, as if taking that single step of putting her hand in his would be the equivalent of stepping off into space.
But teetering forever on the precipice wasn’t an option. And now that she’d come out here, what else was she going to do?
Offer her lame apology, then turn around and swim away?
Or take the hand he offered and find out where they would go from there?
He was waiting, hand still outstretched, his green eyes challenging. He’d made one move. It was up to her to make the other.
Ally lifted her hand and put it in his, felt strong cool fingers wrap around hers. Then almost effortlessly he drew her up out of the water, and the next thing she knew she was able to scramble up onto the board to sit facing him.
“Right,” he said hoarsely, letting go of her hand to grasp her by the arms. “Rules be damned.” And then he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.
And there it was—that mindless all-consuming longing—all over again.
Every time PJ kissed her she lost her bearings. The sane and sensible Ally vanished and this one went up in flames. The young, earnest, buttoned-down, pent-upAlly—the teenage girl who had always hankered after “the boy with the surfboard” PJ had been—was instantly resurrected by the touch of PJ’s lips on hers.
Those demanding persuasive lips made her forget her determination to marry Jon, to be the prodigal daughter come home to make her father happy. They made her forget everything except the man kissing her.
And the taste of him now, mingled with the sea water and warmth of the morning sun brought back to her all her youthful unspoken yearnings, and she thought, Why not? Why can’t I have him? Why can’t I love him? He’s my husband.
And the counterbalancing thoughts, He wants to stay married because it’s convenient. He wants me. But he doesn’t love me, were nowhere to be found.
Not that she looked.
She couldn’t look, had no brain cells left to look, to think rationally, to do more than kiss him back.
There was only hunger and need and desire—for PJ.
She kissed him openly, eagerly. She let her hands rove over his bare back, relishing the feel of smooth sun-warmed skin under her fingers. She nuzzled her nose against his cheek, and delighted in the scrape of a day’s worth of rough whiskers. And if she was enjoying it, reveling in it, there was no question but that the enjoyment was mutual.
PJ bent his head and kissed his way down her neck. Ally instinctively tipped her head back to allow him access. His fingers snaked under her wet T-shirt to splay against her ribs just below her breasts, and his thumbs lifted to caress her, to rub lightly against her nipples, and Ally loved it, arching her back.
“You would have to wear a damn T-shirt,” he muttered.
She smiled and brushed her fingers lightly against the obviously straining erection beneath the fabric of his shorts. “You would h
ave to wear damn board shorts,” she countered.
He gave a pained laugh. “Didn’t want to shock my mother when she looked out of her kitchen window. Besides, how did I know you were going to come out here and do this?”
Ally shrugged awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious, yet at the same time oddly liberated. She smiled and looked him in the eyes for a split second. But what she felt for him was too strong, too overwhelming, and she had to look away.
“Hey.” His voice was low and almost tender. “Al?” And she felt cool fingers on her cheek, turning her head so she had to look at him or close her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Wrong? “N-nothing.” Only that she knew she still loved him. And recognizing it for the truth at last, she was powerless to fight it anymore.
PJ was the man she was in love with, not Jon. He was the man she hungered for, not Jon. He was the man she wanted to spend forever with, and not anyone else at all.
If he read it on her face or saw it in her eyes, she didn’t know. She only knew he caught his breath at the same time she caught hers.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, and took her mouth again.
His kiss was tender at first, then deeper, more passionate, a simple tasting at first, then eager and devouring as his arms wrapped her and he pulled her close.
Ally wobbled and clung to PJ, pulling herself closer, pressing against him and feeling the press of his body even more insistently against her—wanting, needing—
And then, abruptly, PJ flipped them both into the water!
Ally sputtered to the surface at the same time he did. “What the—”
PJ simply dipped his head toward the beach. And Ally knew the answer even as he said, “You know what.”
Yes, indeed she did. In another few moments, without PJ’s timely intervention, they would have scandalized his family and undoubtedly broken several laws of the state of New York. Her lack of control appalled her, and her face burned even as her body still continued to simmer.
“Sorry.”
PJ gave her a rueful smile. “Me, too. And not because we would have shocked them, either.” He reached across the surfboard and grasped her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “Just—hold that thought.”
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