by Pat Warren
Her hands were on his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly beneath her fingers. “Don’t be afraid of your feelings. Tell me.” Dare she hope they were the same as hers?
“It’s easier for you. You were married, you’ve felt these things before and talked about them freely.”
“It wasn’t the same.” She wondered if she could make him see. “I never felt about Robert the way I feel about you. I never wanted him the way I can’t seem to stop wanting you. We met, we married, and we fell into a routine. I knew something was wrong, but I blamed his job, his absences, his indifference. It wasn’t until just recently that I’ve come to realize that what happened wasn’t Robert’s fault. He was who he was, only I didn’t see it until it was too late. It was my problem, my fault for marrying a man who couldn’t touch me deeply, who couldn’t reach the woman I am. Nothing he could have said or done could have made up for that lack. He simply never could make me feel enough. Because he wasn’t you.”
She humbled him, and scared him even more with her soft words. “I don’t think I can be all you want me to be.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
“No, that’s too easy. I don’t trust easy.”
“Then trust me. I won’t hurt you. I won’t leave you.” Unless you send me away. Unless you can’t love me back.
“You’ll leave. Everyone does. Didn’t you say all you wanted was something that will last? Well, nothing does, no matter how we want it to, no matter how much we care. Everything dies sooner or later.” His voice was filled with pain, with the terrible knowledge that what they had, good as it was, was only temporary.
“You’re wrong. Love doesn’t die, not for everyone. Remember Annabel and Josh Mayberry? Love can be strong enough to overcome anything, even death.”
“You’re talking legends and fairy tales. That’s not real.” His hands were rough as he pulled her close, so close even a shadow couldn’t have slipped between them. “This is real, Brie. You and I together, for now. No promises, no vows, no declarations that we’ll have to take back or break. Today is real. No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Her hands hooked around his shoulders, her heart pressed to his, Brie blinked back tears. “That’s such a hopeless way to look at things.”
“Not hopeless. Realistic. If you don’t expect anything, you won’t get hurt when you don’t get it.” His eyes bore into hers. “Here and now, you and me. That’s it, that’s all there is. Oh, God, Brie, I want you so much. So very much.” Bending to her, he took her mouth.
She kissed him back, putting her heart in it, while tears trailed down her cheeks. How had this happened, that she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t believe in love? Not in its power or its beauty. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Briana asked herself.
And that was her last coherent thought as he backed her through the doorway and pushed her against the bedroom wall, all the while crushing her mouth in a frantic kiss that threatened to blow off the top of her head. A strangled sound lodged in her throat as she struggled to stay upright under his greedy onslaught.
He branded her with bruising kisses as his hands burrowed under her shirt, closing over her straining breasts. If she could have moved, she’d have ripped their clothes aside, so powerful was the need to be flesh to flesh with him. She felt the ache deep inside begin to throb, felt the rush of heat engulf her.
He needed her, Slade finally admitted. God, how he needed to possess her, to make her his, if only for this night. Hungrily, he raced his lips over her delicate throat, the long column of her neck, and back to her waiting mouth. His teeth nibbled and nipped as he felt her legs buckle. His hands slid down and behind to cup her bottom, lifting her to him, to his heat.
But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
Through a shuddering breath, Briana gasped out a suggestion. “My bedroom. Across the hall.” In this room, there was only newly carpeted floor and a hard wall at her back.
“No. Here and now.” His hand slid beneath the elastic of her sweatpants and the panties she wore, shoving down the resisting materials. Testing, his fingers moved inside to find her warm and wet and waiting.
Aroused beyond belief to find her so ready, so willing, he unbuttoned his jeans one-handed and inched the zipper down. Aching to be inside her, he freed himself, then drove in with one hard, swift stroke and watched her eyes glaze over. “Look at me,” he demanded, not moving, waiting.
Breathlessly, she did, feeling suspended in time. “I… I’m looking at you.”
“I want to watch you.” To see her climb and then to lose control. He wanted to see her shatter, like she’d shattered him over and over throughout their last incredible night.
His hands returned to support her as her legs wrapped around him. Her skin was damp, her thick hair tumbled around her head like a yellow cloud against the pale green wall, her mouth swollen from his kisses. She was more beautiful than any woman he’d ever known. “Ready?” he asked, knowing she was, wanting to hear it.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Please.”
Then he was moving, plundering, stroking, easing back for a heartbeat, then hammering home. Driving her up, driving her crazy, driving her beyond sanity. She cried out at the strength of it, the enormity, the passion.
Eyes locked with hers, he knew the moment her climax began, saw the shocked pleasure on her face, felt the tremulous shudders take her. Finally her head fell forward onto his shoulder. The force of her aftershocks dragged him along for the ride, leaving him breathless with a thundering heart that threatened to explode.
When he was able to move again, he slid them both to the floor, rolling with her on the dark green carpeting. He felt like he’d run the marathon, like he’d tried a free fall from a plane, like he’d climbed the highest mountain where the air was rarefied.
Turning his head toward her, he enjoyed the rosy glow he’d put on her face. “How do you feel?”
Brie drew in a huge breath and let it out slowly. “Surely you aren’t going to ask how that was for me, are you?”
His smile came easily. “Probably not.”
“Oh, good.” She tried to make a fist and found she couldn’t. “Lord, what you do to me,” she commented, staring at her limp hand.
“I’d say that’s mutual. Where’d you learn to be so sexy?”
Lazily, she rolled toward him. “Are you sure you want to have this discussion, because it works both ways, you know?”
“Probably not,” he said again.
“Besides, I’m not sexy. I never have been or…”
His hand touched her chin, forced her to look at him. “Who told you that? You know what makes a woman sexy to a man? A woman who responds, immediately, totally, freely.” His hand snaked under her shirt, found her soft breast and circled. In seconds, her flesh swelled, the peak hardening. “Like that.”
No one was more surprised than Brie. She wasn’t without experience, yet he was able to get more from her than anyone ever had. “That sort of thing doesn’t happen with every man’s touch.”
“Nor with every woman.” Slade was more than a little surprised at how quickly his body had recovered, at how much he wanted her again. “Ready when you are, ma’am.”
Stunned, she was sure she couldn’t possibly. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“A little death, some call it.” He dragged her hard up against his body. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
Her mouth was close to his ear. “Who said I wanted gentle?”
The laugh she heard was rich and very masculine.
The flames were slithering up along the wooden sides of the old house, whipping out the first-floor windows, lighting up the night sky. He was afraid to step onto the creaky porch for fear it would collapse under him, but there was no other way in. Ducking low, he barreled his way into the fires of hell, the poisoned air black as ink, the heat so intense it seemed to sear his throat through his face mask.
He called her name but got no answer. He c
ouldn’t see, but knew where the hall was and went that way, staying low. He felt more than saw her on the floor alongside her big double bed, the one they’d once shared. He picked her up and found her dazed, but then she started screaming, somehow recognizing him through all his gear. “My baby. Find my baby, Slade, please!”
He handed her over and went back into the inferno, looking in the child’s closet like she’d said. He heard a sound, a frightened cry, but only a mangy cat leaped out and streaked sharp claws down his sleeve before he could stuff her inside his jacket. Down on all fours, he crawled along the hallway, searching, calling out to the child.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose, walls tumbling down, flames devouring everything, the air thick with black smoke. The others dragged him out still protesting, still calling her name. “Megan, Megan, where are you?”
Then he was outside with Rachel as the medics worked on her, seeing the tracks of her tears on her soot-stained face, looking into empty eyes. “Where’s my baby? You let my baby die. Your fault. It’s all your fault!” Her screams vied for attention with the crackling flames still whirling upward in a macabre dance.
He sank to the ground as they put her in the ambulance. “My fault,” he sobbed. “All my fault.”
“Oh, God, it’s all my fault” Slade’s head thrashed on the pillow, his skin drenched with sweat, his heart pounding. “Megan’s dead, Rachel, and it’s all my fault. No, no. God, no!”
Briana snapped on the bedside lamp and touched his shoulder. “Slade, you’re dreaming.” She’d been awakened by his restless flailing about, then heard his mutterings and finally his loud ravings. “Slade, do you hear me? Wake up.”
“You’re right, my fault. Forgive me, please.” He shot upright, his eyes wild, looking about, unfocused.
“You’re having a nightmare,” Brie told him gently. “It’s all right. You’re okay.”
It finally registered, where he was, who she was. Swallowing around a dry throat, he swiped at his damp face and swung his feet over the side of the bed. He gripped the edge of the mattress, bent his head, and sat there, letting the residue of the nightmare recede. It was always the same one, the one he deserved to suffer with, the one that would never go away.
Briana slid closer, touching his bare shoulder. He’d been hesitant about sleeping over at her house, but it had been raining so hard he’d decided to stay. Had this been the reason why, the nightmares he’d told her he had? She rubbed his arm, wishing she could help, that she knew the right words. “Are you all right now?”
“Should I be? I don’t deserve to be all right.” Grabbing his briefs, he pulled them on and left the room.
Standing at the bare front window in the darkened living room, Slade stood staring out. The storm had moved out to sea, probably headed for the mainland.
The fist clenched in his gut had begun to ease, the sweat of the nightmare drying on his skin. It was always the same, always like this. He relived his nightmare in brilliant, fiery colors, his failures repeated reel after reel. The helplessness of knowing Megan had been in there somewhere and he hadn’t saved her, the hopelessness of facing the mother who knew he was to blame.
Slade braced his arms on the wood frame of the window, seeing not Nantucket Harbor drenched in an autumn storm but a ramshackle house in California disintegrating before his eyes into hot, smoky rubble. When would he ever be able to sleep a night through without those mind pictures startling him awake? What could he do, what could he say to assuage the guilt that dogged his steps from coast to coast? Who would put up with him while he struggled with his demons? No one should have to.
Briana thought she was strong enough. Trust me, she’d said. I won’t leave you. She was stubborn enough, determined enough to hang in there with him. But he couldn’t let her do that, to waste her life on him. There seemed no end in sight, the shame increasing. When would it end? Maybe never. He deserved to suffer, but she didn’t.
She was so very special, he knew, and he’d wanted her from the beginning. At first, he’d thought he wanted only sex, pure and simple. But that hadn’t been the half of it. Gorgeous as she was, she was so much more than a beautiful body. It was the way those huge brown eyes looked at him, sometimes so very serious, other times an extension of her generous smile. It was the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the soft sounds she made low in her throat when he moved within her. He wanted no other man to ever hear those sweet sounds, no one but him.
How could he let her go? Yet how could he keep her? She was too kind, too compassionate to walk away from someone in need. And God only knew, he was in need. But how could he chain her to half a man and live with himself? He was tortured, afraid to trust his own instincts, his judgment—and might never get over it. How could he ever forget the dead and broken bodies he’d left in his wake?
How to convince her, for he knew she cared. She’d almost said the words out loud tonight, he knew, but she’d held back. She was afraid he’d fall apart if she told him she loved him. Little did she know, nor would she believe, that he hadn’t heard those three important words in more years than he could recall. His mother had sometimes told him when she’d been in her cups and feeling sentimental. Rachel had never mentioned love, only that they were good together and should get married. The other women he’d befriended and sometimes bedded had all been content with good times and good sex. If they began angling for more, he moved on. That was the way his life had been.
Until Briana.
They’d met because of the proximity of his father’s house to her grandfather’s home. Circumstances had brought them to this island when they’d both been vulnerable. So they’d become closer than either had intended. And never should have.
If only a pleasant attraction and great sex were enough. But they no longer were, for either of them. He saw the way she looked at him, the concern in her eyes, the hope she couldn’t hide. And he had concerns of his own. Otherwise, he’d simply enjoy the woman and not overthink things. This time, with this woman, he couldn’t stop thinking.
Of what might have been if he were only a whole man free of guilt and ready for an uncomplicated future. She deserved more than him. She deserved a happiness he could never give her.
The raspy voice on the phone machine drifted into his memory. Was it a wrong number, a coincidence, a prankster? Or was Briana in danger? The very thought had his fists clenching as he straightened. He might not be able to be there for her for all time, but he could and would protect her until they got to the bottom of this mess. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not if he could help it. He’d failed before, let down people who’d counted on him. He wouldn’t fail Briana.
His thoughts as gloomy as the weather, Slade stood looking out.
In the bedroom, Briana lay awake, wondering whether to follow him or stay put. She didn’t know which would be right, but she knew she couldn’t go back to sleep and pretend nothing had happened. Moving to the closet, she shrugged on her terrycloth robe and padded out to the living room in her bare feet.
She found him at the front window, his very stance suggesting tension. Slipping her arm around his waist, she leaned her head to his shoulder. “Are you feeling better?”
Slade drew in a long breath. “I’m sorry I woke you. I get those nightmares sometimes and there’s not much I can do to stop them.”
Her eyes finally adjusted to the dark, she looked up at him, but his face was closed down, withdrawn. “Give it time.”
That’s what everyone said. “I just want to shut my eyes and not see the ghosts from my past, not hear them crying. Doesn’t seem like so much to ask, does it?”
“No.” She shifted until her head rested lightly on his chest as his arms automatically encircled her. “But I do know what you mean. I have nightmares, too, mostly about Bobby. And always, he’s just out of reach, calling to me, and I can’t get to him in time. The doctor told me that one day they would stop, but I’m not so sure.”
“You’re not blaming yourself for Bobb
y’s death, are you? How could you be at fault?”
“Logically, I know I’m not. But when someone we care for dies, we always find some way to blame ourselves. I felt that even when Gramp died. I should have come to see him more often, spent more time talking with him, listening to the stories he loved to tell. Guilt is a hair shirt most of us put on so often we no longer feel the itch. After a while, it becomes comfortable, a way of life.”
Looking down at her, he used both hands to brush back her hair, her beautiful hair. “So, Doc, what do you suggest we do about it?”
He’d shoved his demons back for now, which was probably the best he could do, Briana thought. She would do the same. “Let’s go back to bed. Come morning, things will look brighter. At least, they usually do.”
“All right.” Arms entwined, he let her lead him back.
The news broadcaster’s nasal voice on the kitchen radio nearly quivered with excitement. “The hurricane of k38 was the largest single disaster to ever hit the New England area, killing over six hundred people. That storm, which was a category four on the Saffir-Simpson Scale, hit on September twenty-first. The weather bureau tells us that there’s a very real possibility that Nantucket may be in for another biggie.”
Plugging in the coffeepot, Briana glanced up as Slade walked into the kitchen. “Did you hear that?”
“I hope he’s wrong.” He finished tucking in his shirt and took the glass of orange juice she handed him. “Thanks.”
“That hurricane,” the announcer went on, “was followed by Carol, the first great named storm that hit the New England shoreline on August thirty-first, 1954. We enjoyed a six-year respite. The last one to brush along the coast of Nantucket was Donna, the hurricane that hit in early September of 1960. After leaving us, it hurtled north to cut a wide path through Massachusetts and went up as far as Maine. So, ladies and gents, time to batten down the hatches. This one’s been named Donald and he’s only a two so far, but moving up fast with winds already clocked at over eighty miles an hour. If Donald keeps on this northerly route, the leading edge will be arriving within thirty-six hours.”