Dancing in the Dark

by Sandra Marton

  He turned up the heat, then took her hand again. His palm and fingers swallowed hers. Seth was strong in the best possible ways. He’d stood up to all the bad things the years had dealt him. Until this moment, she hadn’t let herself admit how much she’d really missed him, not just in her arms but in her life.

  “I turned the heat up all the way. That should help.”

  How could it, when the chill she felt was bone deep? Heart deep. Oh, heart deep. She’d hurt him so much, this man she loved.

  “I’m warmer already.” She tried to sound happy, but she failed, miserably. Confirmation came in the look Seth gave her.

  “Wendy.” She saw his jaw tighten, felt his hand press hard against hers. “Sweetheart, if you’re having second thoughts—”

  “No.”

  She was having second and third and fourth thoughts, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. They were entitled to this night; whatever came next was beyond her control. That was something she’d learned during the past years. You could try to make plans for your life and think you’d included the smallest detail. In the end, it didn’t matter. Life happened. It sort of sneaked up and happened, despite your best plans.

  “No,” she said again, quietly. She lifted their joined hands and kissed his work-roughened knuckles. “I want to be with you tonight.”

  The conviction in her voice made his heart swell, but only a fool would have missed that carefully added word, tonight. Seth decided to let it go. Once he’d talked to Pommier, taken the first step down the road, tonight might well be all they’d have.

  “I’ve dreamed about bringing you up the mountain again,” he said softly.

  She sighed and leaned her head back. “You know what I’ve never forgotten? That first time we drove up Sawtooth. Remember?”

  Did he remember? There were times those memories had been all that stood between him and darkness.

  “Would a guy forget the first time he made out with the girl of his dreams?” he said, giving it a light touch. “It was our third date.”

  “It was our fourth,” Wendy said in a prim tone. “I’d never have agreed to park on a third date.”

  “Yeah, but this wasn’t just any third date, baby. You were with me. Seth Castleman, the make-out king.”

  She laughed at his deliberately pompous tone. “Uh-huh.”

  “The truth is, you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

  “You wish.”

  “I know.”

  They smiled at each other and then Wendy let out a long breath. “You know what I really do wish?”

  “What?”

  “That this was your old truck. It had a bench seat, and I—”

  “You used to scoot all the way over and sit right next to me, with your head on my shoulder.”

  “Remember when that trooper stopped us? He gave us a lecture about seat belts and he said he wouldn’t give us a ticket if we promised not to ride like that anymore.”

  “And then he said he had a daughter just about your age, and that he hoped we’d behave ourselves.” Seth grinned. “Would you believe I built a sunroom for him a couple of years back?”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “It was the same guy. I knew he looked familiar, but I didn’t actually place him until I’d been working at his house for a few days.”

  “Did he recognize you?”

  “I didn’t think so, because he never said a word—right up until the day I finished.” Seth chuckled. “He wrote me a check, told me how pleased he was with the work I’d done—and then he gave me a man-to-man grin and said he hoped I’d taken his advice and behaved myself the night he’d stopped me on the road up Sawtooth Mountain.”

  Wendy laughed. “What did you say?”

  “I asked him if he could remember when he was nineteen, and he laughed and said yeah, and that was exactly why he’d given me that warning. We shook hands....”

  “And?”

  His voice roughened. “And nothing.”

  “Seth, what is it? What happened after that?”

  “He asked me if you and I were still together.” Seth let go of Wendy’s hand. “And I said no, we weren’t, that I hadn’t seen you in years. He said he was sorry and I said it was okay—but it wasn’t. Until then, I’d done a pretty good job of not thinking about you for days at a time, but afterward—”

  “Don’t.” Impetuously, Wendy undid her seat belt and got as close to Seth as she could. “Don’t, please. It was the same for me. I missed you terribly. Every day, every night. You were all I thought about.”

  Then why did you refuse to see me? Why did you stay away instead of coming back to the life we’d planned?

  The questions drove him crazy, which was in itself crazy, because he already knew the answers. Either she’d figured he wouldn’t want her unless she was perfect, or a life with him wasn’t enough.

  No. Damn it, he wasn’t going to think about that. Not tonight. He was taking her to his bed, the bed no woman had ever slept in, and to a house he’d always known, in his heart, he’d built for her.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Get back there and buckle up,” he said gruffly. “The road’s icy.”

  “Aren’t we almost to the top of the...oh, Seth!” Wendy leaned forward and stared out the window. The windshield wipers and the heavy snow made it difficult to see clearly, but surely she’d just spotted... “There’s a house on the top of our mountain!” She swung toward him, her eyes wide with disappointment. “Somebody built on our land.”

  “Yeah. Somebody did.”

  “Didn’t you know? Why didn’t you tell me? Who—”

  Wendy’s voice broke. Things didn’t stay the same. Her life was proof of that, but somehow—somehow she hadn’t expected—

  “Sweetheart, it’s all right.” Seth reached for her hand again. “Forgive me, Wendy. I wanted to surprise you.” He kissed her palm. “It’s mine.”

  She stared at him while she absorbed the news. “Yours?” she finally said, and looked at the house again. She could see it more clearly as they headed up the long driveway. The soaring rooflines. The glass. The vertical board siding.

  “I bought the land as soon as I could afford it. I began work on the house a couple of years ago.” Seth gave a soft laugh. “Actually, I’m still putting it up. A couple of the rooms aren’t finished yet, and the back deck needs some work....”

  Shut up, he told himself. He was babbling, but damn it, he was nervous. How many times had he imagined bringing Wendy here? He’d planned it so carefully. She’d see the house first by daylight, when the sun poured through the trees and touched the valley and the town with gold. He’d walk her through the rooms and watch her face....

  Would she like what he’d built? Would she remember the house they’d planned to the smallest details, and see that they were all here?

  “You can’t see much at night,” he said quickly, “especially with all this snow.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He looked at her. She was sitting forward, eyes fixed on the house, and the way she whispered those words made his throat tighten.

  “It’s perfect.” She looked at him, eyes shining in the muted light from the dashboard. “It’s the house we planned together.”

  The garage door slid open. Seth drove the truck inside and shut off the engine.

  “Every inch of it,” he said huskily. “I built this house for you.”

  Wendy turned to Seth. The interior garage lights had come on and she could see his face in their merciless glare. Tiny lines radiated from the corners of his eyes; his forehead was lightly furrowed. Time had marked him, but he was still the boy she’d fallen in love with. He always had been, always would be, and suddenly she wanted to weep for all the years they’d lost.
>
  “It’s the most wonderful gift in the world, Seth. Thank you.”

  Seth wanted to tell her she didn’t have to thank him, that just hearing the love in her voice was more than enough, but he wasn’t sure he could get out the words. Instead, he climbed out of the truck and went around to the other side. Wendy slid down into his embrace. For the second time that night he lifted the woman he loved in his arms, and carried her into their house.

  The snow had stopped and the pale winter moon they’d danced beneath on the porch at Twin Oaks illuminated the staircase and hall. A sighing wind had blown the snow from the skylight in his room, and the moon cast a soft white light on the bed.

  “Here’s where I’ve imagined you,” Seth said softly. “In this room, in my arms.”

  He lowered her to her feet, letting her slide down his body, thrilling to the little sound she made when she felt his hardness against her.

  He kissed her and she kissed him back, tenderly, sweetly, little nibbling kisses that grew more hungry as he unzipped her jacket and she unzipped his. Clothing fell to the floor as they stripped away the layers of fabric that separated them, and when they were both naked, more than clothing lay at their feet. All the years they’d been apart, the hurt, the loneliness were discarded, as well.

  They waited, looking at each other. Then Seth made a low, rough sound in his throat and gathered Wendy into his arms. Oh, God, the feel of her. She was silk and satin and molten heat. She was all and everything, and how had he ever lived without her?

  Wendy caught her breath at the feel of Seth’s hot skin against her. The thud of his heart. The definition of muscle and sinew. The exciting feel of his aroused flesh against her belly.

  She was dizzy with wanting him, terrified of the depth of that want. What if this wasn’t everything she remembered? What if lying in his arms didn’t match the memories of those stolen teenage years? She trembled and she knew Seth must have understood, because he caught her wrists, lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them, closed her fingers and sealed the kisses forever.

  “Slowly,” he whispered. “Slowly, sweetheart.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “No curfew, remember?” She felt his lips curve in a smile. “No gearshift knob to get in the way, no cold vinyl seat. We have a soft, warm bed and all the time in the world.”

  He kissed her again, gently, and she knew he was giving her time to adapt to what was happening. But she didn’t want time. She wanted Seth, his hands, his mouth.

  His possession.

  She moved against him, tilted her pelvis so that her flesh brushed against his erection. The breath hissed from between his teeth.

  “Wendy,” he said thickly, the word a clear warning.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “please, yes.”

  He swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down against the pillows while the wind picked up and the blowing snow danced like a gypsy against the windows.

  Seth bent his dark head and kissed Wendy’s mouth and throat, trailing kisses to her breast. She cried out when his lips closed around her nipple, and rose toward him, her body arching with desire.

  “Seth. Oh, Seth. I need—I need...”

  He touched her, slid his hand between her thighs. Her head fell back, and when he bent to kiss her, he felt the warmth of her tears on his mouth, the warmth of her body’s sweetest moisture on his fingers.

  God, he was going to come before he was inside her. All these years. So many, many years—

  “Yes,” he whispered, “yes, yes...”

  Quickly, he took a small foil packet from a drawer in the bedside table. When he was ready, he knelt between her legs and slid inside her. Deep inside her. She was tight and hot, just as she’d been the first time they’d made love. Her sobs and soft cries of pleasure were the same, and when she clutched his biceps and lifted herself toward him, the years fell away. He was nineteen, she was eighteen, and nothing would ever be more important than this.

  “Seth. Seth...”

  Wendy sobbed his name in ecstasy. Seth saw her face, saw everything he’d ever needed in her wide eyes, and he let go of his loneliness, his denial, his anger, and poured himself into the warm, welcoming body of the only woman he had ever loved.

  * * *

  LONG MOMENTS LATER, Wendy stirred.

  “Mmm,” she said softly.

  Seth smiled as she bit his shoulder lightly. “Mmm is right.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m very okay.” He started to move and she tightened her arms around him. “Don’t go.”

  “I’m too heavy for you.”

  “You aren’t. I love the feel of you inside me.”

  He rolled to his side with her in his arms and gathered her close against him. “That’s good. That’s very, very good, because that’s where I intend to spend a lot of my time.” He twined his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilted her head back and kissed her again. “How’s that sound?”

  He felt her mouth curve against his. “Like a plan I could vote for.”

  “That’s two votes, so it’s unanimous.” They lay quietly in each other’s arms for a few moments. Seth shut his eyes. Was now the time to tell her about his connection to Pommier? Would it be better to wait? No. He’d waited too long as it was. “Sweetheart?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Sweetheart, we need to talk.”

  Wendy closed her eyes. He was right, of course, but she didn’t want to talk. Not tonight. Not with such new, wonderful joy in her heart.

  “Not now.”

  “Sweetheart—”

  “Please. No talking. Not yet.”

  She rolled over, lay on top of him and kissed him with slow, tender care, sinking her teeth gently into his bottom lip, teasing him with her tongue. She was taking control and, God, she had no mercy.

  Just that easily, his brain turned off.

  He tumbled her onto her back, clasped her face in his hands, kissed her hungrily. She felt soft as the snow and the night; she tasted like the nectar of a thousand flowers. He bit gently at her throat, her breasts, her belly. The musky female scent of her rose to his nostrils like a drug as he kissed her thigh.

  “No!” The word exploded into the silence. “Not my leg. Don’t. Oh, don’t. It’s horrible. Seth, please. It’s ugly!”

  “Nothing about you could be ugly to me.”

  She gasped as his lips sought and found the scars, the puckered flesh that would forever mark what had been pieced together with screws and metal plates.

  Wendy’s head fell back against the pillows. “Why did you do that?” she said in a broken whisper. “I didn’t want—I wanted you to remember me the way I was.”

  She spoke with such deep sorrow that it almost broke his heart.

  “You are the way you were. You’re better. You’re stronger and braver.” He turned her face to his. “I love you. Do you really think anything could change that?”

  Something could. Oh, yes, something could change that.

  Wendy shut her eyes, desperately blocking out the swift rush of memory, that last night when Seth had begged her not to go to Lillehammer, not to leave him. He’d said he was worried because she was so tired, too tired to ski such dangerous runs.

  Tears trickled from under her lashes. Seth murmured her name, kissed her closed eyelids, kissed her mouth until he felt it soften.

  He bent his head lower, kissed her breasts, lavished attention on the furled apricot buds until he heard her sigh.

  “Wendy,” he whispered. He sheathed himself again, then moved down her body, tongued her navel, nuzzled her thighs apart and kissed her there, where her taste was sweetest.

  She cried out and he slid his hands beneath her, raised her to his lips, let her soft, feminine flesh meet his seeking mouth.

>   She moaned, writhed beneath him, cried out, and when she did, Seth rose over her and entered her, groaning as he felt the muscles in her womb contract around him.

  “You’re mine,” he said fiercely. “Forever.”

  “Yes,” she sobbed, “yes, yes...”

  And then they were beyond speech, beyond anything but love.

  * * *

  SETH AWOKE TO DARKNESS and an empty space in the bed beside him.

  “Wendy?”

  He sat up. It was late—1:05, according to the illuminated face of the bedside clock—and the wind was still blowing.

  Had she left him? She couldn’t have. She had no way to get down the mountain, and besides, she wouldn’t have left him, not after tonight.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d pulled up the blankets. Now he tossed them aside, swung his feet to the floor, felt around for his jeans and pulled them on. Maybe she was in the bathroom. No. The bathroom was dark, but now that he was standing, he could see a soft light seeping under the bedroom door.

  He went into the hall, leaned his elbows on the loft railing and saw Wendy in the kitchen, seated at the butcher block counter, her back to him. A thin plume of steam was rising from something in front of her. A mug, probably; there was a kettle on the stove and an open box of tea bags beside it.

  He went down the steps quietly. He’d dreamed of seeing her here just like this. Her hair was hanging down her back in the wild tendrils he loved. She was barefoot, dressed only in his flannel shirt; it was long enough to cover most of her scars, but he could see a small area of the puckered skin that he now knew stretched from her knee to her hip, and he wondered, not for the first time, how she’d survived such a brutal injury.

  Everything inside him wanted to go to her and press his mouth to the wounded flesh, but he knew it would be a mistake. She still insisted on walling him away from what had happened to her in Norway. It was bad enough she judged herself by the accident, but that she should even imagine he would...

  He must have made a sound because she spun around. “Oh,” she said, and grabbed for the hem of the shirt. In the process she knocked over the mug.