by Nora Roberts
THEY OPTED FOR A WALK AFTER DINNER—AND AFTER A LAUGH over the note Parker left in the kitchen.
My compliments to the chef.
As payment for the meal, I’ll do the dishes.
So don’t.
P.
Summer stretched the days so they walked the gardens in the soft, settling light. The close, sticky heat of the day lifted, just enough, and still warmed the flowers so their scents seemed stronger, more vital.
Stars winked on as she took him down to the pond to show him the frog. When he crouched for a closer look, she shook her head.
“You’re just as thrilled and fascinated as Kent—the boy from the wedding party.”
“A man never outgrows a good frog. It’s a whopper. I could probably catch it, and chase you. Like I used to.”
“You could try, but I’m faster these days. Besides, you usually caught Emma.”
“She was more girl than the rest of you, and squealed more. Those were the days.” He sat back on his heels, scanned the grounds, the green, the cool shadows. “I liked coming down to the pond before dark in the summer, just sitting here.” He did so now. “Thinking long thoughts with my dog, watching the lights go on in the house. See, there’s Parker’s room. Now, anyway. It used to be there.”
He pointed.
“I remember. I spent a lot of happy hours in that room.” She sat beside him. “The Bride’s Suite now. So, I guess, it’s still a happy room, full of female. Yours is the same. I remember when you moved up to the third floor. To get some privacy.”
“I was stunned when they said okay. They trusted me. Then, of course, I had to move up there, even though it was a little scary. I had to bribe the dog to sleep up there with me. I miss my dog.”
“Aww.” She tipped her head to his shoulder. “He was a great dog.”
“Yeah, he was. I think about getting a dog, but then I remember I’m really not home enough, and it doesn’t seem fair.”
“Two dogs.”
He ducked his head to look at her. “Two?”
“They’d keep each other company when you weren’t there. They’d be pals, hang out, talk about you when you were gone.”
The idea tickled him. “That’s a thought.”
He turned, slipped an arm around her, rubbed his lips over hers. “When I got a little older, sometimes I’d bring girls down here to neck.”
“I know. We used to spy on you.”
“You did not.”
“Of course we did.” She snorted out a laugh because he looked both stunned and deeply disconcerted. “It was entertaining and educational. It helped give us a heads-up on what to expect when it was our turn.”
“Jesus.”
“You got to second base here with Serena Willcott.”
“Okay, that’s it. Memory Lane’s closed.”
“You had smooth moves, even then. I bet you could get to second base with me here, too.” She took his hand, slid it up her body, pressed it lightly to her breast. “See? You’ve still got it.”
“I’ve worked some new ones in since Serena Willcott.”
“Is that so? Why don’t you try them out on me?”
He leaned in again, a brush of lips, a rub, a gentle nip while he used just his fingertips.
“Okay, yeah, that’s a good one.”
“If that worked, I might try this.” He slid his finger down her throat to the top button of her shirt, flicked it open. “Not too fast,” he murmured against her mouth, “not too slow.” He opened the second button, then the third, pausing between to glide his fingertips over newly exposed skin.
“Yeah, you’ve probably improved.” Her heart was already skipping. She made a sound of approval as his lips trailed along her throat, then one of surprise when his hand circled around to unhook her bra.
“Well done,” she managed. “We should take this inside.”
“No.” Still kissing her, still touching her, he laid her back. “Right here.”
“But—”
“I don’t think four little girls are spying on us tonight. And I want you. I want you here, by the water, under the starlight, on the grass, in the air.”
His tongue swept under the loosened cup of her bra, over her nipple, and sent a shiver of need along her skin.
He made her weak; made her want to be. He made her want to give herself over to him and what he stirred in her. The warm grass, the warm air, the easy play of his hands, his lips, left her wanting nothing more than what was here and now. So she entrusted herself to the moment and to him, while to her dazzled eyes the stars seemed to burst to life in the sky.
The scent of her, seductive as the summer night, allured. The taste of her, so irresistible, stirred. He let his hands wander, to tease and to pleasure while the night deepened around them, cloaked them. Over the hum of the summer evening, an owl began its two-note call.
Moonlight danced on the surface of the pond, and on her body as he undressed her.
She started to sit up to unbutton his shirt, but he pressed her back.
“Not yet, not yet.” His gaze swept over her, the hunger in it bringing another shiver over her skin. “You can’t know how you look. You can’t know.”
He needed, craved, the touch, the taste, now. All of her, all his. He took, let the greed come so her cries and moans only sharpened his arousal. Her nails dug, her body bucked, and still he drove her on.
Now those stars exploded, blinding her. She couldn’t find her breath as sensations pummeled her. It felt wicked, wonderful, to lie there, near to helpless, naked, crazed, while he did what he chose. His shirt brushed her breast, and she moaned again.
She wanted his flesh against hers, desperately, and yet knowing he was dressed and she exposed heightened the excitement toward a delirious panic. And even that burst.
“Now. Inside me. Oh God! Del.”
She tugged at his shirt, his belt until together they managed to strip him.
She rolled. Straddled him. Took him.
Pleasure swamped her, and spurred her. Her head fell back as she steeped herself in it. He laid his hands on her breasts, then glided them down her body. Then gripped hers.
The storm rose, wildly, and they rode it out together.
SHE’D MEANT TO TEASE HIM A LITTLE, TEMPT HIM A LITTLE—some groundwork for what she’d expected to follow in her bedroom. Now, she thought, she lay naked, stunned, and exhausted by the pond where the fat frog croaked in what might have been approval.
She’d just had wild outdoor sex with Del by the pond where they’d often played as children.
She wasn’t quite sure if that was weird or wonderful.
“Second base?” He ran a hand down her back, over her ass, and back again. “Baby, that was a grand slam.”
She had to laugh, it was a little wheezy, but she had to. “Good God, Del, we’re naked and sticky. What if Mac and Carter, or Emma and Jack had decided to take a walk down this way?”
“They didn’t.”
“But what if—?”
“They didn‘t,” he repeated, his voice as lazy as the hand that continued to stroke. “Besides, they’d’ve heard you making sex noises before they got close enough to see anything—then they’d’ve politely taken another direction while they sighed in envy.”
“I didn’t make sex noises.”
“Oh yeah, lots of them. Grade-A porn sex noises. You could have a fallback career there.”
“I most certainly do not—”
He rolled on top of her, slid down and found her breast with his mouth. She couldn’t quite bite back the gasp and groan.
“Hear that? Wasn’t me.”
Because he just nuzzled in, she found her breath again. “Okay, well, it’s good to know if Vows goes under I can make a living doing porn moan-overs.”
“You’d be a star.”
“Maybe you should gag me.” When he lifted his head and grinned, she felt heat wash over her. “Not really. I don’t think.”
“We’ll keep it as an option.�
�� He lowered his head again, but eased over to take his weight off her. “If we’d thought to pitch a tent we could just stay here all night.”
The idea made her snort. “When’s the last time you went camping?”
“I think I was twelve.”
“Yeah, not your thing. Or mine. I guess we need to get dressed and get up to the house.”
“We’re naked and sticky. But I can fix part of that.” He wrapped around her, rolled, rolled.
Her brain engaged, too late, but soon enough to understand what he had in mind. “No, Del! You can’t—”
They hit the cool water of the pond tangled together. She didn’t swallow much, and wiggled and kicked her way to the surface to sputter it out. While she did, he laughed like a lunatic.
“Shit! Shit!You maniac! There are frogs in here. And fish. Fish!” She squealed it as something fluttered against her leg. She struck out for the bank, but he nabbed her.
“It feels great.”
“Fish.” She shoved at him. “Frogs.”
“You and me. I’m naked in the pond with Laurel McBane.And she’s all slippery. Oops,” he said when his hand slid between her legs, when he cupped her.
“Del.” Breathless now, clinging. “We’ll drown.”
“Let’s find out.”
They didn’t drown, but she barely had the strength to pull herself out and onto the grass where she lay gasping for air.
“We never, never saw anything like that through the binoculars.”
He reared up in shock. “You had binoculars?”
“Of course we did. We couldn’t get close enough to see anything without binoculars. But the frog? He didn’t need them, and he’s seen entirely too much.”
“He’ll keep quiet about it if he wants to keep his legs.”
She managed to turn her head, meet Del’s eyes. “Now we’re naked and wet.”
“But happy.”
She smiled. “I can’t argue with that. But how are we going to get into the house?”
“I’m a Brown. I have a plan.”
In the end, she wore his shirt, he wore the pants, and they balled up the rest. Still damp, and trying not to laugh, they snuck in the side door to make the dash to her room.
“I think we pulled it off,” she said and dumped her load the minute the door was closed. “Now I’m freezing. I need a hot shower.”
“Yeah, you probably do. You look like somebody who just had sex in the pond.”
He put his arm around her to warm her as they walked toward the shower.
“Del? Remind me to do some extra training the next time I make you dinner.”
SHE SLEPT LIKE A WOMAN IN A COMA, AND SURFACED JUST AS groggy and disoriented when her alarm sounded.
“No, it’s a mistake. It can’t be morning.” She opened one eye, read the time display on her clock—and with a resigned slap, turned off the alarm.
Beside her Del murmured something, and tried to draw her back.
“I have to get up. You should just go back to sleep, stay in bed.”
“Good idea.” He rolled over.
She scowled at him, then got up to dress in the dark.
Down in her kitchen she brewed coffee, and drank the first cup hot and black while she scanned her day’s schedule. It might as well have been written in Greek.
To clear the cobwebs, she poured a second cup, added a generous spoonful of sugar, then got a muffin out of her tin. She took the coffee and the muffin outside, into the air, into what was arguably her favorite time of day.
Just before dawn, just before the light beat back the dark. Before anyone or anything stirred and the world—her favorite place in the world—was all hers.
Maybe she was tired, maybe another couple hours’ sleep would’ve been blissful, but it was hard to beat the view, the feel of that hushed early morning.
She nibbled on the muffin, sipped the coffee, felt her brain start to clear as the sky turned pink and pale in the east.
Her eyes scanned the horizon, and back over the roll of green, skipped over the gardens, the terraces, the pergola Emma and her crew would be busy dressing before long.
And she saw the light shimmer over the water of the pond, the vague shadow of the willow swimming on it.
She thought of the night, of Del sleeping in her bed. And smiled.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VACATION. LAUREL COULD SCENT IT, NEARLY TOUCH IT. SHE WOULD be on it if this damn event would ever end.
Sunday afternoon events tended toward smaller affairs. Sophisticated or casual, fussy or freewheeling, weddings or anniversary parties booked on a Sunday afternoon leaned toward a pretty brunch or an elegant tea, most often ending early enough for guests to go home, maybe catch a ball game or a movie.
But not this one. Not the last event before the glories and raptures of vacation began. At four on Sunday afternoon, the Ballroom rocked. Champagne flowed. The bride and groom—second-timearounders in their early forties, danced to the oldies the DJ spun like a couple of teenagers on spring break.
“Why don’t they want to go home and have sex?” Laurel muttered to Emma.
“They’ve been together for three years—over a year of that living together. They probably have sex whenever they want.”
“But it’s Wedding Day sex, and they can only have Wedding Day sex today. At midnight, that ship has sailed. They should want it. Maybe we need to mention it.”
Emma patted Laurel’s shoulder. “Tempting—boy, tempting. But we have to stick it out until five.” She snuck a glance at her watch.
“You have a Tinker Bell Band-Aid on your finger.”
“Isn’t she cute? It almost makes up for daydreaming about vacation and nicking myself a good one. Anyway, forty-nine more minutes by my clock. Then it’s two weeks, Laurel. Fourteen beachy days.”
“It makes my eyes sting when I think of it. But if I start crying, people will just think I’m touched by the wedding, so that’s okay.” She had to order herself not to shift impatiently from foot to foot. “We’re all packed.” She narrowed her eyes at Emma.
“I’m packed. I’m packed.”
“Okay then. So in forty-nine minutes we load up the cars. I figure you have to allow twenty minutes for load-up because of the beach gear and the arguing. That’s sixty-nine minutes. Another ten for Parker to check and recheck her lists. Seventy-nine minutes and we’re on the road. Vacation begins the minute you’re on the road.”
“It does.” Emma smiled at a small group of guests on their way to the bar. “Seventy-eight now. And a couple hours later, we’re drinking frozen margaritas on the beach. Del’s going to have margaritas ready, right?”
“He’d better, seeing as he’s already on the beach.”
“Well, somebody had to go up, open the house, get supplies, make sure everything’s set up.”
“Yeah. He’s probably kicked back with a beer now, but I’m trying not to resent that. It’s okay because in a hundred and ninety-eight minutes, give or take a few, we’ll be there, too. Damn, we have to change—add twenty more minutes. Two hundred and eighteen—”
“Seventeen,” Emma interrupted. “Not that we’re watching the clock or anything.”
“We’ll be sipping those margaritas, and our biggest worry will be what to have for dinner.” She gave Parker’s arm a pinch when Parker walked over.
“Ow.”
“Just making sure none of us are dreaming. We’re having a private countdown. Two hundred and seventeen minutes till margaritas on the beach.”
“Two hundred and seventy-seven. They just asked for the extra hour.”
Emma’s big brown eyes went sad as a hungry puppy’s. “Oh, Parker.”
“I know, I know. But it’s their option, their money, and we can’t say no.”
“There could be a bomb threat by an anonymous caller. Just a suggestion,” Laurel said when Parker gave her a bland stare. “I’m going to start transferring the gifts to the limo. I
t’ll pass the time. If you need me, beep me.”
It kept her busy, supervising the transfer, carting gifts out herself. Afterward, she made a trip up to the Bride’s and Groom’s suites to make sure they’d been put to rights, then headed down to her kitchen for the boxes needed for leftover cake and desserts.
“Two hundred and twenty-nine minutes,” she told herself.
At six sharp, she stood with her partners, with Jack and Carter, waving off the newlyweds and the stragglers.
“Go away now,” she said under her breath. “Bye-bye. Keep driving.”
“Somebody out there might read lips,” Jack commented.
“Don’t care.” But she gripped his arm and angled herself slightly behind him. “Go home. Go away. Okay, there’s the last ones. Why are they standing there talking? They’ve had hours to talk already. Yes, yes, hug, hug, kiss, kiss, go, for pity’s sake.”
“They’re getting in their cars,” Mac said from behind her. “It’s happening. Starting the cars, backing out. And they’re driving, they’re driving.” She clamped her hands on Laurel’s shoulders. “Almost to the road, almost there, nearly clear, and ...Yes!”
“Vacation!” Laurel shouted. “Everybody scatter, get your stuff.” She dashed inside and up the stairs.
Within fifteen minutes, dressed in cropped pants, a tank, a straw hat on her head and sandals on her feet, she dragged her bags downstairs. Then frowned at Parker.
“How could you be faster than me? How could you? I was like the wind. I was a freaking tornado of speed and efficiency.”
“My talents are many. I’ll bring the car around.”
Mrs. Grady wandered out while they loaded up, and put an insulated bag in the car. “Road supplies,” she said. “Cold water, some fruit, cheese, and crackers.”
“You’re the best.” Laurel turned to give her a squeeze. “Change your mind, come with us.”
“Not on your life. Two weeks of quiet right here will suit me.” With her arm slung around Laurel’s shoulders, she studied Parker. “Don’t the pair of you look ready? Pretty as they come, too.”