First Time in Forever

by Sarah Morgan

  “But if they find that out, they will also find out Lana and I hadn’t seen each other for years. They’re not likely to link us.”

  “They could.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and she felt a ripple of unease. “Even if they did, they wouldn’t look for me here, would they? There’s no trail.”

  “No.” He turned his head and gave her a smile that was probably meant to reassure her but didn’t.

  “You’re speaking as if you have knowledge. Have you ever been targeted by the press?”

  “No.” He eased his arm away from her and rose to his feet. “But I know how they operate.”

  “The lawyers thought the story would probably die. That if I lay low, the journalists would get bored. I paid cash for my ferry ticket, so they shouldn’t be able to trace me, and no one is going to be looking for the daughter of a movie star in rural Maine.”

  “That’s true, and even if they come, you’ll be protected. The islanders are a close community. We protect our own. If the press arrive, then we’ll be ready for them.” He turned to look at her. “Thank you for telling me. Now I understand why you don’t feel you’re the right person to care for Lizzy.”

  She sagged against the sofa. “You do?”

  “Yes, and for the record, I think you’re the perfect person.”

  “You’re wrong. I know the same thing won’t happen again because I won’t let her go near the water, but this is about more than her personal safety. It’s about not being able to give her what she needs. Bringing up a child requires more than just accident prevention. To flourish and grow, a child needs to be loved. They need a parent, or parent substitute, who cares about them. It was only when I saw Kathleen with Brittany that I discovered how love could look. I can’t do that. I can’t give her what she needs. I can’t love another child. I won’t.”

  “So why didn’t you say no? She could have been put in foster care.”

  Emily felt something twist inside her. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Of course you couldn’t. Because you already care, Emily. You wouldn’t have taken her if you didn’t care. But you’re scared shitless.”

  “That part I’m not arguing with.” She felt a stinging in her throat. “A child deserves to be loved and I can’t love her. I just can’t.” She heard the shake in her voice and knew he heard it, too. “I won’t let that happen to me again.”

  “And what if you can’t stop it happening?”

  “I can. I’ve been this way for so long I can’t change. Neil always told me I was cold. That I needed to be ‘thawed out.’”

  He made a sound in his throat that resembled a growl and flexed his fingers. “Emily, honey, do me a favor—no more talk about Neil for a while.”

  She thought he was joking, but then she looked at his face and saw the hard set of his mouth and the icy glint in his eyes.

  His gaze stayed fixed to her face for a long moment, and then he scooped up the jacket he’d thrown over the chair hours earlier. “I should go.” His voice was thickened. “If you need me, call.”

  The abruptness of his departure shocked her. “Wait—what about Cocoa?”

  “Keep her overnight. As long as you push her into the garden by six in the morning, you shouldn’t have any accidents. I’ll call my grandmother and explain.”

  She stood up, too, and saw him straighten his shoulders as if he was warding her off. “Thank you for everything you did today. I apologize for drowning you in emotion.”

  “I’m not leaving because of what you told me, Emily.”

  “Then why are you sprinting out of the door?”

  He let out a long breath. “Because I’m not Neil.”

  It was her turn to stare. “But—I don’t understand.”

  “I have spent the last few hours trying manfully to ignore the fact you’re wearing nothing but a pair of very sexy pajamas.” His voice was husky. “I never thought I’d want to put you back into one of those shirts that button to the neck, but right now I’m thinking that would be a good choice of clothing.”

  “You’re leaving because of my breasts?”

  “No, not just because of your breasts.” He gave a crooked smile. “All of you. The shape of your face, the curve of your shoulder, the dimple in the corner of your mouth—you name it, I’m noticing it. But because you’ve had a crappy day and you’re vulnerable I am making a supreme effort to keep my hands off you and not do what I’m burning to do. Right now, that means walking out that door.”

  Her heart was beating so hard she thought he must be able to hear it.

  She should have just nodded.

  Or maybe opened the door for him.

  Instead, she asked a question.

  “What are you burning to do?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THIS WAS THE moment to leave.

  He knew a mistake when he saw one, and he was definitely looking at one right now.

  No single mothers. Wasn’t that his rule?

  And not only was Emily vulnerable, but there were still things about him she didn’t know. Things that made it more likely she’d push him out of her house than invite him to kiss her. There was no way he was leaving her without support, and not just because Brittany would fire an arrow into his butt.

  Now he knew what she was going through, he was determined to help her. And helping her didn’t involve stripping off those pajamas and pinning her to the kitchen table.

  “What I’m burning to do is irrelevant.”

  “I’ve been honest with you. I want you to be honest with me.” Her voice was soft and smoky, and it slid into his senses like a drug.

  Shit.

  “Emily, I can tell you that the last thing you want right now is for me to be honest.”

  “Please.”

  The right thing would have been to make an excuse, but she was wearing those damn pajamas, a confection of silk and sin, and she was looking at him with those wide eyes, her mouth was right there and—

  With a soft curse, he took her face in his hands. He felt the softness of her skin under his fingers and heard her breathing grow shallow. “You want to know what I’m burning to do? I want to strip off those pajamas and smash down every boundary you’ve ever created. I want to explore all those places you’ve never let anyone go, and I’m talking about your mind as well as your body. I’m not like Neil. I don’t respect your boundaries. I want you open to me.”

  Her eyes widened with shock, and her lips parted. “That will never happen.”

  “If I wasn’t about to leave, I’d make it happen.” He lowered his head but kept his mouth just clear of hers. She was so close he could almost taste her, feel the short shallow breaths she snatched into her lungs.

  “You wouldn’t, because—” Her face suffused with color. “The truth is, I’m not that crazy about sex.”

  For a moment he thought he must have misheard. “You don’t like sex?”

  “It’s fine. Nice.” With a whimper of embarrassment, she eased away from him. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You’re right. You should go. And I never should have asked.”

  “Wait a minute—” He caught her around the waist and pulled her back to him. “Did you say ‘nice’? You think sex is ‘nice’?”

  Her face was on fire. “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Honey, ‘nice’ sex is for people in retirement homes with dodgy hips and a heart condition. At your age you should be having clothes-ripping, mind-blowing, animal sex that leaves you unable to walk or think.”

  “All right, you should definitely go now.” She was deliciously flustered, and he dragged her back to him and slid his hands into her hair, feeling it tumble and curl over his fingers in a slide of soft silk. She smelled like blossoms and sunshine. Her lips reminded him of the strawberries that grew wild in Kathleen’s tumbling coastal garden.

  “You have gorgeous hair. Is wearing it up part of your disguise, too?”

  “
I don’t have a disguise. Just because I choose to dress in a certain way doesn’t make it a disguise. And wearing my hair up is the practical option. It’s always breezy on Puffin Island. It stops it blowing into my eyes.”

  “So, in New York you wore it loose?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  “Like I said. A disguise. You’ve created a persona, because you’re afraid someone is going to see who you really are. But I see you, Emily Donovan. I’m standing here, looking right at you, so you can damn well stop hiding.” His hand was still in her hair, his mouth a breath from hers.

  “You don’t see me. And I can tell you I’ve never had clothes-ripping, mind-blowing, animal sex. I’m not like that.”

  “You mean you weren’t like that with him. You’d be like it with me, Emily.”

  “I don’t—”

  He kissed her. He parted her lips with his, licked into her mouth and felt her go weak against him. Those full breasts pressed against his chest, and he hauled her close, holding her with the flat of his hand while the other stayed buried deep in her hair. He deepened the kiss until white heat snaked across his skin, until rampant hunger and raw sexual need tore through him. Her mouth was eager and sweet, and the softness of her breasts pushed against his chest. He’d intended the kiss to be brief, but now he’d started there was no stopping. Instead of letting her go, he backed her against the wall of Kathleen’s hallway and caged her, planting an arm on either side of her and holding her there with the weight of his body. He knew he should probably say something, but he was so turned on he could barely stand upright, let alone speak, and she didn’t speak, either. He felt her trembling against him, felt her fingers slide up to his shoulders and hold on as if she were afraid she might collapse without his support.

  He dragged his mouth over her jaw and down to her throat, heard her soft gasp as he slid his hands down her ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.

  The single button holding the front of her pajamas together slid out of its silky mooring, exposing luscious curves of creamy white flesh tipped with dusky pink.

  Ryan had to force himself to breathe. He was so aroused he felt disoriented. Slowly, he slid his thumb over the tortured peak and heard her moan. He stroked, licked, tasted while she whimpered, squirmed and arched against him, those full lush breasts pushing into his hands.

  Drunk on her body he slid his hands lower, down the silk of her back inside her pajama bottoms to cup warm, bare flesh. Everything about her was soft and inviting. He could have drowned in her and died happy.

  The only sound was the soft murmurs that came from her throat and the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. The tension in the air was syrupy thick, coating both of them in a heavy, suffocating warmth. And then he took her mouth again, kissing her deeply while his fingers slid between her trembling thighs. He parted her gently and slid his finger into that slippery warmth, feeling velvety softness open for him as her body allowed him intimate access. He held still for a moment, stroked his other hand over her jaw and felt her shift against him with restless need. Gently he stroked and teased, paying attention to every gasp and murmur until he felt the pleasure roll through her. She cried out as she came, her body clamping down on his fingers so that he felt every throb, every contraction.

  He held her, murmured soft words against her hair, breathed in the scent of her until the last pulse died away and she lay limp against him.

  Ryan tried to steady his own breathing.

  He was rock-hard. So aroused he was ready to take her there and then, but he forced himself to slowly withdraw his hand and smooth her pajamas back into place.

  Her head was dipped forward, so all he could see was the shimmer of her hair and the shadow of thick, dark eyelashes.

  “Emily, look at me.” His voice sounded raspy and rough, but he was impressed he’d managed to form a coherent sentence, so he wasn’t about to apologize for that.

  Her hands were locked in the front of his shirt, as if he was the one solid, reliable thing in a collapsing world.

  “This is embarrassing. You need to go now.”

  “Why is it embarrassing?”

  “Because you—and I—damn it, Ryan, you know why. We lost control.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, and he clenched his jaw.

  “I didn’t lose control.”

  Slowly, she lifted her face to his. “You didn’t?”

  “If I’d lost control, I would have undressed you, not dressed you. If I’d lost control, you’d be naked now and flat on your back on the sofa instead of standing there in your pajamas.” And he was starting to question that decision. “You’re right, I need to go, but not because this is embarrassing.”

  “Why, then?”

  Because he wanted to undo his good work, rip off those silk pajamas, spread her legs and taste all of her, not just her mouth.

  Deciding she wasn’t ready to hear that, he smoothed her hair, tilting her face to his. “Because it’s getting late, you had a shitty day and you need to get some sleep.”

  Her eyes were glazed and confused, her cheeks flushed and her mouth damp from his kisses. “I didn’t—” Her voice was low and husky. “I wasn’t expecting— I can’t believe you did that. Or that I— I didn’t know it was going to be like that.”

  “I did.” Reluctantly, he released her. “I knew it would be exactly like that.”

  She stepped back, traced her lower lip with the tip of her tongue as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened, and then sent him a glance that almost had him flattening her back against the wall again.

  Her gaze was on his mouth. “Lizzy is upstairs. She could have woken.”

  “Cocoa would have barked.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t want her waking up to find me naked with a man. When you’re six, it’s unsettling.”

  It had obviously happened to her. Subduing the rush of anger, he focused on the practical. “Could you drop Cocoa back with my grandmother in the morning? She lives in Harbor House. It’s the big white one overlooking the bay.”

  “Of course.” She blinked, as if she’d been asleep and woken up on a different planet. “And thank you.”

  “For proving that a kiss can be more than nice?”

  There was a long, pulsing silence. “For listening. For helping me out with Lizzy. As for the other—” her voice cracked slightly “—we won’t mention it again. That’s the end of it.”

  He watched her for a long moment and then strolled toward the door.

  “It’s not the end, Emily. It’s the beginning.”

  *

  AGNES COOPER LIVED a fifteen-minute walk from the harbor and the Ocean Club in a pretty white clapboard house with a shingle roof that pitched steeply at the front. Overlooking the rocks at Puffin Point and the bay beyond that, it had been built on a large plot of land and was protected by mature trees and a well-nurtured garden. Emily was immediately charmed, and the feeling stayed with her as she walked with Lizzy up to the wooden door bracketed by lanterns.

  It was the sort of house she’d always pictured when she’d escaped into stories about homesteads and large happy families. The sort of house a child would have drawn, with clean lines and pleasing symmetry.

  As she waited for Agnes to answer the door, she smoothed her hair and tried not to think about Ryan. Hours had passed, and yet she could still feel the roughness of his jaw against her cheek, taste the heat of his mouth and remember the delicious explosion of pleasure he’d drawn from her with each skillful, intimate stroke of his clever fingers. Most of all she remembered the way he’d focused on her, as if she were the only thing in his world. The roof could have fallen in on the cottage, and neither of them would have noticed.

  Never in her life had she felt as if she were the focus of anyone’s world. In the three years she’d spent with Neil, not once had she lost control. Sex had been a choice, not a need, and it had always followed a predictable pattern. She’d always had the feeling that either of them could have walke
d away at any point, and it wouldn’t have mattered. After Ryan had walked away, she’d felt so wound up and frustrated she’d almost chased after him and begged him to finish what he’d started.

  Lizzy tugged at her arm. “Your face is red.”

  “It’s the sun.”

  She was wondering how she was ever going to look Ryan in the eye again, when the door opened. Any awkwardness she might have felt from the knowledge she’d spent the previous night physically welded to this woman’s grandson melted away under the warmth of the welcome.

  As for Agnes and Lizzy, it was love at first sight.

  Some friendships, Emily knew, were instant, and this was one of those.

  Within five minutes of knocking at the door, Lizzy was sitting at the kitchen table eating freshly baked chocolate cookies as if it were something she’d done hundreds of times in her life before.

  “Handsome bear.” Agnes slid her glasses onto her nose and took a closer look at the toy clutched tightly in the child’s fingers. “Ryan’s sister Rachel had a bear just like him. He’s upstairs somewhere. I had to mend him a few times. Looks like yours could do with mending, too. Would you like me to do that for you?”

  Lizzy glanced at Emily and then slid the bear across the table.

  Understanding the trust implicit in that gesture, Agnes examined it carefully and then produced a sewing box from a cupboard. “It’s nothing serious. Just something that happens when a bear is very loved. Emily, could you thread the needle for me, honey? My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  Emily dutifully obliged and then glanced around the sunny kitchen as Agnes settled down to mend the bear. This, she thought, was how she’d imagined a kitchen should look. The countertops gleamed, pots of fresh herbs were lined up along the windowsill, and delicious smells wafted from the stove. Through the windows she could see butterflies flitting through the colorful blooms that crowded the lush, leafy sanctuary.

  “You have a beautiful home.”

  “It’s too big for one person. I rattle around like a bean in a jar.” Agnes glanced up from her emergency repair and saw Emily looking at the herbs. “I love to grow my own food, but it’s harder now I can’t tend the garden myself. So, Ryan bought me herbs I could grow on the windowsill.”