Even in the dark, he could see through those filmy panties. Even in the dark, he could see the urgent rise and fall of her breasts, the pulse drumming in her throat, the heat in her eyes. And when those panties were gone, when there was nothing between them but anticipation, she said suddenly, wildly, “Cam…Cameron, I need to tell you something-”
“Birth control. You’re not protected?”
For a millisecond she didn’t answer, but then she said with absolute sureness, “No. That’s not a problem.”
“Then you’d better give me a very fast, very serious reason to stop, chére, or else I’m going to be very sure you want this as much as I do.”
Again she hesitated for barely a millisecond, but once she answered him, her voice was strong and true. “I don’t want to stop, not tonight, not with you. Take me, Cam. Make everything else go away. Make this night belong just to us.”
Hell. That might just be an impossibly huge expectation to put on a lover…but a guy couldn’t win what he didn’t aspire to. So he tried. He concentrated five hundred percent of himself into every kiss, every caress. He tried tender, then rough. Tried an urgent, ardent rush, then the seductive frustration of slow hands and a lazy tongue.
Moonlight bathed her skin in silver. A nearby owl hooted, their only voyeur. And the scent of lavender kept seeping into his senses, into hers. When he finally swept her beneath him, his flesh seemed on fire, his muscles turgid and tight, drugged-crazy with her, for her.
She wrapped her long, slim legs around him even as he tested her soft center for moistness-as if she hadn’t already told him in a thousand ways she was ready for him. Lips met and clung as he eased inside her, initially trying to be gentle, determined to be gentle. But she hissed his name in a fierce, frantic call, wooing him into her deeper, harder.
He plunged in then, burying his hands in her hair, burying his lips in her lips, burying himself in the heart of her. It was crazy, totally crazy, but he had the sensation of belonging to her, belonging with her, in some emotional way he’d never even known existed before. This was about sex, he told himself. The best sex he’d ever had, but still, about sex.
The lie didn’t last any longer than it took his mind to try it out. This was so not about sex it was shaking his world.
Or she was. She matched him, stroke for stroke, slamming heartbeat for slamming heartbeat, her lithe slick body tightening exactly when his did. She owned him at that moment. Or he owned her. Damned if he knew the difference-damned if he cared. The sky opened up in a shower of stars, or that’s how he felt, as if he were flying over the moon with her, release pouring through him and into her.
For the briefest second he wished she hadn’t answered his question about birth control, because this insane feeling of longing, belonging, owning was so compelling. He wanted his seed inside her, a child that came from the two of them. But that thought, like every other coherent thought, fled faster than moonbeams. They rode the crest together, then sank, both spent, in each other’s arms.
Later…minutes later, hours later, Cameron opened his eyes. The moon was still up there, still framed in stars. The smells of earthy loam and lavender still pervaded his nostrils; somewhere a raccoon rustled and an owl hooted. He’d smelled the smells before, knew that moon. But he didn’t know her; how it would feel to have her warm, vibrant body in his arms, still half-wrapped around him, her cheek nestled in the arch of his neck, her silky hair tickling his chin.
“Damn,” he said.
She leaned back her head. “Uh-oh. That sounds like a man in the throes of regrets.”
“Try again. I couldn’t regret what just happened between us if my life were at stake.” He bussed the top of her head, which made Charlie pop to attention again. He was too old to have Charlie pop to attention again this fast. It was her. Making him feel things, do things, want things that weren’t normal for him.
He couldn’t be in love with her. Not just because he barely knew the woman, but because his pull for her made no sense. She’d almost cried twice that day. Did he need a weepy woman? Did he need all those cats? For that matter, he’d seen Alps and ocean, so how could he possibly be drawn to some rocky land with red barns and stone fences and winding roads?
Perhaps more directly to the point, if he’d lost his mind, where the hell had it gone?
Was there a chance it could find its way home again?
“Cameron?” She twisted in his arms, not moving far away from him, just pushing back far enough that she could tilt her head and look at him face-to-face. Below, her fingers reached over and gently, playfully, entwined with his. “Tell me about your daughters.”
He glanced down and watched their two hands blend together. Hell. Double hell. Teenagers held hands like this, not fully grown adults who were lying naked in the moonlight. But she didn’t seem willing to sever all closeness yet, and neither was he.
The question about his daughters seemed to come from nowhere, but he was more than willing to answer it. Talk was better than the alternative-which was lying there, drinking in the scent of lavender and moonlight and wanting to make love to her again. So he talked. “Miranda’s fifteen. Kate’s sixteen.” He hesitated. “For a long time it was totally clear cut that they belonged with their mom. It’s not that I didn’t want to be an active dad. I’ve always wanted that, always tried to be. I just traveled so much. Over the years, I always talked to them twice a week. We spend time together every holiday and school break. And I usually hang there at least a month every year to just be around them, part of their routine. Only lately…”
“Lately what?”
“Well, lately, they’re fighting all the time with their mom. Most of it seems to be pretty standard teenage girl, mother stuff. Rules. Roles. But sometimes she’s had it, and then I think…”
“You think what?”
“That if I lived in a more settled way, I could have them with me for a while. Most parents don’t seem to like the teenage years, but for some strange reason, it doesn’t bother me that they’re being difficult and impossible. If anything, I feel like now I could be a better parent to them.” Okay. He’d stripped naked some of his heart to tell her that. And left him hanging besides, so it was her turn now, he figured. “What about your ex?”
Her hand dropped away from his. She lay back, facing the stars. “Well…his name is Ed. Simpson, I always called him. Back in college, I took one look and just knew he was my first and only true love. He was a warm, family kind of guy, good sense of humor. Fun. I quit my last year of school to help him finish faster-he got his social work degree. He was always one to reach out to help someone else.”
“Sounds like a saint,” Cam said, and was briefly tempted to spit and paw the earth-but naturally he was too mature.
“Not exactly,” she said wryly. “He’s married to someone else now. In fact, they had their first child five months after the wedding. And he called me this morning to tell me about their newborn son.”
“I don’t understand why he’d call you.” It wasn’t hard for Cam to deduce that the creep had cheated on her, judging from the age of the first kid.
“Who would? I wouldn’t take him back for a fortune, am over him in every way a woman can get over a man. For some reason he seems to still think I’m his friend. That we’re still good friends.”
“So, are you?”
“No.”
“Then why on earth do you let him keep calling?”
“Because.” She lifted a hand to the moonlight. “Oh, cripes, I don’t know why. In the beginning, I acted friendly out of pride because I never wanted to let on how much he’d hurt me. And then I just didn’t seem to know how to cut him off. I know they’ve really been struggling to afford their growing family.”
“Struggling? I thought your ex was wealthy.”
She frowned. “Why’d you think that?”
“Because…I thought you said or implied you’d gotten a pretty good settlement from the divorce. When you were talking about how you could a
fford to put up the greenhouses, not have to care if you lost money on the lavender, all that.”
“Oh. Well, I did get a good lump of money from the divorce-but not because Simpson gave me anything for free. We had a house together. He wanted to stay in the house to raise his kids, and I didn’t need or want to stay there, so he owed me my share. Actually, I’d earned more than him back then. But the point was-”
It wasn’t that hard to finish her sentence that time. “You wanted to spend any money you got from the marriage. It felt like ugly money somehow. As if it could sabotage your luck if you used it in a relationship with someone else.”
“Yeah. And I know that thinking was superstitious.”
“It is. But I remember feeling that way after my divorce, too. Then it wasn’t about money. I gave her all the money I could, wanted her to have it. She had the girls. But the ‘stuff’-furniture, paintings, the things we’d split up that were part of the marriage-at the time, it didn’t matter how valuable they were or how much I liked them or even needed them. I wanted all ties severed.”
“So you understand. Why’d you get divorced, Cam?”
“I told you. Because I couldn’t settle in one place. I was too restless. Not responsible enough. Not mature enough to make any kind of husband, either,” he said honestly. “And you?”
Her bare big toe had sneaked over and found his bare big toe. Now they were playing footsie, he realized. Both of them, like kids who couldn’t stop touching each other. No matter what they were sure of and what they weren’t.
There had to be something narcotic in the Vermont air. Something dangerous.
Maybe it was even in her big toe.
“Me, what?” She seemed to be referring to some question he’d asked, as if she’d lost track of the conversation.
Hell, so had he. “Why’d you get divorced? Because he cheated? Because you fell out of love? What?”
She didn’t answer for a long time, and then finally she made a sound-like a wry little chuckle, only not so much humor in it. “We have a problem, Lachlan.”
“What’s that?”
“The problem is that I want to answer your question. I have this horrible feeling that you could turn out to be someone I could seriously trust. How weird is that?”
“Weird? You’re not used to trusting people?”
She propped up on an elbow then. Moonlight draped the round of her shoulder, the edge of one plump, firm breast, the sweet soft curve of her hip and high. “Don’t waste your time sounding surprised, Cam. You’re no more used to trusting people than I am. You’re a loner. Just like me.”
He didn’t know what to say, except that she didn’t strike him as a natural loner in any conceivable way. She was an earth mother, a giving lover, a warm, nurturing woman right down to her toes. He said honestly, “I can well understand your needing time to get over a hurtful relationship, but in the long run it’s impossible to imagine you living alone. Or not wanting to be in a marriage.”
“I won’t be climbing into another serious relationship,” she said firmly.
He didn’t believe her. But he said, “That’s a relief, because I don’t want to hurt you. And for darn sure, I won’t lie to you. You know my work here’s only temporary, that I’ll be leaving soon. That’s the way it has to be.”
Again she smiled, at a moment when no other woman would have smiled at him. “And I’ll be staying here. Because that’s the way it has to be-for me. So we’re both safe, right?”
“Safe?”
“Safe,” she repeated. “You don’t want to shake up my world. I don’t want to shake up yours.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“We do need to watch it, though,” she said carefully. “I’m totally for casual sex. Especially with a man who’s only going to be here for a short time, and who positively doesn’t want anything serious from me. But we’ll both get cranky if we start to seriously trust each other, so let’s try not to, okay?”
She got up then. He didn’t instantly understand that the conversation-and their lovemaking-was all done. In principle, they should have left an hour earlier at least. The night temperatures were dropping fast now, and the mosquitoes had come out to feast-still, he was shaking his head as he quickly gathered their gear together.
The woman he seemed to be falling for, very hard, very fast, very irresponsibly, was walking toward his car completely naked in the moonlight. She didn’t seem to find anything odd about that. She didn’t seem to find anything odd about wanting to sleep with a man who wouldn’t stick around for her, either.
But it bugged him.
It was never a good idea, to wake up the next morning without both people having agreed on what they needed from such an encounter. Only Violet’s version of clearing the air had sure muddied his. Maybe most men would be happy to hear she was up for a short, passionate affair.
Maybe, even as early as last week, he’d have been ecstatic to hear a woman talk that way.
Only hearing Vi talk about casual sex and not wanting to trust him made him feel as edgy as if he’d sat on a porcupine. She deserved more than that. She should be demanding more from a man than that.
And damn it. He wanted to be more than that to her. Realizing how hard his heart was suddenly pounding, Cameron took a long, low, calming breath.
It had to be the moonlight. He just wasn’t a man to think, or spell, a word as petrifying as commitment. Tomorrow-daylight-he’d get a grip on this whole thing. He just knew he would.
Eight
When Violet walked outside, the morning fog was magical. Pink dawn hues swirled in the mist. Drenched flowers and grass made the whole world sing with scent and color. It was her favorite kind of morning.
Today, though, she clumped toward her Herb Haven in mud boots and a scowl. She’d had hiccups twice already. Her stomach seemed to be doing a nonstop agitated jitterbug.
The Haven’s parking lot already had four cars, even though it was barely seven. Customers were waiting for her. She gave an early class on Wednesday morning before the store opened, a class she normally loved to bits. But this morning her mind was entirely on the night before.
She’d never had casual sex before. It wasn’t her fault. She’d always meant to fool around tons, but she’d fallen in love with Simpson young and there’d never been a chance. Now she was perfectly thrilled to throw her morals out the window, only it was all so awkward. She’d gone into her bedroom first last night, but she assumed Cameron would join her. Instead he’d gone into the spare room. And stayed there.
When you had mind-blowing fabulous sex with a lover, didn’t you get to spend the night with him? What the hell were the rules to this deal, anyway? Cripes, it would resolve so many problems-and so much heartache-if she could just privately love someone and not have to worry about his caring about her long term.
Only, so far, this wasn’t working at all. The sex part had been terrifyingly stunning. Only, she hadn’t slept all night, first waiting for Cameron to come into her bed, and then worrying why he’d slept in the other room. And then there was that other tricky little problem.
She was crazy about the guy. More crazy than she could ever remember feeling before-even about Simpson. Cam was warm and funny and accepting and interesting and honest and everything she loved in a guy-not counting that naked-to-naked had been better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.
The love word had been on her mind even before they’d done the Deed. Making love had just made that worse.
She knew better than to let that love word enter the picture.
Glumly she opened the door to the Herb Haven. Lights were already on. Four women sat on the wooden table in the back, all talking at once and sipping her best coffee brew. They all knew where the key and coffeepot were; they knew the whole routine. Betsy and Harriet were farmers’ wives; Roberta was a freshly divorced teacher; Dinah was a college student home for the summer with energy to burn. The women had nothing in common besides a history in White Hills-and wanti
ng to make natural cosmetics at home.
“We’re making cold cream today, right? Cold cream, aftershave and an herb bath.” Violet heeled off her mud boots, plastered on a cheerful smile and charged in. Work would get her mind off Cam. It had to. “Did you ladies hear that Dora Ritter is pregnant? And everyone says it’s Tom Johnson’s, and his wife is pregnant at the same time.”
“No!” Betsy said in delighted horror, and the women were off. Aprons were donned. Bowls and pots and measuring devices gathered from the cupboards, and then the core ingredients brought out. Lanolin. Beeswax. Almond oil. Naturally Violet started making herb water first, and each of the women had chosen their favorite: lavender, rose, mint and lemon balm.
Smells pervaded the back room. Violet kept both the gossip and the work flowing, but no matter how fast she ran, her mind kept sneaking back to Cameron. She kept thinking, I want that man. I want to sleep with him. Love him. Laugh with him. And why shouldn’t I? What’s so wrong if two consenting adults both simply want to have a good time together?
“Violet, how long does this mess have to cook?” Betsy asked her.
Violet peered over the edge of the double boiler. “You’re not trying to cook it. You just want the lanolin and beeswax to melt together. After that you add the almond oil.”
“Gotcha.”
“And at that point you call me, and I’ll show you how we whisk in the herb water. You wanted the lemon balm, right?”
“Yeah, that was me. Harriet wanted the mint.”
“Okay,” she said, and thought: I can change. She didn’t have to be a wife and mother. She could be an immoral, carefree lover who lived for today.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized how long she’d allowed the problem of her narrow fallopian tubes to get her down. So she’d been devastated to know she’d never likely conceive. So she’d been further crushed when Simpson had taken such a fast powder for another woman-a fertile woman-when Violet proved to be less than perfect.
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