Future Perfect

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Juliana started to laugh.

  “I guess we should wait ’til it lets up,” Webster said. “What do you think?”

  She slipped her arms around his waist, twisting one of her jean-clad legs around his. “I think that you’re not wearing your leather jacket,” she said, smiling. “And I think that rain can’t hurt denim. What do you think?”

  A slow smile spread across Web’s face. “I think I’ve never wanted to get home faster in my entire life—rain or no rain.”

  Juliana held out her hand, Webster took it, and together they plunged off the porch into the pouring rain.

  They were both soaked almost instantly. By the time they reached the wide front porch of the bed and breakfast, there was a river of icy water streaming down Juliana’s back. Her boots, and Web’s, too, were covered with wet sticky leaves.

  She pushed Webster back onto the bench by the front door and pulled his boots off. Sitting on the wooden floor of the porch, she gave him first one of her own booted feet, then the other, letting him return the favor.

  “Let’s leave our wet clothes out here,” she said, unfastening the buttons of his jacket with her icy fingers. “I’d rather not take the time right now to mop up the mess these wet things would make on the foyer floor.”

  “Good idea,” he said, huskily, trapping her between his long legs and kissing her. His face was cold from the rain, but his mouth was warm and sweet. As he kissed her, he pushed her jacket off her shoulders and fumbled for the button at the waist of her jeans.

  Her own fingers unbuttoned it quickly, and she pushed the wet pants off her legs. Webster pulled his shirt over his head, then gasped as her cold fingers unfastened his pants. She smiled as she pulled the jeans off his legs.

  And then, wearing only their bathing suits, they were inside the house.

  It was dark and quiet. Juliana locked the front door behind them. Before she could turn around, Webster had swept her up in his arms and was carrying her up the dimly lit staircase.

  “Oh, Webster, how Neanderthal,” she laughed, but he silenced her with a kiss.

  She half expected him to kick the door to his room open, but he opened it the conventional way, still holding her in his strong arms.

  He stopped short just inside the door.

  There was a fire blazing in his fireplace.

  He looked down at her, a smile on his face. “Are you responsible for that?”

  She smiled, shaking her head no.

  “Alicia,” they both said together.

  “This must mean she approves,” Juliana said. That thought made her almost deliriously happy. Alicia had never liked Dennis, and Juliana had thought her great-aunt would have it in for any man who got close to her. Obviously, she was wrong.

  Webster slowly set Juliana down, crossing to a bouquet of roses that sat on his dresser. “Alicia is a romantic,” he said.

  Juliana grabbed two towels from the chair next to the bed. She handed one to Webster, then moved the screen from in front of the fireplace. Kneeling down in front of the flames, she tried to catch the warmth it threw off.

  Webster ran the towel over his body, then up over his wet curls, watching the firelight reflecting off her skin. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up at him and smiled.

  “For someone who was in such a hurry to get home, you’re standing awfully far away,” she said.

  Her tone was light, teasing, but he could see that she was just as nervous as he was. And still he didn’t move any closer.

  She ran her own towel through her hair, looking into his eyes.

  He turned suddenly, taking the thick bedspread off his bed. Juliana helped him spread it in front of the fireplace, and then he knelt next to her.

  “I’m afraid that once I start touching you,” he said, his voice low, “I won’t be able to stop. I’m afraid I’ll lose control.”

  He drew in his breath sharply as she leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were soft, delicate against his. They brushed against him lightly as she spoke. “At the risk of sounding wanton, I’ve got to confess … I bought a box of condoms. It’s upstairs. We have ten—”

  “Twenty,” Webster said.

  Juliana pulled back to look at him, one eyebrow raised teasingly. “Rather sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

  He laughed. “Only hopeful. Desperately hopeful.”

  She looked into the fire pensively. “Twenty condoms,” she mused. “Do you think we can use them all before Thursday—before my next guests are due to arrive?”

  “Definitely.” His voice was husky.

  “Then,” she said, a smile in her eyes, “as long as we’re planning to make love twenty times, I think it would be rather nice if you could manage to lose control at least once or twice.”

  Webster looked at her. Her hair was starting to dry, and it created a halo around her face. Her skin was so smooth, and the light from the fire created shadows that emphasized the full swell of her breasts.

  “Touch me,” she said, the fire reflecting in her eyes, “and don’t stop.”

  Slowly, so slowly, he reached out and slid his fingers down the warm skin of her arm and then back up to her shoulder and under her hair to her neck, then to her face. He touched her lips gently with his thumb, then leaned forward and kissed her. His hand moved down to her throat, to her collarbone, his fingers trailing lightly between her breasts. His mouth followed close behind. Gently he cupped one full breast, and with a moan, she leaned into him.

  It was all the invitation Webster needed. Two swift yanks were all it took to untie her bikini top, and he tossed it quickly away. Her breasts were beautiful, round, and full, and he buried his face in them, latching onto one hard nipple with his mouth, encircling it with his tongue, sucking until she cried out with pleasure.

  She pulled his mouth up to hers, and as she kissed him fiercely, he pulled her onto him so that she was straddling his lap. His hands massaged her breasts, her back, her derriere, even as her own hands explored his athletic body. He pressed her against him, pushing up with his hardness, leaving no doubt in her mind how badly be wanted her.

  Juliana moved her hips against him, and suddenly she was on her back. She felt him, hard between her legs, pushing, straining against their bathing suits. The rush of emotions nearly overwhelmed her. They were actually going to do this. They were finally going to make love. Sweet heavens, this was so much better than anything she’d imagined. His handsome face looked down at her, filled with desire and hunger for her—for her.

  He took her nipple into his mouth again, and sweet pleasure shot through her. She arched her back, pressing up toward him.

  Breathing hard, Webster pulled at her bathing suit bottom, and she lifted her hips to help him remove it. She looked up at him, momentarily meeting his eyes. They were hot and wild and deep, deep blue. He swept his gaze down the length of her body, as if he could caress her with just a look.

  She pulled him down toward her, crying out as electricity rocketed through her from his touch. She kissed him again and again, locking her fingers in his thick, dark hair.

  Webster couldn’t stop. She moved underneath him, wanting him, ready for him. Somehow he got his bathing suit off. And then her hands were there, touching him, stroking his length, helping him sheath himself with the condom. He heard himself moan and he pushed her down onto the blanket, underneath him.

  Her hands were on his back then, pulling him to her, urging him on. With a ragged cry, he plunged into her, swallowed by her soft, warm wetness.

  Juliana lifted her hips, welcoming him, loving the way he filled her.

  “Oh God,” he moaned and, looking down into her eyes, began to move with a rhythm that she matched.

  He kissed her, driving deeper and harder into her. Nothing—nothing had ever felt like this. In the firelight, she could see the muscles standing out in his powerful arms and chest. She touched him, feeling the steel beneath his smooth skin.

  “Juliana,” he gasped. “I can’t stop.”

&n
bsp; But she didn’t want him to stop. She wrapped her legs around his back, opening herself wider to him, and kissed him, pulling his tongue hard into her mouth. She was so close.…

  “God,” he breathed. “Oh Juliana, I’m going to …”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what happened, whether it was a coincidence of timing or the sudden rush of the turn on she got from his softly spoken words, but she exploded just as he did. It spun her, carried her, swirled around her—a wild, scorching, ferocious release. She heard herself cry out with pleasure, the sound of her voice intertwining with his.

  Then Webster lay heavily on top of her, and she quietly stroked his hair as their breathing slowed. Juliana smiled softly to herself. That had always been a major part of her fantasies about him—that they would make love, and she would climax with her fingers buried in his gorgeous hair.

  He rolled over, pulling out of her and wrapping her in his arms.

  “Can you read my mind now?” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face.

  Juliana looked up into his soft blue eyes. The softness was such a contradiction to the hard planes and angles of his face. Still, she could see contentment in those eyes—contentment and satisfaction and … love. He loved her. She had no doubt of that. A shiver went down her spine.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I can.” She smiled. “Any second now, you’re going to kiss me.”

  “Absolutely uncanny,” he murmured, doing just that.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Juliana woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. Webster’s arm was across her as they lay like spoons in his bed. He was breathing quietly and steadily, and she slipped away from him, getting out of the bed to go into the bathroom.

  She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was a wild mass of curls, and her eyes looked a little sleepy. But the smile on her face was satisfied. Very satisfied. She borrowed some of Webster’s toothpaste and brushed her teeth with her finger.

  She’d finally found the perfect man. He was smart, funny, handsome, kind, sweet, caring, and he made love to her with a passion that she’d never imagined possible. And on top of all that, he lived a life that allowed him time to travel. Juliana smiled again, thinking Webster could come out to Benton to write several times a year. Write, among other things.

  Yes, this had real potential for working out. Juliana would have her own life, he’d have his, and occasionally the two would intersect.

  She went back into the bedroom to find that Webster was awake. He smiled at her from the bed, watching her naked body moving toward him, with a desire in his eyes that he didn’t try to conceal. When she got close enough, he grabbed her, pulling her back down under the warm covers with him.

  He kissed her—a long, sensuous kiss that left no doubt in her mind what he had planned for the rest of the morning.

  She pulled away from him, trying to frown, but not quite succeeding. “I have today off,” she said. “But aren’t you supposed to be writing or something?”

  “Or something,” he agreed, pulling her on top of him and kissing her again.

  “At this rate, you’re never going to finish your book.” Juliana laughed. “You told me your goal was to finish the first twelve chapters before you leave.”

  “My new, immediate goal is to keep you in this bed with me until Thursday,” Webster said, his hands sweeping her body.

  “Thursday? Don’t you think we’re going to get a little hungry?”

  “We can send out for pizza.” He grinned.

  She smiled back. “I think you’re just procrastinating.”

  He shook his head. “Procrastinating is getting the urge to do something unpleasant instead of writing, like cleaning out the refrigerator or putting captions in all your old photo albums. Making love to you is not procrastination.”

  Now Juliana shook her head. “The definition of the word has nothing to do with the unpleasantness of the task that you do while you’re procrastinating. It’s simpler than that. You should be writing, and you’re not. Therefore, you’re procrastinating.”

  Webster swung his long legs out of bed, vanishing into the sitting room. He came back seconds later, carrying his dictionary. Sweet heavens, he was a beautiful man. His legs were long and lean, leading up to narrow hips. He was solid, not all elbows and knees like many tall men. She shivered, remembering how it felt with his weight on top of her. His body was like that of a professional athlete, with muscles in all the right places.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, flipping through the big book.

  “What do you do to stay in such good shape?” she asked.

  He glanced up at her, still leafing through the dictionary. “In Boston, I belong to a fitness club. Two nights a week, I play with a basketball league. The rest of the time, I get into pickup games. Oh, here, look.” He pointed to the page of the dictionary. “ ‘Procrastinate,’ ” he read. “ ‘To put off intentionally, habitually, and reprehensibly—’ Ooh, that makes it sound so nasty, doesn’t it? ‘—the doing of something that should be done.’ You were right. No mention of cleaning the refrigerator. Unless that’s what they meant by reprehensibly.”

  Webster closed the dictionary, putting it down on the floor next to the bed. “I guess I’m guilty,” he said. “Although, for the record, I have finished eight chapters.”

  Juliana stared at him. “Eight chapters! When? You’ve been with me almost every day.”

  He crawled under the covers, kissing her. “What d’ya say we get some wood and make another fire?”

  She laughed, squirming away from him. “Don’t change the subject!”

  “What d’ya say we skip the wood,” he said, pinning her down and grinning devilishly. “The implication being, of course, that we make each other.”

  “Make each other?” Juliana said, eyebrow lifting delicately. “How romantic.”

  Webster kissed her again slowly, and Juliana felt herself melt against him. “Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I’m very romantic. I’m a writer, remember? Romance is one of my specialties.”

  “You’re a writer,” Juliana agreed, trying hard to keep the conversation on track despite his wandering hands. “Which brings us back to your eight chapters. You’ve been writing all night again, haven’t you?”

  Webster tried another kiss, but it only distracted her momentarily.

  “Haven’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Not all night. Just—”

  “Most of the night,” she finished for him, “Webster, you’ve got to sleep sometime.”

  He smiled charmingly. “Hey, I slept last night.”

  Her eyebrow was up again, “You mean that you were in bed last night. If I remember correctly, neither one of us did too much sleeping.”

  “Sometimes I think I don’t really need sleep.”

  “Everyone needs sleep,” Juliana said. She frowned up at him suddenly. “I hope that you don’t think I’m nagging, or being bossy.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes suddenly soft. “No,” he said, “I like it that you care. I like it a lot.”

  Juliana propped her head up on her hand, her elbow resting on the pillow as she looked at him. “I do care,” she said, then smiled. “But my motivation is kind of selfish. I’m afraid if you don’t sleep, you’ll get sick again. And to tell you the truth, I’d rather spend my time making love to you, rather than holding your head while you hurl.”

  Web shouted with laughter. “Hurl!” he said. “That’s one word I’ll bet you don’t use when you’re throwing your fancy dinner parties.”

  “On the contrary,” Juliana said, very proper. “In fact, it’s an old, Victorian term—”

  Webster grabbed her, tickling, and she exploded in laughter. But her laughter soon turned to a sigh as his caresses grew more intimate.

  “Juliana, I’ve never been so happy,” he said, kissing her soft lips.

  “Webster Donovan,” she whispered, “let’s procrastinate.…”

  Juliana went
down to the kitchen at four o’clock in the afternoon to get them some food. She was making sandwiches, standing at the counter in Webster’s bathrobe when Alicia came in from outside.

  “There’s some cut-up fruit in the fridge,” the older woman said.

  Juliana blushed. “Thanks.”

  “There’s a load of jeans and jackets in the dryer,” Alicia added. “And I cleaned off the boots and put ’em in the mud room.”

  “Sweet heavens, I forgot all about that stuff,” Juliana said. “Oh, Alicia, thanks. You didn’t have to—”

  “I know I didn’t,” Alicia said, going into her own room. “Must’ve been one hell of a night,” Juliana heard her say before she closed the door.

  “Let’s go out,” Webster said, his blue eyes reflecting the firelight. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set.

  Juliana sat up and looked at him. “Out?” she said, her eyebrow rising. “As in actually put on clothes and go outside of the house?”

  He grinned at her lazily. “Clothes, yeah,” he said. “We gotta get back into the habit of wearing them, especially considering that tomorrow morning you’ve got to go back to work. Besides, after we get home tonight, I can take ’em off of you.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

  The words were said teasingly, but Webster answered her as if she had spoken seriously. “Jule, I’ll never be tired of you. I’m going to want you until the day I die,” he said quietly. “And probably even after.”

  She smiled at him, but her smile was shaky, and her voice caught in her throat when she spoke. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say it to be nice,” he said. “I said it because it’s God’s truth. It’s a fact. You better never leave me, lady, ’cause I’ll turn into one of those sad, old cowboys in a country song, sitting in a bar, crying into my beer and carrying a torch for the rest of my lonesome life.”

  “Webster, I’m not going anywhere,” Juliana murmured, kissing him.