by E C Sheedy
"Thanks."
"Oh shit… You know what I mean."
"Forget it." There was another long pause before Taylor spoke again. "And Willy? Willy wants this as much as you do?"
"Maybe more. The whole thing was her idea in the first place. I just latched on to it. The recipes are all hers. I think the woman has been in a thousand kitchens in the past few years. And she's very committed once she sets her mind to something. I don't think I could have anyone better to work with."
"I think you're right."
"So? You'll loan me the money?"
This time the pause was the longest yet.
"Why not?" Taylor finally answered. "One of us might as well get what we want. But no more monthly checks. I'll put a fixed sum in the bank to cover the next six months and that's it. When it's done, it's done."
When Dan spoke again, his voice was hesitant. "No strings then. No lectures. You'll leave Willy and me to do our thing?"
"No strings... you and Willow are on your own."
"Remember, it's just a loan. I'll pay you back. Every nickel plus interest."
"Yeah? And who's going to show you how to calculate the interest, little bro? Somebody in a three-piece suit with a calculator?"
Elena stepped out of the bedroom, looking contentedly disheveled. "Where's Dan?" she asked.
Willy nodded toward the balcony and Elena headed for the door. Both men turned to greet her.
Willy got up from the sofa, grabbed her rumpled clothes, and went to the bathroom. She didn't want Taylor to know she'd heard them. She closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, blinking hard. Everything was working out beautifully, she told herself. Dan and she would do the book, Taylor would leave them both alone, and—
She tried to stop the quaking, the mad dizziness sweeping through her. Her lips curved into a tight smile; she had the urge to giggle, to cry, to scream. She bit down hard on her knuckle, crushed her clothes to her chest, and slid down the door to sit in a sorrowful heap on the floor.
Everything was just too goddamn wonderful for words.
* * *
"Willy, what are you doing in there? Homesteading?" Elena rapped lightly on the door. "The guys are making breakfast. You interested?"
"I'll just be a minute." She gave her face another splash of water, dried it, and gave herself a long, hard look in the mirror. So she looked like first cousin to a gargoyle. Who cared? With a shrug she opened the door. The smell of burned toast filtered up her nose. She headed for the kitchen, trying not to notice Elena's curious gaze. Hadn't the woman seen a gargoyle before? She sniffed.
"Saved by the expert," Danny exclaimed, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"No way, hot shot, I'm just here waiting for service. Carry on." She hoisted herself up to sit on the counter. When her banged up side issued a pain warning, she refused to wince. Now wasn't the time to show weakness.
Dan had a dish towel wrapped around his middle and was waving a spatula. The tiny kitchen area was a shambles. Willy eyed the frying pan—the edges of the eggs looked like black lace. She couldn't stop herself from reaching over and turning the gas down.
"Are you frying those eggs or tanning them?" she quipped, pleased that her tone was light. So far she'd avoided looking at Taylor, who was busy pouring coffee. But one glance in his direction and her stomach jerked and tanked. No way was it going to be easy re-creating the smart-talking, sassy woman who didn't give a damn.
"Good morning." Taylor put a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, then used an index finger to lift her chin. Looking into her burnt out eyes, he said, "Sleep well?"
"Like a top," she lied. "You?"
"Like a babe," he lied back.
Without preamble he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers. "You look like hell," he whispered in her ear before pulling back to take a sip of his coffee and stare down at her.
"Thanks," she strummed from some taut vocal cord.
Dan had stopped what he was doing to gape unabashedly, first at one, then the other.
"Close your mouth, Dan," Willy said. He snapped it shut, grinning as he turned back to the stove.
"Can I help?" Elena asked from the doorway. She was wearing a minuscule pair of satin shorts with a hot pink bustier. She looked spectacular. Willy, glad to have the spotlight off her, jumped from the counter. This time she winced when her side issued a sharp complaint. She had to move, get busy. Taylor was still looking at her. She couldn't read his expression and didn't want to try. She turned to Elena.
"Why don't you toss out those eggs Dan's been mauling and we'll start over?"
"Okay," the beautiful woman said agreeably. "It's about time I learned to cook anyway."
Willy lifted disbelieving eyes. "You can't cook?"
An apologetic look on Elena's face was her answer.
Willy sighed and gestured toward the stove. "Well, you can't do any worse than Dan. Just try for edible, okay?" She glanced at Taylor. "Think you can man the toaster?"
He nodded, and she quickly shifted her gaze from his. "Dan?" she said.
When Dan whipped the dish towel from his waist and saluted smartly, Willy had to smile. "How about setting the table? I think the farther you are from the stove, the better off we'll all be."
"Yes, suh! Right away, suh!"
Breakfast was underway.
* * *
An hour later, the dishes were cleared and the four of them were sitting in the sun on the small balcony, idling over dark coffee.
Willy and Taylor kept it light. While he was charmingly sarcastic, she played coolly unconcerned. Tense but workable, Willy thought. Each refused to bump against the unsaid words scattered between them like land mines. Good thing Dan and Elena were there—the perfect buffer.
She glanced at the happy pair. Obviously they'd done a better job of resolving their difficulties than her and Taylor. Dan was even more pumped than usual and Elena... well... Elena looked—satisfied. Just then Dan walked over to stand behind her. When he rested his hands on her shoulders, Elena leaned her head to look up at him. The look he gave her in return was filled with love and secrets. Willy forced down the lump in her throat and sipped her coffee.
"So, what's the plan?" Dan asked them. "Horseback riding, swimming, or a drive to Mijas?"
"Horseback riding," Taylor said.
"Mijas," Willy voted.
"Swimming," answered Elena, then laughed as she looked first at Taylor and Willy, then up to Dan. "Looks like you have the deciding vote, baby."
His hands massaged her shoulders. "Then I'll have to consider this carefully, won't I? I mean I have to be scrupulously fair, show no bias one way or the other. Right?"
"Right," Willy and Elena answered. Taylor glanced at Dan's hands and smiled.
Dan winked at Elena. "Then it's swimming. Fair enough?"
"Actually a swim sounds good," Taylor said as he stood up. "Let's go. I've got only one more day of this paradise and it's back to work. I plan to make the most of it." His eyes dropped to Willy.
Why had he mentioned leaving? It was one of those land mines and it made her stomach go into freefall. She turned to Elena. "Let's get our suits."
When the two women returned, Taylor and Dan were waiting at the bottom of the steps. She thought again how unalike they were. While Dan paced and chattered, Taylor leaned casually against the railing. He straightened slightly when Willy stepped to his side.
"Hey, Willy," Dan asked, "does that look like Cissy on a good day or what?" He pointed to a lemon yellow Citroen, parked by the curb.
Willy followed his gesture. "I can't remember Cissy ever looking like that. Not on any day." She ran a hand lovingly over the hood of the car. She was going to miss old Ciss. This gleaming twin reminded her just how much.
Taylor was standing a step back, watching as her hand stroked the car. She bent to look inside at the immaculate interior, straightened abruptly, and turned startled eyes to Taylor.
"You did this," she accused.
> He nodded, continuing to watch her.
"But when?"
"The police picked it up Monday."
"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you do this?" She rubbed her forehead, then pointed at the shiny car, a car completely restored inside and out. She had no doubt even Cissy's capricious innards were in perfect working order. Willy tried to sort through her feelings—a big stew of mad, glad, irritated and stupidly pleased and excited.
It had been a long time, a very long time, since anyone had done anything for her—but Willy looked after Willy—and Cissy. He had no right to take control of either of them. He had no right to... do things that made her love him even more than she already did. He was making everything—impossible. She took her hand from the car and crossed her arms over her chest.
Taylor watched her frown, and when she started to protest, he interrupted, his tone cool, his expression deliberately impassive. "The police called Monday. You were out. I took care of it. It's no big deal." There was no point in telling her he'd hoped to make her happy, or that when he'd seen the condition of the car, he'd started to worry about the damn thing being safe enough for her to drive. He couldn't believe she'd been driving around for years in that bucket of trouble.
She stared at him, her mouth a taut line. She looked about to explode.
Danny cleared his throat noisily. "I think Elena and I will carry on. By the looks of things, some private discourse is in order here." He turned to Willy. "Might as well toss in the towel, love. If old Stanley here has set his cap for you, you're a goner."
She tossed him an exasperated glance, and he grinned without a trace of remorse. "See you two at the beach. Come on, Elena."
Elena walked a few steps with him, then turned to look back. Her voice was soft when she said, "Don't be a fool, Willy."
When they were gone, Willy, arms still crossed, leaned against Cissy, her gaze rooted to the ground. "You shouldn't have done it, Taylor. She was fine the way she was."
Taylor took in a calming breath. "She wasn't fine and you know it. She was floating in her own oil. She puffed smoke like a pulp mill, and her battery was hazardous waste. Not to mention her brakes looked like worn-out tennis shoes. I'm amazed she brought you this far."
"She was good enough for me."
"Well, she wasn't good enough for me. She wasn't safe, dammit. She was an accident looking for a highway."
Two sets of eyes locked stubbornly and held. Willow knew he was right. Cissy had been worrying her lately. But she hadn't had the time, money, and inclination all at the same time to make the necessary repairs.
"I'll pay you back," she mumbled. "But you didn't have to do it," she added with somewhat less conviction. When her eyes slipped from his, he cupped her chin in his hand to pull her face back.
"It needed fixing and I fixed it. Just like you fixed me when I was sick. I owe you for that, Willy, so consider the car repairs payment, okay? I only wish I could fix what's wrong between us as easily." His voice softened on the last and his fingers tensed along her jawline.
Willy watched his expression change, deepen. His eyes dropped to her lips before lifting again to look into hers. "Forget the car, drive it to the nearest auto wrecker for all I care." He rubbed his thumb along her jaw. "Just don't spoil our last day together. It's going to have to last both of us a long time. I'm not going to say anything as dumbass as 'let's be friends.' But let's not beat on each other, okay? Let's not manufacture an argument to make saying good-bye easier—and for God's sake, let's not pretend that good-bye isn't going to hurt—both of us. We can be lovers for one more day. Or we can push each other away. Which will it be?"
Willow exhaled slowly, letting anger and frustration go on one long, aching breath. She closed her eyes. There was no doubt about her answer.
"Un dia mas," she whispered, taking his face between her hands. "Un dia mas." She kissed him softly and wrapped her arms around his waist. One day more, she'd said, when a lifetime wouldn't be enough. Maybe this time is different. Maybe I can't let him go. The thought terrified her. She pushed it away, clung to Taylor instead.
He pulled her to him, roughly, crushing her to him. "I want you all to myself." His voice was low, urgent as he nuzzled her throat. "Where can we go?"
"I know a place. A private beach."
He slanted his mouth across hers and ran his tongue along the seam of her lips. "How private?" he murmured.
"Private enough for a long... indescribable goodbye."
She felt his sigh against the column of her neck. "Perfect."
"I'll drive," she stammered through her crumbling senses.
"How fast?" he asked, dangling Cissy's keys in his hand, pulling them back when she reached for them. "I'm a man in a hurry."
"Not in too much of a hurry, I hope," she said, grabbing for the keys. "Indescribable takes a while."
* * *
Willy drove west, away from the Marbella sun crowd, and in less than an hour's drive took them to a secluded stretch of white sand, bounded on both sides by natural rock barriers. The descent to the beach was steep, but once there, they were completely alone. The Mediterranean had graciously yielded a place for lovers.
Taylor turned his back on her long enough to spread the blanket and stow the lunch they'd picked up along the way. By the time he swung around, removing his shirt as he did so, Willy was diving into the water, blond hair flying. His first impulse was to follow, his second was to sit back and make a memory, fix her long, tan, gloriously muscled body in his mind.
There was only one Willow Desmond, he thought. One wild, humorous, outspoken, brave, passionate, and thoroughly beguiling Willy. And innocent. Thinking of their first night together, he hardened and ached. He was her first man—which he was trying like hell not to make a big deal. Because what he really wanted to be was her last man. Ironic that his love was a threat to her, to her chosen way of life, and everything she'd made of herself. He didn't know how to change her and wasn't sure he wanted to.
He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looked toward the water. Willy was waist deep, her sea-slicked back to him. When she shook the water from her hair and turned to wave at him, he sucked in a jagged breath. She was topless. Sunlight danced over the fullness of her breasts, shifting and skipping with the play of the water. For a second she disappeared under the water. When she stood up, she was waving something at him and smiling. The memory making was over. It was her bikini bottom.
Taylor stood up and pulled off his shorts; his briefs followed. His body told him he wasn't going to do a whole lot of swimming. He raced for the water and the woman he loved.
"You're a brazen, teasing, bawdy little wench, did you know that?" He pulled her naked body tight to his own.
She cocked her head and appeared to consider his remarks. "Brazen, I'll admit to. And where you're concerned, I'm definitely bawdy, but a tease? Never! I always finish what I start." She reached a hand between them, at first stroking, then curling her fingers around his heat. Her intent was unmistakable. He stiffened against her hand and groaned.
"Willy. I can't take much of that." His voice was strained.
Willy wrapped her other arm around him and straddled his hips, opening herself to him. "Then take me." She bit his shoulder, then moved her mouth to whisper softly in his ear. "This one's for you, love."
He ground out her name and entered her with one potent stroke. When he pulled back, she let out a small, purring cry and rocked into him, demanding, urging. His vision blurred, and his control snapped. His need was urgent, overwhelming, and his release came with a force that jolted him. He poured into her, hot and shuddering. As his body throbbed its way to normal, Willy clung to him, her own breath a long, ragged sigh.
"That was like—" she started.
"A damned lightning strike. Sorry." He was sorry, and more than a little ashamed. It wasn't like him to be so careless a lover. But this woman did things to him like no other. His arms tightened around her, and he brushed his lips across hers.
She kissed his nose and grinned. "I like you wanting me like that. It feels good. And I was, uh, encouraging."
Taylor laughed and moved a long, wet strand of hair to behind her ear. "That you were. Now can I tempt you back to the blanket? I'd like to do some encouraging of my own." He lifted her slowly, dragging her breasts across the wall of his chest before lowering his head to take a taut nipple between his teeth.
"Hm-m," he murmured, circling her tight nipple with his tongue. "Just the right amount of salt," he added before taking her fully into his mouth.
Willow cried out his name and her head fell back. She dug her nails into his shoulders and held on, her entire body so centered on his soft suckling, she risked slipping under water. He tightened his grip.
"Taylor," she whispered.
"Uh-huh?" He let her slide down his chest, met her gaze.
"Kiss me. Kiss me like you'll never stop, then... kiss me again. And after that—"
He didn't need to hear more and she didn't need to finish the sentence. Trailing hot, searing kisses up her throat, he made sure the waters of the Mediterranean did nothing to cool the heat building between them.
He moved his hand low to stroke her and was rewarded with a jagged sigh, half his name, half moan. Ignoring the clamoring demands of his own body, he caressed her, slowly, lingeringly—as if he had all the time in the world.
Through the fog of want clouding his senses, he had one goal, that when he left, she would remember this day—remember him. He wanted his heart to show in his hands, to brand her with memories of him that would be relentless and forever.
Her soft murmur tumbled near his ear. He heard his name, a sigh, and finally her request. "The blanket, Taylor. Take me to the blanket."
Chapter 12
A sunset breeze blew lightly across Willow's bare back. Turning her head to rest it on her crossed arms, she opened her eyes. Taylor was beside her still sleeping. The light wind rustled softly through his hair. She yearned to touch it, to stroke it, but didn't. They could make love, she would give him her body, her passion, but she would not give him affection. Her body was more easily disciplined. But soft caresses from the heart spoke of a dangerous tenderness, a tenderness that threatened to overwhelm her. When he stirred, she turned away, afraid to see what was in his eyes, afraid for him to see what was in hers. A shiver rippled through her, and she inhaled long and deep.