Can't Forget Him

by West, Cara

  His look intensified. "Once I touch you, I won't be able to wait. I want you so much I ache with it, Megan. And I'm not sure you're ready."

  "Why don't you find out?" she whispered, her pulse thrumming.

  He clutched her to him and gave a great groan. Suddenly it seemed he couldn't get enough of her. His hands frantically explored her curves, inciting a riot of her senses.

  His mouth devoured her in random places—her face, her throat, the peaks of her breasts.

  He delved between her legs and found her wet and ready.

  She spread her thighs in wanton invitation.

  With a low growl he plunged inside.

  For a breathless moment, she lay stunned by the surge of pleasure. But her burgeoning needs wouldn't allow her to lie still. As he began his rhythmic penetration, she matched his pace.

  She wanted more. She wanted every bit of him. Her lips sought his, and he thrust his tongue into her demanding mouth.

  Her nails bit into his shoulders as her legs clutched his hips. She moaned deep in her throat, her urgency driving her.

  "Yes... come with me," he pleaded. "Come with me now."

  "Ohhh..." She arched her back, offering herself to him more fully. Deeper and deeper. Harder and harder.

  Together they drove toward a mindless climax.

  They reached it, together, with a mutual cry.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AS HE LAY beside Megan in the aftermath of love-making, Nate felt curiously light-headed. The blood flowing through his veins seemed as effervescent as champagne.

  He couldn't remember ever feeling this way before. Contented. Replete. Even satiated. Usually he had the sense of an episode ending. This time he felt as if they'd just begun.

  Not only that, he seemed suddenly weightless. He might be three feet above the bed by now.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in an effort to anchor himself to reality. Sure enough, he was in his bed, sweaty from making love to the woman beside him. That much was normal, even commonplace, he reminded himself.

  So why did he feel as if he'd just come uncorked?

  He turned and propped himself on his elbow, staring down at his bedmate. The only thing she wore was a slumberous expression. They hadn't even pulled the sheet over themselves.

  For the first time since he'd brought her back from Italy, Nate tried to distance himself from his feelings for her. Surely in the calm that comes after passion, he could study her with a measure of objectivity.

  She was lovely lying there, her lips swollen from their kisses, her dark hair in a tangle around her flushed face. But certainly she was no more beautiful than the ex-Miss Texas who'd last shared this bed.

  Her figure as he surveyed it was slender yet curvaceous. Her breasts fit his hands as if nature had built them for his exclusive benefit. Yet her body didn't have the tawny perfection of the aerobics instructor he'd dated for a month last year.

  The difference was that the woman lying beside him now was Megan. And although he'd loved her from the day she was born, now he loved her as a man loves a woman.

  But what exactly did that mean?

  He knew one thing. It didn't involve half-baked fantasies. What had happened between them tonight was hard-core reality. Totally different from any rosy-hued scenario he'd hoped to construct.

  Their joining had been basic, earthy and fierce. He could feel the scratches where her nails had clawed his shoulders. The musky scent of their sex hung in the air. They were both still sticky from the release they'd shared.

  Tonight, for the first time, he'd taken her without any guilt, with no regrets and no plan for the future.

  And simply lying here beside her caused his very bones to melt. Her features were utterly familiar to him, yet everything about her seemed new and mysterious.

  Suddenly she opened her eyes and caught him studying her. She blinked slowly, stretched like a cat and sent him a lazy smile.

  Zoom! There he went, up into the stratosphere. If he kept on like this, he'd leave Earth's orbit. He shook his head to clear it, but he only stirred the bubbles of happiness that seemed to crowd his brain.

  A small frown knit Megan's forehead. "What's wrong? Nate, you're not sorry we made love, are you?"

  Champagne foamed over the lip of the bottle.

  "No. Not this time," he said, trying to contain a witless grin.

  "Good," she said, but continued to study him. "You look... different."

  "I think it's reaction." He chuckled, and a cascade of bubbles escaped.

  His chuckle deepened into a laugh.

  Megan's frown was replaced with a look of puzzlement.

  He shook his head in similar bemusement. Yet the laughter kept coming. He realized in some remote corner of his mind that he was losing control. Sure enough, before long, he was shaking helplessly with mirth.

  He'd had no idea that love was so magnificently absurd.

  He swept Megan to him and rolled over on the bed. In seconds she was caught up in his hilarity. They tumbled and giggled and rubbed their bodies together. Before they knew it, they'd fallen off the bed.

  Tears streaked down Nate's cheeks, and he had difficulty breathing. "We can't just lie here," he wheezed, trying to untangle arms and legs.

  "Can't we?" she wondered. "I'm not sure I can get up."

  "I—I'll help you," he said, managing to get to his knees.

  Together they crawled back onto the mattress, but the fumbling act only brought on new convulsions.

  "Do you suppose," she managed at last, "you could tell me the joke?"

  "No j-joke..." He sputtered. "No joke—love." His laughter died and his breathing slowed.

  Gazing down at her, his throat tightened with emotion. "I have a feeling I've been transformed."

  The laughter in her face softened to a smile. "Do you care to elaborate?"

  "I'm not sure I can." He paused for a long moment, his expression growing tender. "Loving you has taken me places I never knew existed."

  Her smile froze. He felt her tense.

  He smoothed hair from her temple and put his forehead to hers. "It's okay, Megan. Don't get anxious. I know I frighten you when I tell you I love you."

  "No. It's not that. You don't understand—"

  "I know you can't say the words right now."

  "Oh, Nate! I wish it were that simple."

  "Shh, sweetheart. Right now, I'm content with just knowing I love you. Relax. Be with me. I've never been happier."

  She closed her eyes and sighed raggedly. "You... you're too generous."

  He stroked her cheek with one of his fingers. "That's what love does to me. You'll have to get used to it."

  He sank back on the bed and stared at the ceiling again, reviewing the evening from the time they'd met on her doorstep.

  Content with the silence, she lay her cheek on his chest.

  Finally he said with a hint of amazement, "All I can say is, it's been a hell of a night."

  She raised her head to look at him questioningly.

  "I'm thinking of my mother," he said. "My own mother. Right out of the blue."

  "Do you think you can accept her?" Megan asked. "You mean, can I relate to her now? I promised to try."

  "Remember what Betty said. If you can't, you'll be the loser."

  "Who would have thought she'd tear into me that way."

  "Do you like her?"

  "Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact. As you said, she's totally different from my mother. She dresses like a refugee. I wonder if Mother's planning on sprucing her up."

  "I don't think so. I believe one of the reasons Sandra was drawn to Betty was her lack of vanity. Sandra's spent so much of her time polishing her exterior. I think Betty's a refreshing change."

  "Listen to us," he said in a wondering voice. "Do you realize we're calmly discussing my mother's lover? A mousy little woman of at least fifty-five?"

  "But a brilliant artist."

  "Yes. Even I could see that, Philistine tha
t I am."

  "I hope you can accept their relationship. For your mother's sake, if not your own."

  "It's a strange feeling to know that she needs me. And she does need me. I could see that tonight. It's disturbing, too."

  "Why?"

  "Because, don't you see, I'm beginning to understand her. And I realize I'd never bothered to before. We just drifted apart, mostly from my lack of effort. And I always thought what a cold fish of a female she was. That's a terrible opinion to have of your own flesh and blood."

  "She gave you no reason to think otherwise."

  "True. So why do I feel guilty?"

  "Because, deep down, you care for her."

  "It's all so much to comprehend." His gaze focused on Megan and suddenly intensified. "What would I have done without you? No one else could have helped me through this."

  She slid her lips along one of his ribs. "Just consider it part of the service."

  "I see. In that case, thank you very much." He grinned. "How is it you reduce me to a gibbering idiot?"

  "I understand everything you've said so far."

  He snorted. "My technique is shot. I grope you with all the finesse of a randy teenager. We've already made love, and I'm as giddy as a virgin." He shook his head woefully. "This being in love is a humbling business."

  This time, she didn't tense when he said it. "My, my, my. I never thought I'd see the great Nate Kittridge cut down to size."

  Her hand skimmed over his body until she found what she was searching for.

  He jerked with surprise and then in reaction.

  "But what a size."

  "Did you just change the subject?" He managed to get the words out of a rusty throat. He'd already begun to throb and harden.

  "You're the one who brought sex up again. You said you're like a randy teenager." She chuckled low in her throat. "Huh. And you're the one who's always telling me I make you feel old."

  She circled one of his nipples with her tongue, and he felt as if he were being sensually ambushed.

  "You feel young and vigorous to me, sweetie," She crawled slowly up his body, dragging her breasts over his chest.

  He groaned and reached for her perfectly shaped bottom.

  "Nate..."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "I'm worried."

  "What about?"

  She wriggled farther up until she could whisper in his ear. "I'd really like to ravage you."

  ''Would you?" he rasped.

  "But I don't want you to feel used or sullied afterward, or that sex has gotten in the way of this new stage of our relationship."

  He started nibbling on the nearest shoulder. "What new stage is our relationship in?"

  "We're being open and honest. You're sharing your feelings. And admitting that despite your exploits you have deep-seated sexual anxieties."

  "I don't remember," he grumbled, "putting it exactly that way."

  "Don't you?" she whispered, and caught his earlobe between her teeth.

  During this discussion, she'd been stroking his erection until he thought he might scream with the delicious ache.

  "About this ravaging." He cleared his throat. "I'm willing to bargain with you." He was surprised he sounded halfway rational, considering his fingers had progressed over her bottom to the crack between her thighs. He began to spread her legs over his pelvis. "If you promise to go ahead with it, I'll promise not to feel sullied. And along the way you can cure my deep-seated anxiety."

  Lifting her hips without giving her warning, he settled her over him and buried himself in her channel of velvet.

  She gasped with the unexpected maneuver.

  "Just who," she asked breathlessly, "is ravaging who?"

  "Consider this part of my cure."

  "I thought I... Mmm, that feels wonderful." She sat back and took him more fully into her, then began to rock up and down.

  "Oh, Nate... I'm afraid I'm coming."

  "Don't be afraid. I'll be right with you." He could already feel the beginnings of her rhythmic contractions. He thrust wildly, losing the last of his control. They soared with the exquisite pleasure of the moment. She rippled over him, milking his release.

  MEGAN LISTENED to the pattern of Nate's breathing. She could hear it slow as he fell into sleep. She'd also tried to sleep, but found she couldn't keep her thoughts from scurrying.

  Nate had pulled the covers up over their cooling bodies. Edging out from under them, she turned to study Nate openly. Enough light seeped in the window from the house's exterior fixtures to allow her to do so.

  With sudden clarity, her memory focused on the moment in the plane when she'd watched him dozing. She'd scrutinized him then with a welcome detachment. Now that she was his lover—and in love with him—she wasn't nearly so objective.

  Lying here, he bore only a passing resemblance to the blond Adonis she'd idolized in childhood. That mythical creature no longer existed for Megan, despite fleeting reminders in Nate's devilish grin. Yet even the brash young stud had been an illusion. He'd never been brash a day in his life.

  Awake, he appeared to be exactly what he was, a handsome, thirty-nine-year-old businessman who would age gracefully and still be sexy at seventy. In the sleep of exhaustion, somehow, the years fell away, along with the guarded toughness that had become a second skin to him, leaving his face with an unexpected innocence.

  She recalled other men she'd gone to bed with and found herself comparing them.

  Marcel, her French lover, had been youthfully uninhibited. Nate hadn't been uninhibited since he was three. And despite his charm and cosmopolitan intelligence, Nate would never have the artistic knowledge that her lover Luke had shared with her. Nor would Nate ever claim the uncomplicated self-confidence that had been Tony's birthright. No, Nate's self-assurance had been hard won. Even if she did rattle it in bed.

  Odd that after making love with him, she should try to picture her past lovers. She couldn't imagine going to bed with any of them. Not after Nate.

  What did she plan to do with Nate, anyway? Keep him on ice until she was ready to settle down? Until she'd satisfied her need for independence at some future date? Until her family came around?

  Nate might say he didn't need a declaration of love, but her ambivalence had put him in an impossible situation. How long could she accept his loving generosity? How long would he let her?

  Especially since, in gaining a lover, Nate had lost his best friend. In fact, he was in danger of losing an entire life outside this bedroom.

  Nate hadn't mentioned marriage since the night he'd argued with Sam. He knew about her conflicted feelings. He wouldn't expect an answer until she was ready.

  He also knew that if she did accept his proposal without her parents' and siblings' blessing, she'd be choosing him over her family. The family she thought of as her due and right, whose love and support she couldn't imagine living without. But she couldn't imagine forgiving them if they rejected Nate because of her.

  A cold chill ran through her at this realization. Her heart felt as though it were coated with ice.

  Shivering, she climbed under the covers. Nate mumbled something and hauled her close. She burrowed into his side seeking the warmth of his body.

  The midnight hour had long passed before she found the oblivion of sleep.

  TWO CONVERSATIONS came about because of that fateful night. Betty relayed the first one to Megan while they hung paintings for the fast-approaching exhibition.

  Megan already suspected that the meetings with Betty's family had gone poorly. Both Betty and Sandra's expressions grew pinched when the children were mentioned. And Sandra hovered protectively more than ever.

  In fact, Betty waited to talk until Sandra had gone on an errand. "It didn't go well," Betty said as soon as Sandra left.

  Megan sighed with disappointment. "I had a feeling it hadn't."

  "All four of my children were there." Betty's voice was ragged. "Ken, Jr., arranged it without my knowing. I'd hoped to talk to each child individu
ally, starting with Ken."

  As Betty spoke, she'd been uncrating canvases, but now her hands faltered and she slid to the floor, her legs stretched before her.

  "I've tried so hard not to cry around Sandra. But, Megan, it was as bad as you can imagine."

  Megan went over and pulled Betty into a hug. "Tell me as much as you feel like telling."

  "They were angry—like Nate."

  Megan made a sound of surprise. "I thought Nate had managed to hide his anger."

  "It's not something a person can disguise. But at least he wanted to get beyond it."

  "He already has," Megan said.

  "I don't know if my children will ever be able to. Joe took it best, but then, he's the youngest. He's still in college and likes to think of himself as tolerant. But I could tell it shook him. Acceptance is always easier in the abstract."

  "What about the girls?" Megan asked, already dreading the answer.

  "They... I could tell they felt the most threatened. They closed ranks and told me I'd hurt them terribly. They said they weren't sure they even knew who I was anymore."

  "That's similar to Nate's feelings. It's just the initial shock. They'll come around."

  "I don't think so. They acted—" Betty swallowed "—disgusted. As if I'd committed a crime. Finally they said I could come to their houses, but... they both made it clear Sandra wasn't welcome." Betty took a steadying breath. "I told them if Sandra wasn't welcome, then I wouldn't be visiting. Sandra protested, but I stayed firm."

  Although Betty seemed calm, her tone remained bleak. "Kenny's wife won't even let me see Trey and Sarah. She said... she said I would be an evil influence on them."

  "Did Ken, Jr., agree with this?" Megan asked sharply.

  Betty shrugged. "He didn't contradict her."

  "Oh, Betty." Megan hugged her again. "I'm so sorry."

  "The whole thing went even worse than I'd feared. After we left, Sandra said she would set me up in a separate place. That she'd pay for everything so I could keep painting. She said she wouldn't see me anymore, if that's what I wanted."