by Janet Dailey
“Here.” She offered him the glass when she was through, and it was her turn to watch him.
If either of them noticed the champagne had gone flat, they didn't mention it. Her senses were alive to his presence, the sheen of the moonlight on his tanned features, the masculine fragrance of his cologne, the penetrating study of his gaze and the even sound of his breathing.
“It's a beautiful night, isn't it?” she commented as he refilled the glass and handed it to her.
“Perfect,” Josh agreed.
“Yes.” Her voice was a little breathless. “Champagne, moonlight and ... a little romance. What better way for a girl to celebrate her twentieth birthday?"
The question was a softly provocative challenge to remind him of his mistaken impression of her age. The corners of his mouth deepened with amusement.
“Why didn't you tell me how old you were?” he countered with a challenge of his own.
“Would you have believed me? You were convinced I was seventeen,” Annette reminded him, and lowered her gaze to the glass of champagne. “Besides, you might have been the kind of man who gets turned on by sweet young things."
“'Sugar and spice and everything nice,'” Josh quoted. “There is definitely more spice in your makeup."
“Do your tastes run to spicy things?” she asked.
“I can't imagine anything more boring than a bland diet,” he replied.
“Neither can I,” Annette agreed. “I hope you realize how frustrating it was trying to act the age you thought I was."
“I hope you realize how frustrating it was trying to treat you like the girl, I thought you were instead of the woman I wanted you to be,” Josh countered. “You knew that. And you deliberately provoked me."
“Why, Mr. Lord, whatever do you mean?” Impish lights danced in her innocently rounded gray eyes.
“You can drop the prim and proper act,” he advised with a mocking slant to his mouth. “I'm wise to you now."
“Are you?” she murmured, and carried the glass to her mouth for another sip of the champagne.
“Yes. And you've had enough of that.” Josh took the glass from her hand and emptied its contents into the sand. Then he tossed it and the bottle onto the beach.
“You shouldn't litter,” Annette admonished, anticipation of his intentions rushing along her nerve ends.
“We'll pick them up—later,” he said, and reached for her shoes to rid her hands of them, too. They made a soft little plop as they landed on the sand.
When Josh faced her again, neither was holding anything. “You've enjoyed the moonlight and drunk champagne. Now it's time for some of that romance you mentioned earlier."
His hands spanned her slender waist to draw her to him. It seemed to Annette that she floated into his arms. It was all so unhurried. Confidence seared her. It was happening just the way she had planned it.
“I was beginning to wonder whether you heard me say that,” she murmured when his face was very close to hers.
His warm breath caressed her lips as his mouth hovered above them. “I heard you."
Nothing was held back when Josh kissed her, not his experience and not his desire. Annette was engulfed by a force more potent than she realized. It fired her senses and melted her body to his solidly muscled flesh. Her mouth was filled with the taste of him. It induced a languor more dangerous than any from champagne.
The wild rhythm in her ears was the drumming of her heartbeat, gloriously loud and primitive. Roaming male hands applied pressure, arching her spine to fit her more intimately to his body. Her fingers combed themselves into his hair, its texture vital and thick.
His nibbling mouth teased an earlobe and loved on to the pulsing cord in her neck, raising shivers through her flesh. She was on tiptoe, straining to achieve the physical absorption that seemed so necessary to ease the inner aching. When his hand spread along her ribs just below the uplift of a breast, her lungs stopped working.
With shock, Annette realized that she had no control over what was happening to her. Her actions and reactions were being dictated by emotion and sensation. Josh was the leader and she was the follower. Never in her life had she allowed someone else to lead the way unless she knew where they were going, but Josh was taking her to an uncharted mountain peak and he was setting the pace.
She drew back, resisting, unaccustomed to the dizzying heights. Her body quaked with small tremors. Josh felt them and let her feet touch flat ground while keeping her within the loose circle of his arms. She couldn't look at him, not when she was so vulnerable.
Gritty sand had worked its way inside the thin mesh of her stockings. To the side, Annette could hear the soft murmur of the Atlantic Ocean. Her hands were spread across the front of his chest, the thud of his heartbeat beneath her fingers and the ragged edge of his breathing. Nervously she moistened her lips, tasting him and being unsettled all over again.
“You don't practice what you preach, Josh!” She attempted a breezy accusation, but it came out breathless and disturbed.
“Why is that?” His hands lightly stroked the back of her ribs, caressing and distracting.
“You didn't think much of Craig's public display of affection, but here you are—with me—doing the very same thing.” Of course, there was a difference. There wasn't a soul around, which also accounted for some of Annette's nervousness.
“We are exposed here,” Josh agreed. “And I would much prefer to make love to you in private.” Her heart rocketed in a combination of thrill and alarm. But again, he was setting the tempo—and he was making the decisions. “My suite faces the water. It's just a short walk from here."
Her breath was coming in uneven spurts as she pushed the rest of the way out of his arms with a husky laugh. “I said I wanted a little romance, Josh. I don't remember implying anything about a full seduction number by moonlight."
A silence lengthened as Annette moved to pick up her shoes. She shook out the sand inside them, feeling the watchfulness of his gaze. She had never felt so unsure of herself. The beach could have been made of quicksand. She wished Josh would say something, because she couldn't think of a thing. Her pulse accelerated like a race car when he approached her.
“I made a mistake about your age,” Josh said, “but I wasn't wrong about your experience. You haven't taken that step into the bedroom yet. You've never slept with a man, have you?"
Annette felt uncomfortably warm. “I've heard that men snore.” She tried to be flippant.
When he slipped a hand under her arm she stiffened apprehensively, but Josh's only intention was to guide her to the sidewalk. Once there he stopped but continued to hold on to her arm.
“Put your shoes on,” he instructed.
The moon highlighted his features, allowing Annette to see his expression. She knew her passionate response and subsequent cold feet had given him cause for anger, but she couldn't find any sign of it. Under the circumstances Josh seemed remarkably tolerant of her hot-then-cold behavior.
The grip of his hand balanced her as she slipped on her shoes and hooked the strap behind her heel. She didn't feel quite so small with them on—literally or figuratively—since they seemed to return some of her poise.
“There are two ways people can learn how to swim,” Josh said, and Annette gave him a puzzled look. The subject was totally out of place. “The quickest is to throw them into the deep end and hope their instinct for survival will get them safely ashore. But that's a severe shock to the system and it rarely turns out to be a pleasant experience."
He paused briefly and it began to sink in that he was speaking analogically, comparing swimming to making love. Annette felt her inner confusion and tension begin to ease with his words.
“On the other hand, a person can learn to swim slowly,” Josh continued. “It means starting out by practicing some of the basics and advancing by stages. Then it becomes an activity a person can enjoy."
“Yes.” Her smile was soft.
Because of his understanding,
she fell a little bit more in love with him. In his own way he was telling her that he wanted her but he wasn't going to rush her. It indicated a respect for her as a person. She wasn't merely a means to satisfy his lust. If he respected her, Josh could love her, and that was ultimately her aim.
“Let me pick up the champagne bottle and glass, then I'll walk you to your room,” he said as he released her arm.
“Okay.” Annette didn't object.
Her gaze followed his easy striding figure across the sand to the spot where he had discarded the bottle and the glass. She felt a little bit starry-eyed and bemused. She had known Josh was special the minute she'd seen him. And time was proving her to be right.
When he returned, he hooked an arm around her shoulders and curved her to his side. Their legs brushed against each other as they started walking slowly in the direction of her room. She rather liked the feeling of his hard thigh rubbing against hers, their steps matching. Simple things brought quiet joy, but the sensation was no less pleasing because of its simplicity.
Ahead of them a litter barrel was screened to blend in with the landscape. They stopped so Josh could deposit the champagne bottle and glass inside it. They left the beach area and entered the hotel grounds, following the sidewalk. Moonlight silvered the pavement to add its glow to the ground-lighted walk.
“Your sister doesn't resemble you, does she?” Josh remarked.
“No. We're a mixed-up combination of our parents,” she smiled. “Marsha has my mother's eyes and fair complexion and Dad's dark hair. I have his eyes and my mother's hair. And Robby's a whole different story. We are unique, to say the least."
“I would agree,” he murmured, his downward glance vaguely mocking. “What happened to your mother?"
“She died when I was small. She had congenital heart trouble—nothing serious—but she caught the flu ... and died,” Annette explained. “For a long time it was just Dad, Marsha and me ... until we found Kathleen."
“You found Kathleen?” Josh questioned the choice of verbs.
“It's a long story,” she assured him with a laughing smile. “To make it short, I guess you could say that Kathleen was hired to look after us—as a kind of nanny. After she and dad got to know each other, the rest, as they say, is history."
“You like her a great deal, don't you?” he observed.
“Yes.” It was almost an understatement.
“She's mother, big sister and best friend all rolled into one. I couldn't have picked a better wife for my dad if I'd tried."
The statement slipped out before Annette realized she'd said it. She slid a brief glance at Josh to see if he read anything unusual in it. At this stage it was better he didn't know about the way she and Marsha had helped their father's courtship along. But Josh seemed to take the remark at face value.
When they reached the outside stairs to the second-floor balcony-hall where her room was located, he let his arm slide to her waist, giving each of them more freedom to climb the steps. They passed the corner suite occupied by her parents. The curtains were pulled and no light could be seen.
Before they reached the door to her room, Annette realized, “I forgot my key. I'll have to wake Marsha up to let me in."
“Either she's still awake or she left a light on for you,” Josh said, drawing her attention to the glimmer of light behind the window draperies.
“She's probably reading,” Annette guessed.
With silent mutual agreement, they stopped in front of her door and Annette turned, his hand sliding from the back of her waist to a rounded hipbone. There was a velvet quality to his look, warm and sensual. It had its effect on her senses, disturbing them in an inwardly thrilling way.
His hand increased its pressure on her hip to draw her close, while the other tunneled under her hair to cup the back of her head. She raised her lips to his descending mouth and slid her arms inside his jacket to circle his middle. His male length was as hard and warm as his kiss—and as evocative. There was the instant leaping of desire, but Annette was prepared for it this time so its force didn't alarm her. Of her own accord she invited him to deepen the kiss. His hand shifted to her lower back and arched her firmly against him.
When he pulled his male lips from hers, there was a shaken edge to his rough breathing. His dark gaze blazed into her smoky eyes, black pupils dilated and ringed by a narrow gray iris.
“No more beginners’ lessons for you,” he stated huskily. “You're ready for the advanced courses."
“Think so?” she murmured, unconsciously provocative.
A bemused line turned in the corners of his mouth as Josh took his hand from her spine and knocked on the hotel-room door behind Annette. Getting the message, she loosened her encircling arms to stand free of him.
“Who is it?” Marsha's voice was partially muffled by the separating door.
“It's me—Annette,” she answered reluctantly. “I forgot my key."
“Just a minute.” The request was followed by the rattle of the safety chain and the turn of the dead bolt.
Before the door opened, Josh trailed a caressing hand across her cheek and let it pause to press his thumb to her lips and stroke them lightly. Then he was drawing it away.
“Good night, Annette,” he murmured.
“Good night,” she replied with equal softness.
He was walking away when the door swung in to admit Annette, but Marsha had a glimpse of his back before he disappeared. Her glance was sharp with curious interest when her older sister entered. She closed the door.
“You look positively mellow, Annette,” she observed with some surprise. Her eyes widened as Annette made a waltzing circle across the floor and stopped, hugging her arms tightly around her.
“I'm in love,” she laughed. “If I had any doubts, they vanished tonight!"
“I take it the lucky man is Josh,” Marsha guessed. “What happened?"
“Nothing. Everything,” Annette declared, apparently unaware of the extremes of her two answers. With a graceful turn she sank onto the bed and lay back on the pillows, fully dressed.
“Well, where did you go?” She wondered if her sister was capable of an answer that made sense. “What did you do?"
There wasn't an immediate reply, then Annette propped herself up on one elbow. Marsha didn't like the mischief dancing in her eyes.
“Josh invited me to his suite,” Annette announced.
“Annette, you didn't go?” Even as she doubted, Marsha was prepared to believe almost anything. Sometimes she swore her sister delighted in shocking her with outrageous statements.
“No, I didn't go.” She lay back on the pillows with that dreamy smile dominating her expression. “Not this time anyway."
Marsha forced herself to ignore the qualification, certain she was being baited. “Does he love you?"
The question had a sobering effect on Annette. “I'm not sure.” She sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling. “It's so difficult to be objective. Sometimes I can't even think straight when he's near me,” she admitted. “But if he doesn't love me now, he will—soon."
Marsha wasn't as positive about it, but she decided it was better if she kept her doubts to herself. Annette had a way of making things work out the way she wanted them to, even when Marsha thought it was impossible. For her sister's sake, she hoped it would be the case this time, too.
When Annette began telling her about Josh, Marsha moved to her bed and sat cross-legged at the bottom of it. She listened while Annette confided her excitement and fears and happiness. She wasn't sure how many yawns she smothered before Annette's exuberance abated. It was well into the wee hours of the morning before either of them crawled under the covers to sleep.
It seemed that Annette had barely laid her head on the pillow when the telephone began ringing shrilly. She tried burying her head under the pillow, but it couldn't shut out the incessant ring. Marsha groaned in the next bed.
Dragging an arm from beneath the covers, Annette groped for the phone on
the bed table. Her fingers plucked the receiver off the hook in mid-ring and carried it under the pillow to her ear.
“Hello,” she mumbled grumpily.
“Up and at ’em, sleepyhead,” Josh's disembodied voice chided her.
Her eyes opened as she fought off the drugging tiredness. “Josh?"
“How many other men call you in the morning?” he mocked.
She sat up, knocking the pillow to the floor. “This is the first time you've called,” Annette reminded him.
“So it is,” he admitted. “Are you jogging with me this morning?"
“I ... what time is it?” Between sleep and confusion, nothing was clear.
“Six-thirty."
Part of her wanted to collapse onto the mattress, but not the half in control. “I have to get dressed yet."
“Pity,” he replied. “I'll give you fifteen minutes, then I'm leaving without you."
“I'll be ready.” She was already throwing back the covers and swinging out of the bed. “Bye."
“Aren't you going to ask where to meet me?” Josh chided.
“Where shall I meet you?” she asked, obliging him.
“I'll wait for you at the beach."
“In fifteen minutes,” she repeated.
“Now you can hang up,” he mocked.
Smiling at the receiver, she did. As she started for the bathroom, Marsha groggily raised her head, giving her a blurry-eyed look.
“Where are you going? Who was that?” she muttered thickly.
“It was Josh. He wants me to go jogging with him,” Annette explained hurriedly, and took off toward the bathroom.
“What time is it?” Marsha frowned.
Annette paused at the door long enough to answer, “Six-thirty."
With a groan, Marsha flopped her head onto the pillow. “You must be crazy,” she mumbled, but water was running in the sink so Annette didn't hear when Marsha added, “or in love."