The light dawned, crystal clear and unflatteringly bright. He’d thought by praising her—by pointing out all the things she did well—he was helping. He’d done just the opposite.
He scrambled to think of some way he could fix it.
“I don’t think you really understand my definition of perfect. Not in relation to you. I’d like to start the whole evening over again and explain it. Let’s begin with that dress.”
Her eyes swung back to his face, narrowing in suspicion. “What’s wrong with my dress?”
“It’s completely inappropriate for a dance in Cherry Lake. No one could take their eyes off it.” Or her. His own included. They were glued to her now, examining each subtle shift of the color in hers. “Therefore, it’s perfect for you.”
A slight smile edged out the distrust. “That’s me. Expensive yet trashy.”
“Eye catching,” he corrected her. “Attention grabbing. And this might be me, but I thought juxtaposing a polished, blue stainless steel mural of the Swan Range with Mrs. Keleher’s Grade Three mountain landscaping was a questionable decision. I mean, come on. How is my work supposed to show to its best advantage while competing with that?”
“Tracey MacAdam is head of procurement at the Heritage Center in Billings. Her son is in that Grade Three class. They’re organizing an exhibit of Montana art from the nineteenth century to the twenty-first and your work would fit in well. I placed those two works together so she’d be sure to see it. Plus, the press loved it. The photographer took shots of both.”
“And that’s why your decision was perfect. It was also a lot better thought out than I gave you credit for,” he admitted. “I figured that was all a lucky coincidence.”
“I see what you’re doing.” Her lips curved a tiny bit more, sexy and sweet and distracting. “It’s working.”
“I’m sorry if you think my expectations of you are too high. But the truth is I don’t have any expectations of you other than that you be…” He shrugged, helpless to find the right words. “You.”
“Being me can be stressful.”
“Believe me. So can being around you. It’s almost impossible to figure out what’s going on in that fluffy blonde head of yours. I know because I’ve been trying for years.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I don’t think you’re perfect, Jess. I think you’re perfectly you.”
She lowered her gaze to the gift in her lap, running her fingers over the sculpture, testing the thin layers of hammered and polished steel. “No one has ever given me anything so thoughtful before. Thank you. I love it.” When she looked up at him, his brain did that stupid thing where it slipped its moorings and drifted from shore. “I’m sorry. I did a terrible thing to you and I hope you can someday forgive me for it.”
There it was. Wide out in the open at last. He couldn’t allow this window of opportunity to close so he dove through it headfirst. “In order to forgive you I’d need to know what went wrong. Was it something I did? Said?”
She plucked at the pink ribbon, lacing it through her fingers. Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone it was me you were with that night?”
“Your parents would have been furious—and since that was what you were hoping to accomplish, why would I help you?”
“You think I went out with you that night to make my parents angry?” He lifted an eyebrow, daring her to deny it, but she was more honest than that. “Maybe a little,” she conceded. “But it wasn’t the whole reason. Not the real one.” She chewed on the inside of her lip as she considered her words. “Have you ever wanted something so bad you’d do anything to get it, and right when that moment comes—right when you’re about to grab it—you discover it’s a lot more than you expected, and maybe you aren’t ready for it?” Her voice grew huskier as if she were fighting tears, but Jess didn’t waste time on crying. She was too tough for that. “When I was eighteen, I had no idea that’s how I felt about you. It finally hit me that night. I got scared.”
And when she got scared she did stupid things.
He’d assumed her mistake had been in going out with a boy her parents hadn’t approved of, when in fact, the biggest mistake that night had been his. He really had moved too fast—but if he hadn’t been so young and stupid himself he might have understood that he was pushing her too hard emotionally, not physically.
He didn’t bother saying he forgave her. She wouldn’t believe him. Or if she did, she’d never accept she deserved it. She was too hard on herself. Nothing he did or said could change that. She’d have to find her self-confidence on her own.
Besides, forgiving her was one thing. Trusting her was another. He might have pushed her too hard that night, yes, but she, for her part, had given his heart a real beating. He wasn’t sure it could withstand another.
She was still talking about leaving in November. Honestly, he couldn’t think of any reason why she should stay. Cherry Lake had nothing but bad memories for her. He might have loved who she was, but she’d been a person she hadn’t liked.
He’d rather she liked herself than love him.
Outside the cab of the truck, a shadow glided on soundless wings through the moon-drenched trees. Probably an owl, searching for mice. At least one thing had been accomplished this evening—he could look at this place differently, now. He wouldn’t have to keep finding alternate routes when he headed out to Mission Range. The associated memories had shifted.
There weren’t going to be any kisses under the moonlight. Nothing else, either. Not here. Not tonight. They weren’t the same people they’d been back then.
He wanted her. That hadn’t changed and no doubt never would.
But he didn’t know how he felt about her anymore. How much he dared to feel.
“I guess I can understand that. For what it’s worth, you scared the hell out of me, too.” He flipped off the light and reached for the ignition. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get you home.”
*
She wasn’t yet ready to leave.
Damon’s gift to her was far more than a sculpture. He’d accepted without judgment the value of a relationship almost everyone else had tried to diminish—including John’s children, who should have wished for their father’s happiness. He’d given her something beautiful to remember it by.
All she’d ever done was use and embarrass him. She’d even bullied him into giving her a job. All he’d gotten in return was a reminder to the whole community of an incident they’d both prefer to forget.
Everyone knew what she’d done to him, just as her grandfather had said. If they hadn’t before tonight, they would soon enough. No apology she made could ever make up for that.
No words could express how much his gift meant to her, either.
This whole evening—the dance, the gift—left her head in a tailspin, with no idea of where things between them now stood. Now he was pulling away from her.
And a part of her panicked.
She caught his hand before he could turn over the key. It was warm beneath hers, the skin rough and the nail beds stained, but his fingers were tapered and strong.
A working man’s hands.
Her manicure was no longer perfect. She’d been doing her own. Cleaning toilets and washing walls and windows meant spending money on something so frivolous was a waste. She needed a haircut, too. A color touch-up wouldn’t be amiss.
She’d have to make do for a few more months. Tony’s wife had looked pretty and fresh without the full salon treatment. Carrie did, too. They might not look perfect, but they looked like themselves, not copies or fakes. No plastic surgery for them, as so many women in LA felt the need for. If Jess had stayed—if she went back—she’d no doubt likely succumb to it too, sooner or later. As with so many things, she’d never given it much thought.
The moon flickered in and out between the shifting branches of the trees. Through the windshield, stars sparkled against the soft midnight blue of the sky. A meteor,
or possibly a satellite, streaked across the heavens. An airplane followed at a more leisurely pace, leaving a slipstream in its wake. The night was humid, filled with the smells of turned earth from the work being done in the orchard now that the crops were in.
She was still holding his hand. She withdrew hers, clasping her fingers together and resting them in her lap. “I’m sorry tonight was awkward for you,” she began. Now that the important apology was over, she seemed to have plenty more where it came from.
He’d half-turned toward her, his left elbow anchored on the steering wheel. The tangy scent of his aftershave clung to her skin from when they’d been dancing.
“Don’t worry about it. Tonight wasn’t even close to the most awkward moment in my life.” His voice softened. The air in the cab grew heavier. More charged. “What are we doing here, Jess?”
Another question she had no ready answer for.
They’d been dancing for weeks, now. One more waltz wouldn’t hurt. “You’re the one who drove us out here,” she said.
“I don’t mean in the orchard. I mean here.” He twitched a finger back and forth from him to her. “This. Right now.”
Her heart rate picked up. She’d been running from him since she was eighteen. Maybe it was time to figure out why. What it was about him that scared her so much. “Do you ever wonder what it might have been like between us? What we missed out on?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a guy. I was a hormone-driven twenty-year-old, and you’d left me frustrated and naked. Of course I did.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “I’m still a guy. And yeah. I still wonder. How about you?”
“Yes,” she said. “And I still do, too.”
She stretched out her hand in the darkness and touched his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble beneath the pads of her fingertips. She traced her forefinger along the crease that bracketed his mouth when he smiled. She heard the slight hitch in his breathing.
There was too much distance between them. Too much space. Too many years. She inched closer to him, lifting one slim leg over the gearshift on the floor, until her hip was pressed against his.
He smoothed the panel of her dress nearest him over her leg, his fingers skimming the inner flesh of her thigh without lingering. “Did I mention that I really love this dress?”
“Did I remember to tell you how handsome you look?” she asked in return. “Easily the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”
He slid an arm around her shoulders and she nestled into the breadth of his chest. “Well, yeah. Of course I look good. I mean, by comparison. I’ve got age on my side. No offense.”
There was no cruelty in his words. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. He’d never pretend she hadn’t loved someone else, or tiptoe around it, either.
“None taken,” she said. “Besides, there’s really no comparing you to anyone else.” She laid her palm on his leg. She tilted her chin so she could better see his face. “Why did you really bring me out here, tonight?”
“To do this.”
His head lowered. His lips touched hers, just a gentle caress.
And Jess, who could have sworn she had not a single romantic bone in her body, felt Fourth of July fireworks exploding inside her.
This.
This was what being with Damon would be like, only better.
She shifted, arching against him, her knee now on his thigh. He caught her lip in his teeth. Her fingers curled into his shirtfront, begging for more as his tongue played across her bottom lip.
His hand eased beneath the fold of fabric sheathing her breast. She inhaled, the slow glide of his palm on her flesh scattering her thoughts. The pad of one thumb rubbed over her nipple, the sensation sending waves of heat shooting through her abdomen. She gasped out loud.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice raw and filled with concern.
“No.”
He could never do that.
He lifted her so that her knees straddled his thighs, the skirt of her dress parted in the middle and hiked to the crotch of her panties.
“I really love this dress,” he murmured.
All evening, her fingers had been itching to loosen that tie. She did so now, then worked on freeing the buttons. She splayed her hands across his exposed chest and felt the length of him straining the front of his trousers, the hardness rubbing against her.
He caught her wrists in one hand. Another deep, slow, thorough kiss sent her thoughts in a million different directions. He nudged her panties aside, felt her dampness, then slid one finger deep inside her. She let him establish a rhythm, moving against him, her thrusts becoming more and more frantic, her release coming closer. His touch told her he knew it. That he was in control. He kissed the side of her throat, murmuring words of encouragement. Her orgasm exploded, her muscles clenching his finger tight. His lips moved to hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth as she cried out.
Every bone in her body collapsed. She melted against him, her breathing unsteady. That had been amazing.
It wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted more.
But tonight wasn’t about her. She tried to free her hands from his grasp, anxious to be touching him, too.
“Not yet,” he said, not releasing his grip, still completely in charge.
They’d soon see about that.
He let go of her hands and snagged the band of her panties and tugged downward, inching them over her hips. She rose on her knees, kicked off her sandals, and after a little maneuvering, the panties were gone.
Her fingers flew to the fly of his trousers. She took her time with the zipper, easing it down, dragging the top of his underwear with it, the tip of her finger tracing the long vein on his erection.
“Huh. I guess I really am as easy to get out of my pants as I ever was,” he said.
“I never thought for a second you wouldn’t be.” She leaned forward and kissed him, squeezing him in her hand, sliding her palm up and down until he groaned. “I want you inside me,” she whispered. “I want to feel every inch of you moving in me. But I don’t have anything with me. Tell me what you want me to do about it.”
His voice came out hoarse. “Baby, you can do what you like. I’m in no position to protest. I think I can help you out, though.”
He reached for the dash, fumbled inside it, and withdrew a small packet.
“That’s a terrible place to store condoms,” she said. “It gets too hot in the cab of a truck in the summer. It causes the latex to break down.”
“Really? Are you lecturing me on safe sex? Right now? What the hell, Jess?” His voice rumbled out of him, thick with a mixture of amusement, desire, and frustration. “Not to worry. You’re in good hands. It’s only been there a few hours.”
He’d hoped for this tonight, then. Her hopes rose too, although why, she couldn’t honestly say. She wasn’t thinking about anything but this moment.
She traced the tip of her tongue along the rim of his ear. Her fingers skimmed the length of his erection. “You were that sure of yourself?”
“Not even a little. I am, however, an optimist. And a former boy scout. We believe in always being prepared.”
“Then let’s make sure you are.”
Seconds later, she guided him to her, accepting only an inch before lifting her hips and almost—not quite—withdrawing, beginning a slow, sensual tease that soon had them both panting.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he growled through clenched teeth.
She rested her forehead against his, her hand at the back of his neck. She nipped at his lower lip, tugging it with her teeth. “I’m only doing to you what you did to me.”
“Well I can’t take much more of it.” His hands palmed her breasts, freeing them from the flimsy bodice of her dress. He took one nipple in his mouth, tracing the pink tip with his tongue. His fingers played with the sensitive underside of the other. Every nerve in her body caught fire.
She gripped his shoulders, her fingers underneath his open shirt, digging into
his flesh, and eased him all the way inside her, her muscles tightening around the thick, hard swell of him. A small moan that she couldn’t bite back escaped her. He jerked his hips upward in urgent response, then again, and again. His hands cupped her bottom, holding her steady. She cried out as another orgasm shook through her, far more intense than the first. He went stiff, arched his back, and came on a low groan of pure bliss.
She collapsed in his arms, her head against his shoulder, fairly certain the world had shifted its orbit.
Cool night air from the open truck window played across her hot skin. The world had fallen silent. His shirt hung off his shoulders. His hair, damp with sweat, spiked up in the front. She’d never seen anything sexier. Or more self-satisfied either, which made her smile. Her foot was tangled in one leg of his trousers, now puddled around his ankles. The skirt panels of her dress were caught under his thighs. Her panties were gone. Her bodice was in complete disarray, leaving her breasts bare to the touch of his hands as they both slowly recovered.
She could stay like this forever.
He lifted her off his lap. He tucked her panties into the pocket on the door of his truck, then straightened his trousers.
Once everything was put to rights, he turned on the ignition, shifted the truck into reverse, and began to back out of the orchard as she tidied her dress and fastened her seatbelt.
He hadn’t uttered a word.
Disappointment settled inside her. He was so matter-of-fact. Back to business. This hadn’t been the same earthshattering experience for him that it had been for her.
What had she expected?
They’d had sex, plain and simple, ten years overdue.
She stared out the window. It took a few seconds for the landmarks to register. They weren’t heading back toward town.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He took his eyes off the road for a second. The look he sent her simmered with heat.
“My place.”
Her Secret Love Page 13