Serendipity

by Fern Michaels

  Woo cradled Jory in his arms, his expression full of awe. This young woman matched his ardor, and without reservation gave herself totally to him. How beautiful she was in the dim glow of the room, how gentle she could be, and then she could become a raging riptide, swirling and crushing his volcanic outpourings until the molten lava and thundering waters were a marriage of one.

  Imperceptibly, his embrace tightened. Jory smiled into his dark eyes, which mirrored his soul. Woo’s thumb traced the delicate skin over her golden lashes. He thought of her as a sleepy angel. She belonged to him. For now.

  His tone when he spoke was a husky caress. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Lovemaking gives you the aura of an angel and the soul of a lioness.”

  “I feel wanton,” Jory whispered softly. She sighed deeply. She never wanted to leave this place, leave Woo’s embrace. His hard, manly body that molded itself to hers was so comforting, so right.

  Was it possible that she loved this man? Even as she thought it, she knew it was possible, if she allowed it.

  She stirred, affording herself a better look at his face. He appeared sleepily relaxed. A sudden surge of desire and longing stirred within her. She wanted him, needed him again, and again. She shifted her position slightly and leaned toward him. Strong arms pulled her body on top of his. Hungry mouths searched, found, and conquered in the dimness of the firelight.

  Tenderly, his fingers lifted her chin, raising her lips to his own. His arms tightened about her, pressing her close to his chest, crushing her breasts against him. His body was hard and muscular. Jory’s arms encircled his back. Without reason or logic, she felt safe and secure in his embrace, and she faced her tumultuous emotions with direction and truth. She wanted this man just the way she’d wanted him before. Wanted him to make her the woman she knew she could be . . . the woman Ross had never known existed.

  Looking into his eyes without a trace of shyness, she was aware that she could drown in that incredible dark gaze and emerge again as the woman she wanted and needed to become.

  When he released her, his eyes searched hers for an instant, and time became eternal for Jory. From somewhere deep within her, she felt a desire to stay forever in his arms, loving the touch of his mouth upon hers as passions began to build to a crescendo, threatening to erupt like fireworks. Thick, dark lashes closed over sparkling golden eyes, and she heard her own breath come in ragged little gasps as she boldly brought her mouth once more to his, offering herself, kissing deeply, searchingly, searing this moment upon her memory.

  She kissed him as she had never kissed another man . . . a kiss that made her knees weak and her head dizzy. She knew, in that endless moment, that this man, this giant of a man, belonged to her in a way no other man could ever belong to her, for however brief this time together would be. She had found him, a man who could make her senses real, her passions explode, who could promise the fulfillment she had only dreamed could be hers.

  Woo’s gentle fingers caressed her cheek softly and seemed to know what she was feeling. “There are needs of the soul that go beyond the hunger of the body.” His voice was deep, husky, little more than a whisper.

  Gently, in the firelit room, he nuzzled her neck, inhaling the heady fragrance that was hers alone. Blazing a hot trail from her throat, his lips covered her unguarded breasts, and she shivered with exquisite anticipation. She became unaware of her surroundings, oblivious to time and place; she only knew her body was reacting to this man, pleasure radiating outward from some hidden depths within herself. She allowed herself to be transported by it, incapable of stopping the forward thrust of her desires, spinning out of time and space into the soft, consuming vapors of her sensuality.

  Her emotions careened and clashed, grew confused and wild, her perceptions thrumming and beating wherever he touched her. And when he moved away from her, leaving her, she felt alone and grieving. When he returned, she was whole again, wanting, needing, wanting to be needed. The feverish heat of his skin seemed to singe her fingers as she traced inquisitive patterns over his arms and back and down over his muscular haunches.

  She had never touched a man this way, not even before or during her short marriage to Ross. But somehow she knew she could touch a thousand men this way and none would feel the same to her as this man. None would have unexpectedly smooth skin that tantalized her fingers and tempted her to seek the hard, rolling muscles that lay beneath. No other man could possess this soft furring on his broad chest that tickled her nose and brushed her lips, nor the long, hard length of thigh that her wandering hands had found and explored.

  Suddenly the room was almost dark, the fire at last dying, jealously keeping the sight of him from her eyes. She wanted to see him, to know him, behold the places her fingers yearned to find and her lips hungered to kiss.

  The fire flared then, lighting the room again. “I want to see all of you,” she whispered throatily.

  He was filled with an exhilarating power that came from the knowledge that she wanted him, unabashedly and unashamedly . . . the power that only a woman can give to a man when she reveals her desire for him, welcoming him into her embrace, giving as well as taking, trusting him to take her to the realms of the highest plains, where passion is food for the gods and satisfaction is its own reward.

  His hands found and undid the ribbon in her hair, eager to see the golden-brown wealth tumble around her shoulders and curl around her breasts. Silky, dark gold hair, scented and clean, rippled through his fingers, tumbling and cascading, following his hands down the smooth length of her back and onto the soft coverlet. She lifted her head, looking up at him, her golden eyes heavy with passion. Her lashes created shadows on her high cheekbones, upward-winging brows delineating her features. The slim, lithe body tempted his hands, invited his lips.

  Her teasing touches fleetingly grazed his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, slipping between them and rising higher and higher. She watched him as she touched him, aware of the masculine hardness of him, feeling it pulsate with anticipation of her touch. And when her hand closed over him, a deep rumbling sounded in his chest, coming from his lips in a barely audible groan.

  He reached for her, covering her breasts with his hands, seeking them with his lips. But her appetite for him had not been satisfied, and she lifted herself onto her elbow, leaning over him, her hair falling askew over her shoulder, creating a curtain between them.

  Hesitantly she touched him again, running the tips of her fingers down his chest, hearing his small gasp of pleasure. The flat of her palm grazed his belly, and her lips blazed a trail following her hand’s downward sweep.

  The swell of her hips and the rounded fullness of her bottom filled him with a throbbing urgency. Nothing short of having her, of losing himself in her, would satisfy. He was afraid the touch of her lips would drive him over the edge, past the point of no return. Impatiently, he drew her upward. He wanted to plunder her, to drive himself into her, to quench his thirst, knowing that his needs could be met only by her.

  Her mouth was swollen, passion-bruised and tasting of himself. Her arms wound around him as she moved to straddle him, holding him close as she pressed her nakedness against him. His hands made an intimate search of her shoulders, skimming the long, silky length of her back, following the curve of her spine.

  A golden warmth spread through her veins, heating her erratic pulse. Her hair became entangled around her neck, and he lightly brushed it aside before resuming the moist exploration with his lips. His mouth lingered in the place where her arm joined her body before tracing a patternless path over her full, heaving breasts. She clung to the hard, sinewy muscles of his arms, holding on to him for support, afraid she would fall into a yawning abyss where flames were fed by passion.

  His hands spanned her waist, tightened their grip and lifted her above him. His mouth tortured her with teasing flicks of his tongue, making her shudder with unleashed passions. She curled her fingers into his hair, pushing him backward, away, pleading that
he end the torment, only to follow his greedy mouth with her body, pushing her flesh against it, relieved when it encircled the whole peak.

  A throbbing ache spread through her, demanding to be satisfied, uncontrollably settling in her haunches, making her seek relief by the involuntary roll of her hips against the length of his thigh. He held her there, pulling her toward him, driving her pelvis against him.

  A single, pale tear glistened on her cheek. She was triumphant, powerful, a woman. In this man’s arms, she knew she had been born for this moment, that all her life had been leading up to what she was experiencing with this wonderful man she called friend. He had taken her out of herself, revealed a world of wonder to her, where arms and lips and bodies were meant for loving. He had shown her secrets of the universe, and she had learned them. He had taught her what it meant to be a woman, carrying her with him to the heights beyond the stars.

  It was totally dark when Jory woke in her cocoon of warmth. She felt warm, cozy, and slightly disoriented until she remembered where she was and what had transpired. A heat rush engulfed her as she stirred to look at the man sleeping next to her. He looked peaceful yet vulnerable, exactly the way she herself was feeling. A wave of tenderness unlike anything she’d yet experienced engulfed her. She reached out a hand to smooth the hair back from Woo’s forehead. She smiled when his eyelid twitched.

  It was time to get up, to let the dogs out of the office where she’d barricaded them earlier. Time to feed them, time to turn on the oven and the lights. Time to replenish the fire or turn up the thermostat.

  Carefully, so as not to disturb Woo, Jory crawled from beneath the covers to gather up her clothes. She ran naked to the bathroom off the kitchen to dress. She yanked on her clothes, brushed her hair, and then splashed cold water on her face. She avoided looking in the mirror, afraid of what she would see reflected in her face. A wave of giddy euphoria washed over her. What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to react when Woo woke and looked at her? Five hours of intense lovemaking made one stand back and view things in a totally different light. What did it mean to her? More important, what did it mean to Woo? Where was she prepared to go from here? Woo was a gentleman, she thought. He would take his cue from her.

  She raised her eyes to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She was stunned at the flush on her cheeks, at the sparkle in her eyes and the silly smile on her face. Surely this wasn’t her. She wiped at her cheeks and eyes, remembering gentle kisses that had fallen on them. The smile refused to go away. She had no idea sex could be so wonderful, so powerful. What she’d experienced with Ross when she was in her teens was nothing compared to what she’d just experienced. Back then she’d thought of herself as experienced in a cockamamy kind of way. She’d felt loved this afternoon, but what did she know about love? Maybe what she felt and experienced was just plain sex, and that’s the way men and women who were experienced in the art of lovemaking behaved. Maybe in Woo’s eye this was just a romp in the covers. How was she to know?

  When no answers came back to her from the mirror, Jory walked out to the kitchen. She turned on the overhead light and then the oven. On her way to rescue the dogs from their exile, she turned up the thermostat in the hallway. She tried to be quiet when she gathered up the dogs’ leashes and her jacket. A long walk in the crisp November air might help clear her head. If not, she would wait to see how Woo reacted and then act accordingly.

  The moment the door closed, Woo shot upright, his eyes searching the covers next to him and then the empty room. He rolled over, Jory’s scent still in his nostrils. It wasn’t a dream, it had been real, so real that he could still feel her presence. He reached for his watch on the raised hearth. Seven o’clock! Jesus. Five hours of lovemaking with a short nap in between. Arthur would never believe his stamina. Hell, he didn’t believe it either. Jesus!

  Using his hands, he dragged himself to the couch, where he struggled into his clothes. Now what? His head fell back against the arm of the sofa. Now what, indeed? He didn’t have the foggiest idea what he should do next. Should he go back to the carriage house? Should he wait for Jory to come back? Of course he should wait. But what did he do, how was he supposed to act when their eyes met? Did he say, Jesus, it was great? Let’s do it again soon. Should he read the word love into what happened? Was it just one of those spontaneous things that happened sometimes between two people? Was this the right time to tell her he loved her, had loved her from the day he moved into the carriage house? It was one thing to have sex with someone who was crippled, as he was. Marrying or committing to such a person was something totally different. Maybe she felt sorry for him, made love with him just to prove to him he was a total man. Jory would do something like that. He didn’t know how he knew that. Maybe he felt it and didn’t really know.

  Woo let his mind soar as he explored the possibilities of a serious relationship with Jory. He thought of Ross, his best friend, who was still in love with Jory. “Shit,” he said succinctly. Why was he always the last one out of the gate? “Because you’re stupid, that’s why,” he muttered.

  They were on him all at once, licking his hands and bare feet as they crawled up his chest to snuggle against him. They yipped and yapped, their fur cold to his touch. He laughed as he always did, the sound booming out in the room. She was standing at the back of the couch, which meant he had to crane his neck to see her. He had to say something. Something that would take away the uneasiness.

  “Is it cold out?”

  “Very cold,” Jory said, removing her jacket. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see snow flurries by morning.”

  “Really,” Woo said brilliantly.

  Jory bobbed her head up and down. “Uh-huh,” she said, just as brilliantly.

  “I can’t believe it’s seven-thirty,” Woo said.

  “I was surprised myself to see the time,” Jory said carefully. “I turned the oven up. I’ll bring in some wood. You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

  “Can I take a rain check? I didn’t know it was so late. I have some reading I have to do.” He turned to see her better, but she was out of his range of vision. He couldn’t see the way her shoulders slumped or the tears forming in her eyes. What was that crap about a rain check?

  “Okay,” she called back. She damn well wasn’t going to cry. They could punch her eyeballs in and she wouldn’t cry. The cold air on the back porch smashed her in the face. She gathered up an armful of wood. She had her cue.

  He hadn’t moved, Jory noticed when she dropped the load of logs into the basket. She built up the logs in the grate and added wads of paper in between the pyramid of wood. The paper sparked, as did the slivers of wood jutting out from the logs. She had to turn now, had to say something. Something to take the edge off what she was feeling. “I’ve got to get back to work myself, but first I have to feed the dogs. Are you leaving by the front door or the back?”

  Woo blinked. Front or back? It sounded to him like the most important question in the world. “Is it important which door I use?” Of course it was. Ross used the front door. He was relegated to the back door. He felt like smashing something.

  “If you aren’t using the front door, I’m going to lock it and turn out the front light. If you’re using the back door, I’ll see you out. I won’t be in the front end of the house for the rest of the evening.”

  It made sense. He liked his version better. Was he supposed to say, I had a wonderful afternoon? Sorry I can’t stay for dinner. It wasn’t just wonderful, it was the most memorable afternoon he’d ever spent in his life. He was about to tell her so when she opened the back door and then stepped aside. She couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Then he’d damn well accommodate her and leave. He did turn just as she was about to close the door. “I don’t know what the rules are. We should have set them up in advance, and maybe both of us wouldn’t be behaving this way.” The door opened a little.

  “Behaving in what way?” Jory mumbled.

  “Behaving like we did
something wrong, like it didn’t mean anything. It meant something to me. I wouldn’t have . . . you acted like . . . it was some . . .”

  “What you’re trying to say but having trouble saying is, if I hadn’t made the first move, you wouldn’t have pursued me. Well, Pete Woojalesky, I already figured that out. Now you think I hop in the sack any old time I feel like it. The word you’re probably looking for is one your friend Ross used. Easy. Well, now you can go back and tell him I haven’t changed. Are you leaving or not? I want to close the door.”

  Woo slammed at the door with his cane, driving it backward, fully exposing the trembling young woman whose face was a mask of cold fury. How could something so wonderful change so drastically with just spoken words? “Just a damn minute here. I never said any such thing. No, I wouldn’t have had the nerve because . . . because I’m like I am. I have feelings. Just because I’m big and ugly doesn’t mean I don’t feel and hurt the way other people do. You mean something to me, and because of that I didn’t want to screw things up. I didn’t know what to say to you when you came in, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. You acted like it didn’t mean anything. Well, it meant something to me. I don’t need your past problems, I have enough of my own. Don’t ever, ever, confuse me with Ross Landers. Your problems are yours, not mine. Now you can close the damn door!” Woo stormed as he made his way across the porch and down the ramp.

  “Pete.” It was an iron command. He turned, his face miserable. He waited. “I need to ask you something. One question. I want your answer in three seconds.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Will you tell Ross about us first thing in the morning? Are you prepared to snatch me away from him? Three seconds, Pete.”

  “Not right—”

  The door slammed in his face.

  “That’s what I thought,” Jory cried, stumbling through the house and up the stairs to her room, where she threw herself on the bed, crying heartbrokenly.