by Geri Krotow
He broke into a run as soon as his feet touched the dirt. In two, maybe three, more steps he’d reach her.
But she shortened the distance to nothing as she turned and ran toward him. They stared at each other. Wind-whipped leaves and rain pelted their faces, and the roar of thunder vibrated the air between them and the ground beneath their feet.
He was mesmerized by her. Standing still in the midst of the storm she looked like a goddess. She’d matured into a more beautiful woman than he could’ve imagined. Her wet hair blew about her face and her eyes shone with unshed tears. Tears his harsh words had caused.
“Claire, this isn’t about Sasha. It’s about you and me.” He shouted over the roar of the storm. The rain became an all-out downpour, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that she understand him, that she see into his heart.
“I’ll never be Natalie, Dutch,” she shouted back, the effort of speech evident in the shivers that racked her shoulders and in the tautness of her neck. Her wet sweater was plastered against her pink dress and he saw the outline of her breasts, her nipples.
He reached for her, ran his hands up her neck and wove his fingers into her soaked hair. He lowered his mouth to her ear.
“It’s Claire I want.”
She stiffened with what he assumed was surprise. He didn’t wait for her to soften her posture or release her stubborn pride. He moved his hands to cup her face and tilted her chin up with his thumbs. Her eyes were closed, her lips ready.
“Look at me, Claire.”
She lifted her lids and he saw the battle that waged in the depths of her green eyes. The same battle that waged in his.
“Come with me, Claire. Let’s go forward.” He brought his lips to hers. First he licked them, then sucked at her bottom lip. Claire moaned and relaxed against him. She opened her mouth and the complete heat of his desire for her surged through him. There was no going back and he slid his hands down to her buttocks and brought her hips up against him.
He was home.
CLAIRE KISSED DUTCH with everything in her. He’d broken down every last defense and she was tired of fighting her desire for him. Their clothes grew wetter by the second in the downpour, and she had a vague thought that they should be more careful in the midst of a lightning storm. But thinking wasn’t an option; she made a conscious decision to live in this very moment.
Dutch’s hands were everywhere. He stroked the underside of her breasts and splayed his other hand across the bottom of her spine, his mouth firmly planted on hers. When she gasped with need he buried his mouth against her neck.
Her moan had nothing to do with fear of the storm around them, but with the intense storm of pleasure Dutch’s lovemaking rained down upon her.
She wanted Dutch.
He wanted her.
“Claire,” he groaned against her cheek as her hand found his erection. He pushed her back a fraction of an inch. “Let me make love to you.”
She answered him by grabbing his hand and turning toward the house. They got up the steps, with her in front. When she fumbled with the key he used the opportunity to press up against her back and cup her breasts from behind. The raw elements raged in the storm around them, but the intensity of their desire seemed to create an invisible barrier from the elements.
Claire unlocked the door and turned the knob. They fell into the kitchen, and Claire wriggled out from under Dutch.
“We have to get out of these wet clothes,” she whispered to his face. He was much closer than she’d realized in the dark.
“Damned right,” he growled. He peeled off first his shirt, then his jeans. Claire’s hands shook not with cold, but with want and need. The urgency of the moment, bordered on frightening, but fear was a small cost for the thrill of Dutch’s caresses.
She got her sweater off and her dress down to her waist. She shrugged out of it. Dutch already stood in front of her, waiting, naked.
“Claire, why are you keeping your underwear on?”
She smiled in the dark kitchen. “Follow me.”
They walked down the hall and into her bedroom.
Claire loved sex and loved being with a man who cared about her. But this was so much more. This was Dutch. They’d played in the sandbox and wading pool as kids and rolled in the sand at Ocean City as teenagers. He’d seen her naked more than once in their lifetimes.
Tonight he’d see her as the woman she’d become. And she was ready to accept him as that woman, to embrace the power of the chemistry that had always existed between them.
She’d raised her hands to remove her lingerie when Dutch reached across the gap and put his index finger in the side of her thong panties. He tugged and brought her closer to him as he caught the other side of the tiny garment and pulled down. As he did so he kissed her chin, her collarbone and then trailed his tongue down her abdomen.
His hands slid under her knees and he gently lifted her legs, one at a time, out of the thong. She gasped as he left kisses on her thighs and headed back north. But he didn’t bury his mouth between her legs. Instead, he stood back up and reached behind her. When he unhooked her bra and freed her breasts from their restraint, Claire felt a pang of need.
“Dutch, stop teasing me.” She placed her hands on either side of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.
“Oh, I’m not teasing you, baby.”
He put his fingers on her lips whenever she tried to say anything.
It was time to stop talking.
Logic disengaged itself as Dutch’s caresses grew firmer, bolder. When he slipped a hand between her legs and touched her with deft confidence, Claire’s knees buckled. She drew him down on top of her as she fell to the mattress.
She stroked him. He groaned.
“Claire, I’m not going to last very long if you do that.”
“Like this?” She continued running her hands over his erection and along his taut abdomen.
He replied with a bite to her neck. As soon as she moaned he kissed her nipple and sucked until she cried out. “Now, Dutch.”
She stretched toward the nightstand to get a condom from the box she’d bought a few weeks ago—when she’d realized she could find herself in this situation with Dutch.
“I have a condom in my jeans.”
“They’re in the kitchen. Use this one.”
She didn’t think she could hang on to her sanity much longer. The kitchen seemed miles away. She wanted Dutch inside her. Here. Now.
Dutch positioned himself above her, an elbow on either side. He leaned down and kissed her with delicious thoroughness.
“Claire?”
“Now, Dutch.”
He entered her, and the joining transcended their physical connection. Holding on to any sense of time or reality was impossible. Their hips moved with a need and longing that Claire had never imagined, let alone experienced.
It really was Dutch making love to her. Tears seeped out from under her closed eyes. As they both neared their climax, she made her last conscious decision of the evening.
Claire surrendered to her need for Dutch.
CLAIRE WOKE to the soft rustling of fabric. She opened her eyes in the pale morning light and remembered.
Dutch.
Making love.
She blinked and looked up.
His back was to her as he zipped his jeans. She glanced at her bedside clock. Only six.
“What’s the rush?” Her voice sounded husky.
Sultry. Sated.
He turned back to face her in the semidark.
“I’ve got some patients to see this morning. Sasha won’t be back until late tonight and I have a lot to do at home.”
His expression was inscrutable. Not because of the morning darkness, but because of the decidedly closed look he shot her.
Claire sat up and dragged the sheets with her. She held the bedclothes against her naked breasts. She found it odd that she felt so shy and vulnerable around the man she’d given everything to last night.
“C
laire, I don’t want to put us through this.” He motioned with his hand, pointing briefly to her and then himself.
“Put us through what, Dutch? I thought the whole point of last night was that we’d buried our past.”
And started something new. Hope snuffed out in her heart as quickly as her desire had flared.
His stance was too familiar. Angry. Stubborn.
“Claire, I should’ve kept this the way we knew it had to be. I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I’m not going to lead you on.”
“And Sasha?” she said through numb lips.
“Sasha… Sasha will be fine. I’d never keep her from coming here. She’s begun to think of you more as family than a friend. I can’t take that away from her.” His hand was on the doorknob.
He really was going to leave like this.
Claire tried to speak, but couldn’t come up with any words. She’d be damned if she’d let him see her cry.
“Sasha will be back next week. I’ll see you when I pick her up.” With that he left. She heard the side door close behind him and flopped back onto her bed.
CLAIRE HEARD THE KNOCK at her back door through her sniffles. It had only been a few minutes, but she felt as though she’d been crying for the past decade. She supposed in some ways she had…
She wiped her cheeks with her sweatshirt sleeve and peered cautiously through her lace-curtained front window. She recognized the car.
The twins.
“Ugh.” She wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions.
They knocked again and she heard the murmur of voices as she went to the kitchen.
“Hey, come on in.” Claire opened the door and immediately turned back toward the stove so they wouldn’t see her face in the bright morning sunshine.
“We thought we’d come over and get your lists for the festival next weekend.”
“Oh, uh, sure. Do you want some tea?” As soon as she asked Claire wanted to kick herself. Why was she inviting them to stay any longer than they had to?
“Claire, are you okay?” The caring in Jewel’s voice hit Claire hard.
“No, actually, I’m not.” She turned around and faced her younger siblings.
“What happened?” Jenna sounded shocked, as if she’d never thought her big sister could cry.
“Nothing. Everything. Well, nothing.” Claire wiped her eyes, blew her nose into a paper napkin and looked directly at the twins.
“I’m finally letting go of some emotional baggage I’ve hung on to for way too long,” she finally said.
The twins exchanged a worried glance.
“Come on, girls, I’m not losing my mind. In fact, I may have found myself.”
The twins spoke in unison. “Huh?”
“What did you say?”
Claire breathed out her exasperation.
“I came home over two years ago to find out who I really am, and to belong to a community where I could become part of something special.” She sniffled, but continued talking. “There’s been unpleasantness at times, especially when I was confronted with the sins of my past.”
“Give me a break, Claire. It’s us, your sisters. We’re not some cable news network.” Jenna’s stubborn streak was as wide as Claire’s.
“You know you can trust us, Claire. You’ve always been there for us—let us be here for you.” Jewel’s green eyes were kind. Reassuring. Both girls were younger by more than a decade, but they weren’t kids anymore. At some point they’d become women.
How had Claire missed that?
“This is obviously about Dutch.” Jenna was matter-of-fact, no censure in her voice.
“Yeah, it is, but it’s also about me, and Natalie and now Sasha.” As soon as she said Sasha’s name, Claire sank into the nearest kitchen chair and the tears fell again.
“I can’t lose Sasha. I really love her as if she were my own. But Dutch and I— A future for us is too complicated, even if I wanted to try to change his mind.”
Claire toyed with her napkin, remembering the scene this morning.
“I never thought he and I would ever be close again. Or even pretend to be friends. But one thing’s led to another, and with Sasha out here so often, I’ve…seen more of Dutch.”
She grew silent. Mental pictures of Dutch in her barn, in her driveway, in this kitchen, in her bed—they all flashed through her mind.
“And?” Once again, the twins spoke in unison.
“Well, what do you think?” Claire rolled her eyes, sighed, then stared at her napkin. “Our attraction was always there, but lately it’s been crazy—and last night, we, well, we made love.”
“I knew it!” Jewel slapped her hands on the round table. Jenna hushed her.
“It has to be the stupidest thing I’ve done. Other than being there for Sasha, there’s no room for me in Dutch’s life.”
“Claire, Dutch doesn’t strike me as the type who’d get involved with any woman on a casual basis. He has his daughter to think about.” That was Jenna, the practical one.
“But you two do have that old history—or was last night a type of closure?” Jewel was more the drama queen of the two.
“Closure?” Claire really hated seeing things in the light of day. It’d been a wonderful night with Dutch. If she was the romantic type she’d call it magical.
But facts were facts.
Dutch had been distant and withdrawn this morning. He hadn’t even stayed for breakfast, and Sasha wasn’t due to be picked up from the spring band trip until later tonight.
“You know, a way to put the past to bed.” Jewel winced at her own pun.
Claire shook her head. “No, last night wasn’t about closure, not for me.” It’d been the natural result of the weeks they’d worked together in the barn, shared conversations about Sasha and, to some extent, the past. Last night, Claire had felt she and Dutch were alone for the first time. Without Sasha, obviously, but without Natalie’s ghost, too.
“Why don’t we get started on the Sheep and Wool Festival stuff and maybe as the day goes by you’ll figure it out. I have a feeling that Dutch ran off scared. He’ll come around, Claire.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Claire didn’t agree, but had no energy left to argue with the twins.
She forced her mind on to the festival. She had a lot to accomplish and very little time to do it. She needed a plan.
“Let’s get the pickup loaded by Wednesday night,” she said, “so I can run it up to the fairgrounds Thursday. Since I may have to make two trips, I’d love it if one of you could ride up with me.”
“I can.” They spoke in unison yet again.
“Great. Let’s get to the rest of the prep work.” Claire threw herself into the tasks in a futile attempt to forget Dutch.
As if that was even possible.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DUTCH STOOD at the kitchen sink and looked out at the bird feeders. He couldn’t focus on any of the birds. Not the finches nor the pair of mourning doves that had made a nest in the clay house Ginny had hung with Sasha.
All he could see was Claire’s milky skin under his hands. All he could hear were her murmurs. Their lovemaking had been damn near perfect, which made this morning that much harder.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been with a woman since Natalie died, but it was the first time he hadn’t compared her to Natalie. It had been Claire, no one else.
And it scared the hell out of him.
He’d moved on past Natalie’s illness and death, as much as he could. But he had more than himself to think about. He had Sasha. And last night, in the middle of loving Claire, he’d forgotten about Sasha. He’d only been thinking of himself.
And Claire.
His cell phone rang and he looked at caller ID as it flashed on the counter.
Sasha.
“Hey, baby girl, what’s going on?” He hoped he’d managed to keep his guilt—and apprehension—out of his voice. Sasha didn’t usually call from a field trip.
“Dad, Mr. Flint wants you to phone
him on his cell. He’s pissed off because I was in the bathroom with Naomi too long and our group leader, Mrs. Sneller, couldn’t find us.”
He took a breath. At least Sasha was okay and unharmed.
“Hang on a minute, Sasha. First, cut out the bad language. Second, what do you mean you were in the bathroom? In your hotel room?”
“No, at the amusement park.”
Dutch looked at his watch. “It’s only ten o’clock. How long have you been at the park?”
“Since eight, Dad. They opened early for the schools, because we all performed yesterday.” She didn’t hide her annoyance.
“Watch the attitude, Sasha. I’m still not clear on why you were in the bathroom for so long.”
She sighed impatiently.
“Naomi wanted me to come and talk to her. She’s feeling all confused again.”
“Confused? About what?”
“Ask Claire.” Of course she knew about Naomi; she’d told him as much.
Before he could recall what Claire had told him, Sasha continued. “So I went in there to, like, talk to her and it took me an hour to convince her that she should, like, come back out and have fun on the rides with us. But by then we missed meeting everyone for the hourly check by the fountain, and Mrs. Sneller, like, freaked out and called Mr. Flint.”
Dutch hated the cell phone sometimes. He’d much rather see Sasha in person so he could read her body language and have a better idea of what was truth and what was twelve-year-old histrionics.
“What’s Mr. Flint’s number?”
“It’s on the permission slip that I left on the fridge.”
He looked at the refrigerator door. “Got it. Stay close to Mrs. Sneller, okay? We’ll talk more about this when you get home.”
“Okay, okay.”
Dutch pushed End and punched in Mr. Flint’s cell number. He’d stayed calm through most of Sasha’s girlhood dramas, but when she got her flippant attitude it infuriated him.
The call connected. “Mr. Flint.”
Mr. Flint didn’t elaborate except to say Sasha was a good kid, but her choice of a friend in Naomi wasn’t in her best interests. As far as Mr. Flint knew, the girls hadn’t been smoking or doing drugs, only talking as Sasha had said. Naomi was in the midst of a difficult home life. But the fact that neither girl had checked in with their chaperone for more than an hour was a violation of the field trip rules.