Keast, Karen

by The Surprise of His Life

  "No, he didn't leave your mother for her. Their affair isn't serious. Even your father says so. The truth of the matter is that he's running scared. He would have had an affair with the first skirted thing that crossed his path. Let me rephrase that, with the first young skirted thing. He needs to feel young right now."

  "Why? What happens to make a man go crazy at an age when he should be moving toward wisdom?"

  Walker shrugged, sending his bare wide shoulders up and down. "The reasons are as varied as the men, but basically it's fear. Fear of aging, fear of dying—" Walker recalled his friend's comment concerning the professional football he'd never played... and never would "—fear of never realizing a dream."

  "But you're Dad's age and you're not afraid."

  Walker took inventory of the woman before him and of the fury of feelings she unleashed in him, feelings he wasn't certain he could contain much longer. They might be wrong, but they were strong and, with each breath he drew, they were growing stronger. Just how much longer could he resist them? Not long, he was afraid. His gaze unswervingly on her, he said, "We're all afraid. Of one thing or another."

  Afraid.

  Yes, she, too, was afraid, Lindsey thought. She was afraid that she'd dreamed a dream that just wasn't going to come true. She loved Walker so much, wanted him so much, that she'd thought she could conjure up a miracle. He did care for her, that much she knew. But caring wasn't enough. He had to be willing to commit. Naively, she'd believed that would happen in time. Now she wasn't sure. Any more than she was sure that her parents' marriage could be salvaged.

  Lindsey smiled. Sadly. "You're right," she said. At Walker's quizzical look, she explained, "I am immature."

  "I never said—"

  "You implied it." She laughed, bobbing her head so that her hair swirled about her. "And you were right. I foolishly thought I could save my parents' marriage. Well, the truth is that some things just can't be mended. And even if their marriage can be mended, I'm not the one who has to mend it. It was never in my power."

  "It takes maturity to reach that conclusion... and guts to admit it."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. The point is, though, that no matter how you cut it, I've acted immaturely, naively. You hurt me this afternoon, and so I ran to Daddy for him to hold me and tell me everything was all right. When he upset me, I ran to you for you to hold me."

  Walker was uncertain which fact moved him more— the fact that he'd upset her or the fact that she wanted him to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. This latter was precisely what he wanted to do.

  His voice was husky when he spoke. "Everyone needs comforting, Lindsey. No one ever becomes that self-reliant."

  "Yes, but adults stand on their own feet. Which," she added, setting down the snifter she'd just then realized she was still holding, "is something I'd better learn to do."

  Second bled into second as their gazes became one. Lindsey fought the urge to lower her eyes to the chest that she wanted so desperately to be held against. She lost the battle. When she once more raised her gaze to his, he saw her naked need. What she saw was that she was once more hurting him. With hesitant steps at first, then practically running, she started for the door. She already had it open when she felt him behind her.

  Walker's hand shot out of nowhere, closing the door in her face, hemming her between him and it. Neither spoke. Neither moved. It was as though the moment were frozen in time. Lindsey could feel the heat of his body. She could feel his chest—so near, yet so far away. Closing her eyes, she let the nearness of him burn through her.

  Similarly, Walker was aware of every nuance of Lindsey's being. He smelled the sweetness of her perfume, saw the blond curtain of her hair as it flowed across her shoulders, felt her back against his chest. He closed his eyes, praying that she would ease back into him, praying that just once more she'd be a sweet siren. But she didn't move. And Walker could never remember regretting anything more profoundly. Suddenly, he had struggled all he could. Suddenly, he knew he'd lost the battle. And frankly, he didn't care. He simply wanted her in his arms.

  On a deep groan, he whirled her around and hauled her to him. Instinctively, his arms went around her... just as hers went around him. He crushed her to him, her breasts plumping against the bare, hair-dusted wall of his chest through the thin fabric of her blouse. But even that wasn't close enough. Even that didn't satisfy all the lonely nights he'd lain awake wanting her. Only one thing would do that. Only one intimate act.

  "Everything'll be all right," he whispered, his lips near her ear. "I promise. Everything'll be all right." He was aware that his comment was as much for his benefit as it was for hers. Maybe more so. Because he knew what was coming. He knew what he was about to do. Simply because he could no longer stop himself.

  God, please don't let me do this! Please don't let me...

  The decision was jerked out of his hands by Lindsey's angling of her head. What she was doing was not deliberate. That Walker would have staked his life on. She had said that she would no longer tease him and she wasn't. At least not knowingly. But what she was doing with such consummate instinct was allowing him access to her neck.

  At the sight, at the feel of her hair falling away like silken honey, Walker was lost. Totally. Completely. And if he were to die on the spot, he could not have kept his lips from the ivory column laying so sweetly before him. In truth, he was already dying, dying with yearning. He brushed his mouth across her skin, then brushed her flesh again and again—cheek to chin, the hollow of her throat—until a fine fury trembled through him. Moaning, he buried his fingers in her hair, anchored her face, and crushed her mouth beneath his.

  The savage beauty of his kiss tore at Lindsey's senses. Beyond thinking, beyond caring, she just wanted what Walker was giving her—himself. She didn't care what lay beyond this moment. For now, time and place forgotten, she just wanted to taste him, to touch him, to feel him. She wanted him to chase away the loneliness that dwelled within her heart. She wanted to share her overflowing love.

  At the parting of her mouth, Walker drove his tongue deep. Then deeper. Tremors sluiced across Lindsey, making her weak, making her strong, making her want. Caught up in Walker's fury, as though she had to touch all of him at once, she wrenched her mouth from his and began delivering kisses across his face, down his neck, onto the flat furry planes of his chest.

  He moaned as her fingers tunneled through the thick hair; he groaned as her fingers grazed the sensitive nipple of his breast. When her lips, her tongue, found the same knotted bud, he died. Died of the most exquisite pleasure he'd ever known. Backing her against the door, his rock-hard body pinning hers, he dragged her face up to his. They stared, he at smoky-blue eyes and wet lips, she at eyes that had gone from brown to passion black. His nostrils flared with his heavy, moist breath.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean—"

  Walker silenced her by slipping the pad of his thumb across her lips.

  "I want you," he said. "I don't know whether it's right. I don't know whether it's wrong. I really don't give a damn anymore. I just know that if this isn't what you want, you better say so now."

  Her answer was simple and silent. She kissed the pad of his thumb, then drew his hand away. Angling her head, stretching, she placed her mouth on his—slowly, gently, a provocative counterbalance to the wild storm that had only seconds before raged through them. When Walker could no longer stand this sweet slaughter, he whispered something that could equally have been a prayer or a curse and scooped her into his arms.

  The bedroom was dark except for the faint light of a cloud-streaked moon. Even in the misty shadows, however, shapes could be seen—Lindsey's arched neck as Walker traced it with his mouth, the wide spread of his shoulders as Lindsey clung to them, dug into them, for support, their bodies, though clothed, straining to merge, each with the other.

  Accompanying the shadowy sights were muted sounds—the whispered "Oh" that trickled from Lindsey's parted lips, the soft ca
lling of Walker's name, the urgent gasp she gave when Walker kissed her still-clothed breast. Walker, too, sang notes that filled the silence. He breathed her name, he moaned at her touch, he hissed as her hands slipped inside the waistband of his jeans.

  More important than either sight or sound, however, was feeling. Hot mouth merged with hot mouth. Hand caressed hand and fevered skin. Body melded with body. Lindsey felt Walker's unsteady fingers unfastening the buttons of her blouse. Walker felt Lindsey's fingers tighten on his shoulders. Painfully tighten. Gloriously tighten. Pulling the blouse from the waist of her slacks, Walker slowly slid it from her shoulders. Moonlight dappled her skin and air, cooled from the air conditioning, flitted across her shoulders. Even so, she could feel Walker's heated gaze. It blistered her senses. It scorched her soul.

  In the dusky darkness, Walker could see the lacy straps of the undergarment that had driven him crazy on more than one occasion. Running a finger beneath the thin teddy strap, he played with the fabric, feeling its softness slither over his skin. Then, with all the laziness of a new day dawning, he drew it from her shoulder. Similarly, he tugged the other strap onto the other shoulder. The garment clung to the swells of her breasts. Walker's gaze clung to hers.

  Child.

  Woman.

  She looked so youthful standing before him, her hair a wild, beautiful mass of gold. She looked unspoiled, virtually untouched by the harsh realities of life, and yet there was a maturity about her that couldn't be denied. Maybe it had to do with all she'd been through of late. It most definitely had something to do with the blatant way she was returning his gaze—fully, completely, like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And that something was him. No aphrodisiac could have been as powerful as her desire.

  "Ah, Lindsey," he whispered, not trusting himself to say more.

  Her eyes never leaving his, she slowly—oh, so slowly-untied first one bow, then another of the teddy. With each unfastening, the garment slipped lower and lower, revealing more and more of her breasts—the rounded swells, the gentle curves, the darkly crowned centers.

  Walker's breath faded away, leaving him light-headed, dizzy. Reaching out, he drew the back of his hand across one breast. The dark center beaded, causing what little reason he had left to scatter. Lowering his head, he kissed first one breast, then the other. The taste was sweeter than honey. The taste was headier than wine. The taste practically buckled his knees. Yanking her to him, he buried the softness of her breasts into the hard planes of his chest. His mouth sought hers, saying scalding-hot things that words alone never could have. In the fervor of that kiss, in the intimate contact of their bodies, the desperate yearning, the biting desire, returned.

  On a growl, his lips still on hers, Walker found the waistband of her slacks. With but one goal—removal-he wrestled the button, fought the zipper. Likewise, Lindsey unsnapped his jeans. Denim and doubt, cotton and caution, fell to the floor in a forgotten heap.

  The bed sagged beneath Lindsey. She registered this only marginally, for something far greater overrode all else. Walker was beside her, his flesh touching hers, his hands seeking and finding all the feminine places that begged for his attention. Was this really happening? she thought. Or had all those nights in London, those lonely, endless nights when all she'd thought about was Walker, finally pushed her over the precarious edge? Was this only a dream?

  "Walker?" she whispered, wanting, needing confirmation that this moment was real.

  He spoke only with his mouth, his hands, his body. He, too, wondered if he'd once more stepped into a surreal world. But then, it didn't matter if he had. Lindsey's sweetly bold, boldly sweet kisses joined with his. She matched his passion, his desire, devouring him with her mouth. Everywhere her lips touched, he burned. Everywhere her hands roamed—his back, his hips, the heat of him—begged for more. He had no idea whether what was happening was right or wrong, but he knew without a doubt that he couldn't live another second without her.

  He took her, the way a man takes a woman, the way a man takes his woman. He buried himself deep. She was hot and soft and, ironically, filled his emotional hollowness even as he filled her physical being. On a deep moan, he gave himself up to feeling, setting a rhythm that she lovingly, sexily followed.

  The end came, but he had no idea whether it was soon or late. He knew, though, that it was like racing through time, through space. It was the powerful acceleration of a sports car. Like the wind, ecstasy whipped about him. Exhilaration raced through his veins. Speed... power... pleasure... a blissful, soul-shattering pleasure.

  He cried her name.

  She cried his as she, too, reached the pinnacle of pleasure.

  And then peace. A peace like neither had ever felt before. A numbing, please-let-this-last-forever peace.

  Lying on their sides, they peered at each other. Their bodies were yet entwined simply because neither could bear the thought of separating. Though slowing, their breathing filled the silence with a grated rasp. Lindsey could feel her mouth tingling from the bruising pressure of Walker's kisses.

  Walker could feel his heart pounding. Its message was loud and clear. Nothing in his life had ever felt so right.

  Lazily, he drew his knuckle across Lindsey's cheek. She laid her hand on his and, like lovers, their hands joined, palm to palm. Walker remembered the night weeks before when she'd first taken his hand in hers. The warmth of that hand had teased and taunted him, making him want to touch her again... and again... and again....

  "Why did you call off the wedding?" Walker heard himself ask. The question had come out of nowhere. No, not nowhere. It had been in his mind for months, in his heart for weeks. He had to have an answer.

  "Don't you know why?" Lindsey whispered.

  Did he? Did he know the reason? Had it revealed itself slowly to him these past few weeks, and had he simply chosen to hide from its truth?

  "Tell me," he said, needing to hear the words.

  "I realized that I was in love with someone else." Lindsey smiled softly, sweetly. "That's a devil of a thing to realize on the eve of your wedding."

  Walker's heart, the one that hadn't yet slowed from their lovemaking, sprinted into a new and wilder rhythm.

  Lindsey's smile faded. "Actually, it wasn't as emotionally simple as it sounds. I didn't realize I was in love with someone other than my fiance. I just knew that something went very wrong at the rehearsal. A bride-to-be shouldn't be feeling more for the man walking her down the aisle than for the man waiting for her." Lindsey's voice lowered to the sound of lace being drawn across satin. "I shouldn't have been wondering what your lips would feel like on mine."

  Her confession wrapped itself around Walker, warming him as her presence did.

  "I love you," she whispered. "I don't know when it happened or why it happened or how it could have happened." She smiled. "I just know that it happened."

  Strangely, what she had said didn't surprise Walker. Even more strangely, he clung to her words as though they were the most precious gift he'd ever been given. He just didn't know what to answer back. He didn't know what he was feeling. His emotions were still too new to put a name to. But he had to say something. He wanted to say something.

  "Lindsey..."

  As he had earlier that evening, she now placed the pad of her thumb across his lips. "You're not required to say anything," she said, adding, her voice now husky with feeling, "just make love to me. If only for tonight."

  On a dark, desperate growl, Walker hauled her to him.

  Chapter Nine

  At ten minutes to two o'clock, both as naked as the day they were born, Walker scooped Lindsey into his arms and started from the bedroom. He was aware, but only vaguely, that his knee hurt. The truth was that there was little room for any awareness other than that of the woman cradled against him.

  Laughing even as she tightened her arms about his neck, Lindsey asked, "Where are you taking me?"

  "Timbuktu," Walker said, uncertain whether he liked her best when she was la
ughing or when she was serious. He guessed that he liked her both ways—any way. Mostly, though, he just liked the way he felt around her. As if he were a seed that had lain dormant and was only now sprouting to life. Only Lindsey's sunshine had provided the stimulus for growth.

  He tried not to think about what had happened, what was happening, between them. Lindsey had pleaded with him to give her, to give them, tonight—even if they were to have nothing else. When he thought at all, he kept his mind focused on that. Mostly, though, he kept his body occupied with feeling. Tomorrow he'd wonder if he were having the same mid-life crisis as his friend Dean. Tomorrow he'd find a name for the strong feeling that was in his heart. Tonight he'd just feel.

  At Walker's answer, Lindsey laughed again. "Do you think this is the dress code in Timbuktu?"

  Walker grinned as he slipped through the dark kitchen and slid open the patio door. "If it isn't, it ought to be."

  The hot and humid night air swept over Lindsey's bare skin, reminding her that there was a real world beyond the idyll she and Walker were living. But she didn't want to be reminded of that. In fact, she refused to be. She concentrated instead on Walker's arms, on his hair-matted chest, on the laughter she heard in his voice. He, too, was living only in the now.

  "You know something?" she said, liking his grin, loving his teasing.

  "Hmm?" he asked, knowing too well that tomorrow and reality were only frustrating hours away.

  "You seem different. I've known you all my life, and suddenly it's as though I've just met you." She smiled. "Does that make sense?"

  Walker had been steadily heading for the pool. Slowly, carefully taking the steps, he submerged them to their waists. Cool water, turquoise and refreshing, rose around them like a quiet, untroubled sea.

  "Yeah," he answered, understanding exactly what she meant. It was as though they'd met for the first time only hours before. And, in a sense, they had. Lover had only then met lover.

  Lowering her, he allowed her body to skim the length of his. The hours they'd spent loving had been in the moonlight-dappled dark. Now the underwater lights illuminated their bodies in a way they had not been before. Lindsey saw the thick pelt covering his chest, the way some of the ebony hair was shaded in silver, the narrowing strip of black that led down his belly and beyond. Walker saw the creamy color of her skin, a smattering of freckles on a single shoulder, the pert fullness of her breasts. He knew the feel of those breasts—the way they filled his hands, the way the nipples tightened when he ran thumb or tongue across them, the way they flattened against him when he held her close. He knew their taste, too. Their sweeter-than-honey taste. Like a greedy man, a starving man, he now indulged himself in their visual beauty.