Her eyes snapped to his as a flush that had nothing to do with sexual arousal, he didn’t think, surged across her cheeks. “As a matter of fact, I was.”
“Well, remember how I told you about how pretty my presents were when I was a kid? About how I loved lookin’ at ’em as much as opening them? Then, when I did…” He leaned over to brush his lips across hers, barely enough to make contact, barely enough to count, really. “I opened them carefully…” Another kiss, this one slightly more substantial. “Slowly…” And another. “Savoring every…single…moment.” He touched her lips with his tongue, pulling away before hers had a chance to figure out what was going on. “Making the most wonderful morning of the year last…as long…as I could…”
He rolled her onto her back, straddling her, pinning her hands over her head, careful to keep the nitro well away from the glycerin. No mean feat when she kept thrusting her hips up like that.
“Slooow, honey. We’re gonna take this slow.”
She glared at him. “I was thinking more along the lines of hard and hot and fast.”
“Well, that’s fun, too, no doubt about it. And believe me, with all these kids, I know all about hard and hot and fast. But the thing is, see, opportunities for nice, slow, leisurely lovemaking don’t come along too often, and seeings as this is one of those times, I intend to make the most of it.” She writhed some more, he hardened some more, and saw a few teeth-gritting minutes in his future. Then he caught something else in her expression, a fierce determination to gain control of the situation. That he was equally determined to wrest that control from her should make the next little while highly entertaining, to say the least.
He held her wrists a little tighter and lanced her gaze with his. “This isn’t about sex, Carly,” he whispered, placing lots of kisses all over that pissed little face of hers. “It’s about me loving you. Now why don’t you relax and let me do just that?”
“Fine,” she finally pushed out. “But I’m warning you…I am one really primed chick. If you expect me to hold back…”
“I don’t expect you to do anything except have a good time. Although I’m beginning to see how maybe you could use a little something to take the edge off….”
So he kissed her. But probably not where she was expecting to be kissed, judging from her gasp…and then her moans…and then her shriek of release as he took the edge off, all right, but with anything but a little something.
She was in trouble now, boy. Because with each kiss, each touch, each smile into her eyes, Sam was pulling her deeper and deeper into a place she’d never let herself get anywhere near before, a place that had always scared the hell out of her.
As if soothing an overexcited child, he’d continued to press gentle kisses into her until the pulsing subsided, then had taken those exquisite, in-no-hurry kisses on a road trip, across her hips—lingering over the small tattoo on her hipbone—her belly, her ribs, her breasts, where he toyed and nuzzled and nibbled until she heard herself say something about being ready again, and he dipped a finger inside her, working magic circles with his thumb, and she shut her eyes and arched, aching, wanting, and then he whispered, “Look at me,” and she saw such love in his eyes that tears sprang to hers because she realized she was lost, that she’d let him take her down a path from which there was no return…
…unless she turned back now.
Her second climax rippled through her, his touch the pebble disturbing the still waters of who she thought she was, what she thought she wanted, and she tried, desperately, to tell herself it was just sex, nothing more than an involuntary stimulus-response, except she clung to him afterward, trembling, still needy, unable to untangle the joy from the terror.
The old Carly—who had never been a cuddler—would have gotten out of his bed, would have gotten the hell out of there. But this crazy person who’d taken her place took Sam’s face in her hands and kissed him back, kissed him as though she would die if she didn’t, even though she briefly considered that death would be preferable to feeling this lost, this out of control. Because she was out of control, out of her mind, her mouth moving over him as if she wanted to devour him.
Desperate to avoid the emotional equivalent of a head-on collision, she took him into her mouth, wanting to drive him at least as crazy as he was driving her. But he apparently read her mind, something at which he was becoming far too proficient for her comfort level, and lifted her off, rolling her onto her back before reaching into his nightstand for a condom, ripping the foil, sliding it down over his erection. An action she’d witnessed more times than she wanted to admit, an action from which she’d thought the eroticism had faded a long time ago.
She opened to him, helpless, yearning, hearing a whimper of delight and despair, both, when he slid into her, filling her, terrifying her, sweeping her away in a torrent of emotion as he began to rock inside her, and she wanted more than anything in the world to not want this so much, even as she wanted nothing more than to be able to simply let go.
To trust that what she was feeling right now was as true and sure and solid as what she had no doubt, none, that Sam was feeling.
Sam’s climax burst within her, around her, like the proverbial fireworks. For a second, she thought about faking one of her own, only to decide Sam deserved better than that. Besides, something told her this man wouldn’t be so easily fooled as some whose egos were more than willing to believe what they wanted to believe.
He frowned down at her, smoothing a knuckle down her temple. “Did I lose you?”
She did everything in her power to keep the tears at bay, afraid he’d misinterpret them. “Guess two’s my limit.”
“Not on my watch, sweetheart. Hold on,” he said, rolling away to dispose of the condom.
“No, Sam, really…I’m fine.”
He stilled, then twisted back. “You’re anything but fine. And I’m guessing your mood has nothing to do with how many orgasms you had. Or didn’t have.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, reaching out.
But her fingertips glanced off his arms as he sprang from the bed and yanked on his jeans, muttering a swear word under his breath she’d never heard him use before.
“Okay, you win,” she finally said, scrambling for her underwear on the floor. “But at least know that this has nothing to do with how things went in bed—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Carly—my ego’s not that fragile!”
“I didn’t think it was, or I wouldn’t be here! But there’s no comparison between my previous…experience and what we just shared. So you were right.” She pulled on her pants, punched her arms through the sleeves of her blouse, swearing when one of the rings snagged on the lace. She yanked it free, fumbling with the pearl buttons as she pushed out, “There’s a huge difference when there’s love involved. Happy now?”
His eyes were like cut glass. “I might be if it weren’t for the huge, silent ‘but’ tagged onto the end of that sentence.”
“Sam…you can’t love me into being who you want me to be. Or think I am. And this has nothing to do with anything I’ve done in my past. But it does have to do with who my past has made me. How it’s shaped me. Or maybe it isn’t even that, maybe it’s just…my nature. I mean, I had wonderful parents, who had a solid, loving marriage. Yet I still went off the deep end, didn’t I? Maybe I don’t do the things I used to do, but that’s because I finally realized how self-destructive I was being, that there was a difference between being a rebel and being stupid. But even though I’ve changed in some ways, deep down I’m still the same person who did those stupid things, the same person who’s never been in love and who has no idea how to trust if what I feel for you is real or not. God knows I’d love nothing more than to see where things lead.” She swallowed. “But the longer I do that, the more I risk hurting you, and your kids, if I run true to form and this wears off after a few months.”
“And I told you, that’s a risk I’m more than willing to take.”
�
�I know you are. But I’m not. I can’t. And you have no idea how much it’s killing me to say that.”
His expression ripped her apart. “Actually, I think I do.”
“Then think of how much more it would hurt if we let this go on.”
Sam grabbed his blue shirt off the chair where he’d thrown it, jerking it on. “You’re right,” he said, buttoning it, glaring at her. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why a woman as generous and loving as you are can’t accept the simple fact that she is generous and loving, why you seem to think what you’ve got to offer isn’t somehow good enough for me, for my kids. But for sure I can’t crawl inside your head and fix whatever’s got your brain so clogged up. I’d hoped loving you would be enough, but obviously it isn’t.”
“You have no idea how much your love means to me!”
“Even if you can’t return it.”
“But I do return it! Oh, God, Sam—I love you so much, it hurts! My loving you isn’t the issue!”
“Then what the hell is?”
“That I don’t know if it’s real!” Much to her aggravation, tears streamed down her cheeks. “How can I possibly trust something I don’t understand? That I’ve never felt before?”
Sam glowered at her for another several seconds before blowing out a huge breath. “You know, I knew full well there was a real strong chance you’d say exactly what you just said. I guess I’d hoped maybe you’d give this more of a shot.”
Her eyes burned. “I didn’t realize I’d be this scared.”
“Then I guess you’ve made the only decision you can.”
“Sam…”
He held up his hands. “Just go, okay?”
She grabbed her sandals, then stumbled out of the room and ran down the stairs, flinching when something struck the wall over her head.
Chapter 16
There were times when being old, and maybe at least somewhat wise, Lane thought when Carly walked into her kitchenette, letting out a little “oh” of not-exactly-thrilled surprise at finding him there, was a definite liability. Like now. Didn’t take a genius to figure out where she’d been. Or what she’d been up to. Or—and here was the hardest part—that she wasn’t exactly glowing with happiness about it.
Damn. She’d never stop being his little girl, would she? Would he ever stop wanting to protect her? Or get a clue how he was supposed to do that when she’d never let him?
She opened her small fridge, removing a bottle of fancy water. “How come you’re here?”
“Ran out of coffee,” he said, holding up the can. At least she drank plain old Maxwell House like a normal person. “Isn’t this weather crazy?” he said, more or less for something to say until he could better gauge her mood. “Up near eighty today and tomorrow, with thunderstorms predicted for both days. Then back down into the thirties for Thanksgiving.”
She grunted, only half listening, then took a sip of her water.
“Did I tell you, I picked up two new clients off the Web site today?”
“That’s great,” she said, and burst into tears.
Lane dumped the coffee on the minuscule counter and wrapped his arms around her, leading her out to the sofa in her studio. Before he even had a chance to ask her if she wanted to talk about it, chunks of the story began to tumble out of her mouth, interspersed with lots of gasping sobs and nose blowing. Frankly, he wasn’t really following most of it—he’d always found female logic hard enough to decipher without hysteria mucking it up even more—but one thing, he did figure out.
“It finally happened, didn’t it? You’re in love.”
She nodded.
“So what’s the problem?”
“Other than the fact that I have no idea if what I’m feeling has the shelf-life of a banana? And that I’m terrified of hurting him?”
“How on earth could you do that?”
“Well, for starters, by not being there as completely for him as he certainly seems to be for me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You didn’t think so when you decided to break it off with Ivy.”
Touché.
Carly rose and plodded over to the window, the pale gold light haloing her frail-looking silhouette, and it occurred to Lane that maybe it was better to simply sit still, keep his trap shut, and give her room to figure this out on her own. Especially since he obviously didn’t have any answers, anyway.
“Sam’s love…I don’t know. It’s so…bottomless. I’m used to limits, to being able to see the boundaries. But there aren’t any boundaries to this.” She turned back, her mouth pulled into a flat, humorless smile. “Not for him, anyway. The man just gives, and gives, and gives…” She stopped, her fingers touching her mouth. “What if he’s sees me as…a challenge?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure. But from what I know of Sam, he thrives on doing things the hard way. Being a farmer, raising all those kids…” She shook her head, then let out a long breath. “You’ve seen his house, how hard he works at keeping things orderly. Under control. What if…when I admitted I’d never been in love before, he saw it as a gauntlet being thrown down? Something out of order than needed to be straightened out?”
“Or conquered?”
“Whatever.”
“So you think he set out to make you fall in love with him, just to prove he could?”
Her brows nearly met over her nose. Then she laughed, a harsh, dry sound. “Okay, so maybe that’s a stretch.”
“You said it, not me.”
She returned to flop down in the chair across from the sofa, as vulnerable and confused as the rebellious twelve-year-old who used to drive him crazy. “Which only proves how messed up I am.”
Lane shook his head. “Confused, maybe. Headstrong, definitely. Although maybe not as much as you used to be. But messed up?” He shrugged. “No worse than any of the rest of us.”
“Meaning, how you feel about Ivy?”
“Among other things.”
She wriggled into a more comfortable position, her arms crossed. “Do you love her?”
“Yes. But like you, I’m not sure it’s enough. For her, at any rate.”
She gave him a long, speculative look, then said, “So where was this wise, patient person when I was going through all my teenage traumas?”
“Right where I’ve always been. Even if you never felt you could trust me.”
“Had nothing to do with trust,” she said, her words tripping over his. “I was afraid…”
“Of what?”
Her slender fingers raked the velveteen on the arm of the chair for a second before she said, “Not of. For. For you. That you’d find out how little you could really protect me.”
“I drove you to rehab, Carly. Twice. I was well aware of how little I’d been able to protect you.” Lane studied her profile, half listening to the gentle whirr of the fans overhead, then said softly, “And I’d been aware of how little I could protect for some time before that, believe me.”
Her eyes slowly lifted to his, and he knew the exact moment when the penny dropped. “Ohmigod,” she breathed. “You knew? About—”
“That summer in camp?” She nodded. “Not the details. Only that something had happened.”
Tears shined in her eyes. “But how…?”
“About halfway in, we got a call from the director, telling us the teachers and counselors had noticed a huge change in you. That you’d suddenly become almost rabidly focused on your dancing, that you’d withdrawn from many of your friendships. They wanted to know if anything had happened on our end that might have affected you so profoundly.”
“I never knew about that call.”
“No, we didn’t figure you did.”
“So why didn’t anyone say anything? To me, I mean?”
“They did. We did. Remember, Mom and I came out to visit, to see for ourselves what might be going on? And the staff told us they’d done everything they could think of to draw you out. But every tim
e anyone gave you an opening, you clammed up. Since you seemed to be okay otherwise, though…” He blew out a breath. “We all decided that you’d simply become obsessed with your dancing, which wasn’t uncommon to kids your age, and had tuned everything else out. Except…except deep down inside, I’m not sure I ever fully believed that. I couldn’t help feeling I’d failed you in some way.”
“Oh, Dad…” She got up and sat beside him, weaving her arms around his middle. “You’ve never failed me. Ever. If anything, I’ve failed myself. But…”
Lane waited, his blood moving like sludge through his veins.
“But not that time,” she said. He felt her take a deep breath. “I was raped,” she said quietly, “by some idiot boy I was dating. I thought it was my fault at first, but not for long.”
Lane shut his eyes against the stab of pain, the overwhelming feelings of helplessness and rage for something that had happened more than twenty years earlier. When he felt he could trust his voice, he said, “And you were afraid to tell us because I might be hurt?”
“Actually, at the time I was more concerned that you’d yank me out of camp. Which you know you would have done, so don’t try to deny it. The whole afraid-to-hurt you thing came later.”
“So you toughed it out.”
“Yeah, basically.”
“Which is what you’ve been doing ever since, isn’t it? Toughing it out, living your life on your own terms. To avoid the pain.”
“This isn’t a newsflash, Dad. I’m well aware of what I’ve been doing.”
“Because you never felt you could trust anybody, is that it? You couldn’t trust your mother and me to be reasonable about letting you stay if that’s what you wanted, so you didn’t tell us what had happened, you wouldn’t let us be parents. Then you decided it would be easier to have a string of half-assed relationships, rather than trusting that maybe not every guy is a jerk like the one who hurt you. Now you’ve got this first-rate man in love with you, and you’re afraid to trust…who? Him? Yourself? Fate? What?”
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