He lay motionless, helpless as a newborn, waiting for his heart to resume its normal rate before he reversed their positions. His hand grazed her spine as Lydia snuggled for a more comfortable position.
He kissed her moist forehead. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered. Her voice was low, sultry.
“Then why the tears, baby?” He’d tried to be gentle with her. When Lydia didn’t answer, Kennedy eased back and stared at her. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile. She had fallen asleep.
He covered their damp bodies with a sheet before he reached over and turned off the lamp. He lay reveling in the aftermath of the exquisite pleasure he’d found in Lydia’s scented embrace. Her smell, her passion, and the ecstasy she wrung from him were stamped on his skin, branded into his brain like a signature. He closed his eyes and sleep came stealing on whispered feet to offer him an infinite peace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lydia woke up startled. The side of the mattress had dipped and a solid object over her waist wouldn’t permit her movement.
“Stop wiggling, darling.”
The familiar soothing voice sent a shiver up her spine. A secret smile parted her lips when she recalled what she’d shared with Kennedy. He had proven one thing: there was nothing wrong with her libido. He had taken her to heights of passion she could not have imagined.
“What time is it?” Her voice was slightly hoarse. No light shone through the partially opened blinds.
Kennedy pulled her closer until her buttocks were pressed intimately to his groin. “It’s too early to get up.”
She lay in the darkness savoring his warmth and strength, remembering how she had come to be in Kennedy’s bed. “There’s an animal in my cabin, Kennedy.”
“There was an animal. I got up a little while ago and checked. Your wild animal was a little bird that probably got in when you held the door open. I checked all of the windows and found the screens intact.”
“Did you get him out?”
“It was too happy to fly the coop.”
“Thank you, Kennedy.”
He kissed the nape of her neck. “I want to thank you, too.”
“For what?”
“The banquet feast.”
“What?”
“You.”
A wave of heat suffused her face, her cheeks burning in remembrance. “Oh, that.”
Tightening his hold on her waist, Kennedy flipped her with a minimum of effort. She lay across his chest, her legs sandwiched between his. “Oh, that?” he repeated. “You didn’t like it?”
Resting her head on his shoulder, Lydia traced the contours of his pectorals with her forefinger. Although he no longer played pro ball, Kennedy’s body was in peak condition. It was obvious he worked out regularly.
“I loved it,” she admitted. “I thought there was something wrong with me because I never really had an orgasm.”
He went completely still. “You’re kidding.”
Lydia shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’d come close, but it was never like what I had with you. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me.”
Kennedy kissed her hair. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Whoever the clown was you were sleeping with was probably only concerned about himself.”
“I know that now.” She swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat. “I hope I’m not getting sick.”
“Why?”
“Because my throat is a little sore.”
Kennedy laughed, the sound floating up from his chest until it was full-hearted. “You’re not getting sick. Your throat hurts because you were screaming. I never pictured you for a screamer.”
She slapped his chest with an open hand. “I never should’ve told you about my not having an orgasm.”
Kennedy’s fingers snaked around her wrist to keep her from hitting him again. “What do you think I’m going to do with that information? Tell the world? What happens between us stays between us, Lydia. I’ve never been one to kiss and tell.”
“There has been talk about you and other women.”
“What kind of talk?”
Lydia paused, not wanting to sound accusatory. “That you weren’t really into women, that you left football because some woman threatened you with a paternity suit.”
Smiling, Kennedy closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe everything you read in the tabloids?”
“No, Kennedy. But you have to know that you were front-page news for months after you announced your retirement.”
“Do you want to know why I retired?”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“Do you want to know?” he asked again.
“Yes.”
Lydia decided to be truthful. When all the network and sports channels carried the news that Kennedy Fletcher opted not to sign another contract with the Ravens, she’d taken a sudden interest in football. She’d never been an avid fan of the game, but was drawn into it whenever her father and brothers gathered in front of the television to debate plays and calls as if they were coaches and referees.
* * *
Kennedy was going to disclose something only his agent, his publicist, his parents, and three others knew. He felt he owed it to her not only because they were sleeping together, but also because his feelings for her had changed dramatically.
He opened his eyes. “I left the game for personal reasons,” he said in a low, composed tone. “Lumel McClain and I were drafted the same year, and we hooked up as roomies whenever we were on the road. During the off-season I hung out at his house and vice versa. We met this girl at a club in Dallas after a game with the Cowboys, and to say she was aggressive is an understatement. Mac liked women a little wild, so I told him to go for it.
“A year later they were married and I stood in as his best man. Mac had his ups and downs with Cassandra because if he gave her a three-carat diamond ring she complained that it was too small. She kept upping the stakes until he couldn’t keep his mind on the game.
“Meanwhile I met a woman who taught social studies at a Baltimore middle school where I’d been invited to speak to a group of young boys about career choices. I asked her out and we dated off and on for over a year. Off-season Nila and I hung out at either Mac’s or my place. The four of us became inseparable.”
“What happened, Kennedy?” Lydia asked after a pregnant pause.
“What’s the phrase, ‘familiarity breeds contempt’? Well, it came knocking with a vengeance. Mac came to me for money because a loan shark had put out a hit on him.”
“How much did he need?”
“Three hundred.”
“Three hundred dollars?”
“No, Lydia. Three hundred thousand.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“Did you give it to him?”
Kennedy nodded. “I had to. Mac had become the brother I never had, and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him. I told him he had to stop giving Cassandra everything she asked for. But the woman had his nose so wide open you could drive a freight train through it. He must have told her what I said, because she turned on me.
“All hell broke loose when she told Nila that I was sleeping with her and the baby she carried wasn’t Mac’s but mine. She told Nila this lie days before I’d planned to propose marriage.”
“Did she know you planned to marry Nila?”
“Yes. I’d shown her and Mac the ring. Nila called me and cursed me up the front and down the back. Once I got her to calm down she told me what Cassandra said about her carrying my baby. I swore I’d never touched Mac’s wife, but it was too late. She said she never wanted to see me again, that she couldn’t afford to ruin her reputation getting caught up in locker room BS.”
Lydia felt tension tightening Kennedy’s body. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” The single word was like an echo in an empty tomb. “I went to Mac’s to con
front Cassandra, but he met me at the door with a loaded shotgun. He ordered me off his property and said if I ever came near his wife again he’d kill me.
“Our last two games were home games, which meant I didn’t have to room with Mac. As we were emptying our lockers he came at me. He got off a few good licks before I ducked and he smashed his fist against the locker. He broke five bones in his hand. The team fined him and the league sanctioned him for the first three games of the upcoming season. I was in negotiations for a new contract, so I decided to quit. I knew Mac and I could never play on the same team again, because one of us would’ve wound up a murderer.”
“What happened with Cassandra?”
Kennedy smiled. “She gave birth to a son who looked exactly like his father. Mac called me, leaving a message on my answering machine that Cassandra admitted lying about having an affair and that he wanted us to meet to reconcile our differences.”
“Did you?”
“No, I never called him back. I closed up my house in Friendship Heights and relocated to Alabama to escape the media. I stayed long enough to get a master’s in physical education; then I came back to Maryland and bought a house not too far from here. I plan to spend my summers working at the camp, and next year I’ll coach football at a New Carrollton high school.”
Lydia closed her eyes and listened to the beating of Kennedy’s heart under her cheek. He’d trusted her enough to tell her what few knew about the very private ex–football player. Her heart turned over in pity. He’d lost a woman he’d loved enough to share his life with because of distrust, had become a sacrificial lamb, giving up his career for a friend—a friend so undeserving of his loyalty.
She pressed a kiss to his warm throat. “As a child I attended Sunday school, and we were required to memorize a verse of scripture a month. The one I always remembered is: Do not worry about anything, but in all your prayers ask God for what you need, always asking him with a thankful heart. It appears as if you’ve gotten what you need, Ken-nedy.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re right, Lydia. I do have what I need.” He had what he needed, but didn’t have all that he wanted. Reversing their positions, he brushed his mouth over hers. “I didn’t tell you my sordid tale to make me look like the hero and Mac the villain. There were times when Cassandra came on to me and I was flattered by the attention because she was an incredibly beautiful woman. Before I got involved with Nila I only dated models. What I should’ve done was sit Cassandra down and tell her that there could never be anything between us.”
Lydia could make out some of Kennedy’s face from the rays of the rising sun filtering through the windows. She traced the curving shape of his eyebrows with her forefinger.
“If you’d been direct with her you probably would be playing ball today.”
He smiled. “Maybe yes, maybe no. But if I was, then I probably never would’ve met you.”
“Would that have been a bad thing?”
“Oh, hell yeah. A very bad thing.” He pressed his middle against her, permitting her to feel his rising ardor. “Would you mind giving me seconds this morning?”
Raising her arms, Lydia clasped them tightly around his strong neck. “No. I don’t mind,” she whispered against his mouth.
They made love again, and this coming together was different as they took their time learning each other’s body. Kennedy’s large hands sculpted every curve of Lydia’s body, she rising off the mattress when he suckled one breast before giving the other equal attention.
Pausing to protect her from an unplanned pregnancy, he entered her so slowly she pleaded with him to end her erotic torture. Her sobs became hiccupping sighs before he finally released her from an ecstasy that held her poised on a precipice where she prayed to fall, but couldn’t. When she did fall he was there to catch her, both drowning in a flood tide of pleasure that was pure and explosive.
Lydia lay in her lover’s protective embrace, peace and contentment flowing through her. Skin to skin, heart to heart, they’d become one. She sighed and snuggled closer to the man she not only wanted, but also needed.
She knew there was something special about him from the very beginning, and the harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it nagged at her: she was falling hard for Kennedy Fletcher.
* * *
Lydia hadn’t lingered in Kennedy’s bed Sunday morning after their leisurely session of lovemaking. She went back to her cabin, completed her morning toilette, including washing her hair before blowing and curling the ends with a large-barrel curling iron. She returned her brother’s call, confirming her attendance at his daughter’s party. She planned to drive to Baltimore Friday night, stay over Saturday, and return the following morning for the camp’s Family Reunion on Sunday.
Sunday activities were unstructured. Brunch was served between the hours of eight and eleven, and the campers were free to remain in their cabins or hang out in the barn playing board and video games. Many used the time to write letters, listen to their CD players, shoot hoops, or jump double Dutch before coming together for dinner. Sunday night movies at the playhouse had become a favorite pastime. The campers each selected a title from a listing and deposited their ballots into a box. A minor uprising ensued after the same film won for two consecutive weeks. The dilemma was remedied once the runner-up was shown.
* * *
Lydia stood in the middle of the living room at Kennedy’s vacation hideaway, awed by the cathedral ceiling, the Palladian windows and skylights bringing the rugged mountain landscape indoors, and the eclectic furnishings. The four-bedroom structure overlooked a lake in a gated subdivision less than ten miles from the campsite. Each structure was set an acre apart, ensuring total privacy from its nearest neighbor.
Crossing the terra-cotta floor, she stopped in front of a massive stone fireplace spanning more than half of a field-stone wall and peered at the photographs lining the mantel. There was one of a youthful Kennedy with a man and woman whom she assumed were his parents, several of him posing with a U.S. Olympic-gold-medal-winning relay team, and another with his high school football team. Missing were those depicting him as a Baltimore Raven. She felt Kennedy’s warmth as he came behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest.
She pointed to the photograph of him with his parents. “How old were you in this picture?”
“Twelve.”
“Were you spoiled rotten?”
He chucked softly. “No. My mother did not believe in spare the rod and spoil the child.”
“How about your dad?”
“He’s a pussycat.”
Lydia smiled at him over her shoulder. “He sounds like my father.” Kennedy tunneled a hand through her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp. She shivered noticeably. “What are you doing, Kennedy?”
He nuzzled the side her neck. “Nothing,” he whispered.
The arm around her waist inched up and Lydia closed her eyes, swallowing an erotic moan. “Don’t. Please.”
His hand closed over a breast. “Don’t what, darling?”
“We can’t,” she gasped through parted lips. The area between her thighs thrummed an erotic rhythm that made her go pliant against Kennedy’s body.
“Yes, we can, baby.”
Lydia wanted him, needed him so badly that she clamped her jaw tightly to keep from blurting out her consent. They’d made love twice in less than twenty-four hours, and whenever she moved, there were muscles that reminded her of the unaccustomed activity.
“I can’t now. You’re going to have to give me a few more days to recuperate.”
Kennedy’s hands stilled. “I asked you if I’d hurt you and you said no.”
Shifting in his loose embrace, Lydia saw his agonized expression. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s just that there are a few muscles that were put through a rigorous workout that hadn’t been tested before.”
Cradling her face in his hands, Kennedy lowered his head, his lips brushing against hers. “I won’t touch you a
gain until you’re feeling better.” He kissed her again. “Are you ready to leave?”
Nodding, she laid her head on his shoulder, her arms circling his trim waist. “I can see why you live here. It’s so quiet, peaceful.”
Kennedy pressed a kiss on her scalp. “I love it here and…” He stopped short of admitting that he loved her. There was nothing about Lydia he did not love: her femininity, passion, beauty, intelligence, talent, and selflessness. She worked long hours and had voluntarily forgone a salary in order to give two less fortunate children an extraordinary summer experience.
“I think we’d better get going before we have to wait in long lines to get on some of the rides,” he continued smoothly.
Tilting her chin, Lydia smiled at him staring down at her. “You go for the rides?”
He returned her smile. “Of course. Don’t you?”
“Of course not. I love sampling the jellies, jams, and pies.”
Winking at her, he crooned, “Spoken like a true food connoisseur.” He kissed her hair again, inhaling the lingering scent of a floral shampoo. “I like seeing your hair loose.” His voice had dropped an octave to a seductive whisper.
Lydia wound a bouncy curl around her finger. “I wear it up so much that I’m considering cutting it in a very short style.”
“Please don’t cut it.”
“Why not?”
“I love seeing your hair spread out over the pillow whenever I make love to you.”
She closed her eyes to shut out his erotic stare. “You find that a turn-on?”
“No,” Kennedy replied quietly. “I find you a turn-on. Everything about you turns me on. Sleeping with you has turned me into a sex machine.”
“You’d better slow down, old man, or you’ll find yourself popping Viagra or Levitra before you’re forty.”
“I doubt that. I’m hornier now than I was at sixteen.”
Lydia opened her eyes and kissed his clean-shaven cheek. “How old are you?”
“I’ll turn thirty-six next month.”
“On what day?” she asked.
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