All My Tomorrows

by Rochelle Alers

Her magical tongue, her selflessness, her pure sensuousness hurtled Kennedy beyond himself where he’d become a voyeur in a private coupling he never wanted to end. But sanity surfaced and he knew if he did not stop her, it would be over much too quickly.

  “No!” A swath of heat settling in his groin spread, threatening total incineration. “Stop, baby. Please.”

  Lydia heard Kennedy’s fervent plea, making her aware of the power she yielded over him. She would stop, but not yet. She wanted him numb and mindless with an ecstasy he’d never experienced with any other woman. In a moment of selfishness, she wanted to imprint herself on his body and memory for all time.

  Kennedy tunneled his fingers through Lydia’s hair. Holding her head in a firm grip, he sank down to the floor, forcing her to release him.

  “No,” she moaned in protest.

  Pressing her back to the floor, he held her captive as his mouth swooped down on hers with the ferocity of a hawk tearing into its prey. He devoured her mouth, his hands searching for the opening to her dress. He found it under her left arm.

  “I want you,” he chanted. “I want you so much.”

  Unaware she was writhing on the floor beneath her naked lover, Lydia pulled his head to her breasts. She was on fire! She wanted him so badly she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from shaming herself, to keep from begging him to take her.

  “Ah-h!” The gasp escaped her parted lips when Kennedy’s hand moved up between her thighs and under the triangle of silk to find her wet and pulsing. “Love me,” she pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

  His eyes, glittering wildly, were fixed on the swell of breasts rising and falling above the revealing décolletage. “We can’t, Lydia. Not here.”

  “Why?” Her voice was low, breathless.

  “I don’t want to get you pregnant.” She’d asked him to protect her from unwanted pregnancy, and he would. Lydia’s wide-eyed stare reminded him of a deer paralyzed by the brilliance of a car’s headlights. “Do you want a baby?” he asked, thinking perhaps she’d changed her mind.

  Lydia’s breath seemed to have stopped in her throat, making speech difficult. The possibility of having Kennedy’s child was not an option. Not at this time in her life, and not when she didn’t know whether he loved her as much as she loved him.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “No.”

  Successfully masking his disappointment, he swung Lydia up in his arms, stood up, walked out of the kitchen, and headed for the curving staircase leading to the second story.

  Shifting her slight weight, he mounted the stairs and made his way along the catwalk and into his bedroom. There was enough light from a half-moon coming in through the clerestory windows and skylights to make out the large bed.

  Kennedy placed Lydia on the bed and sat down beside her. He undid the silk ties around her ankles, slipped off her shoes, and dropped them on the carpet. Reaching into the drawer of the bedside table, he removed a condom and rolled the latex sheath down the length of his hardened flesh.

  He moved over Lydia’s prone body, cradling her face between his palms, kissing her mouth, the column of her neck, then lower to the base of her throat. He returned to her mouth, his tongue meeting hers in a slow, sensual dance of desire. Her taste, her smell, the silkiness of her skin held him captive, and he wanted to spend hours in her scented embrace and a lifetime in her bed.

  Reaching down, Kennedy caught the hem of her dress and eased it up and over her head. Sitting back on his heels, he watched the play of silvered moonlight on her bare breasts, her flat belly, and the womanly flare of hips. He took his time taking off her black bikini panties, leaving her ardently naked for his admiring gaze.

  His hand, inching upward, stopped and covered her mound. Her expression was one of bliss as he pressed the pad of his thumb against the swollen nub, massaging it gently. He achieved the reaction he sought as she rose several inches off the mattress.

  Supporting his weight on one elbow, he parted her knees with his and pushed slowly into her tight body. Her erotic moan echoed his as he once again lost himself in the erotic torture clouding his brain.

  Lydia’s body vibrating liquid fire, she succumbed to the dizzying passion wrought by the hardness sliding in and out of her body in a powerful thrusting that stole the oxygen from her laboring lungs.

  Kennedy Fletcher was a thief. He’d stolen her heart and imprisoned her body in a maelstrom of desire only he could assuage.

  Kennedy felt the familiar sensation at the base of his spine and quickly reversed their position in order to delay the ecstasy struggling for escape.

  Lydia liked being on top, setting a rhythm that quickened, slowed, and quickened again, until she felt his hardness touch her womb. She screamed once, then again and again before collapsing on his chest and melting over his thighs.

  Kennedy licked Lydia’s neck and throat, his teeth biting gently into the tender flesh as he yielded to an awesome ecstasy that stopped his heart for several seconds.

  Lydia buried her face between her lover’s neck and shoulder, breathing a kiss on his moist skin. “Happy birthday, darling.”

  Cupping Lydia’s hips in his hands, he massaged the soft skin on her buttocks. “If I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget this day.”

  Snuggling closer, Lydia closed her eyes. “And I don’t want you to.”

  Kennedy waited until Lydia was asleep before he gently eased her off his body. She moaned but did not wake up. Pulling a sheet up over their moist bodies, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his groin to her hips. He had never expected the wantonness lurking beneath the surface of the cool exterior of the woman with whom he had fallen in love, the woman he wanted to marry, the woman whom he wanted to bear his children.

  Closing his eyes, he joined her in a sated sleep reserved for lovers.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lydia, who awoke before Kennedy, lay motionless as she studied his face in the weak light coming in through the clerestory windows. The shades covering the skylights were drawn, and it was apparent he had gotten up during the night and closed them.

  He lay on his side, one muscular arm thrown over her hip. Her gaze shifted upward to his head. The stubble covering his scalp when she first came to the camp had grown out enough for Kennedy to have needed to visit a barber to give him a clean haircut. The color on his upper body was a shade lighter than his face. Peering closer, she saw a spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose. She found it odd that she’d never noticed them before.

  As she studied his features she found it odd that he did not resemble either the man or the woman in any of his family photographs on the mantel of the living room fireplace. Had he been adopted like her brother Quintin’s children? He did admit to being an only child.

  Lydia stretched out her leg, hoping to ease the pressure of Kennedy’s arm on her hip, and when she looked up she found him watching her.

  “Good morning, lover.”

  He smiled, and tiny lines fanned out around his large dark eyes. He wrapped his arms around her midriff, bringing her closer to him as they rolled over and over on the king-size bed, stopping near the edge of the mattress.

  Burying his face in her hair, he nuzzled her neck. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  She giggled like a little girl. “How does it feel to be four years closer to middle age?”

  Kenneth cupped her sex, eliciting a shriek from her. “You’ve got jokes?”

  Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Lydia gasped. “No-ooo!”

  Instead of releasing her, Kennedy eased a finger inside her. “Apologize, baby.”

  Instinctively, her body pushed against his hand. “No,” she whispered, a dreamy expression softening her features. Aroused, desire clouding her brain, Lydia couldn’t disguise her body’s reaction as heat rippled under her skin.

  As Kennedy stirred Lydia’s passion, his own surfaced. Leaning over, he reached for a condom. Using his teeth, he tore open the packet. He withdrew from Lydia long enough to protect her, and
when he joined their bodies he knew this coming together was more than sexual desire.

  It was love.

  * * *

  Lydia moved around the gourmet kitchen with the familiarity of someone who’d spent hours there. What had surprised her when she opened the side-by-side refrigerator-freezer was that it was well stocked with what she needed to prepare an unconventional breakfast.

  After their early morning lovemaking, she and Kennedy shared a bath in an oversized tub with pulsing jets, splashing each other like children. The contest ended in a draw when her hair hung limply around her face in wilted strands. She’d offered to cook breakfast, leaving Kennedy to clean up the bathroom and change the bed.

  Kennedy walked into the kitchen with one hand behind his back. He stopped short, staring at Lydia as she stood at the cooking island. It was an image he wanted to relive every day for the rest of his life. He wanted to tell her what was in his heart, but decided to wait—wait until he had gained her complete trust. She looked more like a high school student, with her bare feet, oversized T-shirt, and baggy shorts, than a chef. He closed the distance between them, lowered his head, and kissed the side of her neck.

  Lydia smiled up at Kennedy over her shoulder. “Where have you been?”

  He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those nagging wives?”

  “No,” she said quickly, “because I’m not going to become some man’s wife for a long, long time.” She turned to face him. Moisture dotted his forehead, while his T-shirt was pasted to his chest. Her eyes drank in the sensuality of his magnificent physique.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Working out.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s a sports club with an indoor track on the property.”

  “I miss jogging.” Lydia told him about the sports club in the complex where she’d owned a condominium.

  “The next time you come, you can work out with me.”

  Lydia met his steady gaze. “There’s not going to be enough time for you to take me to the Music Shack, or come back here to work out. I don’t have a lot of time off, and we only have another four weeks before camp ends.”

  Kennedy moved closer. “But does it have to end?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Camp?”

  He shook his head. “No, Lydia. Us. Does it really have to end in four weeks?”

  Lydia’s face clouded with uneasiness. Kennedy had just asked a question she couldn’t answer. “I don’t know. Why don’t we talk about this later?”

  “Later?”

  Resting a hand on the middle of his chest, she felt the steady pumping of his heart under her palm. “Before the end of camp.”

  He nodded his approval and placed a bouquet of sweet pea on the countertop. “These should liven up the table.”

  Lydia’s gold-flecked eyes brightened with pleasure. “They’re beautiful. Where did you get them?”

  “In the field behind the fence the developer put up to keep deer and other wildlife from wandering onto the property. A month after I moved in I got up one morning and found a doe on the patio. I tried chasing her off, and it walked about a hundred feet before collapsing. I called animal control, and by the time they arrived a small crowd had gathered. It became something of a spectacle because the doe had gone into labor.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “A vet came and assisted birthing two fawns. The authorities transported the entire family back to the forest, and within a month the fence was up.” Kennedy placed his hand on Lydia’s shoulder, the gesture blatantly possessive. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Eggs Benedict.”

  “Hot damn! Why don’t you make them at camp?”

  “Because I’d never make partially cooked eggs for children. I could always make them safer by heating them to a temperature of one forty for three and a half minutes, but the consistency is not quite the same as poached.”

  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “I’m going up to shower; then I’ll be back to help you.”

  Standing on tiptoe, she touched her lips to his. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Lydia walked into the dining hall kitchen, her step jaunty. She was blissfully happy. The time she’d spent with Kennedy made her feel like a fairy-tale princess.

  * * *

  “What are you smiling about?” Neil’s voice broke into her musings.

  “I just remembered something.”

  Eyes sparkling like onyx and crossing his arms over his chest, Neil regarded her intently. “It must be something very good.”

  She sobered. “Why would you say that?”

  Pointing to his throat, the assistant chef winked at her. “You’re wearing it.”

  Putting a hand over her throat, Lydia made her way over to a mirror. A tiny bruise was visible where Kennedy had bitten her. She dropped her hand. “Please let me use your kerchief.”

  “No way.”

  “Come on, Neil. I don’t have time to go back to my cabin and get one.”

  “I can hear the kids now. Miss Lydia has a hickey.”

  She took several steps in his direction as he backed away from her. “Give it to me,” she hissed between her teeth. “That is a direct order.” Lydia reached for him, but he ducked, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet.

  “Lydia has a hickey,” he crooned in singsong fashion, tickling her in the ribs.

  Giggling uncontrollably, she swatted at him. “Stop, Neil! Please.”

  “What the hell is going on in here?”

  Lydia froze and Neil set her on her feet. They turned slowly and saw Kennedy glaring at them, his dark face set in a vicious frown.

  “We were just fooling around,” Neil said.

  Kennedy’s frown deepened. “Fool around on your own time, Lane.”

  A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Lydia’s spine. He had no right to reprimand a member of her staff. Eyes narrowing, she rested her hands on her hips. “Look here, Kennedy—”

  “Look nothing, Lydia,” he countered angrily. “I left the list of foodstuffs for the three-day outing with your assistant last week. I told Mr. Lane I needed a breakdown on the number of meals, including restricted diets, by noon today. It is now two-thirty.”

  Neil flushed a deep crimson. “I have it.”

  Lydia watched, seething, speechless, as Kennedy held out his hand and waited for Neil to give him the information he’d requested. This was a Kennedy she didn’t know, someone who’d become a stranger to her. Even when Neil had warned, “Ken is on the warpath,” following the missing bell clapper, she hadn’t witnessed his temper firsthand.

  Neil, glaring at Kennedy, slapped an envelope on his outstretched palm. A tense moment ensued when the two men regarded each other with hostile stares. Neil, the first one to end the stalemate, turned on his heel and disappeared into the walk-in freezer.

  The sound of the door closing behind Neil pulled Lydia from her stupor and she rounded on Kennedy. “You have some nerve coming in here—”

  “Nerve?” he retorted, interrupting her. “The next time Lane decides to feel you up, have him do it where no one can walk in on you.”

  Shock rendered Lydia motionless and speechless as she watched Kennedy turn to leave. She was too stunned by his accusation to scream or cry. They’d parted less than half an hour ago with smiles and caresses that promised a repeat of what they’d shared earlier.

  Her love for him was so overwhelming that she had had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from blurting out how much she loved him. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids, and one found its way down her cheek. She swatted at it with her fingertips.

  How could she have fallen in love with a man whose generosity and passion were limitless? A man who had taken her to heights of ecstasy she hadn’t known existed. A man who made her forget her vow, a man who’d slipped under the wall she’d erected, refusing to consider marriage and motherhood before she set up her restaur
ant, and a man who believed she’d deceived him because he saw her in the arms of another.

  There was nothing going on between her and Neil except trust—something obviously missing in her fragile relationship with Kennedy.

  Trust had sustained her parents’ marriage for more than fifty years, had kept her brothers and sisters and their spouses in healthy relationships, and trust was what she sought from a man more than passion or a declaration of love.

  Annoyance replaced her shock. She’d come to Camp Six Nations to gain experience supervising a kitchen, yet she’d allowed herself to be distracted by romantic notions.

  A sense of strength came to Lydia. She had only four weeks in which to fulfill her obligation as camp chef. Then she would close this chapter of her life on Camp Six Nations and Kennedy Fletcher, never reopening the book again to relive that experience.

  Reaching for an apron, she slipped it over her tunic and secured the ties around her waist. She’d washed her hands in one of four stainless steel sinks when Neil exited the freezer carrying a crate filled with vegetables and herbs for the night’s Chinese theme. His face had regained its normal pallor.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized softly.

  Neil waved a hand. “I should be the one doing the apologizing. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

  Lydia dried her hands on a towel before placing it over her left shoulder. “We were just playing around.”

  “I know that and you know that,” he argued softly. “But think of how it must have looked to Ken. I’m willing to suspect that if it had been anyone else, the camp grapevine would be buzzing that I’m hitting on my boss.”

  “As long we both know that’s not true, then I’m not even going to think about it.”

  “I don’t want Ken chewing you out because of something I’ve done.”

  She gave him a steady look. “If I don’t chew you out, then he has no right to do it either.”

  Neil began emptying the crate. Chinese white, flowering, and celery cabbage, mustard greens, sugar peas, and bean sprouts filled the preparation table that was expressly for vegetables.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Lydia.”