by Amy Summers
His arms slid down and he was lifting her up, carrying her into his bedroom. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against him, riding on sensation. There was nothing more wonderful than love. His hands were gentle as he laid her down on the soft covers, but his hands seemed to tremble as he began to unfasten her dress, his fingers tangling in the crisp fabric. She opened her eyes then, staring up at him in wonder. How could he be nervous, a man of such experience? And here she was, floating, confident, so sure of what she was doing?
There were some doubts, of course. Would he find her exciting? Would she know what to do to suit his particular needs? Would she make him feel as good as others had?
But somehow those fears started to fade, because they really didn't matter. Something inside told her it would be all right, that it would work out just fine. She'd been made for this, just as she'd been made for his kiss. There would be no problem.
Her dress slid away, making the faintest sound, like a breeze passing through autumn leaves, and then her lacy bra was gone, releasing her breasts. Finally his hands pushed away the silky fabric at her hips, leaving her unprotected by material barriers.
Being modest didn't even occur to her. She lay back while he explored her body, touching and testing with his gentle hands, stroking her nipples erect, flattening his palm over her soft stomach, smoothing the hair that refused to lie flat, circling her navel with his warm tongue, crushing his face between her naked breasts, sliding his hand along the length of her—until she cried out with the growing intensity of her response to his persuasion, and tugged his shirt, wanting him as naked and free as she was herself.
And soon he was, his long, sleek body shining in the lamplight. Shy and not completely sure of her reception, she only touched his bare chest at first. But when her eyes met his she saw the desire smoldering in him, read the urgency there and let her hands move across his warm skin, taking possession. She'd never seen anything so beautiful. She needed to touch him, she needed him close, and her stroking hands began to move more boldly, not thinking, only feeling.
He was so strong, so smooth. He was kissing her mouth, her ears, her neck, her breasts, and she was stroking his back, pressing her body to his, finding him with her hands and guiding him. The sweet ecstasy of anticipation was throbbing in her, making her breath come quickly, making her heart beat like the accompaniment to some wild, sensual song.
"Trish," he murmured huskily near her ear, his voice strained with the strength of his barely leashed passion. "You're so beautiful, I'm afraid to touch you. I'm afraid I'll hurt you."
"Don't be afraid, Chris," she murmured, pulling him down against her, moving with a knowledge sheltered deep within, an instinct that she hadn't known she possessed. She knew deep inside that his control was almost gone, and that she wanted to help free him from it. "You can't hurt me," she murmured, so sure, so in love. "I need you. I need all of you."
Now she was the one who was beginning to tremble with urgency, with a need that grew like the storm inside her.
"Chris!" she cried out, clutching him, her eyes opening wide with surprise and demand.
She moved her hips and he came inside so smoothly that she gasped again with sheer delight, moving with him as though they'd been lovers forever and knew each other's every nuance.
She heard her name. His face was pressed beside hers and he was groaning it again and again. Her fingers moved convulsively on his back, reaching for even more. And she thought she heard his name cried out, then realized only dimly that it was she who had called it.
And then it was over and Trish lay with her eyes shut and her body tightly wrapped around Chris's. She wanted to preserve the moment. Never had she ever felt such soaring joy, as she felt with this man whose body was so close to hers that they might almost be one.
Neither of them spoke. The wonderful magic of their kisses had extended into lovemaking as enchanted as any she could imagine. They lay together very quietly, savoring what had been, savoring all the times they were sure they would have it again.
For there would be other times. Trish knew it had to be. This was more than a passing fling. If Chris didn't realize it yet, she was bound and determined he would do so soon. The ladies' man was about to have the plural erased from his designation.
"Hold me," she whispered dreamily, though he hadn't made any effort to let her go. "Hold me forever."
"Forever," he whispered into her hair, his arms tightening around her.
Chapter 15
They made love again an hour later, and then again at the first light of dawn. The magic never diminished. Chris's tenderness never faltered. He seemed to want her as much as she wanted him. Trish was living in a dream, unable to come to grips with such happiness. It seemed too good to be true.
They got up slowly, lazily, even though they both had to get to work. Chris gave her a T-shirt to wear. It barely covered her bottom, revealing quick glimpses of her red panties whenever she bent over, a sight that made him grin happily.
They ate scrambled eggs made by Chris and toast buttered by Trish, and laughed a lot. He loaned her a pair of spandex bicycle shorts to add to the T-shirt, so that she could get home without suffering the indignity of walking down her apartment hallway with everyone noticing she was wearing the same dress home at ten in the morning that she had left in the night before.
They were still laughing as he drove her home and dropped her in front of her building. But the moment she was in through the door, his smile faded and in its place was a look of doom, a look of foreboding. He knew he couldn't put off the reckoning much longer.
He planned to tell her when he met her for lunch later that day, but she was full of stories of what the children had done in the shop that morning, and he let the opportunity slip away. He planned to tell her that evening when they went out to a movie, but they never did leave his apartment. The excitement in what their love-making could accomplish was so new, so fascinating, they had to make love again and again just to test it out.
But later that night as she lay sleeping, Chris was still wide-awake for another hour, sitting beside her like a watchful angel, staring into the darkness and wondering how to tell her—wondering about the whole process of needing to tell her. Where had this overriding sense of responsibility come from anyway?
For most of his life he had taken the path of least resistance. He'd never planned his life. It had merely happened. True, it had been a selfish, useless existence. But it had been his.
Now he hardly recognized that old Chris Dawson. He was a different person with different needs. He was learning how to work for what he wanted. And he was also learning that doing that wasn't always easy. There was a price to be paid.
He looked down at Trish and felt a fullness of emotion that was new to him. Was this what he wanted? Was this something he wanted to trade away his freedom for? The questions were new and it would take time to find the answers.
In the morning Trish woke and stretched, feeling deliriously lazy, then turned and found Chris awake and up on one elbow, watching her. His haggard look alarmed her.
"What is it?" she asked, reaching out for him. "Didn't you sleep?"
He grabbed her wrist before she'd touched him, holding her back. "Wait a minute, Trish. I have to talk to you."
She felt as if she'd been dashed with cold water. A terrible dread began to flicker in her. She pulled back her hands as though she were folding in upon herself. She'd known this was too good to be true. Now he would tell her why this wouldn't work. She could see it in his eyes.
"What is it?" she asked in a small voice, though the last thing she wanted was to know.
His dark face was troubled. She wanted to comfort him but she could see he didn't want that. Not right now. Not from her. He was going to tell her things she wasn't going to like. She held her breath as though that act could hold back his words.
"Trish." He winced before he went on, and in that moment the harsh sound of the telephone sent jolts through both of
them, stopping them cold. They turned and stared at the phone, and then Trish reached out to grab the receiver as though it were a lifeline saving her from drowning.
"Hello?"
"Trish?" It was Howie's twanging voice. "What are you doing there?"
"My laundry, what do you think?" She bit her lip, regretting her sharp tone. "Did you want to speak to Chris?"
Howie's sigh rang in the receiver like wind through a tunnel. "No, I guess not," he said sadly. "I was going to ask Chris if he wanted to bring his board down and catch some big ones, but..."
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Howie says the waves are great," she paraphrased to Chris with a winning smile. "Let's meet him. We can get in an hour of surfing before we go to work. What do you say?"
He hesitated, but his worried look couldn't withstand the charm of her eagerness. His face broke into amused affection and he nodded. "Sure," he said. "Why not?" Rising from the bed, he headed for the bathroom.
She watched him, knowing she was being a coward. She knew he had something to tell her, but she also knew instinctively she didn't want to hear it. This would put it off a little while more. And right now she felt as though every moment of happiness was stolen from the gods.
"It's all set, Howie," she said a bit breathlessly. "We'll meet you at the pier."
The days flew by and the problem seemed to recede. Chris didn't try to bring it up again and Trish could almost forget that it was lurking in the background. They enjoyed every minute together, and when they lay in each other's arms, she couldn't imagine how anything could ever tear them apart.
They took long walks on the beach and danced under the stars and went to the zoo to laugh at the animals. She fed him barbecued hamburgers and he made her a monster hot-fudge sundae and they read the Sunday funnies lying side by side on the floor of his apartment. And then they went to a surfing contest in Huntington Beach.
The beach was lined with the usual mythical California girls in bikinis, but Chris only had eyes for the competitors, Trish was pleased to note. He was fascinated by the contest, completely captivated by the drama of the fierce competition and the romance of the setting. He fired questions and she tried to answer, though it was tough when he had a new question ready even before the old one had been fully dealt with.
They paced up and down the beach, arm in arm. She told him everything she knew and he soaked it up like a sponge.
"I love this," he said at last, his arm sweeping wide to include the entire scene. "This is great."
That warmed her because it was her life he was talking about, the life she'd always known. If he loved it maybe he loved her a little, too. Just a little. That was all she asked right now.
She introduced him to surfers she knew, mostly older ones, because she hadn't been around the surfing scene for years and didn't really know most of the younger ones. But as they were pushing their way through the crowd toward the judging stand, the hand that came out and grabbed Chris by the shoulder belonged to one of the stellar stars of surfing, Shaun Gibbons, a man she had never met.
"Chris Dawson! Hey, buddy, what brings you down to the beach? Did all the snow melt up there on your mountains?"
Shaun and Chris clapped each other on the back and threw good-natured insults back and forth. Trish interpreted what was said to mean they'd met before, mostly on the ski slopes, and were good friends. A large, blond, suntanned bear of a man, Shaun invited them back to the tent for a cold drink and a few more moments of memories and kidding between the two men.
Trish enjoyed watching the two of them interact. It was nice seeing how respected Chris was by people who knew him as a skier. But suddenly the conversation took a turn that chilled her.
"Hey, man," Shaun was saying, throwing his big arms wide. "You ought to try surfing. For real, I mean. Get yourself up to speed and join us on the tour."
Chris laughed, his white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. "I'm not in your class, Shaun. Never will be."
Shaun shook his shaggy head. "Are you kidding, someone who can ski the way you can? It would only be a matter of time and training before you got good enough to play with the big boys."
Chris looked pleased but skeptical. "I'm afraid I'm a little long in the tooth for that."
"Who knows? The sport is always changing. And hey, listen, there's a place for you out there on the pro tour." Shaun's eyes lit up as though he'd had a sudden inspiration. "It's your kind of life, man. Believe me." He grinned knowingly. "Listen. You know a lot about managing. I'm in the market for a new manager right now. I could use someone with your kind of moxie."
Trish's every instinct for survival was quivering. She looked at Chris and right away she could tell he was interested. No, more than interested. Call it thrilled.
No, no, no, she wanted to cry out. No, don't ask him. But Shaun did, making a formal offer that included a shocking amount of money. She watched Chris shake his head, but she saw the regret in his eyes. He was tempted. Lord, he was so tempted!
What had stopped him from jumping at the offer, she wondered later as they wandered farther down the beach, alone again, arm in arm. Had he really decided the work-a-day world was where his future lay? Had it been because he loved his job? Or could it have had anything to do with her?
He began to sing softly in her ear, a Hawaiian song he must have learned when he was young. She remembered what he had told her about his childhood, the South Pacific setting, running from one island to another, excitement at every turn. Did he still long for that? She pressed herself more tightly against him as he sang, and when he tilted her face up for his kiss, she responded hungrily.
"What is it?" he asked her, his hand in her hair, his eyes searching hers. "Is something wrong?"
She shook her head mutely, not trusting her voice. I love you, she wanted to say. I love you and I want you to stay with me. Forever. Please, please promise you'll stay. But those words didn't fit into the rules of the game they were playing, and if she used them she knew she might be disqualified from further play. So she kept quiet, smiling at him rather tremulously, and he kissed her again and whispered, "Let's go home. Okay?"
Home. That wonderful, comforting word.
"Yes," she whispered back. "Let's."
"It could work," she told herself aloud as she floated in a lovely bubble bath the next morning. She was alone in her apartment getting ready to go to Paper Roses within the hour, but needing time to think right now.
"It could work," she insisted to the empty room, as though someone had contradicted her earlier declaration. "Chris might be one of those men who, having sowed his wild oats, is ready to settle down and start a family."
Marriage. Funny how she'd never noticed before, but the word had a warm, happy sound. Marriage. It made her think of a cheery fire on a country hearth, children playing on a rolling green lawn, a golden wedding band with “Dawson” engraved inside. Why on earth had she been so concerned about her parents' marriage, when all the time she should have been considering one of her own?
She loved Chris with all her heart, loved him so strongly it made her smile to think of his face, made her close her eyes to think of his voice, made her gasp to think of his body. She loved the way he moved, the way he raised one eyebrow when he was teasing her, the way his hand reached out protectively when they walked together. She could no longer imagine life without him. He was hers. She was his.
She sighed and reached for the soap. "It could work," she told the bar sternly. "I know it could."
She finished her bath and dressed slowly, relishing her new-found certainty. This thing was going to work out. All she needed was a little patience, and then Chris would come to that conclusion on his own. She glowed with happiness. It was going to work.
If she'd been a few minutes quicker, she would have missed her sister's visit, but as it was, her hand was on the doorknob when the knock came and the next thing she knew, Suzi was flying into the room in full fury.
"I knew he was trouble the minute
I saw him. Didn't I tell you at the time? Do you remember when I called you and told you—"
Trish kept foreboding at bay and cried, "Suzi, will you calm down and tell me what this is about?"
Suzi shook her head, her eyes gleaming with anger. "He quit. That's what this is about."
Trish was still baffled and hanging on to shreds of hope. "Who quit?"
Suzi took a deep breath and spit out, "Chris Dawson, that's who. He couldn't take being told what to do by a woman, I guess. So he quit." She flounced down onto a chair. "We should have known it would happen sooner or later. It wasn't as though he'd ever had a steady job before."
"Suzi." Trish felt sick, but she had to get this straight before she let her emotions overwhelm her. She sank down on her knees beside where her sister sat and took her hands in her own. "Suzi, please. Start from the beginning and tell me exactly what happened."
Suzi threw her head back dramatically. "Chris came into work this morning at eight, as he always does, and Mom called him into her office to tell him she disagreed with some order he had made or something, and the next thing I knew, he was saying, 'This isn't going to work, Laura. I told you before that I didn't think we were turning out to be a compatible working team. And I guess this proves it. I'd better go clear out my office.'"
"He quit." Trish closed her eyes and shuddered. "Oh, my God. He quit."
"Can you believe it? And after all Mom has done for him, too. You'd think the man would have more loyalty. Even Howie was shocked."
"Yes." Trish rose slowly, her eyes on some distant horizon. He had quit. He had turned his back on the work-a-day world after all. The dream was over.
"I don't know if Mom can carry on without him."
Trish blinked at her distractedly. "She still has Bert," she murmured.
"Oh, Bert." Suzi threw up her hands in exasperation. "You know how he is. Lots of fun, but not much on the ball when it comes to business. No, Chris has been carrying that company." She shook her head. "I only hope Mom can take over and do it alone."