by Nora Roberts
He had kissed her like this only once before, with such unspeakable tenderness that it stripped her soul bare. If she could have formed words, she would have babbled out her love for him. But her knees were jelly, her heart lost, and words were beyond her.
He barely touched her, just those hands light on her back while his mouth drank from hers—and destroyed her.
“It’s not a race this time.” He heard himself murmur the words but wasn’t sure if he spoke to himself or to her. All he knew was he wanted slow, painfully slow, endlessly slow, so that he could savor every moment, every move, every moan.
He reached out, dimmed the lights. “I want this spot,” he whispered and let his mouth journey along the fragile skin just under her jaw again. “And this one.” To the slender column of her throat, where her scent was warm and smoky.
When he stepped back and tugged his shirt over his head, she took a breath. She would get her feet back under her, she thought, and offer back some of what he was giving her. She reached for him, rose on her toes until their eyes and mouths lined up.
But he kissed her temples, her brow, her eyes when they fluttered closed. “I love looking at you,” he told her. He took the hem of her nightshirt in his fingers and lifted it, inch by inch. “All of you. Even when you’re not around, I have a picture of you in my head.”
When her nightshirt was pooled on the floor, he kept his eyes on her face, lifted her into his arms. Felt her tremble.
And he knew, in one breath-stealing flash, that he had never wanted another woman the way he wanted Anna. This time when he laid her on the bed, it was he who sank mindlessly into the kiss.
He didn’t have to order his hands to be gentle, to go slowly. He didn’t have to hold back an urge to plunder. Not when she sighed so softly under his touch, not when she moved so fluidly beneath his hands, not when she gave so completely before he could ask.
He explored her with a kind of wonder, as if it were the first time. The first woman, the first need. Somehow it was new, this longing to linger. To sip instead of gulp. To glide instead of race. When her hands roamed over him, his skin quivered and warmed.
Neither of them heard the first soft patters of rain or the low, poignant moan of the wind.
She rose to peak on one long, shimmering wave. Floated down again breathing out his name.
Pleasure was liquid, soft as morning dew, wide as a dark sea. She could feel it sliding through her, shifting, spreading, taking her up on another high, curving crest where only he existed.
She pressed her mouth to his throat, his shoulder, would have absorbed him into her skin if she’d known a way. No one had ever taken her away so completely. And when she framed his face, brought his mouth to hers and poured all she was into the kiss, she knew he was with her. Absolutely hers.
When he filled her, it was only one more link. She opened, took him, and gave. They moved together slowly, breath tangling, gazes locked. Moved together silkily, rhythms matched to draw out every ounce of pleasure.
It built, dizzying and dazzling so that her lips curved even as her eyes swam. “Kiss me,” she demanded on one last, trembling breath.
So their mouths met, clung, as that last sweeping wave swamped them.
He didn’t speak, didn’t dare, when her hands slid limply from his back to the bed. He felt as if he’d tumbled off a cliff and fallen hard on his heart. Now his heart was swollen, exposed. And it was hers.
If this was love, it scared the hell out of him.
But he couldn’t move, couldn’t let her go. She felt so good, so right beneath him. His body was weak, sated, and his mind close to empty. It was only his heart that trembled and pumped.
He would worry about it later.
Saying nothing, nothing at all, he shifted, drew her close, possessively close, to his side, and let the rain lull him to sleep.
Anna awoke with the sun shooting into her eyes and was stunned to find herself wrapped up in Cam. His arms had a good strong hold on her, and hers were snug around him. Their legs were tangled, with her right hooked over his hip like an anchor.
If her mind had been clear it might have occurred to her that while they both assumed their affair was casual, even sophisticated, in sleep they’d both known better.
She slid her leg down, hoping to unknot their limbs, but he only shifted and anchored hers more firmly.
“Cam.” She whispered it, feeling foolish and guilty, and when she received no response, wriggled and spoke more firmly. “Cameron, wake up.”
He grunted, snuggled closer, and muttered something into her hair.
She sighed and, deciding she had no choice, lifted the leg that was caught between his until her knee pressed firmly against his crotch. Then she gave it a quick nudge.
That got his eyes open.
“Whoa! What?”
“Wake up.”
“I’m awake.” And his just-open eyes were all but crossed. “Would you mind moving your . . .” When the pressure eased off, he let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thanks.”
“You’ve got to go.” She was back to whispering. “You shouldn’t have stayed in here all night.”
“Why not?” he whispered back. “It’s my bed.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she hissed. “One of your brothers could get up any minute.”
He exerted himself to lift his head a couple of inches and peer at the clock on the opposite nightstand. “It’s after seven. Ethan’s already up, has probably emptied his first crab pot. And why are we whispering?”
“Because you’re not supposed to be here.”
“I live here.” A sleepy smile moved over his face. “Damn, you’re pretty when you’re all rumpled and embarrassed. I guess I have to have you again.”
“Stop it.” She nearly giggled, until his hand snuck around to cup her breast. “Not now.”
“We’re here now, naked and everything. And you’re all soft and warm.” He nuzzled his way to her neck.
“Don’t you start.”
“Too late. I’m already into the first lap.”
And indeed when he shifted, she understood that the starting gun had already sounded. He was inside her in one easy move, and it was so smooth, so natural, so lovely, she could only sigh.
“No moaning,” he said with a chuckle at her ear. “You’ll wake up my brothers.”
She snorted out a laugh and, caught between amusement and arousal, shoved and rolled until she straddled him. He looked sleepy, and dangerous, and exciting. A little breathless, she braced her hands on either side of his head. She bent down and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth.
“Okay, smart guy, let’s see who moans first.”
And arching back, she began to ride.
Afterward, they decided it was a tie.
She made him climb out the window, which he claimed was ridiculous. But it made her feel a little less decadent. The house was quiet when she came downstairs, freshly showered and comfortable in olive-drab cotton slacks and a camp shirt. Seth was still sleeping on the rug. Foolish stood guard on the floor.
At the sight of Anna, the pup scrambled up, whining pitifully as he followed her into the kitchen. She assumed it was either an empty stomach or a full bladder. When she opened the back door, he shot out like a bullet and proved it was the latter by peeing copiously on an azalea just struggling into bloom.
Birds were singing with full, joyful throats. Dew sparkled on the grass—and the grass needed mowing. There was still a light mist on the water, but it was burning off quickly, like blown smoke, and through it she could see little diamond sparks of sunlight on calm water.
The air was fresh from the night’s rain, and the leaves seemed greener, fuller than they had only a day before.
She built a little fantasy that included steaming coffee and a walk down to the dock. By the time she’d taken the first step toward brewing the coffee, Cam came in through the hallway door.
He hadn’t shaved, she noted, and found that the s
tubble of beard suited her image of a lazy Sunday morning in the country. He lifted a brow.
She got two mugs out of the cupboard, then lifted hers. “Good morning, Cameron.”
“Good morning, Anna.” Deciding to play along, he walked over and gave her a chaste kiss. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, and you?”
“Like a log.” He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “It wasn’t too quiet for you?”
“Quiet?”
“City girl, country silence.”
“Oh. No, I liked it. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever slept better.”
They were grinning at each other when Seth stumbled in, rubbing his eyes. “Have we got anything to eat?”
Cam kept his gaze locked on Anna’s. “Phillip ran his mouth about making waffles. Go wake him up.”
“Waffles? Cool.” He ran off, his bare feet slapping on the wood floor.
“Phillip’s not going to appreciate that,” Anna commented.
“He’s the one who started the waffle rumor.”
“I could make them.”
“You made dinner. We take turns around here. To avoid chaos. And the shedding of blood.” A loud and nasty thud sounded over their heads and made Cam grin. “Why don’t we pour that coffee and take a walk out of the line of fire?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
On impulse, he grabbed a fishing pole. “Hold this.” A hunt through the fridge netted him a small round of Phillip’s Brie.
“I thought we were having waffles.”
“We are. This is bait.” He tucked the cheese in his pocket and picked up his coffee.
“You use Brie for bait?”
“You use what’s handy. A fish is going to bite, it’ll bite on damn near anything.” He handed her a mug of coffee. “Let’s see what we can catch.”
“I don’t know how to fish,” she said as they headed out.
“Nothing to it. You drown a worm—or in this case some fancy cheese—and see what happens.”
“Then why do guys go off with all that expensive, complicated gear and those funny hats?”
“Just trappings. We’re not talking dry fly-fishing here. We’re just dropping a line. If we can’t pull up a couple of cats by the time Phillip’s got waffles on the table, I’ve really lost my touch.”
“Cats?” For one stunning moment, she was absolutely horrified. “You don’t use cats as bait.”
He blinked at her, saw that she was perfectly serious, then roared with laughter. “Sure we do. You catch ’em by the tail, skin their bellies, and drop them in.” He took pity on her only because she went deathly pale. But it didn’t stop him from laughing. “Catfish, honey. We’re going to bring up some catfish before breakfast.”
“Very funny.” She sniffed and started walking again. “Catfish are really ugly. I’ve seen pictures.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never eaten catfish?”
“Why in the world would I?” A little miffed, she sat on the side of the dock, feet dangling, and cupped her mug in both hands.
“Fry them fresh and fry them right, and you’ve never tasted better. Toss in some hush puppies, a couple ears of sweet corn, and you’ve got yourself a feast.”
She eyed him as he settled beside her and began to bait his hook with Brie. His chin was stubbled, his hair untidy, his feet bare. “Fried catfish and hush puppies? This from the reckless Cameron Quinn, the man who races through the waters, roads, and the hearts of Europe. I don’t think your little pastry from Rome would recognize you.”
He grimaced and dropped his line in the water. “We’re not going to get into that again, are we?”
“No.” She laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I almost don’t recognize you myself. But I kind of like it.”
He handed her the pole. “You don’t exactly look like the sober and dedicated public servant yourself this morning, Miz Spinelli.”
“I take Sundays off. What do I do if I catch a fish?”
“Reel it in.”
“How?”
“We’ll worry about that when it happens.” He leaned over to pull up the crab pot tied to the near piling. The two annoyed-looking jimmies inside made him grin. “At least we won’t starve tonight.”
The snapping claws had Anna lifting her feet slightly higher above the water. But she was content to sit there, sipping coffee, watching the morning bloom. When Mama Duck and her six fuzzy babies swam by, she had what Cam considered a typical city girl reaction.
“Oh, look! Look, baby ducks. Aren’t they cute?”
“We get a nest down there in the bend near the edge of the woods most every year.” And because she was looking so dreamy-eyed, he couldn’t resist. “Makes for good hunting over the winter.”
“Hunting what?” she murmured, charmed and already imagining what it would be like to hold one of those puffy ducklings in her hand. Then her eyes popped wide, horrified. “You shoot the little ducks?”
“Well, they’re bigger by then.” He had never shot a duck or anything else in his life. “You can sit right here and drop a couple before breakfast.”
“You should be ashamed.”
“Your city’s showing.”
“I’d call it my humanity. If they were my ducks, no one would shoot them.” His quick grin had her narrowing her eyes. “You were just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“It worked. You look so cute when you’re outraged.” He kissed her cheek to mollify her. “My mother’s heart was too soft to allow hunting. Fishing never bothered her. She said that was more of an even match. And she hated guns.”
“What was she like?”
“She was . . . steady,” he decided. “It was hard to rock her. Once you did, she had a kick-ass temper, but it was tough to get it going. She loved her work, loved the kids. She had a lot of soft spots. She’d cry at movies or over books, and she couldn’t even watch when we cleaned fish. But when there was trouble, she was a rock.”
He’d taken Anna’s hand without realizing it, lacing their fingers. “When I came here I was beat up pretty bad. She fixed me up. I kept thinking I’d take off as soon as I was steady on my feet again. I kept telling myself these people were a couple of assholes. I could rob them blind and take off anytime I wanted. I was going to Mexico.”
“But you didn’t take off,” Anna said quietly.
“I fell in love with her. It was the day I got back from my first sail with Dad. This world had opened up for me. I was a little scared of it, but there it was. He went inside to grade some papers, I think. I was making bitching noises about having to wear that stupid life jacket, and just general bullshit. She took me by the hand and pulled me right into the water. She said then I’d better learn to swim. And she taught me. I fell in love with her about ten feet out from this dock. You couldn’t have dragged me away from here.”
Moved, Anna lifted their joined hands to her cheek. “I wish I’d had the chance to meet her. To meet both of them.”
He shifted, suddenly realizing that he had told her a story he’d never shared with anyone. And he remembered the way he’d sat here the night before, talking to his father. “Do you, ah, believe that people come back?”
“From?”
“You know, ghosts, spirits, Twilight Zone stuff?”
“I don’t not believe it,” she said after a moment. “After my mother died, there were times when I could smell her perfume. Just out of the blue, out of the air, this scent that was so . . . her. Maybe it was real, maybe it was my imagination, but it helped me. That’s what counts, I suppose.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Oh!” She nearly dropped the pole when she felt the tug. “Something’s on here! Take it!”
“Uh-uh. You caught it.” He decided the distraction was for the best. Another minute or two, he might have made a total fool of himself and told her everything. He reached over to steady the pole. “Reel it in some, then let it play out. That’s it. No, don’t jerk, just slow an
d steady.”
“It feels big.” Her heart was thudding between her ears. “Really big.”
“They always do. You got it now, just keep bringing it in.” He rose to get the net that always hung over the edge of the dock. “Bring her up, up and out.”
Anna leaned back, eyes half shut. They popped wide when the fish came flashing and wriggling out of the water and into the sunlight. “Oh, my God.”
“Don’t drop the pole, for God’s sake.” Shaking with laughter, Cam gripped her shoulder before she could pitch herself into the water. Leaning forward, he netted the flopping catfish. “Nice one.”
“What do I do? What do I do now?”
Expertly Cam freed fish from hook, then to her horror handed her the full net. “Hang on to it.”
“Don’t leave me with this thing.” She took one squinting look, saw whiskers and fishy eyes—and shut her own. “Cam, come back here and take this ugly thing.”
He set the widemouthed pail he’d just filled with water on the dock, took the net, and flopped the catch into it. “City girl.”
She let out a long breath of relief. “Maybe.” She peeped into the pail. “Ugh. Throw it back. It’s hideous.”
“Not on your life. It’s a four-pounder easy.”
When she refused to take the pole a second time, he sacrificed the rest of his brother’s Brie and settled down to catch the rest of that night’s supper himself.
The reception that her morning’s work received from Seth changed her attitude. Impressing a small boy by catching an indisputably ugly and possibly gourmand fish was a new kind of triumph. By the time she was driving with Cam to the boatyard, she’d decided one of her next projects would be to read up on the art of fishing.
“I think, with the proper bait, I could catch something much more attractive than a catfish.”
“Want to go dig up some night crawlers next weekend?”
She tipped down her sunglasses. “Are those what they sound like?”
“You bet.”