by Nora Roberts
Then he was yanking at her shorts.
No! Part of her mind drew back in shock, all but screamed it. He couldn’t mean to take her, here, like this, only yards away from where people sat and children played. But another part of her simply moaned in shocked excitement and whispered yes.
Here. Now. Like this. Exactly like this.
When he drove into her, her scream would have carried some of both, but it was swallowed by his mouth, lost in his ragged breaths.
He thrust hard, fast, deep, his body surging into hers, his hands biting into her tight, round bottom as he plunged. His mind was wiped clean of everything but this one desperate need. When she came, exploding over him, around him, in him, his thrill was dark and primal and coated his skin with sweat.
His own climax had claws, hot-tipped, razor-sharp, that ripped through him brutally, so that his vision went red.
Even when it cleared he continued to shudder, to pant. Gradually he became aware of what was. He heard the wild drumming of a woodpecker deeper in the woods, the tinkle of laughter from beyond the trees. And Grace’s sobbing breaths.
He felt the breezing cooling his skin. And her trembles.
“Oh, God. Goddamn it.” His curse was quiet, vicious.
“Ethan?” She hadn’t known, would never have believed anyone could have such a need inside them. For her. “Ethan,” she said again and would have lifted her weak arms around him if he hadn’t stepped back.
“I’m sorry. I—” There weren’t words. Nothing he could say would be right, would be enough. He bent, slipped her shorts back up, fastened them. With the same deliberate care, he straightened her shirt. “I can’t offer you an excuse for that. There isn’t any.”
“I don’t want an excuse. I don’t ever need one for what we do together, Ethan.”
He stared at the ground while a sick pounding began in his head. “I didn’t give you a choice.” He knew what it was not to have a choice.
“I’ve already made my choice. I love you.”
He looked at her then, everything that lived inside of him swirling into his eyes. Her mouth was swollen where he’d ravished it. Her eyes were enormous. Her body would carry bruises from his hands. “You deserve better.”
“I like to think I deserve you. You made me feel . . . desired. That’s not even the word.” She pressed a hand to her still speeding heart. “Craved,” she realized. “Craved. And now I’m sorry . . .” Her gaze flicked away from his. “I’m sorry for any woman who’s never known what it is to be craved.”
“I scared you.”
“For a minute.” Mortified, she blew out a breath. “Damn it, Ethan, do I have to tell you that I liked it? I felt helpless and overpowered and it was so exciting. You lost control, and you have this incredibly unshakable control most of the time. I liked knowing that something I did, or something I am, snapped it.”
He pulled his hand through his hair. “You confuse me, Grace.”
“I don’t mean to. But I don’t think that’s such a bad thing, either.”
He let out a sigh, then stepped forward just enough that he could smooth her tousled hair into place. “Maybe the trouble is we’ve been thinking we know each other so well. But we don’t have all the pieces.” He picked up her hand, studied it with that thoughtful frown she loved. Then he kissed her fingers in a way that made her lashes flutter.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you. In any way.” But he had, and he would.
He kept his hand in hers as he walked her back toward the sunlight. He would have to tell her about those pieces of himself soon. So she would understand why he couldn’t give her more.
FIFTEEN
“So, I don’t know if I’m going to go out with him anymore because he’s getting way too possessive, you know? I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but you gotta live, right?”
Julie Cutter crunched into the shiny green apple she’d plucked out of the fruit bowl in Grace’s kitchen. She felt every bit as much at home there as she did next door. Comfortable, she hitched herself up to sit on the counter while Grace folded laundry on the table.
“Plus,” Julie went on, gesturing with her apple, “I met this incredibly cute guy. He works at the computer store at the mall? He wears these little metal-frame glasses and has the sweetest smile.” She grinned, lighting up her pretty heart-shaped face. “I asked him for his phone number, and he blushed.”
“You asked him for his phone number?” Grace was listening with only half an ear. She loved it when Julie came over just to visit. She was always so full of fun and talk and energy. But today it was hard to concentrate. Her mind was so full of what had happened between her and Ethan in those shady woods. What had leapt out of him to devour her—and why had it left him so distant afterward?
“Sure.” Julie cocked her head, her brown eyes full of humor. “Didn’t you ever ask a guy out? Come on, Grace, we’re at the dawn of the next millennium here. Most of them really like it when the woman takes the initiative. Anyway . . .” She shook back her long fall of straight-as-a-pin brown hair. “Jeff did—the sexy computer nerd? He got all flustered at first, but then he gave it to me, and when I called him I could tell he was happy about it. So we’re going out Saturday, but I have to break up with Don first.”
“Poor Don,” Grace murmured, and glanced over absently as Aubrey knocked over the block tower she’d been building, then applauded its destruction.
“Oh, he’ll get over it.” Julie shrugged. “It’s not like he’s in love with me or anything. He’s just used to having a chick.”
Grace had to smile. A few months earlier, Julie had been wild about Don, rushing over to tell Grace every detail of their dates. Or, Grace suspected, at least an edited version of their dates. “You told me Don was the one.”
“He was.” Julie laughed. “For a while. I’m not ready for the only one yet.”
Grace went to the refrigerator to pour the three of them a drink. At Julie’s age—nineteen—she’d been pregnant, married, and worried about paying bills. She was only three years older than Julie, but it might as well have been three hundred. “You’re right to look around, to be sure.” She handed Julie a glass, held her gaze for a moment. “To be careful.”
“I’m careful, Grace,” Julie assured her, touched. “I’d like to be married one day. Especially if it means having a baby as beautiful as Aubrey. But I want to finish college, then see some of the world. Do . . . things,” she added, gesturing widely. “I don’t want to find myself tied down, changing diapers and working at some dead-end job because I let some guy talk me into . . .”
She trailed off, suddenly and sincerely appalled at herself. Eyes huge and apologetic, she slid off the counter. “God, I’m sorry. I can be so thick sometimes. I didn’t mean that you—”
“It’s all right.” She gave Julie’s arm a quick squeeze. “That’s exactly what I did, exactly what I let happen to me. I’m glad you’re smarter.”
“I’m a moron,” Julie murmured, very close to tears. “I’m an insensitive clod. I’m hateful.”
“No, you’re not.” Grace gave a light laugh and picked up a pair of Aubrey’s rompers from the basket. “You didn’t hurt my feelings. I’d hate to think we weren’t friends enough for you to be able to say what you think.”
“You’re one of my best friends. And I’ve got a big mouth.”
“Well, you do.” Grace chuckled at Julie’s wince. “But I like it.”
“I love you and Aubrey, Grace.”
“I know you do. Now stop worrying about it, and tell me where you’re going with Jeff the cute computer guy?”
“Safe date. Movies and pizza.” Julie let out a soft sigh of relief. She’d have . . . shaved her head and dyed it purple, she decided, before she’d do anything to hurt Grace. Hoping to make up, just a little, for her insensitivity, she beamed a smile.
“You know, I’d be happy to keep Aubrey on your next night off if you and Ethan want to go out.”
Grace had finished folding the ro
mpers and started on socks. She stopped, staring, with a tiny white sock trimmed in yellow in each hand. “What?”
“You know—catch a movie, go to a restaurant, whatever.” She wiggled her brows on the “whatever,” then fought to bite back a grin at Grace’s expression. “You’re not going to stand there and tell me you’re not seeing Ethan Quinn.”
“Well, he’s . . . I’m . . .” She looked helplessly down at Aubrey.
“If it was supposed to be a secret, he should be parking his truck somewhere other than your driveway on the nights he sleeps over.”
“Oh, God.”
“What’s the problem? It’s not like you’re having this illicit affair—like Mr. Wiggins has been having with Mrs. Lowen on Monday afternoons at the motel on Route 13.” At Grace’s strangled sound, Julie just shrugged. “My friend Robin’s working there and taking night classes at the college, and she says how he checks in every Thursday morning at ten-thirty while she waits in her car. Anyway—”
“What must your mother think?” Grace whispered.
“Mom? About Mr. Wiggins? Well—”
“No, no.” Grace didn’t want to think about the portly Mr. Wiggins’s weekly motel romp. “About . . .”
“Oh, you and Ethan. I think she said something about ‘high time.’ Mom’s not an idiot. He’s such a hunk,” Julie said with feeling. “I mean, the way he fills out a T-shirt is awesome. And that smile. It takes, like, ten minutes for it to finish moving over his face, and by then, man, you are drooling. Robin and I went down to the waterfront every day for a month last summer just to watch him offload his catch.”
“You did?” Grace said weakly.
“We both built a real case on him.” She reached into the white stoneware cookie jar and found two oatmeal raisin cookies. “I flirted with him, big-time, whenever I got the chance.”
“You . . . flirted with Ethan.”
“Mmm.” She nodded, swallowing cookie. “Really put some effort into it, too. Mostly I think it embarrassed him, but I got a couple of great smiles out of him.” She smiled sunnily when Grace kept staring. “Oh, I’m way over it now, so don’t worry.”
“Good.” Grace picked up the drink she’d neglected and drank deeply. “That’s good.”
“Still, he’s got a terrific butt.”
“Oh, Julie.” Grace bit her lip to keep from giggling and sent a meaningful look toward her daughter.
“She’s not listening. So, anyway, how’d I get started on this? Oh, yeah, I’ll keep Aubrey for you if you want to go out.”
“I, well, thanks.” She was trying to decide if she wanted to get well off the subject of Ethan Quinn, or linger on it, when she heard a knock and saw him standing at her front door.
“Like magic,” Julie murmured, and romance bloomed in her heart. “You know, why don’t I take Aubrey over to see Mom for a while? I’ll just keep her and feed her dinner.”
“But I don’t have to leave for work for nearly an hour yet.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “So make good use of the time, pal.” Then she scooped Aubrey up. “Want to come to my house, Aubrey? See my kitty cat?”
“Oooh, kitty. Bye, Mama.”
“Oh, but—” They were already sailing out of her back door, with Aubrey calling for the kitty and waving madly. She looked at Ethan again, staring at his face through the screen, then lifted her hands.
He decided to take it as an invitation and stepped inside. “Was that Julie who ran off with Aubrey?”
“Yes. She’s going to let Aubrey play with her kitten and have dinner over there.”
“It’s nice you have someone like Julie to look after her.”
“I’d be lost without Julie.” Puzzled, Grace angled her head. He was standing awkwardly, a hand tucked behind his back. “Is something wrong? Did you hurt your hand?”
“No.” What an idiot he was, Ethan thought, offering her the flowers he had held behind him. “I thought you might like some.” He wanted, desperately, to find ways to make up to her for the way he’d treated her in the woods.
“You brought me flowers.”
“I stole some here and there. You may not want to mention it to Anna. I got the tiger lilies off the side of the road. They’re blooming thick this year.”
He’d picked her flowers. Not store-bought flowers but ones he’d stopped and selected and plucked with his own hands. On a long, trembling sigh, she buried her face in them. “They’re beautiful.”
“They made me think of you. Almost everything does.” And when she lifted her head, when he saw that her eyes were stunned and soft, he wished he had more words, better ones, smoother ones. “I know you only have the one night off now. I’d like to take you to dinner if you don’t have any plans.”
“To dinner?”
“There’s a place Anna and Cam like up in Princess Anne. Suit-and-tie place, but they claim the food’s worth it. Would you like to?”
She realized she was nodding her head like a fool and made herself stop. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll come by for you. About six-thirty?”
There went her head, bobbing again like a spring robin drunk on worms. “Fine. That’d be fine.”
“I can’t stay now because they’re expecting me at the boatyard.”
“That’s all right.” She wondered if her eyes were as huge as they felt. She could have devoured him with them. “Thanks for the flowers. They’re lovely.”
“You’re welcome.” And with his eyes open, he leaned over, laid his lips on hers very gently, very softly. He watched her lashes flutter, watched the green of her irises go misty under those tiny flecks of gold. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”
Her muscles had turned to putty. “Tomorrow,” she managed and breathed out a long, long sigh as he walked away and out her front door.
He’d brought her flowers. She clasped the stems in both hands, held them out and waltzed through the house with them. Beautiful, fragrant, soft-petaled flowers. And if some of those petals drifted to the floor as she danced, it only made the scene more romantic.
They made her feel like a princess, like a woman. She sniffed them lavishly as she circled back into the kitchen for a vase. Like a bride.
She stopped abruptly, staring at them. Like a bride.
Her head went light, her skin hot, her hands trembly. When she realized she was holding her breath, she let it out with a whoosh, but it caught and stumbled as she tried to pull air in again.
He’d brought her flowers, she thought again. He’d asked her to dinner. Slowly, she pressed a hand to her heart, found that it was pumping light and fast, very fast.
He was going to ask her to marry him. To marry him.
“Oh, my. Oh.” Her legs wanted to fold, so she sat down, right on the floor of the kitchen with the flowers cradled in her arms like a child. Flowers, tender kisses, a romantic dinner for two. He was courting her.
No, no. She was jumping to conclusions. He would never move that quickly to the next step. She shook her head, picked herself up, and found an old wide-mouthed bottle for a vase. He was just being sweet. He was just being considerate. He was just being Ethan.
She turned on the faucet and filled the bottle. Just being Ethan, she thought again, and found her breath gone a second time.
Being Ethan, he would think and he would do things in a certain manner. Struggling for calm, for logic, she began to arrange the precious flowers, stem by stem.
They’d known each other for . . . she could hardly remember not knowing him. Now they were lovers. They were in love. Being Ethan, he would consider marriage the next step. Honorable, traditional. Right. He would believe it right.
She understood that but had expected it to be months yet before he drifted in that direction. Yet why would he wait, she asked herself, when they’d already waited for years?
But . . . She had promised herself she would never marry again. She made that vow as she signed her name on the divorce papers. She couldn’t fail so miserably at somethi
ng ever again, or risk putting Aubrey through the misery and trauma. She’d made the decision that she would raise Aubrey alone, raise her well, raise her with love. That she herself would provide, would build the home, tend it, where her daughter could grow up happy and safe.
But that was before she had let herself believe Ethan would ever want them, would ever love her the way she loved him. Because it had always been Ethan. Always Ethan, she thought, closing her eyes. In her heart, in her dreams. Did she dare break her promise, one she had made so solemnly? Could she risk being a wife again, pinning her hopes and her heart on another man?
Oh, yes. Yes, she could risk anything if the man was Ethan. It was so right, so perfect, she thought, laughing to herself as her head and heart went light with joy. It was the happy-ever-after that she’d stopped letting herself yearn for.
How would he ask? She pressed her fingers to her lips, and those lips trembled and curved. Quietly, she thought, with his eyes so serious, so intent on hers. He would take her hand, in that careful way of his. They’d be outside with moonlight and breezes, with the scents of night all around them and the musical lap of water close by.
Simply, she thought, without poetry or fuss. He would look down at her, saying nothing for a long moment, then he would speak, without hurry.
I love you, Grace. I always will. Will you marry me?
Yes, yes, yes! She spun herself in giddy circles. She would be his bride, his wife, his partner, his lover. Now. Forever. She could give her child to him knowing, without hesitation, that he would love and cherish, would protect and tend. She would have more children with him.
Oh, God—Ethan’s child growing inside her. Overwhelmed by the image, she pressed her hands to her stomach. And this time, this time, the life that fluttered inside her would be wanted and welcomed by both who’d made it.
They would make a life together, a wonderfully, thrillingly simple life.
She couldn’t wait to begin it.
Tomorrow night, she remembered, and in a sudden panic, pushed at her hair. Dropped her hands to look at them in utter despair. Oh, she was a mess. She needed to look beautiful.