by Diana Palmer
"I don't gamble. I lose. That's all I do." She lifted her head and glared at him. "Lately it's getting to be an affliction!"
"Not nice," he chided, sliding closer to her. He looked as relaxed as his son. He was wearing dark bathing trunks with white stripes down the side, his magnificent chest bare and rippling with muscle and thick black hair. He watched her watching him and chuckled. "Throw me that towel, Ben," he said, and sat down beside her. "Nice hotel. I'm glad you picked one close to the water."
"All of them are close to the water."
"Not really. Ben and I once stayed in a hotel high on a hill overlooking the bay. Very nice. Swimming pool and five-star food. But no ocean."
"That's right. This is a nice hotel, Mom. Dad had to call half the hotels in Nassau to find you...."
"Don't you want to go and swim, Ben?" he was asked.
"Oh. Oh, sure!" He chuckled. "See you later, Mom!"
Shelly groaned, giving up all hope of denying that she was. Nobody listened anyway.
Faulkner lay back and stretched hugely, his powerful legs crossing. "Your mother said to tell you that Charles has asked Betsy for a date. Your father is livid."
"Poor old Daddy," she said unenthusiastically.
"He only wants you to be happy."
"If he did, he'd let me live my own life."
"Parents sometimes take a little convincing that children are capable of making their own decisions. I did," he reminded her. "You'll be glad to know that Ben and I are getting along very well these days. He's hardly the same boy he used to be."
"I hope he gets to stay that way," she said stiffly. "Your Marie strikes me as a woman who wants to reshape everyone around her in her own image."
"She didn't used to be quite so bad," he replied. "You set her on her heels. It did her good. She'll think twice before she acts in an offensive way to strangers again."
"When's the wedding?" she asked, trying to sound casual when her heart was breaking.
"I don't know." He rolled over onto his stomach and looked down at her. "When do you want it to be?"
She swallowed. "Don't make jokes."
"I'm not." He lifted his hand and just the tip of his forefinger began to work its way slowly down the strap of her bikini, teasing the soft bare skin of her shoulder down to the slope of her breast.
"Don't!" she whispered.
"Why not, little one?" He caught her eyes and held them, and still that maddening finger moved, traced, teased. The nipple beyond it grew visibly hard and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as he increased her sensual anguish.
"Faulkner, don't," she pleaded brokenly.
"I wouldn't if you didn't enjoy it so much." He smiled, spreading the radius of his touch until she flinched. "That's nice," he murmured huskily. "I like the way you look when I touch you."
"There are people everywhere, didn't you notice?" Her voice sounded high-pitched, squeaky.
"Yes, but they're sunbathing and swimming. No one's watching us. Not even Ben." He moved, shifting just slightly so that his body was between her and the other sunbathers. "Which means," he breathed, "that I can do this..."
His whole hand slid gently beneath the yellow triangle and over her soft breast. He watched her shiver, felt her nails biting into his arm. He smiled through his own excitement. She was very sensual, and he loved the way she felt under his hand.
"Faulkner, no!" she whispered.
His thumb and forefinger gently caressed the taut nipple and she pushed at him, frightened of the sensations slicing through her body.
She wasn't the only one who was becoming aroused. As he watched her reactions, he felt his own body growing tense.
With a groan, he moved away from her and lay on his belly, trying to breathe normally.
"Are you all right?" she asked when she could speak again.
"Isn't that my line?" He took a slow breath and glanced at her with a rueful, self-mocking smile. "Would you like to make a guess at why I'm lying on my stomach instead of my back right now?"
"Not really," she murmured, averting her eyes.
"Coward."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to seduce innocent women on crowded beaches," she muttered.
"Not women. Woman. Only you."
"Still..."
"But the first time should be on a beach, don't you think?" he mused, lifting his head to watch her. "In the moonlight. Just the two of us, our bodies fitting together as perfectly as two puzzle pieces."
"You're driving me crazy!" she said through her teeth.
"I ache in very unpleasant ways," he remarked. "There's a Jacuzzi in my room. Ben has a room of his own. You could come upstairs with me while he's swimming and we could make love in the whirlpool bath."
"Faulkner!"
"It was just a desperate thought." He shifted his attention to the sand. "A white wedding is going to be horrific. I dread the thought of it. Between us, we know far too many people. That will mean just the right clothes, the right caterer, reception at the country club..."
"Then why don't you and Marie elope?" she asked, trying to hide her misery.
"I'm not marrying Marie and you know it. You knew the night we almost went too far on the beach," he said quietly. "I think I knew, too, but I couldn't quite accept it then. I've had time to get my priorities straight. You and Ben come first with me."
The earth was spinning around her. She was sure of it. She forced her gaze up to his and her eyes widened. "What are you saying?" she whispered.
"Don't you know?" He moved closer and kissed her. His lips were soft, and slow, and tender. "I love you," he whispered. "Say yes and put me out of my misery."
"But...but Marie, and Charles...!"
"Shut up!" he breathed into her mouth, and dragged her close while he deepened the kiss to madness.
Something wet was dripping on them. She opened her eyes and looked up a little blankly.
"Well?" Ben asked impatiently.
"She said yes," Faulkner managed huskily, pulling her back to him.
"Whoopee!" Ben yelled. He turned around and told everyone on the beach that he was going to have a brand-new mother. Everyone laughed and cheered him on. Everyone, that was, except the couple on the beach, who were oblivious to everything except each other.
The wedding was held a month later in the big Presbyterian Church near where Shelly and her parents lived. Her family had belonged to this church for three generations, so it was like home. The minister who'd baptized Shelly at the age of three months officiated at the ceremony, and Ben was his father's best man. Nan, of course, was maid of honor.
It had been the longest four weeks of Shelly's life, and she was certain that Faulkner felt the same way. They'd been incredibly circumspect during the strained engagement. It wasn't Shelly's idea. She'd tried repeatedly to tempt him into her bed, going so far as to remind him that even the Puritans didn't condemn premarital sex between engaged couples. But it didn't work. He was determined that they were going to have a white wedding and a wedding night.
The big day had arrived. Shelly was almost shaking with nerves, and her new husband didn't seem much calmer. They were off to Jamaica on their honeymoon, and Shelly thought to herself that it was going to feel like years before they finally had any time to themselves.
"Take deep breaths," he whispered when they were halfway through the reception. "We'll get through it."
"I hope so." She glanced at him. "You didn't kiss me at the altar."
He searched her soft eyes. He'd lifted her veil, but he hadn't kissed her. He'd kissed the palms of both her hands and given her a look that would have fried tomatoes.
"The way I want to kiss you would be almost indecent in a church," he said quietly. "That's why I'm saving it."
Her lips parted. She searched his hard, lean face hungrily. "I want you," she said unsteadily.
"I want you, too." He traced her mouth with a long finger. "It won't be much longer."
"I know."
Her p
arents came up to congratulate them again. Her father was more enthusiastic about the match than she'd imagined he would be. Even her mother raved about Faulkner and young Ben. There had been nothing but congratulations and praise from the morning they announced the engagement. It was a little surprising, but Shelly hadn't questioned it.
They were wished well by the others when they drove away in the nicely decorated car, courtesy of a beaming Ben, who was to stay with his new mother's parents for the duration of the honeymoon, and then Nan and some other college classmates. As they were driven to the airport by Faulkner's chauffeur, Shelly kept staring with wonder in her whole expression at the wide gold band Faulkner had slid onto her finger.
It was a long, tiring trip. By the time they got to their hotel in Montego Bay and got checked in, it was time to eat something. Shelly had little appetite, but she sat with her new husband in the dining room and nibbled on seafood while he ate a rare steak.
They walked along the beach on the way back, staring out over the ocean as the sun set. Then he turned her and led her back into their room.
There was a balcony overlooking the bay—a very private balcony, high up and concealed. Faulkner led her onto it, where a big chaise longue was already spread with a beach towel.
Gently he undressed her and laid her on it, standing over her to savor every soft line of her with eyes that shone like beacons with love.
"Do you want me to make you pregnant, or do you want to wait a few months?"
Her lips parted on a shocked breath. This was something they hadn't discussed. She was embarrassed by the heat that accompanied the softly spoken words, by the thought of allowing him to give her a child. She shivered, her eyes lost in his.
"You want it, don't you?" he asked huskily.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Yes...I do!"
"There's nothing to be sorry about," he said, his voice deep and slow. "I want it as much as you do."
"Will Ben mind?"
He smiled. "No. He won't mind."
His hand went to his shirt. He stripped very slowly, letting her watch him. His breathing changed when the last of the fabric came off and she could see the altered contours of his powerful body. Her eyes lingered there, fascinated.
"How does it feel to look at me like this?"
She caught her breath. "Intimate," she whispered, forcing her eyes up to his. "Very, very intimate. And very exciting. I feel hot all over."
"I can take care of that," he said, smiling gently.
He eased down onto the chaise with her, and began to kiss her. At first the kisses were lazy and soft and undemanding. But then he touched her, and with each soft exploration of his fingers, her body shivered even more, until she sought the full length of him with a need as violent as a summer storm.
He indulged her, his mouth as slowly invasive as the fingers that traced her and teased her and discovered her most intimate secrets. When she was ready, he slid her over onto her back and moved his body gently to fit hers.
He kissed her tenderly while he moved between her soft thighs and eased down. She jerked a little, but a few seconds later, she relaxed and shifted to make it easier for him.
"You flinched then," he whispered, lifting his dark head to look directly into her eyes. "Do you want me to arouse you a little more before I take you?"
She flushed at the explicit question. "But you already are...!"
"No." He kissed her eyelids closed and moved forward. As he did, she felt the sting and began to stiffen. "It's going to be difficult," he whispered at her lips. "You need more time. It's all right," he added when she looked set to protest, because he was shivering with a need of his own. "I can wait. Here, Shelly..."
True to his word, he started all over again, his mouth and his hands so tender, so thorough, that he very quickly brought her to a stormy peak of tension. Far from trying to push him away, she went crazy with the need for him. She sobbed against his mouth and pushed up with her hips, completing his possession even before he realized what she meant to do.
He shuddered and suddenly there was a rhythm, a fierce urgency that blotted out the sea and the sky and the night. She heard his voice against her mouth, but she was climbing, climbing, climbing...
There was a sharp explosion of heat that caught her unawares. She clung and stiffened, aware of desperate motion, a harsh cry and the convulsive shuddering of the body so intimately joined to her own. And then, slowly, the world came back into focus.
She lay beneath him, exhausted with pleasure, too shaken to move, fighting to get her breath.
"As first times go," she managed to say unsteadily, "and on a scale of ten, that was at least a twenty."
"Even as experience goes, that was a twenty," he breathed at her ear. "Are you all right? It isn't too bad?"
"It isn't bad at all." She moved against him, glorying in his nudity and her own, at the feel of him so close. "Are you going to roll over and go to sleep now?"
"Yes, and so are you." He chuckled.
He got up, lifting her, and carried her to bed. He slid her under the covers, pulled her gently into his arms and turned off the light. "Try to get some rest," he whispered. "You're going to need it in the morning."
She laughed delightedly, resting her cheek on his chest with exquisite delight.
"Shelly."
"Hmmmm?"
"You haven't said you love me."
"Yes, I have," she murmured drowsily. "I've said it a hundred times, but you haven't heard it. I love you madly. I always will."
He smiled and brushed his lips against her forehead.
"I'm glad. Because you're my life now."
She sighed, stretching as she snuggled closer. "Faulkner."
"Hmmmm?"
"We'll always have Paris."
He chuckled. Just before he closed his eyes, he felt a twinge of sorrow for that fictional character who'd walked away with only a gendarme for consolation. He had something much, much sweeter. He had Shelly...and Ben...and a future full of love.