by Sandra Brown
But moments later, she threw them off, swearing beneath her breath. She remembered that she'd left the lawn sprinkler on. She'd turned it on early that afternoon and it had been running ever since. Great for the water bill, she thought as she padded through the dark house, down the stairs, and across the kitchen to the back door.
The concrete porch was cold on her bare feet. The night air made her shiver because she hadn't taken time to pull on a robe over her nightgown. Holding up the hem of her long nightgown so it wouldn't trail in the wet grass, she tiptoed toward the water hydrant built into the foundation of the house. It took her a moment to find it in the darkness, but she finally did, and, bending at the waist, turned it off. She gave it one final twist to make certain it was completely shut off before she straightened up and turned around.
The gasp of surprise froze in her throat. She flattened her hand against her chest to still her drumming heartbeat. Then she recognized the form emerging from the impenetrable shadows as Thad Randolph. His features were obscured by the darkness, but the moonlight shining on his hair and turning it silver made him immediately identifiable.
She didn't blurt out the question "What are you doing here?" because she already knew. She didn't know how she knew; she just knew.
She wasn't surprised and therefore didn't flinch when he raised his hand and took a strand of her hair between his fingers. He rubbed it slowly, letting it sift through his fingers sensuously. Then he closed his hand around her throat, and, as though the warmth of his fingers melted the vertebrae in her neck, her head obligingly tipped to one side.
He pressed his lips against that vulnerable curve, giving it a long kiss. Then, gazing down into her face, he touched her lips with his thumb and traced their shape. Responding to his touch, her lips became so pliant they parted slightly. He ran the pad of his thumb over her teeth.
Emboldened, she laid her hands on his chest. Moving aside his unbuttoned shirt, she caressed bare skin, crisp hair, his nipples.
He made a hissing sound and, with one sudden movement, lightly slammed her back into the wall of the house. She saw his head descending toward hers. Her eyes slid closed a second before his lips covered hers. He tilted his head, adjusted the angle, then sank his tongue into the heat of her mouth.
Elizabeth slumped bonelessly, glad that the wall was there to help support her while she surrendered to Thad's mastery and expertise. She'd never been kissed this thoroughly. Never. Even in her fantasies. His kiss seemed to draw the very life out of her and yet at the same time to imbue her with new fire.
His tongue plumbed her mouth with sleek thrusts that suspended her breathing. Then he imbedded it snugly inside and stroked the roof of her mouth. Her body and heart and soul exploded. Splinters of light scattered through her.
His mouth gently ate its way down her neck. His tongue playfully batted against her earlobe before his teeth clamped down on it in a love bite. He kissed her throat, her chest, his mouth open and hot and hungry. When it closed around her nipple, her back reflexively arched and all ten of her fingers clutched his hair. He drew the ripe tip into his mouth, nightgown and all, and sucked it with passionate need.
Clasping her around the waist, he held her steady and in place while he angled his hips forward and let her know the extent of his desire. She moved her body against him. Pressing harder and higher, he sandwiched her face between his hands and kissed her fiercely.
An instant later, he was gone, swallowed by the darkness.
The only sounds Elizabeth heard were those of her own pounding heart and raspy breathing. And the dripping water hydrant. Those splashing drops landing in the muddy puddle beneath the hydrant were her only remaining link with reality, the only clue that let her know that what had happened was real and not one of her fantasies.
She stumbled back into her house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. She closed the door, leaning against it weakly and gulping for breath. She lifted a hand to her lips. They were still warm and damp. They stung slightly. She could feel that they were swollen and beard-abraded.
It had been real. It had happened. But how? Why? Why had she permitted it?
Because she was human. She was a woman who had known passion. Her needs hadn't died with John Burke. Her natural, physical desires hadn't been sealed in the coffin with him. In and of themselves they weren't shameful. But the manner in which she chose to satisfy them could be. Trysts with a neighbor in the backyard in the middle of the night weren't a proper means by which to cool her blood. If it was going to run this hot, this unpredictably, she'd have to find an outlet.
As though driven by the muses – or the devil – she crossed to her small wicker desk and took out a notebook and pen. The ink flowed from the ballpoint like blood from an open vein. The room grew cold, but she didn't stop long enough even to put on her robe. She didn't cease her frantic writing until her stable fantasy and the one about the faceless stranger had been converted from images in her mind to words on paper.
Afterward she slept soundly and dreamlessly. In the morning, she called Lilah before she could change her mind.
* * *
Only after she had had several hours to think about it did she begin to have doubts. Lilah, to be sure, had been delighted with Elizabeth's decision to submit her fantasies for publication. She had driven over immediately to pick up the pages Elizabeth had written the night before.
She snatched them from her sister's hand. "I'm not going to give you time to change your mind. What made you decide to do it?"
Elizabeth was glad that the Monday-morning rush back into routine prevented an in-depth discussion of her motivations. Not that she would share with anyone what had happened in the backyard last night. She would go to her grave with that secret intact.
"I can use the extra money," she told Lilah by way of explanation. "If you think they're publishable, send them off. But you won't hurt my feelings by telling me they're not."
"I can't wait to read them," Lilah said, licking her lips as though anticipating a feast.
All morning, Elizabeth expected to get a phone call from her sister. When lunchtime arrived and she still hadn't heard from her, she reasoned that her writing had been terrible and that Lilah was trying to think of a tactful way to tell her.
There was little going on in the hotel, so her business was slow. After she'd eaten her fruit and cheese lunch, she began thumbing through order catalogues. When the small bell over her door tinkled, finally announcing a customer, she glanced up with a ready smile.
It congealed on her lips when she saw Thad Randolph standing inside her shop. She almost fell off her high stool, which she sat on behind the counter between customers. For endless moments they stared at each other.
At last, he said, "Hi."
Her feet touched the floor, but she still didn't trust herself to stand. Her knees were actually trembling. She smoothed down her skirt with damp palms. Her cheeks were hot. Her earlobes began to throb. "Hello."
After another tense silence, he dragged his eyes away from her and took in his surroundings. "I've window-shopped through the glass, but I've never been inside your store. It's nice."
"Thank you."
"It smells good."
"I sell potpourri and sachets." She indicated a basket filled with little lace pillows stuffed with dried flowers and spices.
Had she really been in this man's arms last night? Naked except for a sheer batiste nightgown? Moving against him yearningly, kissing him in a way that, even now, made her giddy? And were they now calmly discussing sachets? Saturday night she'd felt rebuffed because he hadn't made a pass at her. He'd been almost too nice. Well, he hadn't been nice last night. But instead of being angry, she was now confused.
She watched him move toward a display of scented stationery. He picked up one of the gift-wrapped boxes and sniffed it. "Chanel?" he asked her over his shoulder.
She nodded dumbly. On whom had he smelled Chanel, she wondered.
He replaced the stationery and wande
red toward the shelves stocked with an array of chocolates. Her clever display was eye-catching, but it didn't quite warrant the undivided attention he gave it.
"The open box is there for you to sample," she said to fill the teeming silence.
"Good merchandising, but no thanks."
From there he moved to the crystal pin boxes and perfume bottles, then to the lacquered jewelry boxes, then to the satin lingerie travel cases, then to the lace-bound volumes of poetry.
Elizabeth became entranced by the manner in which he picked up and handled the merchandise. He had large, capable, manly hands that were sprinkled with dark hair. Yet they weren't bashful about touching even the most delicate filigree trinket.
"What's the key for?"
Startled by the sudden question, Elizabeth yanked her gaze from his hands to his face. "Uh, it goes with the diary."
"Oh, I see."
He picked up the book with the padded satin cover and pushed the tiny gold key into the lock. Something about the surety with which he inserted the key into the slot made Elizabeth light-headed. She caught herself swaying on the stool. He laid the diary back on the shelf. She took a deep breath. He turned to face her, but remained disconcertingly silent.
"Is there... Did you need... Are you looking for anything in particular?"
He cleared his throat and glanced away. "Yes. I need something nice."
"Oh?" She wanted to add "For whom?" but thought better of it.
"A very special gift."
"Any special occasion?"
He coughed. "Well, actually, yes. I need to reestablish a bygone relationship." He moved to stand directly in front of the glass showcase she was sitting behind. "The sooner, the better. If I don't, I'm afraid that I won't be able to stop with a kiss next time."
Elizabeth kept her eyes trained on the square, blunt edge of his chin. But he didn't move away and he didn't say anything more. It became obvious that he expected her to make the next move, so she painstakingly raised her eyes to meet his. "You didn't stop with a kiss this time."
"No," he said softly, "I didn't, did I? Do you need an apology, Elizabeth?"
She shook her head. "I'd rather not talk about it at all."
"You don't want an explanation?"
"I'm not sure there is an explanation for something like that. It just" – she made a helpless gesture – "happened."
"I didn't plan it."
"I know."
"I don't want you to think that I crossed our backyards with a wallbanger in mind."
She sucked in a quick little breath. "I don't."
They said nothing for a moment, then he asked, "Why were you so hostile yesterday at the market?"
"I was annoyed."
"Why?"
"I don't know exactly," she said, meaning it. "I guess because I want to get my own dates. I don't want my children to recruit them for me. I wanted to make it clear to you that I didn't expect you to ask me out again. Maybe I went overboard to get my point across."
"You did."
"I realize that now. I'm sorry I overreacted."
"No need to apologize. I overreacted too. You made me mad as hell. I shouldn't have said what I did, though. That was uncalled for."
"Please," she said, shaking her head. "I understand."
He released a long breath. "Anyway, when I drove in last night and saw that your sprinkler was on, I thought I'd do you a favor and turn it off. I didn't expect to see you standing there. Especially wearing nothing but a thin nightgown." His eyes turned a shade darker. "That came as quite a shock to my system."
"You don't think I went out like that to attract your attention, do you?"
"No."
"Because I didn't. I heard the water running and realized I'd forgotten to turn it off. If it hadn't been so late I would never have gone outside in my nightgown. And if it hadn't been necessary, I wouldn't have gone outside at all."
"I understand."
If he understood, she'd do well to shut up while she was ahead. This was one of those bad situations that could only get worse by saying too much. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.
"Just to kiss you. Nothing more than that, I swear. But then you started kissing me back. I felt your breasts against my chest and, damn, they felt good. I had to— What's the matter?"
"I meant to buy," she said croakingly. "What did you have in mind to buy for the gift to give your ... your lady?"
"Oh, that. Well, let's see." He slid his hands into his trousers pockets, a gesture which flipped back his jacket. The front of his shirt was smoothly filled out by the muscled chest beneath it. The front of his trousers was filled out by the bulging...
Elizabeth guiltily jerked her eyes back up to his chest and detected the dark cloud of hair through the fine cloth. It was the first time she'd ever seen him in a necktie except from a distance. Did he always dress up for his afternoon affairs?
"What do you suggest?" he asked her.
Flustered, she couldn't think of a single item in her inventory. She gazed around the shop as though seeing it for the first time. She couldn't remember what anything was called or how much it cost. Finally, raking together enough words to form a coherent thought, she made several suggestions, none of which appealed to him.
"No, she's not the bookish type," he said, when Elizabeth suggested a slender volume of Shakespeare's sonnets.
No, she wouldn't be. Of course not. Mistresses rarely were. A man didn't go to his mistress, especially one he hadn't seen in quite a while, for cerebral stimulation.
"What about some of this frilly underwear?" Thad was rifling through the circular rack of lingerie. "Do women really enjoy wearing this kind of thing? Or do men just wish they did?"
Her anger at him surged to the forefront again. Why was he bringing his sordid business to her? If he wanted to buy a sexy negligee for his illicit lover, why did it have to be from her?
"Some women do," she snapped. The emphasis she placed on the first word indicated that the women who did enjoy wearing such garments were of questionable virtue.
"Do you?"
Her eyes swung up to his. They were daring her to lie. She rose to meet the challenge. Besides, her son had already informed him that she did. "Sometimes. If I'm in the mood."
"How often does the mood strike you?" Her middle grew warm. The warmth spread upward. It filled her breasts and collected in their tightening nipples. Had he noticed them poking against the front of her blouse? Was he remembering the way his tongue had lashed them, making them wet through the cloth of her nightgown?
"That varies from woman to woman," she said.
He turned and began looking through the garments, sliding the hangers along the metal rack. The sound they made was as irritating to Elizabeth as fingernails on a chalkboard.
"This is pretty." He pulled an article out and held it up. "What's it called?"
"A teddy."
His lips formed a wide, wolfish smile. "No wonder. A man could really cuddle up with it."
She failed to see the humor and barely curbed the impulse to snatch the teddy away from him. "Do you want it or not? It's sixty dollars." He whistled softly. "Isn't she worth it?" Elizabeth asked snidely.
"Oh, yes, she's definitely worth it."
The pitch and depth of his voice made her toes curl. "Shall I wrap it up?"
"Not so fast. I haven't decided yet. Sell me on it." He dropped the teddy on the countertop. Elizabeth's temper rose a degree. Either he wanted the damn thing or he didn't. But knowing she couldn't afford to sacrifice a sixty-dollar sale, particularly on a slow day, she picked up the teddy and began to enumerate its various merits.
"It's made of one-hundred percent silk."
He took a pinch of the fabric between his fingers and rubbed it, exactly as he had done the strand of her hair the night before. "Very nice. It's sheer, almost transparent. Is that a problem?"
"Pardon?"
"Does anything show through?"
"Isn't it supposed to?"
> "In the bedroom, yes. But not if she's wearing it under her clothes."
"Oh. Well, no, that shouldn't be a problem."
"Okay," he said, "what about the color? What do you call that?"
"Nude."
"That figures. What about size?"
"What size is she?" Forty-four double D, she thought peevishly.
"About your size. Hold it up to you." She hesitated, but not wanting to appear prudish, she slipped the teddy off the hanger. Laying the straps on her shoulders, she held it in place against her. "It's stretchy. It should fit if she's a thirty-two or thirty-four."