by Nora Roberts
Shade leaned against the sink and watched her. If she had plans to wash, she was taking her time about it. The little cake of soap sat wrapped in its dish while she lay naked in the tub. It struck him that it was the first time he’d seen her, really seen her, in the light. Her body was one long, alluring line. The room was small and steamy. He wanted her. Shade wondered if a man could die from wanting.
“How’s the water?” he asked her.
“Hot.” Bryan told herself to relax, be natural. The water that had soothed her now began to arouse.
“Good.” Calmly, he began to strip.
Bryan opened her mouth, but shut it again. She’d never seen him undress. Always they’d held to their own unspoken, strict code of ethics. When they camped, each of them changed in the showers. Since they’d become lovers, they’d fallen into a sense of urgency at the end of the day, undressing themselves and each other in the dark van while they made love. Now, for the first time, she could watch her lover casually reveal his body to her.
She knew how it looked. Her hands had shown her. But it was a far different experience to see the slopes, the contours. Athletic, she thought, in the way of a runner or a hurdler. She supposed it was apt enough. Shade would always expect the next hurdle and be prepared to leap over it.
He left his clothes on the sink but made no comment when he had to step over hers where she’d dropped them.
“You said something about washing your back,” he commented as he eased in behind her. Then he swore lightly at the temperature of the water. “You like to take off a couple layers of skin when you bathe?”
She laughed, relaxed and shifted to accommodate him. When his body rubbed and slid against hers, she decided there was something to be said for small tubs. Content, she snuggled back against him, a move that at first surprised him, then pleased.
“We’re both a little long,” she said as she adjusted her legs. “But it helps that we’re on the slim side.”
“Keep eating.” He gave in to the urge to kiss the top of her head. “It’s bound to stick sooner or later.”
“Never has.” She ran her hand along his thigh, trailing from the knee. It was a light, casual stroke that made his insides churn. “I like to believe I burn up calories just thinking. But you…”
“Me?”
On a quiet sigh, Bryan closed her eyes. He was so complex, so … driven. How could she explain it? She knew so little of what he’d seen and been through. Just one isolated incident, she thought. Just one scar. She didn’t have to be told there were others.
“You’re very physical,” she said at length. “Even your thought pattern has a kind of physical force to it. You don’t relax. It’s like—” She hesitated for another moment, then plunged. “It’s like you’re a boxer in the ring. Even between rounds you’re tensed and waiting for the bell to ring.”
“That’s life, isn’t it?” But he found himself tracing the line of her neck with his finger. “One long match. A quick breather, then you’re up and dancing.”
“I’ve never looked at it that way. It’s an adventure,” she said slowly. “Sometimes I don’t have the energy for it, so I can sit back and watch everyone else go through the moves. Maybe that’s why I wanted to be a photographer, so I could pull in little pieces of life and keep them. Think of it, Shade.”
Shifting slightly, she turned her head so that she could look at him. “Think of the people we’ve met, the places we’ve been and seen. And we’re only halfway done. Those rodeo cowboys,” she began, eyes brightening. “All they wanted was a plug of tobacco, a bad-tempered horse and a handful of sky. The farmer in Kansas, riding his tractor in the heat of the day, sweating and aching and looking out over acres of his own land. Children playing hopscotch, old men weeding kitchen gardens or playing checkers in the park. That’s what life is. It’s women with babies on their hips, young girls sunning at the beach and kids splashing in little rubber swimming pools in the side yard.”
He touched her cheek. “Do you believe that?”
Did she? It sounded so simplistic. … Idealistic? She wondered. Frowning, she watched the steam rise from the water. “I believe that you have to take what good there is, what beauty there is, and go with it. The rest has to be dealt with, but not every minute of every day. That woman today…”
Bryan settled back again, not sure why it was so important for her to tell him. “The one in the house just across from where we stopped for gas. Her yard was burning up in the sun, the paint was peeling on the fence. I saw arthritis in her hands. But she was watering her pansies. Maybe she’s lived in that tiny little house all her life. Maybe she’ll never know what it’s like to sit in a new car and smell the leather or fly first-class or shop at Saks. But she was watering her pansies. She’d planted, weeded and tended them because they gave her pleasure. Something of value, one bright foolish spot she can look at, smile at. Maybe it’s enough.”
“Flowers can’t grow everywhere.”
“Yes, they can. You only have to want them to.”
It sounded true when she said it. It sounded like something he’d like to believe. Unconsciously, he rested his cheek against her hair. It was damp from the steam, warm, soft. She made him relax. Just being with her, listening to her, uncurled something in him. But he remembered the rules, those they’d both agreed on. Keep it easy, he reminded himself. Keep it light.
“Do you always have philosophical discussions in the tub?”
Her lips curved. It was so rare and so rewarding to hear that touch of humor in his voice. “I figure if you’re going to have one, you might as well be comfortable. Now, about my back…”
Shade picked up the soap and unwrapped it. “Do you want the first shift in the darkroom tomorrow?”
“Mmm.” She leaned forward, stretching as he rubbed the dampened soap over her back. Tomorrow was too far away to worry about. “Okay.”
“You can have it from eight to twelve.”
She started to object to the early hour, then subsided. Some things didn’t change. “What’re you…” The question trailed off into a sigh as he skimmed the soap around her waist and up to her throat. “I like being pampered.”
Her voice was sleepy, but he traced a soapy finger over her nipple and felt the quick shudder. He ran the soap over her in steady circles, lower, still lower, until all thought of relaxation was over. Abruptly, she twisted until he was trapped beneath her, her mouth fixed on his. Her hands raced over him, taking him to the edge before he had a chance to brace himself.
“Bryan—”
“I love to touch you.” She slid down until her mouth could skim over his chest, tasting flesh and water. She nibbled, listening to the thunder of his heart, then rubbed her cheek against his damp flesh just to feel, just to experience. She felt him tremble and lie still a moment. When was the last time he’d let himself be made love to? she wondered. Perhaps this time she’d give him no choice.
“Shade.” She let her hands roam where they pleased. “Come to bed with me.” Before he could answer, she rose. While the water streamed from her, she smiled down at him and slowly pulled the pins from her hair. As it fell, she shook it back, then reached for a towel. It seemed they were through with words.
She waited until he stepped from the tub, then took another towel and rubbed it over him herself. He made no objection, but she could sense him building up the emotional defense. Not this time, she thought. This time it would be different.
As she dried him, she watched his eyes. She couldn’t read his thoughts, she couldn’t see beneath the desire. For now, it was enough. Taking his hand, she walked toward the bed.
She would love him this time. No matter how strong, how urgent, the need, she would show him what he made her feel. Slowly, her arms already around him, she lowered herself to the bed. As the mattress gave, her mouth found his.
The need was no less. It tore through him. But this time, Shade found himself unable to demand, unable to pull her to his pace. She was satiating him with
the luxury of being enjoyed. Her lips took him deep, deeper, but lazily. He learned that with her, passion could be built, layer by finite layer, until there was nothing else. They smelled of the bath they’d shared, of the soap that had rubbed from his skin to hers. She seemed content to breathe it in, to breathe it out, while slowly driving him mad.
It was pleasure enough to see him in the late-afternoon sunlight. No darkness now, no shadows. To make love in the light, freely and without barriers, was something she hadn’t even known she craved. His shoulders were still damp. She could see the sheen of water on them, taste it. When their mouths met, she could watch his eyes and see the desire there that echoed what pulsed inside her. In this they were the same, she told herself. In this, if nothing else, they understood each other.
And when he touched her, when she saw his gaze follow the trail of his hand, she trembled. Needs, his and hers, collided, shuddered, then merged together.
There was more here than they’d allowed themselves or each other before. At last this was intimacy, shared knowledge, shared pleasure. No one led, no one held back. For the first time, Shade dropped all pretenses of keeping that thin emotional barrier between them. She filled him, completed him. This time he wanted her—all of her—more than he’d ever wanted anything. He wanted the fun of her, the joy, the kindness. He wanted to believe it could make a difference.
The sun slanted in across the deep, vivid gray of her eyes, highlighting them as he’d once imagined. Her mouth was soft, yielding. Above him, her hair flowed down, wild, free. The lowering sun seemed trapped in her skin, making it gleam gold. She might have been something he’d only imagined—woman, lean, agile and primitive, woman without restraints, accepting her own passions. If he photographed her this way, would he recognize her? Would he be able to recapture the emotions she could push into him?
Then she tossed back her head and she was young, vibrant, reachable. This woman he’d know, this feeling he’d recognize, if he went away alone for decades. He’d need no photograph to remind him of that one astonishing instant of give and take.
Shade drew her closer, needing her. You, he thought dizzily as their bodies merged and their thoughts twined. Only you. He watched her eyes slowly close as she gave herself to him.
Chapter 9
“I could get used to this.”
With her camera settled comfortably in her lap, Bryan stretched back in the pirogue, the trim little dug-out canoe they’d borrowed from a family who lived on the bayou. A few miles away was the bustling city of Lafayette, Louisiana, but here was a more slumberous view of summer.
Bees humming, shade spreading, birds trilling. Dragonflies. One whisked by, too fast for her camera, but slow enough to appreciate. Spanish moss hung overhead, shading and dipping toward the river as the water moved slowly. Why hurry? It was summer, fish were there for catching, flowers were there for picking. Cypress trees thrust their way out of the water, and an occasional frog stirred himself enough to plop from his pad and take a swim.
Why hurry, indeed? Life was there to be enjoyed.
As Shade had once pointed out, Bryan was adaptable. In the rush of Dallas, she’d worked long hours in the darkroom and on the street. All business. When the moment called for it, she could be efficient, quick and energetic. But here, where the air was heavy and the living slow, she was content to lie back, cross her ankles and wait for whatever came.
“We’re supposed to be working,” he pointed out.
She smiled. “Aren’t we?” While she swung one foot in lazy circles, she wished they’d thought to borrow a fishing pole as well. What did it feel like to catch a cat-fish? “We took dozens of pictures before we got in the boat,” she reminded him.
It’d been her idea to detour into the bayou, though she was all but certain Shade had topped her with his pictures of the family who’d welcomed them. She might’ve charmed them into the use of their boat, but Shade had won hands down with camera work.
“The one you took of Mrs. Bienville shelling beans has to be fabulous. Her hands.” Bryan shook her head and relaxed. “I’ve never seen such hands on a woman. I imagine she could make the most elegant of soufflés right before she went out and cut down a tree.”
“Cajuns have their own way of life, their own rules.”
She tilted her head as she studied him. “You like that.”
“Yeah.” He rowed, not because they needed to get anywhere, but because it felt so good. It warmed his muscles and relaxed his mind. He nearly smiled, thinking that being with Bryan accomplished almost the same thing. “I like the independence and the fact that it works.”
Bryan lay back, listening to the buzz and hum of insects, the sounds of the river. They’d walked along another river in San Antonio, but the sounds had been different there. Soft Spanish music from musicians, the clink of silver on china from the outdoor cafés. It had been fabulous at night, she remembered. The lights had glowed on the water, the water had rippled from the river taxis, the taxis had been full of people content with the Texas version of a gondola. She’d taken a picture of two young lovers, newlyweds perhaps, huddled together on one of the arched stone bridges above the water.
When they’d driven into Galveston, she’d seen yet another kind of Texas, one with white sand beaches, ferries and bicycle surreys. It’d been easier to talk Shade into renting one than she’d imagined. With a smile, she thought of just how far they’d come, and not only in miles. They were working together, and when he could be distracted, they played.
In Malibu, they’d gone their separate ways on the beach. In Galveston, after two hours of work, they’d walked hand in hand along the shore. A small thing for many people, Bryan mused, but not for either of them.
Each time they made love, there seemed to be something more. She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t question it. It was Shade she wanted to be with, laugh with, talk with. Every day she discovered something new, something different, about the country and the people. She discovered it with Shade. Perhaps that was all the answer she needed.
What was it about him? Whether she chose to or not, there were times she wondered. What was it about Shade Colby that made her happy? He wasn’t always patient. One moment he might be generous and something close to sweet, and the next he could be as cool and aloof as a stranger. Being with him wasn’t without its frustrations for a woman accustomed to less fluctuating moods. But being with him was exactly what she wanted.
At the moment, he was relaxed. He wasn’t often, she knew, but the mood of the river seemed to have seeped into him. Still, he was watching. Someone else might have floated down the river, glancing at the scenery, appreciating the overall effect. Shade dissected it.
This she understood, because it was her way as well. A tree might be studied for the texture of its leaves, the grain in the wood, the pattern of shade and light it allowed to fall on the ground. A layman might take a perfectly competent picture of the tree, but it would be only that. When Bryan took the picture, she wanted it to pull feelings out of the viewer.
She specialized in people, Bryan remembered as she watched Shade draw the oars through the water. Landscapes, still lifes, she considered a change of pace. It was the human element that fascinated her, and always would. If she wanted to understand her feelings about Shade, maybe it was time to treat him as she would any other subject.
Under half-lowered lashes, she studied and dissected. He had very dominating physical looks, she mused. Being dominated was definitely not her ambition in life. Perhaps that was why she was so often drawn to his mouth, because it was sensitive, vulnerable.
She knew his image—cool, distant, pragmatic. Part of it was true, she thought, but part of it was illusion. Once she’d thought to photograph him in shadows. Now she wondered what sort of study she’d get if she photographed him in quiet sunlight. Without giving herself a chance to think, she lifted her camera, framed him in and shot.
“Just testing,” she said lightly when he arched a brow. “And after a
ll, you’ve already taken a couple of me.”
“So I have.” He remembered the picture he’d taken of her brushing her hair on the rock in Arizona. He hadn’t told her that he’d sent the print back to the magazine, even though he had no doubt it would be used in the final essay. Nor had he told her it was a print he intended to keep in his private collection.
“Hold it a minute.” With brisk, professional movements, she changed her lens, adjusted for distance and depth and focused on a heron perched on top of a cypress knee. “A place like this,” she murmured as she took two more insurance shots, “makes you think summer just goes on and on.”
“Maybe we should take another three months traveling back and do autumn.”
“It’s tempting.” She stretched back again. “Very tempting. A study on all seasons.”
“Your clients might get testy.”
“Unfortunately true. Still…” She let her fingers dip into the water. “We miss the seasons in L.A. I’d like to see spring in Virginia and winter in Montana.” Tossing her braid back, she sat up. “Have you ever thought of chucking it, Shade? Just packing up and moving to, oh, say, Nebraska, and setting up a little studio. Wedding and graduation pictures, you know.”
He gave her a long steady look. “No.”
With a laugh, she flopped back. “Me either.”
“You wouldn’t find many megastars in Nebraska.”
She narrowed her eyes but spoke mildly. “Is that another subtle shot at my work?”
“Your work,” he began as he gently turned the boat back, “is uniformly excellent. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be working together.”
“Thank you very much. I think.”
“And because of the quality of your work,” he continued, “I wonder why you limit yourself to the pretty people.”
“It’s my specialty.” She saw a clump of wildflowers on the mossy, muddy edge of the river. Carefully she adjusted her camera again. “And a great many of my subjects are far from pretty—physically or emotionally. They interest me,” she said before he could comment. “I like to find out what’s under the image and give a glimpse of it.”