Read Beside a Dreamswept Sea Online
Authors: Vicki Hinze
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #General, #Paranormal
He bent his knees, backed down into the chair, pulling her with him. Hooking the back of her thigh with his good arm, he spread her legs and nudged her until she straddled his thighs, urging her closer, then closer still. She sat astride him, her arms curled around his neck, her fingers threaded through his hair, breasts to chest, thighs to thighs, lips to lips, and settled into the kiss.
He separated their mouths, leaving her wanting more, and cupped her face in his trembling hands. His face tensed, a beautiful study of sharp angles and planes, and his words tumbled out on breaths as ragged as her own. “I want you, Cally.”
Her hungry ears rejoiced. He wanted her. Her. Cally Tate. Lousy wife. Ugly, undesirable woman. Her. Unlovable her.
Or did he?
A thin film of sweat sheened his skin. Genuine desire glazed his eyes. His chest swelled and hollowed arhythmically, and the hard bulk of him pressed against placket and skirt, firmly nestled against her thighs. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Everything you’re willing to give.” He opened his mouth to tell her more, but no words came out. He pressed a chaste kiss to her eyelid, to her cheek, her chin. “I’ll give you everything I have to give, Cally. I want—”
“Shh, don’t.” She pressed a fingertip against his lips, unable to bear seeing him struggle. She never wanted to put him in the position of feeling he had to lie to her. “Something special happens when we touch. It’s wonderful, magical. But I think it’s all we’ve got to give each other. We’ve been through too much, you know? And we’re fighting too many demons. Loneliness is just one of them.” She hugged him close, buried her face at the cay in his neck, let her fingers fork through the silky hair at his nape. “I want you, too,” she confessed in a whisper, her nose brushing the shell of his ear. “But I don’t want to want you, or to need you, or to—” What had been about to come out of her mouth stunned her silent.
His arms tightened around her. “What?”
She shook her head, refused to answer, too amazed to believe herself what she’d been about to say to even think it, much less repeat it. Sliding off his lap, she eased the sling onto his arm then positioned his elbow and forearm inside it. When she was done, she looked at him, pain flashing through her chest like an SOS beacon.
He clasped her arm, curled his fingers around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, honey. If I said anything wrong, I’m sorry.”
Wrong? He’d said everything right. But she didn’t trust right. Couldn’t afford to trust right. “You didn’t.” She looked away, took the bag of melting ice from the table and pressed it to his cheek. He was frowning, and so was she.
“You care about me, Cally. You don’t want to, you know you shouldn’t, and yet you do.” He twisted the bag away from his face then looked up at her. “That’s it, isn’t it? You care. That’s what you had been about to say, wasn’t it?”
“No.” She lied with a good heart and a clean conscience. Bryce still loved Meriam. He didn’t need Cally’s care anymore than she needed to give it.
“Liar.” He stared at her.
She stared back, and said nothing.
“You’ll never love me, Cally. And I’ll never love you. We’ve had our shot at that. But we can care. We already trust each other, and I don’t think caring would break any friendship rules.”
Her heart warbled in her chest. How could he make the illogical, the unreasonable, the impossible, sound so damn feasible? Their hormones were in overdrive. They kissed as if half-starved. And yet they called themselves friends? “I’ll think about it.”
Jeremy and Suzie came into the kitchen. Frankie walked straight through to the mud room door.
“Wait,” Cally called out, grateful for the reprieve. She needed to get her emotions under control. To bury some of this lust and caring and get back into some semblance of emotional balance. “Miss Hattie gave me some cleaner for your shirt.”
“Blouse,” Suzie corrected her.
“Right.” Cally grinned.
Frankie’s eyes lit up from the bottom. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s this all about?” Bryce asked.
Cally winked at him. “We’re trying to keep Frankie’s mom from skinning her alive.”
“I don’t want to get busted—that means put on restriction, Suzie. Not really busted,” Frankie chimed in. “The festival is tomorrow, and I wanna go.”
“Tomorrow?” Suzie spun toward Bryce, happy and excited. “Daddy, can we go?”
Seeing Suzie excited ranked about as rare as seeing her smile. She looked like a . . . a little girl, Cally thought. Joy bubbled in her heart. God, but was it good to see that.
“Maybe.” Bryce’s voice sounded thick, as if he’d noticed the change in Suzie, too. “If Cally will come with us. I’m wounded, and I can’t keep up with all three of you.” He dropped his voice so only Cally could hear. “Zero survival odds.”
“Will you come, Cally?” Suzie asked. “Please. We’ll be good and stay out of trouble. Even Jeremy.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She whispered to Bryce. “I’ll bail you out, for Suzie. Just because she looks so happy. But this isn’t a date, Counselor. Hold that thought.”
“Of course it’s not.” His eyes glittered, contradicting him, of course.
Not that Cally had expected they wouldn’t. “I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t resist hassling the stuffed shirt and bringing him down a peg or two. He looked altogether too pleased with himself. “One rule.”
Bryce lifted a brow in her direction. “Why do I have the feeling I’m in serious trouble here?”
“No trouble,” Cally assured him. “The rule is, no neckties are allowed.”
Suzie beamed.
“If you insist.” Bryce grimaced—but he didn’t disagree.
“I do.”
He squinted up at her. “I don’t suppose it’d do me any good to appeal.”
“None whatsoever.”
“Okay, then.” He sighed. “No tie.”
Cally turned to Frankie to cover her smile. “Let’s get that shirt cleaned up.”
“Blouse,” Frankie corrected her. “Suzie has a fit every time I call a blouse a shirt. Even if it’s a T-shirt. Her mom told her that shirts are for guys. Girls wear blouses.”
Meriam hadn’t said that. Cally had. She glanced at Suzie, who looked beet-red and mortified. Touched that Suzie thought enough of what she’d told her to take it into her heart, Cally’s chest felt full. “Well, she’s positively right about that,” she said, carefully avoiding looking at Suzie. “So let’s get that stain out of your blouse, so you get to keep your skin and not get busted.”
Bryce glanced at the oil smears on Frankie’s shirt. “Sounds like a plan.”
He was a good man. A great dad, and a good man. A shame they hadn’t met earlier. Before Meriam and Gregory and heartache. Back when they’d both had courage.
The strongest urge ever to go to the cemetery and talk with Mary Beth Ladner waylaid Cally. More than to breathe, she needed to pour out her regret that things couldn’t be different with Bryce.
But Mary Beth was a long way away. And the past had been lived, struggled through, and survived. It was done. The changes in them because of it were done, too. They couldn’t go back and start over. Or undo. She could wish it, but the effort would be a waste of energy. Things couldn’t be different for her or Bryce.
For them, no miracles could happen. Not even beside a dreamswept sea.
For once, the Blue Moon Cafe wasn’t the hub of the village.
The church parking lot filled and overflowed onto Main Street with laughing, smiling people, sipping old-fashioned sarsaparilla and Moxie, that distinctly New England soft drink. Beneath the flapping overhang of a blue and white tent, others ate hot dogs, steamed clams, piping hot chunks of lobster, and funnel cakes dusted with powdered sugar. Near the far corner of the lot, a crowd gathered to watch some serious taste-testing and voting on whose blueberry jam entry in the annual contest rated sweetest. Word on the wind predicted Miss Hattie would win hands down—again.
Cally loved the festive air, the sounds and smells and feelings of being surrounded by people who knew each other well and liked each other anyway.
With Lyssie in his arms, Bryce dipped close and whispered in Cally’s ear. “Lydia Johnson sure has her eye on that blue ribbon.”
She did. Holding her back ramrod straight, her chin high enough to be considered snobbish without benefit of any other waspy indicator, she discreetly chastised a young man about seventeen for spending too much time with Nolene Baker but, all the while, she held that ribbon steadfast in her gaze.
On sight, Cally disliked the woman. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the tilt of her chin, or the haughty air in her actions. Like a snob, but one who lacked the panache to successfully pull it off. Most likely the reason for the dislike had to do with Lydia’s lecturing a boy who looked enough like her to be her son. That dredged up too many memories of Gregory and his mother’s opposition to his marrying Cally. An opposition that hadn’t weakened one iota during the successive fourteen years of their marriage. Biting into a funnel cake, Cally chewed slowly and wondered if her ex-mother-in-law treated Gregory’s new wife, Joleen, with that same disdain and thinly veiled scorn.
“Poor guy’s getting an earful.” Bryce polished off his fourth funnel cake and looked down at his powdered hand as if not sure what to do with it.
Cally dusted it off with her napkin, and grunted her agreement about the boy. In all their ventures through the village, she’d never before seen the woman, and the only thing she’d heard about her was that Miss Millie, Miss Hattie’s best friend, had refused to welcome Lydia to the Historical Society meetings, which grated at her something awful. “Who exactly is Lydia?”
Bryce dropped his voice. “Lydia Johnson, the mayor’s wife. They own The Store over there. No, honey. There, next door to Jimmy’s garage.” Bryce grabbed Lyssie’s hand just before it clenched closed around a wad of Vic’s cotton candy.
“Nice save.” Cally smiled at him.
Bryce smiled back, then wiggled his brows. “Can you keep a secret?”
Teasing her? Her stomach fluttered. It’d been a long time since she’d been teased, and longer still since she’d liked it. With what Bryce’s teasing was doing to her insides, she just knew she couldn’t like liking it, either. “Depends.”
“On what?” His eyes twinkled, as mischievous as Jeremy’s.
“How juicy it is.” She batted her lashes, then gave him an innocent smile.
“Fair enough. This isn’t juicy enough to get me into trouble.”
“Darn.” She saved some boy’s corn dog from Lyssie’s reach.
“Darn,” the angel mimicked her.
“No, darling.” Cally tapped the edge of the baby’s nose. “Animal crackers.”
The skin crinkled near Bryce’s eyes and he whispered so only she could hear. “You’re wicked, Cally Tate.”
“Nope, ’fraid not. Just lousy—and a lover of juicy tidbits.”
He dipped his chin, as if he were looking at her over glasses, and a lock of thick black hair fell over his forehead. “You’re not, nor have you ever been, lousy. You’ve been warned not to willfully perjure yourself, Miss Tate. One more slip and I’m afraid I’m going to have to petition the court for a restraining order against you.”
“Gonna save me from myself, huh, Counselor?” So serious. So darling.
He nodded and let out a mock sigh. “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
“And here I thought chivalry was dead.”
“Honey, it’s not even napping.”
Little bubbles of pleasure popped in her stomach, and she inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of his cologne on the breeze. Subtle and sexy. Almost as enticing as the smell of his skin. “So what’s this not-so-juicy, juicy tidbit that has you threatening me with legal repercussions?”