Carolina Moon (22 page)

“Well, jeez, guess why.” Disgusted he righted his bike and sent her a superior look. “Go on inside and get Lilah to wash you up. And keep your sticky fingers off my stuff.”

“I just want to learn.” She swiped a hand under her nose and through the tears shone a light of defiance. “I could ride as good as you if somebody’d teach me.”

“Yeah, right.” He snorted, swung a leg over the bar. “You’re just a little girl.”

She sprang to her feet then, thin chest heaving with insult. “I’ll get bigger,” she said between her teeth. “I’ll get bigger and I’ll ride faster than you or anybody. Then you’ll be sorry.”

“Oh, now I’m shaking.” The amusement was coming back, sliding into his deep blue eyes, crinkling them at the corners. If a guy was going to be saddled with a couple of little sisters, the least he could do was tease them. “I’ll always be bigger, I’ll always be older, I’ll always be faster.”

Her bottom lip trembled, a sure sign more tears wanted to come. He sneered at her, shrugged, and began to pedal up the lane, popping a quick wheelie just to prove his superior talents.

When he glanced back, grin wide, to make sure she’d witnessed his prowess, he saw her head was bent, her tangled hair hanging forward in a curtain. A thin trickle of blood slid down her shin.

He stopped, rolled his eyes, shook his head. His friends were waiting. There were a zillion things to do. Half of Saturday was already
gone.
He didn’t have time to waste on girls. Especially sisters.

But he heaved a weighty sigh and rode the bike back. As annoyed with himself as with her now, he hopped off.

“Get on. Damn it.”

She sniffled again, knuckled her eyes, and peered at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on. I haven’t got all day.”

Joy sprang into her, rushing her heartbeat as she climbed onto the seat. As her hands clutched the rubber tips of the handlebars, she giggled.

“Pay attention. This is serious business.” He glanced back, toward the house, and hoped to God his mother didn’t chance to look out. She’d have them both skinned for supper.

“No, you gotta, like, center your body.” It embarrassed him to say
body,
though he couldn’t say why. “And keep looking forward.”

She looked up at him, all trust, her smile bright as the sunlight that streamed through the new spring leaves. “Okay.”

He remembered the way his father had taught him to ride and kept his hand on the back of the seat, jogging lightly as she began to pedal.

The bike wobbled comically. They made it three yards before she went down.

She didn’t cry, didn’t hesitate to get back on. He had to give her points for it. They pedaled and jogged together, up the lane and down again, past the big oaks, the sunny-faced daffodils, the young tulips while late morning waned away to afternoon.

Her skin was slicked with sweat now, and her heart kept bumping, bumping, bumping. More than once she bit her bottom lip hard to hold back a squeal as the bike tipped. She heard his breath near her ear, felt his hand reach to steady her. And was filled with love for him.

More than for herself now, it was for him she was determined to succeed.

“I can do it. I can do it,” she whispered to herself, as the bike tipped and was righted. Her eyes narrowed in the fierce concentration of a child with only one goal, one world, one path. Her legs trembled, and the muscles in her arms were tight as drums.

The bike wobbled under her, but didn’t fall. And suddenly Cade was jogging along beside her, a grin splitting his face.

“You’re doing it! Keep going, you’re doing it.”

“I’m riding!” Under her the bike became a majestic steed. With her face lifted, she rode like the wind.

Tory woke on the ground beside her car, her muscles trembling, her pulse pounding, with an ache of joy and loss in her heart.

S
he’d forgotten about dinner until minutes before Cade knocked. There’d barely been time to wash her face and repair the damage from the crying jag and what had followed it, and no time at all to think of an acceptable excuse to send him away.

She couldn’t get her mind around it. The bout with tears had left her hollow, head and body. The swing back into Hope’s past brought both uneasiness and sorrow.

And a thrill. That was the oddest part of it, she admitted. This lingering thrill of that first solo ride, the sheer delight of wobbling down that lovely, shade-dappled lane with Cade running beside her.

The way his eyes, so blue, so bright, laughed into hers.

The love she’d felt for him, the innocent love of a sister, still shimmered through her and mixed, dangerously, she knew, with her own emotions that were very adult and had nothing to do with kinship.

The combination made her vulnerable, to herself and to him. Better, wiser, to be alone until it passed.

She’d tell him she was exhausted, too tired to eat. That, at least, would be the truth.

He was a reasonable man. Almost too reasonable, she told herself. He’d understand and let her be.

When she opened the door he was standing there, holding a casserole dish. Neighbors, she thought, brought food
for death. Well, she was dead on her feet so it seemed appropriate enough.

“Lilah sent this.” He stepped in, handed it over. “She said anyone who worked as hard as you shouldn’t have to cook on top of it. You’re instructed to put this in the freezer and pull it out the next time you come home and just need to sit and put your feet up. Which,” he added, as he continued to study her face, “looks like tonight.”

Yes, she thought, almost too reasonable. “I hadn’t realized how geared up I was about today. Now that it’s over, I’m limp.”

“You’ve been crying.”

“Delayed reaction. Relief.” She carried the dish into the kitchen to put it away, then wondered what to do next. “I’m sorry about tonight. It was a nice idea, going out to celebrate. Maybe in a couple of days, we could—” She turned, all but bumped into him, then backed hard against the counter.

There was a rough-and-ready jolt of lust. From her, from him, she couldn’t be sure.

“You had a lot to deal with today.” He didn’t give her room. He figured he’d already given her plenty. He simply laid his palms on the counter on either side of her. Caged her in. He saw her awareness of the move in her eyes. The wariness. “A lot of people, and the memories they bring along with them.”

“Yes.” She started to shift, realized there wasn’t anywhere to go. It was her blood that was hot, she thought with some embarrassment. Running hot, fast, and greedy. “It seemed like memories were shooting out like pebbles from a slingshot.”

And had ultimately taken her down.

“All of them painful.”

“No.” Oh God, don’t touch me. But even as she thought it his hands were on her shoulders, running down her arms. Everything inside her body began to pulse. “It was wonderful to see Lilah … and Will Hanson. He looks just like his father now. When I was a girl, Mr. Hanson—old Mr. Hanson used to give me Grape Nehi on credit if I was a few pennies short. I often was. Cade …”

His name was almost a plea. She couldn’t have said for what.

She was trembling. The little jumps under his palms were wonderfully arousing. “I liked the way you looked today. All tidy and crisp. All calm and cool on the outside. Always makes me wonder what’s going on under the surface.”

“I was nervous.”

“It didn’t show. Not the way it’s showing now. Defenses down, Tory. I want them down. I’m going to take advantage of it.”

“Cade, I’ve got nothing in me.”

“Then why are you trembling?” He tugged the band from her hair, heard the quick catch in her breathing. His eyes stayed on hers, watching the irises darken as he combed his spread fingers through her hair and unwound the neat braid. “Why aren’t you stopping me?”

“I …” Was that her knees going weak? She’d forgotten that could be such a lovely sensation. Surrender wasn’t always weakness. “I’m thinking about it.”

He smiled then, a lazy slide of amusement with power at the edges. “You just keep right on thinking. I’ll keep right on taking advantage.” He undid the first button of her shirt, then the second.

He’d taught Hope to ride a bike, she thought. He’d only been ten years old, and already man enough to care.

He’d sent flowers today. The right flowers, because he’d known they’d please her.

Now he was touching her as she hadn’t been touched in so long.

“I’m out of practice.”

He flipped the third button open. “Thinking?”

“No.” Her breath came out on a shaky laugh. “I’m very good at thinking most of the time.”

“Then think about this.” He gave her shirt a little tug to pull it from the waistband of her slacks. “I want to touch you. I want to feel your skin under my hands. Like this.” He skimmed them up her sides, down. Her stomach quivered when he unhooked her slacks. “No, keep your eyes open.”

He leaned forward, caught her chin in his teeth. A brief nip that shot an ache down the center of her body. “Since you’re out of practice, I’ll just guide you through. And I want you looking at me when I touch you.”

Look straight ahead, he’d told Hope. And had steadied her.

“I want to look at you,” she told him.

He lowered the zipper, slowly, knuckles grazing against her. Her own low moan echoed like thunder in her ears.

It had been so long since a man had wanted her. Since a man had made her want. She wanted to tense, go rigid at the thought of the invasion of privacy, of self. But her body was already yearning.

“Step out,” he murmured when her slacks pooled at her feet. As she blinked, opened her mouth to speak, he simply covered it with his. Gentle and warm, somehow reassuring even as the edge of something reckless shimmered at the edges.

Then his arms were around her, sliding and skimming over her back as he circled her, a kind of seductive waltz toward the doorway.

Nerves chased after the heat that rose to her skin. “Cade.”

“I want to take you in the light.” She was already his. No barrier of doubt would stop him. “So I can see you when you’re under me. When I’m inside you.”

At the door of the bedroom he lifted her. “There are all manner of things I’ve imagined doing to you in this bed. Let me.”

The sun streamed rich and gold with the spring evening. It washed over the bed, over her face as he laid her down. The mattress gave under his weight, and he linked his fingers with hers. Restraint and unity. And watching her, always watching her, he took her mouth.

Slowly at first, and sweetly, until her hands relaxed under his, until her lips softened, parted, invited. He felt her heartbeat begin to slow, begin to thicken. And as she opened for him, he changed the texture and set to ravage.

The sudden demand stabbed into her, shocking the
senses, scraping the nerves. She arched as heat balled in her belly, and the groan strangled in her throat. He aroused her to shudders with his mouth.

He didn’t want her to anticipate. Wanted all her senses stunned and her mind empty of all but pleasure. She would think of him, only of him. He would see to it. When she was steeped in him, finally, he would have her.

Her body was slender, the muscles surprisingly firm, almost tough, with delicate skin a delightful contrast. He indulged himself in the taste of it, while part of him calculated how to exploit those nerves and destroy every barrier.

He dragged her up, hands rough, grip near to bruising, ripping another gasp from her as her head fell back, her hair tumbled. Then he used his fingertip to nudge the straps of her bra over each shoulder. He danced his fingers lightly over the swell, with his thumb circled her nipples through the cotton.

“Is it coming back to you yet?”

Her head was so heavy, her skin so hot. “What?”

“Good.”

He unhooked her bra, drew it aside. But when she reached for him, he pressed her hands flat on the bed, sliding them back until her elbows locked. “I want you to take this time. Take until you can’t take anymore. Then you’ll let go, and you’ll give. Everything.” His mouth all but savaged hers, ripping down to her gut with one jagged and panicked thrill.

She wanted to resist, to push him back before he dragged her over a line she’d sworn never to cross again. But then his mouth was on hers again, the scrape of teeth, the flick of tongue whipping hot points of pleasure into her. Her back arched, willful invitation, and her hips began to rock.

Little cries and whimpers, she couldn’t bite them back. Her arms trembled from the strain even as her body gloried in it. Something frantic was clawing inside her, fighting to break free.

A hard, fast orgasm shocked her eyes wide, left her stunned and embarrassed. Then he was pulling her against him, wrapping her close.

“Let go.”

He rolled her back on the bed, tugging off his shirt. Her eyes were blurred now, her breath as ragged as his. This time when she reached for him, he slid into her arms.

His mouth was urgent, his hands impatient as they molded and pressed and stroked. She dragged at his trousers, desperate now that nerves had been swallowed by needs. He stripped them aside, then sent her flying when he yanked up her hips and used his mouth on her.

Her hands locked around the rungs of the bed, as he’d once imagined. Her head whipped to the side as sensations, dark delights, swamped her. His taste, his scent flooded her senses, swelled them until there was nothing else. Her breath sobbed out an instant before her long, mindless cry of release.

Even as her hands went limp, he locked his around them. His heart was pounding, a rage of blood. The last lights of day, and the dying breeze of evening brushed over her face. Her hair was a wild mass over the pillows, her cheeks flushed.

He would remember this, always. And so, he promised himself, would she.

“Open your eyes. Tory, look at me.” When her lids fluttered up, he clung to the last link of control, bent his head, kissed her, long, deep. “Say my name.”

The pressure had built again, the terrible, glorious heat of it. “Cade.”

“Say it again.”

Her fingers flexed under his. She wanted to weep. Or scream. “Cade.”

“Again.” And plunged into her.

Her mind went brilliant. She moved with him, matching each slow, smooth stroke. Absorbing him, feeding on each individual sensation until they became one glorious feast.

Cade, hot and hard, inside her, the weight of him solid,
strong. The spread soft and smooth on her back, the iron slick against her hands. And the last rays of light, going gray with dusk.

When the rhythm quickened, she was ready, she was eager, and enraptured by the way his eyes, the stunning blue of them, remained fixed on hers.

“Stay with me.” He was lost in her now. Drowning in her now. His heart beat brutally against hers as he buried his face in her hair.

With their hands still gripped, they let go.

She’d never been taken over so completely. Not by anyone. Not even the man she’d loved. Tory imagined she should be worried about it, but at the moment she couldn’t work up the energy for concerns and calculations.

She lay under him while the air in the room softened in the twilight. For the first time in much, much too long to remember, she felt completely relaxed, body and mind.

She had a hand tangled in his hair. It seemed all right to leave it there.

When he turned his head, and his lips brushed the side of her breast, she smiled at the lazy pleasure of it.

“I guess we celebrated after all,” she murmured, and wondered if it would be terribly rude to slide into sleep, just like this.

“We’ll be sure to find a lot more to celebrate from now on. I’ve been wanting to get you here since I helped you cart this bed in.”

“I know.” Her eyes were nearly closed, but she felt him move his head again, felt him look at her. “You weren’t all that subtle about it.”

“A lot more subtle than I wanted to be.” He thought of how he’d imagined gilding their first time with music, and candlelight.

“We did fine without them,” she said sleepily.

“Without what?”

“Without the music and …” Her eyes flew open, filled with horror, and met his considering ones. “I’m sorry. I’m
sorry.” She tried to push up, push away, but the weight of him held her in place.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t mean to.” She pressed her hands into the bed, gripped the spread, and was already beginning to shake. “It won’t happen again. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Read my mind?” He shifted so that he could brace on his elbows and frame her face in his hands. “Stop it.”

“I will. I’m terribly sorry.”

“No, damn it, Tory. Stop pulling in. Stop anticipating my reactions. And goddamn it, stop wondering if and when I’m going to take a crack at you.”

He shifted to sit up, then lifted her to face him. Her cheeks had lost that rosy, contented glow and were pale, her eyes looked strained, near to terrified. He hated it. “Did it ever occur to you that there might be times a man wouldn’t mind having a woman read his mind?”

“It’s an inexcusable breach of privacy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” To her shock, he rolled over and pulled her with him so she was sprawled over his chest. “Seems to me a few minutes back the two of us breached each other’s privacy pretty damn effectively. You want to snatch a stray thought out of my head, I’ll let you know if it pisses me off.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You ought to have a pretty good clue since I’m lying here naked in your bed.” He kept his voice deliberately careless. “If that doesn’t do it, take another look inside, see what you find.”

She didn’t know whether to be insulted or horrified. “It’s not like that.”

“No? Tell me what it’s like then.” When she shook her head, he cupped the back of her neck and began to rub. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“I don’t read minds. It doesn’t happen by accident, or hardly ever. It’s just that we were very closely connected physically.”

“I can’t argue with that.”