Rachel Lee (23 page)

Her arms lifted, signaling her decision, and wrapped around his waist, feeling muscle and sinew and strength. Hardy was a rock, both physically and emotionally, she thought dreamily. He was a man you could depend on.

His kiss teased her, tormented her, teaching her how to duel with her tongue in a way that drew her mind inexorably to the delights that lay ahead. Yes! The thought was unequivocal.

He shifted against her, and for an instant she feared he was going to leave her, but then his hand closed over her breast, squeezing and cupping gently, causing her head to reel in delight. Through layers of tricot and wool, that touch seemed as intimate as if he had cradled her very soul in his hand.

Unnoticed by either of them, a tear squeezed beneath her eyelid and trickled slowly down her cheek. It was a tear of joy and release, of fulfillment and escape. For a little while the shadows were gone.

Each touch of his hand stoked her desire even more. When she at last felt him tugging her shirt up, she thought she couldn't stand the anticipation. Why was he moving so slowly?

But then, with a twist, he released the clasp of her bra, and his hand, slightly chilly, closed over her warm, bare skin, claiming her breast.

Delighted shivers ran through her, filling her with a heady sense of glee, hunger, joy and need. Emotions tumbled through her as wildly as water through rapids and mingled with physical sensations that were as close as a body could ever come to physically feeling a pure emotion.

His mouth left hers, and both of them gasped for breath. He muttered,

"You don't know..."

Yes, she did know. She remembered all the lonely nights she had filled with dreams of him. Dreams of doing exactly what they were doing now.

Dreams of feeling his skin on hers, hearing his voice husky in her ear, of curling up with him and feeling safe, so safe. In all her life she had never felt quite as safe as she did right this instant, tumbling over a precipice of desire. It was suddenly the easiest thing in the world to fall.

She fell, light as feather down. He tugged the curtains closed with an impatient hand, though no one at all would venture out in the midst of this storm. Then he tugged at her clothes impatiently, and she was glad of his impatience, because at that moment, if he had hesitated or drawn it out too long, she might have had a thought, a qualm, an unwelcome remembrance.

He spared her that. Her clothes fell away, landing somewhere across the room. Even her socks were tugged away, at last leaving her naked for him. Naked and shivering with desire more than cold.

He looked at her, his eyes hot and hungry, his gaze painting her with fire.

"You're beautiful," he said hoarsely. "So beautiful..."

Then, before she could try to respond, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, tucking her beneath the warm covers.

Standing over her, he stripped. He showed no modesty or fear, as if he, like she, was well past such thoughts. His nudity filled her with wonder, seeming as perfect as a statue. And he was offering it all to her.

Her hands reached for him eagerly, drawing him down to her, and when he slipped beneath the covers beside her, she felt such an incredible sense of satisfaction that a long, joyous sigh escaped her.

This was meant. This had to be. And nothing else at all mattered.

Nothing.

Bodies, lips, hands met and melded, striving to learn, to know, to capture, to possess. Untutored though she was, Joni felt as comfortable as if she had been here a million times. Nothing had ever seemed so right.

He kissed her breast, sucking gently, his mouth hot but leaving behind patches that grew shivery cold in moments. She loved the contrast, loved the sensations, loved the intimacy. She loved being with Hardy.

Because not for one minute did she think this was merely a matter of physical sensations. The sensations with other men had never been enough to carry her to this point.

This was all about Hardy, and her hands tried to tell him so as they caressed him and learned how to please him.

His nipples proved to be as sensitive as hers, and she reVeled in playing with them, drawing deep groans from him. When his hand slipped between her legs, touching the aching petals of her flesh, answering her need while fueling it even more, she responded in kind, delighting in his delight.

But all of those things, wondrous though they were, were merely a backdrop for the earthquake taking place in her heart.

This was Hardy. She was with him at last, and she didn't know if she could ever bear to let him go.

Her body accepted him, drawing him in with only the merest twinge of discomfort. He filled her as she had dreamed of being filled, and her soul overflowed. This had always been meant to be. She had been created just for him.

Higher they rose, reaching for the elusive peak, bodies straining together to create the physical replica of all that was in their hearts.

When they crested, they did so together. Then they tumbled down the other side.

Into the abyss.

Reality didn't leave them alone for long. When had it ever? Reality crept back on the tendrils of cold air that whispered through the room, on the tick-tick of the snowy claws that scratched at the window. It came back and slipped into the bed with them.

Between them.

"Joni, I..." Hardy trailed off. His eyes were still closed. His hands on her back seemed to be saying how much he enjoyed her. But his words never said so.

Before he could say what she assumed he was about to, she said it for him, because she didn't want to feel stupid. "We never should have done this."

His eyes opened then, and there was no mistaking the pain in them. It never occurred to her that she had caused that pain.

Instead, she climbed out of the bed and grabbed up her clothes, too wounded now to even feel tears. Moments ago, or so it seemed, he had been deep within her, and nothing had ever felt so right.

At this moment, however, nothing had ever felt so wrong.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her clothes bundled awkwardly in her arms. Then she closed the adjoining door between them.

And locked it.

Karen, she thought bitterly as she threw her clothes into a heap on the bed. Karen. Always Karen. She and her cousin--sister! --had looked somewhat alike. Maybe enough alike that Hardy had thought he was making love to Karen. Maybe he'd slipped into that fantasy, while she'd slipped into hers.

Or maybe he was just feeling guilty. Why the hell not? Because Joni suddenly felt that she had done something truly awful to Karen's memory.

She tried to tell herself that was stupid as she took a hot shower to wash the last of Hardy off her, to erase even his scent. Karen had been dead for so long now. She no longer mattered. Anything Joni did now couldn't hurt Karen. People died, and normal people moved on and forged new relationships. Hardy was entitled to that, and so was she.

But she feared Hardy wasn't doing that. And she feared what Witt would think, too. Because even though he'd disowned her, he wasn't above giving her a piece of his mind.

And the truth was, she really had no desire to wound Witt. None whatever. She loved him.

Even if he didn't love her.

Slowly she sank to the floor of the shower, and as the hot water beat on her head, she cried soundlessly.

Oh, God, what had she done?

Hardy felt as if he'd been hit by a Mack truck. He stared at the closed door between the rooms and heard the snick of the lock turning like a death knell in his heart.

Christ, what had happened? He'd been lying there feeling the most incredible afterglow and had opened his mouth to tell her how wonderful he was feeling when she'd turned on him.

He should have kept his mouth shut. Until the instant that his speech had shattered the silence, she had seemed as content and comfortable as he. He must have surprised her.

But that was still no excuse. No excuse to hop out of bed saying, "We never should have done this."

What had he done wrong? Had he hurt her? Moment by moment he reviewed their lovemaking in his mind, trying to penetrate the hazy glow that lay over it to get to the kernel of what had really been going on.

No, he hadn't hurt her, of that he was sure. Nor did he believe her orgasm had been faked. So what the hell had gotten into her?

He knew they shouldn't have done this. He didn't need her to tell him that it would have been wiser not to take a bite of the apple. God, he knew that. He knew that. There were too many problems, too many memories, too much guilt.

Except that he wasn't feeling especially guilty. Much to his own amazement, he didn't feel as if he'd betrayed Karen. Not this time.

How could he? Karen hadn't been around for a long time. He owed her nothing anymore. At least, not in this regard.

He was a thirty-year-old man who had every right to love any willing woman he chose. Never mind that he felt guilty about what had happened to Karen. He did, and he would probably carry that guilt to his grave.

But that absolutely did not mean he couldn't have a life.

So what was going on in Joni's head? He knew her well enough to know that she responded to impulse, and some impulse, poorly thought out, must have struck her. He wondered if he should try to speak to her about it, then decided it was probably too soon for that.

Whatever had happened, he hoped to heaven it hadn't been something about him that had sent her into flight.

He was no Don Juan, but he tried to be a considerate lover. He tried to be sure his partner enjoyed herself.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Joni felt guilty for enjoying herself. Maybe with all that was on her plate she felt awful about it.

Could be.

He stared at the closed door and wondered how he was going to stand the awful silence for another day.

As it turned out, he didn't have long to wonder. He awoke in the morning to a dying storm, with only light flurries falling. By ten the motel owner told them he'd heard that the roads were pretty well cleared between Wetrock and Whisper Creek.

Hardy took the opportunity to knock on the adjoining door and tell Joni they could go home now. Not that that would make it any better, he thought irritably. She would still be under his roof once they got there. Unless she decided to move in with one of her girlfriends.

But he knew why she hadn't done that to begin with. They all had children and families, and very little room. Besides, he reminded himself, he'd practically insisted on her staying with him.

Now he wished he hadn't done that. The frost was bad enough when emanating from the far side of a closed door. It would be intolerable at home.

Ten minutes later she joined him, looking as red eyed and sleep-deprived as he felt. Before they went out to get in the car, he tried to ease the atmosphere.

"Sorry if I hurt you last night," he said tentatively.

"You didn't hurt me." She didn't even look at him, just brushed past him and headed for the car.

What the hell. Giving up, he followed. The motel had cleared the parking lot as best it could with a snow blower but he still had to brush a foot of the stuff off the windows and hood, and use his emergency shovel to clear out the drifts around the tires. Joni waited, saying nothing.

Great. Wonderful. Life could be such a bitch sometimes. He almost snapped something at her, then bit his tongue. What was the point?

At last they climbed into the car and roared out of the parking lot.

"You know," he said as they made their way up a hill that had been plowed recently, "it would be nice if you would at least tell me what you're mad at me about."

"I'm not mad at you." But she didn't offer anything else, leaving him in the same state of limbo.

A mile passed, then another and another. The silence was getting so thick he considered turning on the radio just to dispel it. That was about when he noticed that the snow was getting thicker, too. The road was still well plowed, though, and the driving wasn't bad as long as he kept to a reasonable speed.

He considered dropping her at her mother's house when they got back to town. It would at least make a point.

But somewhere over the next few miles he started to feel guilty for being irritated and angry with her. Something serious was obviously troubling her. It didn't matter whether she was right or wrong about whatever it was, just that she was upset. But without knowing what she thought the problem was, he couldn't do a damn thing to help.

This was unlike Joni, he found himself thinking. Oh, not the taking of some notion or the acting impulsively on it. But the silence. He couldn't remember Joni ever having been silent when something bothered her. Take this whole hotel mess. She'd made plenty of ruckus for no better reason than that she was bothered by the situation.

And leopards didn't change their spots overnight.

Well, when she had gotten pissed at Witt, she hadn't told Witt so. No, she had gone and set up a situation that was supposed to precipitate the outcome she wanted. She had come to Hardy. Which meant that if she wasn't talking to him, she must be angry at him.

Gripes.

"Joni? What's wrong?"

For an instant he thought she was just going to ignore him. But then she said, "Everything."

"Hmm. What did I do?" As if he didn't know. Making love to her last night had been an act of stupidity. There was too much between them, not the least of it Witt. But he wanted to hear it from her.

"I told you," she said. "We shouldn't have... shouldn't have..."

"Shouldn't have made love. I know. You said so. Was it awful for you?"

Her head whipped around. "No!"

"Then what? Witt might not approve? Hell, Witt won't approve. So what? We're grown-ups." Which was something he needed to remind himself of, he realized suddenly. Man, he'd been reacting to Witt as if he were still eighteen. Maybe it was time to take the bull by the horns.

"Okay," he said when she didn't answer. "Why don't you just tell me the truth? I'm feeling like shit here. I thought we made beautiful love. Instead, you took flight as if I'd hurt you terribly."