Take Me Home (9781455552078) (22 page)

Though the bank was only a couple of short blocks from Pickford Hardware, it felt as if it took him forever to reach it. Every few feet, there was someone who wanted to share in the good news. With his family's standing in town, it would have been thought rude for him to ignore the well-wishers, so he'd had to start and stop, over and over.

“Isn't it just the happiest of days!” one well-wisher rejoiced.

But was it?

Billy had to admit that while he was glad the Germans had surrendered, there was a small part of him that felt disappointed, even cheated. He'd fought for so long to join the struggle against the Axis that now, when he was so close to doing that very thing, it seemed almost cruel for it to be yanked away from him. Sure, the war against the Japanese raged on, but everyone knew the end was coming. Maybe he would be one of the first to fight their way into Tokyo, to take the battle right to the emperor. But maybe not…He'd wanted a chance to prove himself, to show that he was as much of a man as the next guy. Now, he was about to be denied that opportunity.

When he finally reached the hardware store, Billy was surprised to find that Olivia wasn't there. In fact, no one was; they must've been out celebrating. Craning his neck, he couldn't see her among the dozens of people who'd emptied out into the street, the celebration growing by the minute. He had just made up his mind to walk from one end of Main Street to the other, when he saw her. She was on the opposite side of the street, looking away from him, beaming brighter than the sun. Billy was just about to call out to her when he noticed that she wasn't alone.

Peter Baird was with her.

The words died in Billy's throat, unspoken. Somewhere in the most desperate part of his mind, he tried to play it off as nothing, a coincidence that the two of them were here, together. He thought about walking over to them, acting as if nothing were the matter, being the bigger man. But he just couldn't do it. Instead, he retreated, stepping back into the shadows of the mercantile's awning, mingling with the customers.

Billy watched with cold eyes. He saw the ease with which Olivia enjoyed the other man's company. He noticed the smile on her face when she turned toward him. His stomach clenched when the stranger who'd ruined everything grabbed hold of Olivia and pulled her to him. He watched in horror as the bastard leaned down and kissed her; Olivia did nothing to fight off his advances, but rather closed her eyes and met it with passion of her own. It was just as Billy had always imagined it would look, exactly as he had dreamed. The problem was that she was doing it with another man.

He kept staring, unable to look away, as his guts were twisted into knots. Slowly, the truth dawned on Billy. If he was going to have any chance of making Olivia his, of the two of them becoming husband and wife, something was going to have to be done about Peter Baird. Something drastic.

And he was going to have to be the one to do it.

P
ETER WALKED AROUND
in a daze. Ever since he had learned of Germany's surrender, he'd felt as if time was standing still. Even kissing Olivia had done nothing to shake the cobwebs from his thoughts; if anything, it had complicated things further. Now, walking beside her in the coming dark of dusk, he still couldn't completely grasp what had happened.

When their kiss had finally ended, Olivia, giddy with romance and the historic events of the day, had wanted to share it all with her family, and had rushed off to find her father. John was just about to drive away from the jail when they arrived. The sheriff had tried to raise Huck on the telephone, wanting to talk with his good friend and deputy, but the man hadn't answered; John guessed that Huck had gone fishing and that it might be another day before he found out. From there, Peter and Olivia had gone to the Marstens' home, rushing up the front steps at the same time as Grace; the young girl was happy about the end of the war in Europe, but she was equally pleased that school had been let out for the rest of the day.

But while Olivia and her family talked animatedly about Germany's defeat, Peter remained quiet. His thoughts raged like a storm; at one moment he was confused, at another hopeful, and then even a bit frightened. Try as he might, struggling to make sense of it all, he couldn't decide what it meant for him. Was he still considered a prisoner? If he turned himself in, would the charge of escape be held against him? Could he keep living the lie he'd built for himself? Could he hide the truth from Olivia forever, ignore his past and who he really was?

And then there was Otto.

Peter wondered if the Nazi knew what had happened. If he was still lurking around, and Peter believed that he was, it wouldn't take long. But how would a man as brutal as Otto react to learning that his beloved Führer had surrendered, that he had lost his dream of a thousand-year Reich? Would learning of Germany's defeat cause Otto to turn himself in? Or would it fan the fires of vengeance and sadism smoldering in his heart, making him even more dangerous?

“I still can't believe that it's over,” Olivia said to him.

“Me, either,” he admitted. “It's like a dream.”

“If it is, I don't ever want to wake up.”

Hours earlier, they had left Olivia's home to walk the streets, reveling in the moment. All around them, the townspeople of Miller's Creek celebrated. Even now, as the evening grew dark and colder, a chill in the air that said the calendar had yet to officially turn to summer, people were out. They congregated on porches, gathered on sidewalks and street corners, everyone smiling, rejoicing. Hails and other greetings were shouted across lawns and streets and over fences. Cars honked as they drove past, an arm raised out of an open window. Radios sounded from inside houses, through open doors and windows, providing the latest details of events in Europe, back in the only home Peter had ever known. Though his feelings were mixed with concern about his mother, to say nothing of his own fate, Peter shared in the townspeople's joy that the war had ended, lamenting that it had ever started in the first place.

“I suppose you'll need to call your superiors,” Olivia suggested. “Surely, things will have changed.”

“I reckon so,” he replied, telling her yet another lie.

“Do you think you'll have to leave?”

Peter heard the worry in her voice, saw it in the quick glance she gave him. “I don't know,” he muttered, twisting himself deeper into the web of falsehoods he'd woven. “I'll just have to wait and see.”

For a while, neither of them spoke; the only sound other than the neighborhood festivities was the clickety-clack of Olivia's shoes on the sidewalk. Eventually, she broke the silence. “I'm so thankful,” she explained. “I prayed for this day, that men like you and Billy wouldn't have to go off and fight. As the years went by, I wondered if it would ever come, but somehow, here it is.”

She stopped walking and Peter did the same. Tenderly, he reached out and took her by the hand. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

“I don't want to go back home.”

Olivia's words surprised him. They'd been walking for more than an hour, aimlessly going from one side of town to the other and then back again. The darkness of night would soon be upon them. Peter's intention had been to slowly make their way back to her home.

“We can walk a while longer if you'd like,” he offered.

“That's not what I'm talking about.”

Peter was about to ask what she meant, when the truth struck him; she was asking if they could be alone. The fire inside him, the part that marveled at her beauty, that wanted to feel her touch, her breath upon his face, grew higher, hotter. Though Peter was still unsettled about many things, there was one thing about which he had the utmost certainty: his feelings for Olivia. Standing there, the stars just now visible in the fading sky above them, he searched her face, looking for something that might tell him he was wrong, that he was misconstruing her intentions, but her gaze never wavered; her eyes told him all he needed to know.

“Come with me,” he said.

And she did.

Following Peter up the stairs to his apartment, Olivia's heart raced. The whole way there, she'd thought about her boldness, understanding all too well what she had said to him, what she'd insinuated when she'd told him that she didn't want to go home. But the truth was, she'd meant it. Though she didn't have much experience with love, or any of the other romantic things men and women did together, that didn't mean she had never longed for them. Since Peter had come into her life, she'd thought about it often. Kissing him had been wonderful, but the idea that Peter wanted more, just as she did, was tantalizing.

“It's not much, but here it is,” Peter said, holding open the door.

Olivia stepped inside and found that she couldn't disagree. The rooms were mostly unfurnished, with only a few cobbled-together pieces. Peter turned on a bare bulb in the small kitchen and the scant light only served to make the place seem more empty.

“It's…nice…” she said, hoping he would believe her, but from the way he laughed at her attempt to be polite, it was clear that he didn't.

Olivia stepped over to look out the apartment's large picture window. Down below, people still milled about on Main Street. Here and there, she noticed those who'd clearly been drinking; they stumbled about, their voices occasionally turning to shouts, but all in a good-natured sort of way.

Suddenly, Peter slid up behind her, ran his hand along her hip, and lightly kissed her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Olivia shut her eyes, enjoying his touch. Unused to such attention, she felt a bit nervous, anxious about where the night was headed, but she did her best to ignore such distractions and instead concentrated on how Peter was making her feel.

“That's nice,” she said, her voice faint, a little breathless.

Her encouragement brought Peter's hand up the length of her arm and over her shoulder. His fingertips pushed away a few wayward strands of hair before wandering down her cheek, his thumb tracing along her jaw. Olivia sucked in a breath, holding it. But then, just as she was about to turn toward him, to make some advances of her own, they were both startled by an unexpected explosion just outside the window. She was amazed to see a brilliant cluster of green bloom like a flower in the dark sky, twinkling among the stars before fading from sight.

“Fireworks,” Peter said softly in her ear.

With his arms wrapped around her, they watched as another rocket raced upward, a faint whistle signaling its ascent. It suddenly burst, erupting into another constellation of sparks, this time red. The boom of the explosion reverberated off the window. Three more came in quick succession, the night lit up in a kaleidoscope of colors. Finally, it was silent save for a few hearty cheers from the street.

“Someone must've been saving them for this very occasion,” Olivia said, turning to face Peter. “Waiting for a night to celebrate.”

“No better time than now.”

When Peter leaned down to kiss her, Olivia was ready and willing. Their passion soared. His touch felt insistent, almost needy, far more so than any of the other times they had kissed. She rose to him, meeting his intensity as they tried to make fireworks of their own. Her hand strayed to his chest, her fingers searching, roaming across his muscular body. Lightly, she pushed against him, trying to tell him that she was ready for more, that she could be his.

But then Peter stopped.

He looked down at her through the gloom that filled the room, the light at his back making it hard for her to see his face. “Olivia…” he began tentatively. “Before we go any further, there's something I've been trying to tell you, something that you deserve to know, that you
need
to know if—”

“Peter, no…” Olivia interrupted.

“Please, you have to listen to what I have—”

“Not now,” she insisted, pressing her fingers against his lips, silencing him. “This isn't the time for talk. Whatever it is, it can wait a little longer.”

Slowly, Peter nodded; he didn't say a word as he took her hand and led her through the kitchen and down a short hallway to the bedroom. It was sparse like the rest of the apartment, with only an old mattress and a shadeless lamp for furnishings. Faint starlight streamed through the window above the makeshift bed. Peter still hadn't said a word when his fingers began to undo the buttons of her blouse. Olivia's pulse quickened. Immediately, she started to do the same to Peter's shirt; both of them moved fast, each wanting the other to be undressed.

Within seconds, their shirts, pants, shoes, and undergarments were all on the floor. Olivia stood before him naked, without shame, her skin lit from outside. When Peter lowered himself onto the mattress, he held out his hand for her to join him and she took it.

Peter's hands fell on her skin, which caused Olivia to suck in a breath through tightly clenched teeth. He traced her collarbone, an almost tickling touch, before sliding downward. The back of his fingertips drifted sideways, circling the underside of her breasts. His hand turned, cupping her, holding her heft as he gently squeezed, feeling her as no one else ever had before. When his thumb began to turn counterclockwise over her raised nipple, she shivered with pleasure.

Olivia's hands returned his advances. She marveled at the thick muscles beneath his skin; her fingers lingered on the cords of his forearm, the sharp rise of his bicep, the peaks of his shoulder, and the breadth of his chest. The way her attention roamed, it was as if she was addicted to him, as if she couldn't possibly get enough.

“Peter,” she said breathlessly between kisses.

Their passion grew even more intense when his hand left her breast, descended across her ribs to her belly, then curved across her hip before dipping to her inner thigh. Moments later, as his fingers slipped between her legs, touching Olivia's womanhood, seeing for himself how their love had made her feel, she was nearly beside herself with pleasure. Her head thrashed about on the mattress and her back arched as her fingers dug deep into Peter's arm, so hard that she feared hurting him.

Desperately wanting him to share what she was experiencing, Olivia groped below his waist. When her fingers found what she was looking for, wrapping around him, sliding up and down the length of his taut skin, Peter took several quick breaths, followed by a gasp.

“O…Olivia…” he managed, too overwhelmed to kiss her. Empowered by how she was making him feel, Olivia began to move faster, almost greedily, wanting more and more. Suddenly, he stopped her, grabbing her tightly by the wrist, his breathing ragged.

“That…that was almost too much…” he explained.

When Peter raised himself above her, Olivia spread her legs to accommodate him. She stared up into his face, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, drinking him in. While he maneuvered himself into position, he never once looked away. When he first touched her, preparing to enter her, Olivia flinched, not out of discomfort or fear, but out of surprise at how sensitive she was. Finally, Peter was ready. Slowly, he eased himself forward. Olivia felt her body being opened, followed by a momentary jolt of pain, forcing her to bite down on her lower lip. Peter went deeper and deeper, until finally their bodies were pressed closely together, the meeting of their flesh complete. For a long moment, they were content to stay still and silent. When Peter finally spoke, what he said sent shockwaves racing through her.

“I love you, Olivia,” he said.

Tears filled her eyes.
This
was the man she had waited her whole life for.
These
were the emotions she'd always wanted to experience.
This
was the beginning of the future she had always dreamed of.

Unable to find words to answer, Olivia kissed him instead; Peter met her advances as if he'd heard her speak. As his tongue encircled hers, he slowly began to move his hips, almost imperceptibly at first, sliding in and out of her. Olivia felt some discomfort, but her love for Peter was so great that it was hardly worth noticing.

Pleasure crashed over Olivia as Peter began to move faster. Soon, they had developed a rhythm, each moving in the opposite direction, sliding apart before coming back together. Beads of sweat dotted their skin, their fluids mixing, a hint of salt on Olivia's lips as she kissed his face. The sounds of their lovemaking echoed off the walls of the small room.

“I love you, Peter!” Olivia declared, finally finding her voice, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “I love you so much!”

This time, it was Peter's turn to let his actions stand in place of words. He began to kiss her, devouring her lips, his body pistoning against hers, their ecstasy growing to a fevered pitch.