The Wedding Gift (7 page)

It was ten o'clock. Hoping it wasn't too late for an unannounced visitor, she knocked, surprised when the door opened an inch, and then two.

She poked her head inside. “Riley?”

The light was on in the kitchen and the dog was sprawled out on his pillow on the other side of the room. He opened one eye. Seeing it was only her, he closed it again and commenced to snore.

“Some watchdog you are,” she said affectionately, and then, a little louder, “Hello? Anybody home?”

Riley's car was in the driveway, lights were on all through the house, and the door was unlocked. Surely he was here somewhere.

She tried the dining room next. Blueprints were spread across the table she'd uncovered earlier that afternoon and a chair was pulled out, as if he'd been sitting in it and had only just now gotten up.

“Riley?”

She continued on into the living room where the orange-and-green sofa looked so glaringly out of place even amidst all the clutter. Although there was still no sign of Riley, she could hear a television. The only TV she'd seen had been on the wall in the master bedroom.

And she wasn't going in there.

“Riley?” she called from the doorway that led down the hall. From here she could see the prescription bottles lined up neatly on the counter in the bathroom. Inside were the pills he took to keep from rejecting his new heart.

Her own heart thudded. For the first time since Aaron's accident, she felt as if something beautiful truly had come from something wrenchingly tragic.

“Riley?” Two of the doorways were dark, but light spilled from the master bedroom at the end of the narrow hall.

She'd gone as far as she could go and was turning around to leave when she heard something. It sounded like the quiet thud of a door, followed by footsteps.

She saw Riley a heartbeat before he saw her. He stood at the end of the hallway wearing nothing but a towel. Fresh from a shower, his hair looked almost black. Water droplets clung to his chest, glistening white on the long scar down its center.

As he stood there looking back at her, his towel slowly slid from his hips. He stepped over it, the action drawing her eyes lower. Not that she could have kept her gaze from going there.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said without an ounce of self-consciousness. “Who says wishes don't come true.”

He held out his hand, bidding her to come closer.

Feeling her face flame and her mouth go slack, she spun around and did the only rational thing she could think to do. She ran, past the orange-and-green sofa, past the dining room table and the sleeping
dog. She ran, out the door, across the lawn and through the gap in the arborvitae hedge.

But she didn't outrun the memory of Riley Merrick, fully aroused.

 

Riley found Madeline sitting in the dark in an old Adirondack chair behind the cottage. He'd thrown on some clothes before walking over, but as far as he knew, she hadn't looked at him. Since he hadn't tried to be quiet, she had to have heard him approach. He didn't ask if he could sit down. Instead, he stopped directly in front of her chair.

“I'm a little surprised to see you so soon,” she said.

Her hands went to either side of her face. The narrow sliver of moonlight was too weak to reach all the way to the earth's surface, therefore he couldn't actually see the blush on her cheeks. He smiled because she was so adorably innocent. “It isn't as if you've never seen a naked man.”

She turned her head in surprise. And it dawned on him that she was awfully innocent for a modern woman, for any modern woman, but especially for a woman who'd been engaged.

“Madeline?” he said, taking her hand.

She looked up at him looking down at her. She re
mained seated and he continued to hold her hand, his thumb drawing half circles on her cool skin.

“I've never. Um. That is, I was saving, er, it, for my wedding night.”

He was pretty sure he'd known a virgin or two in his lifetime. He was positive he'd never taken one to bed. He would have known, and he would have remembered.

She held perfectly still, as if waiting to see what he would do with her admission.

“The only thing this changes,” he said, his voice husky in his own ears, “is the way I'll make love to you the first time.”

Madeline felt herself being drawn to her feet. And then Riley was framing her face with both his hands, sliding his fingers over her cheekbones, over the delicate curves of her ears. Even in the black pearl darkness she could see the possessive gleam in his eyes.

She raised a palm to his cheek. With one fingertip she touched the groove beside his mouth then slowly glided her fingernail over his lips. She knew an enormous power when the groove deepened, when he moaned into her hand.

He slipped his fingers into her hair, anchoring her face for his kiss. At the onset, the touch of his mouth on hers felt like a solemn promise to protect her, to
hold what was dear. Her eyes fluttered closed, and his passion rose.

Her answering response shouldn't have been shocking, but a shock ran through her nonetheless. She backed up so quickly and with so much vehemence the backs of her legs bumped the edge of the chair.

She could tell it cost him to let her go.

“I'll never pressure you, Madeline,” he said. And she knew it was another promise. “I'll leave the door unlocked. The light will be on when you're ready. I'll be waiting.”

She lost sight of him in the darkness and had to rely on sound to chart his progress across the narrow yard and through the gap in the arborvitae hedge. She must have imagined the click of his back door opening and closing, for the house was too far away to hear that, but in her mind's eye she saw him standing in his kitchen.

She looked out across the water then up at the dark sky before opening the cottage's back door. She went in, then stood leaning against the door, her heart beating and her mind reeling. Panicking, she took a step in one direction, then another, only to stop each time.

She was unable to flee, unable to even pace. All she could do was stand in the quiet in the dark, her breathing deep and shallow by turns. Her bra felt restrictive suddenly, her skirt heavy on her hips.

Her body knew exactly what she wanted.

She wanted Riley's hands on her skin. She wanted it so badly she half expected to be able to beam herself there with a blink of her eye.

Oh, that life could be that easy.

After Aaron died, she hadn't been able to take pleasure in anything without feeling guilty. There wasn't even joy in the simple things like eating and sleeping and working. She'd been enjoying nearly every moment since she'd set foot in Gale. Although it made her ache, it was more like the feeling she had while watching the horizon swell into sunrise, as if the human body had no capacity to process such incredible beauty.

He said he would leave the door open and the light on. He'd said he would be waiting.

The next step was up to her. If she dared.

R
iley was at the sink when he heard a sound at his back door. Madeline walked in, the bravest woman he'd ever known, and stood taking him in. The long sleeves of her shirt were pushed up, the result of a bout of nerves, most likely. The top two buttons were open, allowing him a glimpse of skin he was going to take his time exploring. Her skirt skimmed her body like a whisper. It was casual, sexy as hell.

“You're taking a chance leaving your door unlocked that way you know,” she said. “Anybody could have gotten in.”

“I didn't leave it unlocked for just anyone.”

There went the pit of Madeline's stomach again. She didn't know how Riley could be so calm when she was a bundle of nerves. She didn't think she'd ever seen a more appealing man than him standing at a sink full of dishes, his feet bare, a towel slung over one shoulder, his shirt hanging open to reveal his washboard stomach and a little higher, his scar.

Men and women were so different, even when it came to sex. And no matter how she sugarcoated this, that's what this was.

She'd taken the shortcut through the gap in the arborvitae hedge, knowing full well that every step brought her closer to Riley and her first time. She couldn't believe she was really here. She only knew that if she hadn't come over, she would have regretted it for the rest of her life.

He put down the dish he'd been drying and dropped the towel on top of it. When he took a step toward her, she took a step, too. They met in the middle of the room, her heart pounding as if she'd been running.

“I wasn't sure you'd come,” he said.

She considered the dimmed lights and the soft music and his unbuttoned shirt, and said, “You look pretty sure to me.”

“Let's just say I was hoping.” His smile did something to the pit of her stomach.

She knew what was on his mind. It was in the way
he moved, all animal prowess and masculine intent. It was in his scent, a hint of aftershave and something that was uniquely him. It was in the way he twined his fingers with hers. He wasn't rushing her; his patience enveloped her in warmth. For the first time in a long time there were no shadows across her heart. He was giving her time, and it was such a gift, this shared moment.

As he started toward the dining room, she went with him, her steps matching his. She was only vaguely aware of the rooms as they passed, for suddenly they were in his bedroom. His arms came around her, drawing her against the hard length of him. His breathing deepened. Hers hitched.

She'd expected his arousal, and yet the feel of it against her belly through their clothes made her go momentarily still. Sensing her nerves, he held her more gently, surprising her with how attuned he was to what she was feeling. And she knew she had nothing to fear from him.

In the absence of fear, need took over, a man's need for a woman, and a woman's need for a man. When it seemed he would never stop kissing her mouth, his lips trailed down her neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. He unbuttoned her sweater and dragged it down her arms, turning it inside out in his haste, letting it fall where it may.
And then his eyes were on the swells of her breasts in her lacy bra. She reached behind her back, her fingers on the closure, but he stilled her fingertips with his own.

“Easy,” he said. “We're going to take this one step at a time.”

His voice was husky, his brown eyes heavy-lidded and filled with everything it was going to cost him to do things that way. The zipper down the back of her skirt rasped as he lowered it. With a gentle sway of her hips, the skirt fell to the floor and swished around her feet. She stepped over it, back into his arms.

One moment they were standing, her bare thighs against his jean-clad knees, and the next he was slowly lowering her to the bed, and the mattress was shifting at her back and he was easing down next to her. She turned onto her side, facing him, soft where he was hard, smooth where he wasn't.

He ran his hand along the length of her body, massaging her neck, kneading her shoulder, gliding along her waist, her hip, her thigh. As he discovered the things she liked, and the things she loved, he nuzzled her neck with his lips, pressed a kiss along the edge of her jaw, and finally on her mouth once again.

His fingers worked through her hair, slowly glid
ing along the outside of her neck, spreading wide at the base of her throat, his palm resting for a moment over her heart. She'd had no idea a simple touch could cause her heart to speed up so, sending desire pulsing through her. Coherent thoughts were replaced with sensations, the flutter of awareness, the thrill of desire and the yearning to know him as she'd never known another man, to feel his weight on her, his breath blending with her breath, their hearts beating as one.

She rolled onto her back, reveling in the large mattress beneath her and the tall man straddling her. She may have been a virgin, but she wasn't completely naive. She reached between their bodies, and covered him with her hand. His jeans came off as if she'd said, “Abracadabra.” Her bra and panties soon followed.

When Madeline was finally naked, Riley's breath caught. Why had he thought he preferred chesty women? Her breasts were firm and round and perfect, the centers pale brown, puckered and wet from his kiss. Her belly was flat, her naval a slight indentation he wanted to explore further. Her thighs were supple, her legs long and smooth.

In another part of the house, a CD ended and another began. Here in his bedroom there was the slight creak of the mattress shifting beneath them and the deep breaths they took. Trying desperately to
slow this down, he traded places with her, him on his back, her sprawled on top of him. He wanted to be careful. He intended to be careful. She let him know what she thought of his best intentions, moving against him, skimming her hands over his heated skin, seeking, touching.

Everything he thought he knew about virgins was refuted by the way she kissed him, both giving and demanding. He reached between their bodies, and finally touched the part of her no man had taken. She rose against his hand and cried out.

The blinds were drawn against the night, so the light Riley saw had to be coming from another source of energy. It was the energy they were creating together, a kind of dawnlike aura that heated him from the inside. Crushing her to him, he pressed his mouth to hers. He forgot to breathe, but it didn't matter. His body didn't seem to require oxygen. He needed something far more vital than air.

He was holding on by a thread. He reached out to the nightstand and opened the foil packet with his teeth.

Levering his weight on one elbow, he held her gaze as he eased her legs a little farther apart. He'd never realized what a gift a woman could be. It was no wonder some cultures believed virgins were the ultimate reward, the pie in the sky, the promised pot
of gold at the end of the rainbow waiting in the afterlife for the faithful.

“Now, Riley,” she whispered, her lips wet against his ear.

He did what she'd asked and what he couldn't have kept from doing if trumpets were blaring and the end of the world were imminent. He pressed deeper, watching her eyes as she accepted him an inch at a time. As he felt that last barrier give way, he began to move.

He lost track of time, but felt her shudder, gloried in it. He could no longer hold back. He willed himself to be gentle, but he couldn't contain his urgency. She cried out lustily, suddenly as insatiable as he was. The pleasure he felt in that moment was pure and wild. She cried out his name again. And everything exploded in a whirl of sensation. And after his own powerful release overtook him, he knew that one virgin was heaven enough for him.

 

Madeline was on her back in Riley's king-size bed, the sheet pulled all the way up to her neck. She could hear water running. Riley was in the adjoining bathroom, drawing her a bath. It was poignantly thoughtful of him, and brought fresh tears to her eyes. She hadn't expected to be so emotional after, well, afterward, for there had been weeping. And blood.

She wanted to burrow under the covers and hide until morning. For heaven's sakes, she'd just shared her body with him in the most intimate manner imaginable. Why this sudden bout of shyness?

Back from the bathroom, he lowered to the edge of the bed and smiled at her. “You okay?”

She nodded and did her best to appear calm and collected.

“Your bath is ready whenever you are,” he said.

She could see the marks her fingernails had made on his back. She'd had no idea she would be such a wild woman in bed, or so noisy or responsive.

Where was a hidey hole when she needed one? Since asking him to turn his back would be embarrassing in itself, she decided to make do with speed and agility. She slid naked out of bed and slipped into the bathroom as quickly as she could.

He followed without an ounce of pretense, as naked as she. Wetting a washcloth with warm water, he handed it to her and kissed her gently before leaving the room, granting her the privacy she sought.

When she was ready, she looked at her surroundings. What a bathroom! The lights were dimmed, the stone tiles beautiful, the floor warm beneath her feet. Through the skylight over the oval tub she saw the light of one tiny star.

She couldn't find any bubble bath, so she drizzled shampoo beneath the waterspout. With steam rising and bubbles forming, she lowered into the large tub, the warm water working wonders on her most tender places. Settling back, she looked up at that lone star. She stretched her legs, pointed her toes, and closed her eyes for a moment.

The water was still running and steam was still rising when Riley's knock sounded on the door. He had two bottles of water in one hand and a small plate in the other. Being careful to stay under the bubbles, she held out her hand, accepting one of the bottles he offered.

While she took small sips, he tipped his bottle back, draining the entire contents. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he said, “I brought cheese, too, but I couldn't find any crackers.”

“This is fine,” she said, her gaze traveling from his washboard stomach to his bony feet. She wondered if he often walked around completely naked.

“You're sure you don't want anything else?” he asked.

Meeting his gaze once more, she said, “I'd like to do that again.”

He joined her in the bathtub so fast water sloshed over the side. Pulling her onto his lap, he said, “I was hoping you'd say that.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from smiling and said, “I could tell.”

He chuckled, his hands already gliding over her soap-slick skin. His laugh trailed away, replaced by other sounds, sensual sounds she was learning by heart.

By the time they climbed out of the bathtub, the water was no longer steaming and the bubbles were all gone. Madeline's shyness had dissolved with them.

 

Riley's hand tingled; his arm was asleep, but he wasn't about to move it. He liked Madeline right where she was.

It was late, and the lights were low. She was curled on her side, her head on his shoulder, her knee nuzzling his thigh as she drew figure-eight patterns on his chest.

After their swim in his bathtub, he'd pulled on his jeans and she'd slipped into his shirt for a raid on his refrigerator. He'd made them an egg-and-cheese omelet, without nearly burning the house down this time. When they'd left the kitchen, they'd intended to take their hot midnight snack to bed. On the way through the living room she'd turned to him. They didn't make it back to the bedroom for a long time, ending up on that orange-and-green sofa in the living room. Eventually they'd picked up their plates again, and had devoured the lukewarm omelets and cold toast in the middle of the bed.

Their empty plates were on the nightstand now, their clothes on the floor again, and Madeline was snuggled up against him. “I'll never be able to look at a bathtub like yours without remembering that second time,” she said sleepily. It was the closest either of them had come to alluding to the fact that their time together was temporary.

“Want to hear something ironic?” he asked. “That green-and-orange sofa is growing on me.”

She smiled drowsily. “They say the third time's the charm. What do they say about the fourth time?”

His arms tightened around her, and hers wound around his neck, the soft contours of her body gliding across the harder surfaces of his. They moved over the bed, arms and legs entwined, lips clinging, hands seeking, giving pleasure and receiving it. She was crushed under him one moment, sprawled on top of him the next. But it wasn't enough. Touching, kissing, straining toward one another was only the beginning. What followed was a breathtaking roller coaster ride straight to the top. The finale was a free-fall bursting of sensation that blew every thought he'd ever had about lovemaking to smithereens.

His new heart was getting a hell of a workout.

 

Every so often, Madeline's eyes drifted closed. So this was sex, she thought, her head on Riley's shoul
der again, her hair fanned out on the pillow beside her. This was passion.

She and Aaron had had several close calls over the years, but waiting had become a way of life. It was only until they finished high school, they'd promised, only until after college. Once they were engaged, it was only for a little longer. He died a month before they were to have said, “I do.”

Since that horrible day, she'd imagined she would become one of those old women who kept a cat and wore lace collars and joined groups that made blankets for the needy. She'd imagined she would grow to enjoy her quiet existence. Now that she'd experienced passion, she didn't know how she was going to live without it for the rest of her life. Telling herself not to think about that now, she kissed Riley's shoulder then ran her fingertip down the scar. Finally she rested her palm over the center of his chest and sighed contentedly.