When he claimed, she became silk. Flesh grew slick as they discovered their own desperate rhythm. The roar of endless loneliness was just outside, but not here. Her legs clamped around him, she drew him down into yielding softness, caring, hope, woman, love.
In claiming her, he drove in his need to have, to hold, to protect and care for, to love.
You can’t turn away from this, she told him with her lips.
See what we have, he whispered in his heart.
She fought the climax because it would have meant the end, and she had all of him for this moment. It didn’t work; it couldn’t. Waves of sharp, bright color rolled through her like the tide, powerful and inescapable and relentless. Her lips released a fragile cry, and then he folded her close and held her and held her…
And held her.
“I’m not climbing that, you overgrown bully.”
“You’re probably more fit than I am. Come on, Zoe, you’re no sissy.”
“I’m swim-fit. Not climb-fit.” Southern Oregon fashion, the sand dune facing Zoe was at least 150 feet tall. Rafe was sitting at the top holding a can of beer, the lazy good-for-nothing. She’d made it halfway. Considering how little sleep he’d allowed her last night and this morning, she evaluated that distance as reasonable. The weather bureau had reported the temperature as a cool sixty, but where sun beat down on sand Zoe could have testified to at least a hundred.
“Lunch is waiting for you at the top,” he called.
“Bring it down.”
“Nope.”
“When…” She dug up fistfuls of sand as she crawled toward him. “When I get up there, Kirkland, you’re going to be such dead meat. You’re going to be such cooked goose. You’re going to be such fried fowl…”
When she reached the top, panting and sweating, Rafe was lying flat on the sand holding his stomach. He seemed to have a small problem with laughter. That laughter ended up in a howl when she bent down and gave him a definite shove.
How the mighty do fall, and 180 pounds had so much momentum on the slippery sand. Moments later, she sat on the top of the dune with a beer can in her hand and waved down. “You can do it, Rafe! You’re no sissy!” she called down encouragingly.
“Listen, you turkey. I’ve got sand in my mouth.”
“No kidding?”
“Ah, Zoe. You’re going to be so sorry. When I get my hands on you…when I get my hands on you…”
“Uh…Rafe? Have you looked around recently?”
“Yes.” Rafe smiled. “I’ve never seen you look more lovely.” He’d found the dress in the back of her closet and packed it, so he considered himself partially responsible for her looks right now. The skirt was a simple black crepe, and the top a turquoise satin that draped to the hollow of her breasts. The sleeves seemed made of yards of material that cinched at her wrists, and the effect was alluringly feminine. He hadn’t yet figured out what she’d done to her eyes and hair. Something. Something that made her eyes look emerald green and her hair gleam with shafts of gold and silky softness.
Zoe let her eyes sweep over him as well. He’d brought his tux-she hadn’t known he owned one-and since the man had done the packing, the tux had a predictable wrinkle or two. Never mind that; black made his shoulders look impossibly huge, and it was his pride that struck her.
She ate the last bite of her fillet, and then took a sip of wine. “Rafe…” she started again.
He shook his head. “I wanted to see you dressed up, and I wanted to dance with you. Come on, Zoe.”
She placed her napkin on the table and stood up, letting him lead her to the crowded dance floor. With one hand at her waist, his other hand covered hers on his chest. He picked up the subtle rhythm of the song. Not once did he move to hold her closer, but deliberately he let thigh occasionally tease thigh, chest occasionally flirt with breast. His eyes never left hers. He told her she was lovely, priceless, precious and, so simply, that he wanted to be with her. He told her that without saying a word.
Sometime…sometime…she was going to mention to him that the band was playing country rock. That everyone else in the place was wearing jeans. That the only person with a candle on the table was the one who’d brought it, and that was Rafe. Southern Oregon didn’t exactly abound in elegant restaurants.
Since neither of them cared a hoot what anyone else was doing, it didn’t particularly matter.
“I hate to tell you this, little one, but you’re turning into a downright glutton for pleasure-and all those little hip actions aren’t going to do you a bit of good.”
“No?” Embers of a fire glowed in the corner, casting soft shadows in the pitch-black room. Swallowed in the depths of the featherbed, Zoe nudged her pelvis delicately against Rafe. “I’m not claiming to be an expert in this,” she admitted, “but I could swear I sense a certain effect.”
His lips touched her forehead. “I didn’t say you weren’t having any effect. I said it wasn’t going to do you any good. It’s three in the morning, and you need your sleep.”
“I can sleep next year.”
His whisper grazed her skin like wet velvet. “You’re sore.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. In between climbing dunes and dinner, I think you might remember that we were doing other things.”
“Believe me, I remember.”
He clasped both her hands patiently in one of his. “No. When I touched you the last time, you were sensitive. Dammit, did you think I didn’t notice? We are not making love again-Zoe. Those are your teeth in my shoulder.”
“You like that.”
“Is that supposed to be relevant to anything in particular? You know darn well I like everything you do.”
“You like this, too-good heavens! You like it a lot.”
“You’re sore,” he repeated in the tone of a drowning man.
“A little. Not that much.”
“That much is my fault.”
“I could have sworn I was there at the time.”
“You were.”
“Rafe, I have an itch-”
“You do not have an itch, not there, and I am not letting go of your hands.”
“All right. I think it’s time we got serious here. Fifty cents says I can make you let go.”
“No.”
“Five bucks says you’ll be breathing hard inside of three minutes.”
“No.”
“A hundred-flat on the line, and believe me, you’ll never get this offer again-says you’ll be inside me on the short side of ten minutes.”
“If and when I meet your mother, Zoe, I’m going to tell her just what kind of daughter she raised.”
Conversation lagged. He’d just released her hands.
From the rear window of the rental car, Zoe took one last look at the cabin. She thought, it’s over, and tested every corner of her mind for regrets. There had only been so much time, and maybe they should have spent it talking about each other. Maybe they should have spent it talking about the children.
Instead, all they’d done was…be together.
She had no regrets.
As for all the decisions waiting to be made, she knew exactly what she was going to do. Loving him had clarified the only choice she really had.
Chapter Ten
“My goodness, I didn’t expect you two back for at least another hour. I just put the boys to bed.” Marjorie Kirkland hugged Zoe as naturally as she hugged her son. “Did you have a good time?”