Born to be Wild
Anne Marie Winston
13 YEARS, 1 MONTH, 4 DAYS…Reese Barone counted the days since he'd last seen Celia. He'd sailed around the world and still couldn't erase the memory of making love to her in the summer sun, planning their future. Then false rumors and a blowout with his father made Reese abandon the one woman he'd ever truly desired.The last thing Celia Papaleo wanted was to rekindle an old flame or have Reese Barone back in Cape Cod, stirring up the past…and passion. Her black-sheep lover had gotten better with age–now hard, hot and utterly male. One night in his arms and again she could deny him nothing–until he told her his one little secret….
October’s menu
BARONESSA GELATERIA
in Boston’s North End
In addition to our regular flavors of gelato, this month we are featuring:
Angel food cake with fresh whipped creamAt seventeen, small-town girl Celia had never been out of her home state, never let loose, never been kissed. But when Reese Barone spent a summer at the Cape, a lot changed. His sexy swagger stirred her senses and made her lose control.
Dark, rich devil’s food cakeReese was privileged, monied; he knew what he wanted and usually got it. And he wanted Celia. One touch and she was his. He knew she could never resist him—and after he fled, he knew he could never forget her….
Hot fudge sundaeTheir lovemaking thirteen years ago was child’s play compared to the heat that flared between them at Reese’s return. No longer a sweet innocent, Celia was a woman now, with a woman’s needs. As much as she wanted to deny them, her body betrayed her with an all-out yearning for Reese’s expert hands and sensuous mouth. She’d spent most of her life trying to forget them…. Now she wanted to revel in them—rumors be damned—for as long as it lasted….
Buon appetito!
Dear Reader,
Thanks for choosing Silhouette Desire, the place to find passionate, powerful and provocative love stories. We’re starting off the month in style with Diana Palmer’s Man in Control, a LONG, TALL TEXANS story and the author’s 100
book! Congratulations, Diana, and thank you so much for each and every one of your wonderful stories.
Our continuing series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES is back this month with Anne Marie Winston’s thrilling tale Born To Be Wild. And Cindy Gerard gives us a fabulous story about a woman who finds romance at her best friend’s wedding, in Tempting the Tycoon. Weddings seem to be the place to meet a romantic partner (note to self: get invited to more weddings), as we find in Shawna Delacorte’s Having the Best Man’s Baby.
Also this month, Kathie DeNosky is back with another title in her ongoing ranching series—don’t miss Lonetree Ranchers: Morgan and watch for the final story in this trilogy coming in December. Finally, welcome back the wonderful Emilie Rose with Cowboy’s Million-Dollar Secret, a fantastic story about a man who inherits much more than he ever expected.
More passion to you!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor
Silhouette Desire
Born To Be Wild
Anne Marie Winston
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Kathleenest
The bestest roommate ever.
ANNE MARIE WINSTON
RITA
Award finalist and bestselling author Anne Marie Winston loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and sizes and just about anything that blooms. When she’s not writing, she’s managing a house full of animals and teenagers, reading anything she can find and trying not to eat chocolate. She will dance at the slightest provocation and weeds her gardens when she can’t see the sun for the weeds anymore. You can learn more about Anne Marie’s novels by visiting her Web site at www.annemariewinston.com.
Meet the Barones of Boston—an elite clan caught in a web of danger, deceit…and desire!
Who’s Who in BORN TO BE WILD
Reese Barone—He’s made a killing in the stock market and has seen picturesque sunsets all around the world, but he finally realizes that when he walked away thirteen years ago, he lost everything that mattered. Family…and Celia, the only woman he’s ever loved….
Celia Papaleo—Something strange is happening at her harbor in Cape Cod. Something she suspects is linked to the mysterious deaths of her husband and young son. Even stranger is the return of her one—and only—true love, Reese. His return is the one thing she dreaded—and the one thing she craved….
Nicholas Barone—He knows all about reunions. Some fail miserably…and some are worth waiting for. Which will his brother’s be?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Prologue
“She said what?” Twenty-one-year-old Reese Barone, seated in the parlor of his family home in Boston’s Beacon Hill district, stared at his father in shock. “She’s lying!”
“Eliza Mayhew says that she’s pregnant and you are the father.” Carlo Barone stood in front of the elaborate marble fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. He eyed his second-to-eldest son sternly. “Needless to say, your mother and I are very disappointed in you, Reese. Let’s not make this more difficult than it already is.”
“But I never—”
“Reese.” His father’s voice was colder than he’d ever heard it, even more so than the time Reese had been caught and disciplined for putting two baby goats in the headmaster’s office on April Fools’ Day. The fact that he hadn’t taken into account their tendency to eat everything in sight—and promptly recycle it from the other end—had been a significant problem. “There will be no discussion. You will do the right thing and marry Miss Mayhew at the end of the month.”
“I—huh? I will not.” Reese leaped to his feet, nearly upsetting the elegant wing chair in which he’d been sitting while he’d waited to find out what could possibly have gotten his old man’s drawers in such a twist. “That baby isn’t mine.”
On the love seat facing them, his mother, Moira, bowed her head as a sob escaped.
Carlo’s face darkened with anger. “Haven’t you already done enough to damage our family name?” he demanded. “First you get involved with that fisherman’s daughter in Harwichport—”
“There’s nothing wrong with Celia,” Reese said hotly, “except that she doesn’t come with a pedigree.”
“It’s not the lack of family connections,” his mother said. “I would hope you know us better than that. It’s just that… Oh, Reese, she’s so young. And she comes from a world that’s very different from yours—”
“Being of Portuguese descent doesn’t make her different.”
But his mother ignored the rebuke. “How could you ever expect to have anything in common?”
“Besides the obvious,” put in his father. “Which, might I point out, you appear to have in common with other women, as well.”
“I already told you,” Reese said tightly, “I can’t be the father of Eliza’s baby. I—”
“Enough!” Carlo made an angry gesture. “I will not tolerate lying. Miss Mayhew is the daughter of a family friend as well as a classmate of your sister’s. How could you be so careless?”
“Has she had a paternity test done?” Reese demanded. “Maybe you’d better think about who’s being careless.” He could feel his temper slipping the tight leash he’d held, and the words spilled out. Even the pain in his father’s eyes couldn’t halt his tongue. “Taking someone else’s word without giving me a chance to defend myself? Fine.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t need this, Dad. I’m not marrying Lying Eliza and you can’t make me.” He strode toward the door to the hallway.
“Don’t you dare walk away when I’m speaking to you!” Reese had come by his temper honestly. Carlo stepped forward and reached for his son’s arm, but Reese shoved him away in a red haze of anger.
“You ever put your hands on me again and I swear you’ll be sorry,” he snarled at his father. He barreled down the hall to the heavy front door, oblivious to his mother’s frantic cries. As he slammed through the door and the thunderous sound of its closing echoed behind him, he swore one thing to himself: he would never set foot in the same room with his father again until he’d received an apology from the old man.
His chest was tight with pain and he blinked rapidly. No way, he told himself, no way was he ever going into that house again until his father apologized. He couldn’t be the father of that baby—he’d never even slept with Eliza! But he hadn’t been allowed the chance to explain. Hell, his father hadn’t even given him the courtesy of pretending he might be innocent.
He was getting as fast and far away from Massachusetts as he could on the first flight out. To hell with finishing school. Who needed a degree from Harvard, anyway? He was good with the stock market, had already managed to significantly increase the million he’d inherited on his last birthday.
But…if he quit school, what would he do?
The answer came to him as easily as if the idea had only been waiting for the question to be asked. He’d dreamed of sailing around the world since he’d been old enough to steer a boat.
Around the world! Oh, yeah, he was outta here.
As he jumped into his car and roared away from his childhood home for the last time, he decided he’d ask Celia daSilva to join him. Images of her naked body glowing in the golden sunlight filled his head. God, he loved her. They could even get married!
Then cold sanity kicked in. Celia wouldn’t be eighteen for over another month. Wouldn’t his father just love the chance to catch him with a minor! And he knew Celia’s father wasn’t exactly thrilled that she had been glued to Reese’s side all summer.
Five more weeks…
He couldn’t stick around that long. Anger continued to race through him. He could barely wait to get out of town. Today. Besides, he knew Celia too well. If he went to her now, she would try to talk him into waiting until he was calmer, into talking with his father. And if that failed, she’d pester him to take her along. The hell of it was, he wasn’t sure he had the willpower to resist her. Even if it landed him in jail if they were caught.
He’d write to her. Write her and tell her what his father had done, explain to her why he’d had to leave so abruptly. She would understand. That was the one thing he could count on. Celia always understood him. Yeah, he’d write. Ask her to come with him after her birthday…ask her to marry him.
His hands tightened on the wheel as he punched the accelerator of his sleek sports car against the floorboard. To hell with his old man. He didn’t need anyone else as long as he had Celia.
One
Thirteen years later
“Hey, Celia! Guess what I heard?”
With an abstracted smile Celia Papaleo glanced up from the paperwork on permanent moorings. Thank God it was finally October. They’d reached that time of year when Harwichport residents could begin to breathe again after the tourists overran Cape Cod for the summer, flinging money and flouting rules and generally making the South Harwich harbormaster and everyone else who worked for her crazy.
“Roma.” She raised her head and smiled at the petite woman in the bright red sweater who’d entered her office, sitting back in her chair. “What did you hear?”
Roma had been Celia’s best friend since their elementary school days. She held a tiny girl in one arm and a toddler by the hand.
Celia rose and automatically reached for the infant, ignoring the sharp sting of pain that pierced her heart as she cuddled baby Irene close. How she’d loved holding Leo this way when he was a baby. Leo… He would have been five next week—
“Ceel?” Roma snapped her fingers, waving one hand in front of Celia’s face.
Celia focused on her friend’s concerned blue eyes, knowing Roma would worry. Pushing aside the grief that inevitably welled up, she made an effort to smile again.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking how glad I am summer’s over.”
“Amen to that.” Roma’s voice held feeling although she still studied Celia too closely. “Adios, tourists.”
“Those tourists put food on our tables,” Celia felt compelled to point out.
“Yeah, but they’re still a huge pain in the—”
“All right. I get your point.” Celia chuckled. She gestured to Irene and little William, who was busy pushing a truck around the seat of one office chair with pudgy fingers. “So what’s so important that you had to drag these two down here instead of just picking up the phone?”
“Oh!” Roma perked up. “Almost forgot. You’d better sit down,” she warned darkly.
Celia’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“Reese Barone docked over at Saquatucket Marina last night.”
Reese Barone…Reese Barone…Reese Barone… The name echoed through her head, a blast from the past she surely could have lived the rest of her life without hearing. Her muscles tensed, her heart skipped a beat. For a single crystalline instant, the world froze. Then she forced herself to react.
“Wow.” Her voice would be calm if it killed her. “It’s been years since he was here, hasn’t it?”
Roma snorted. “You know darn well how long it’s been. He hasn’t been back since he dumped you for the pregnant deb.”
“Technically, he didn’t dump me for anyone. The last I heard, he refused to marry her and took off for good.” She handed Irene back to Roma and picked up the papers on her desk, aligning all the corners with unnecessary care. “I doubt we’ll see him here. Saquatucket caters more to the yacht crowd than we do.”
“He might look you up.”
Celia forced herself to laugh. “Roma, he probably doesn’t even remember me. We were kids.”
“Kids? I think not.” Roma cocked her head and studied Celia until she blushed.
“Okay, we weren’t kids. But we were really young. My life has changed completely since those days and I’m sure his has, too.”
“Maybe.” Roma didn’t sound as if she believed it. But then she shrugged. “I’m off to the grocery store. I just have time for a quick run before I pick Blaine up from kindergarten.”
Celia nodded, although another arrow of pain shot into her to nestle beside the first. Leo had been seven months younger than Blaine, but because of his October birthday he would have been a year behind in school. This would have been his last year at home with her. Don’t go there, Celia. You’re not an at-home mom anymore. You’re not a mom, period. Or a wife. You’re just the harbormaster now.
“See you.” Roma corralled her younger son and blew a kiss at Celia before she swept out the door.
Celia could only be grateful that her friend hadn’t perceived her pain. Leaning both elbows on her desk as she sank into her chair again, she pressed the palms of her hands hard against her eyes, refusing to shed the tears that wanted to spring free.
After two and a half years she didn’t think of them as much now, Milo and Leo. Only a few times a day as opposed to a few times a minute. The agony had faded to a dull ache—except for momentary flare-ups like this one. Often, they were triggered by Roma’s three children. She suspected her friend knew it, because Roma didn’t bring them around as much as she once had.
But Celia refused to crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of her life, which was what she’d have to do to avoid seeing children. She loved Roma’s kids and her husband, Greg. She’d lost her own family but that was no reason to cut Roma’s out of her life. Still, sometimes it was hard. Just…so hard.
She turned her mind away from the thoughts because she couldn’t stand them anymore. Lord, she couldn’t believe Roma’s news.
Reese. On the same small piece of land with her. She’d given up all hope of ever seeing him again years ago. But before that…before that, there had been a time when Reese Barone had been so much a part of her that she’d never even imagined she could have a life that didn’t include him.
Reese. Her first love, the boy with whom she’d spent a carefree long-ago summer making love and sailing every moment she wasn’t working. Looking back, it was easy to see that she would never have fit into Reese Barone’s world on a permanent basis. She had been a fisherman’s daughter, a motherless girl who knew more about where the best stripers were than she did about fashion or feminine pursuits. She’d been seventeen to his twenty-one, a local Cape girl who’d only ever been to Boston on a high school field trip, inexperienced and easily won.
They couldn’t have been more different. He was the grandson of a Sicilian immigrant whose ambition and drive had brought the Barone name both fortune and fame. Second of eight children in a large and loving family, Reese was born knowing how to make money. Well-traveled, confident, he’d had no lack of females vying for his attention. Why he’d been interested in her would always remain a mystery.
Reese. She’d heard rumors that he’d been disowned by his family years ago. He’d gotten a girl pregnant then refused to marry her. Had it been a girl like Celia, she had little doubt his prominent, wealthy family would have reacted with such ire. But the girl supposedly was a debutante whose family was close to the Barones, and his refusal to marry her had set off a Barone family explosion the reverberations of which had been heard clear up to the mid-Cape village of Harwichport where they made their summer home.
Reese. Ridiculously, it still hurt to think of him. Were his eyes still that beautiful shade of gray that could turn as silver as a dime or as stormy as a rough sea? Was his hair still long enough to blow in the ocean breezes that filled the sails?
Don’t be silly, Celia. You remember a fantasy. Maybe her memory had embellished on eyes that were really quite ordinary. Maybe the hair had silver in it now. Maybe that lean, whipcord body had softened and filled out a little too much. Maybe—
It didn’t matter. He’d sailed away without a word to her after the news of his impending fatherhood had trickled out to the Cape from Boston. She’d been left with the realization that she’d meant nothing more to him than a little convenient summer sex. The only good thing she’d had to cling to was that he hadn’t gotten her pregnant.
Although…
There was a tiny, traitorous part of her that had regretted, for a very long time, that he hadn’t. He wouldn’t have stayed, but she’d have had a little piece of him to hold on to.
That part of her had softened when she’d married Milo and had melted completely away after she’d finally gotten pregnant and had Leo. She couldn’t honestly say she’d forgotten Reese, but she hadn’t entertained any more thoughts of ever seeing him again.
Well, it was probably a moot point. She briskly straightened her papers again, then reached for the phone. She had work to do.
Thirty minutes later, one of the young men who worked for her at the marina skidded to a halt just inside her office door. “Hey, Mrs. P.! You gotta check this out! There’s an eighty-footer coming in. I swear it looks brand new!”
Celia rose from her desk, quickly pasting a semblance of a smile on her face as the kid babbled on about the incoming yacht. Most of the staff had worked for Milo before she’d taken over, and she hated for them to see her blue. Their spirits rose and fell right along with hers.
She went to the door eagerly, glad for the distraction. The kid was easily impressed, but if he was right, she wanted to see the yacht. The young worker said it was one of the newest models available—and one of the costliest. Extraordinary wealth was common in the area around the Cape but a brand-new yacht built to spec from any of the top makers was worth a close look. If only to drool over.
Walking to the door of the shack, she stepped out onto the pier, shading her eyes from the morning sun as she squinted southeast toward the opening of the small harbor. The sleek silhouette of a cruiser glided in and she watched as one of her staff directed its captain to a slip then waited until the boat was tied up. A man leaped from the deck of the yacht to the pier and conferred with the dock worker for a moment, and she saw the boy pointing her way.
The man came striding up the pier toward her. He was tall and rangy, with wide shoulders and a lean, easy movement to him that would make a woman look twice. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight—
And her heart dropped into her stomach where it promptly began doing backflips. The man coming up the pier was Reese Barone.
She barely had time to recover, to gather her stunned sensibilities into some semblance of a professional attitude. Thank God Roma had warned her that he was in the area.
“Hello,” she called as he drew near. “You need a temp mooring?”
“I do. I’d really like to get a slip at the dock if you have one available for short term.” The voice was very deep and very masculine, shivering along her hypersensitive nerve endings like the whisper of a feather over flesh. He extended a hand. “Celia. Dare I hope that you remember me?”
“Reese.” She cleared her throat as she took his hand, giving it one quick squeeze before sliding hers free and tucking it into the pocket of her windbreaker. Was it her imagination that made her feel as if her palm was tingling where their hands had met? “Welcome to South Harwich. It’s been a long time.” There. Nice and noncommittal.
“Thirteen years.”
She couldn’t look at him. “Something like that.”
“Exactly like that.” There was almost a thread of anger in his low tone, and it startled her into looking at him. Instantly, she was sorry. His eyes weren’t nearly as ordinary as she’d hoped, but as extraordinary as she’d remembered. Thick, dark lashes framed irises of gray. At the moment they looked as dark and stormy as his voice sounded. Crackling energy seemed to radiate from him. What could he have to be mad about? He was the one who’d taken off without a word.
“Mrs. Papaleo?” Angie, her office assistant, stuck her head out the door. “Maintenance is on the phone.”
Maintenance. She needed to take the call. She had to get the fourth piling replaced; it hadn’t been the same since that boat crashed into it on the Fourth. Angie could help Reese. Twenty-two and supremely capable, Angie Dunstan had worked for the marina since before Milo had died. Angie could charm a bird from its tree—and she’d be delighted to entertain Reese. Let her deal with him.
“I have to go,” she said to Reese. “Come on in the office and Angie can show you what’s available.”
“You’re the harbormaster?” There was a definite note of skepticism in his voice.
“Yes.” A small thrill of pride lifted her chin as she turned and headed back up the pier. But she couldn’t ignore the sensations that tingled through her as she walked. She could almost feel him behind her.
Well, it didn’t matter. He’d asked for temp space, which meant he’d be gone again in a few days.
“How long have you had the job?” he asked from behind her.
She didn’t turn around or slow down. “Over two years.”
“Somebody retire? I can’t even remember who worked this marina.”
She was at the door of the office by now, and she took a deep breath, turning to meet his eyes squarely. And just as it had in the old days, her stomach fluttered when those gray eyes gazed into hers. “My father-in-law was the harbormaster for years,” she said quietly. “When he died, my husband got the job. Then the selectmen offered it to me after Milo passed away.”
“I heard you were widowed.”
She nodded. God, how she hated that word.
“I’m sorry.”
She saw something move in his eyes and she looked away quickly. Compassion from Reese, of all people, would do her in. “Angie, how about putting Mr. Barone in the Margolies’ slip along pier four. They won’t be back until May and they gave us permission to rent it out on a temp basis.” She gave a perfunctory nod of her head without meeting his eyes again. “Enjoy your stay.”
Enjoy your stay.
That night, lying in the stateroom of his boat, Reese’s teeth ground together at the memory of Celia’s glib words. She’d blown him off as easily as she had thirteen years ago. No, he corrected himself, even more easily. Last time, she’d had her father do it.
Father. That led to thoughts of other things she’d said. Father-in-law. He knew, on an intellectual level, that time had passed. But he didn’t feel any older. And Celia still looked much the same. It was hard to believe she’d married and buried a husband since he’d seen her last.
Had she had something going with the Papaleo guy that summer while she’d been with him? His memory of this marina was vague, since his family had always kept their crafts at Saquatucket, but he could dimly recall the wiry Greek fellow who’d kept things in order years ago. He had an even less reliable memory of the man’s son, no more than another wiry figure, possibly taller than the older man.
No. If she’d cheated on him, he’d have known it. He’d been sure of Celia back in those days. She’d been his. All his.
He swore, gritting his teeth for an entirely different reason as his body reacted to the memories, and flipped onto his back.
Celia. God, she’d been so beautiful she’d taken his breath away. Today had been no different. How could that be? After thirteen years she shouldn’t look so damned good. She was thirty—he knew she’d just had a birthday at the end of September.
The thought pulled him up short. Why did he still remember the birthdate of a woman he’d slept with years ago for one brief summer?
She was your fantasy.
Yes, indeed. She had been his fantasy. At an age when a young man was particularly impressionable, Celia had been lithe, warm, adoring and pliable. If he’d suggested it, she’d rarely opposed him. She truly had been every man’s dream. But that was all she’d been, he assured himself. A dream.
A dream that had evaporated like the morning mist over the harbor once she’d heard the false rumor about him and that girl from Boston.
An old wave of bitterness welled up. He didn’t often allow himself to think about the last words he and his father had exchanged all those years ago. To people who asked, he merely said he had no family.
And he didn’t. He’d never opened nor answered the letters from his mother or his brothers and sisters, mostly because there was nothing to say. He hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, and he had nothing to apologize for. Nick had been the most persistent. Reese bet he’d gotten fifteen letters from his big brother in those first five years or so. There were probably more out there floating around. He’d sailed from place to place so much there would have been no way to predict his movements or the places he might have chosen to dock.
On the other hand, he’d never received so much as a single line from his father. That was all it would have taken, too. One line. I’m sorry.
He exhaled heavily. Why in the hell was he thinking about that tonight? It was ancient history. He had a family of his own now, was a very different person than he’d been more than a decade ago.
The thought brought Amalie to mind and he smiled to himself. He’d never pictured himself as a father, and he certainly wouldn’t recommend acquiring a child the way she’d come into his life, but he loved her dearly. If he could love a child who wasn’t even biologically his so much, what would it be like to have a child of his own?
As if she’d been waiting for the chance, Celia sprang into his head again. He was more than mildly shocked when he realized that, subconsciously, he’d always pictured her in the role of his imaginary child’s mother. Dammit! He was not going to waste any more time thinking about that faithless woman.
Throwing his legs over the side of his bunk, he yanked on a pair of ragged jeans and a sweatshirt and stomped through the rest of his living space to the stairs. On deck, he idly picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned the horizon. Nothing interesting, only one small fishing boat. A careless captain, too, he observed, running without lights.
Casually he swung the binoculars around to the shoreline. The area had been developed considerably since he’d been gone, as had the whole Cape and the rest of the Eastern seaboard. A lot of new houses, some right on the water. The only place that would still be undisturbed completely would be the Cape Cod National Seashore on the Outer Cape, but here along the Lower Cape he couldn’t see that.
The quiet sound of a small, well-tuned motor reached his ears and he glanced back toward the south. The little boat he’d seen was coming in, still without lights. Then the motor cut out and he saw the flash of oars. Why would the guy kill his power before he reached the dock?
The quiet plish of the oars came nearer. The boat was close enough that he could now see it easily without the binoculars, then closer still, and he realized the guy intended to put in right here at the marina.
There appeared to be only one sailor aboard, and a small one at that. Probably a teenager flouting the rules, which would explain his cutting the motor early and trying to sneak in. The boy tied up his boat and caught a ladder one-handed, nimbly climbing to the dock while carrying a fishing cooler in his other hand.
Reese grasped the smooth mahogany rail of his boat and vaulted over the edge onto the dock. He walked toward the boy, intending to give him a rough education in proper night lighting, but just then the boy walked beneath one of the floodlights that illuminated the marina.
The “boy” was Celia daSilva. No, not daSilva. Papaleo.
“Celia!” He didn’t even stop to think. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Of all the irresponsible, un—”
“Shh!” He’d clearly startled her, but she recovered quickly. She ran toward him, making next to no noise in her practical dockside slip-ons. Before he could utter another syllable, she clapped one small hand over his mouth.
Reese wasn’t a giant but he was a lot bigger than Celia, and the action brought her body perilously close to his. He could feel the heat of her, was enveloped in a smell so familiar it catapulted him instantly back in time to a day when he’d had the right to pull that small, lithe figure against him. His palms itched with the urge to do exactly that and he rubbed them against the sides of his jeans, trying to master the images that flooded his mind.
Her eyes were wide and dark, bled of any color in the deep shadow thrown by the angle at which she was standing. But he could see that she recognized the familiarity of their proximity almost as fast as he did.
“I can explain,” she whispered, her voice a breath of sound. “Just don’t make any more noise.”
The words had barely left her mouth when a light snapped on aboard a nearby yacht. “Mrs. Papaleo? Is that you?”
It was a deep, slightly accented male voice. Reese felt the vibration as the man leaped onto the dock, much as he had a moment before, and walked toward them.
“Don’t say anything,” Celia warned. To his astonishment, her hand cupped his jaw, sliding along it so that her thumb almost grazed the corner of his lips. At the same time he felt her bump his hip with the cooler she still carried. He lifted his own hands automatically, curling his fingers around the handle, over hers and putting his other hand at her waist. A part of him registered the fact that the cooler felt a lot lighter than it should if it was full of fish. But a larger part of him was much more attentive to Celia’s proximity, the way her soft hand felt curled under his and the way her palm cupped his jaw. Her hands were warm and he knew the slender body concealed beneath the wind shirt and jeans would be even warmer. Even softer.
She waited the barest instant until the man walking toward them couldn’t help but see the intimate pose, then she slowly stepped away a pace, letting her hands slide off him as if reluctant to let him go despite the interruption.
“Hello, Mr. Tiello,” she said. “It’s me. This is, uh, an old friend. Reese Barone. Reese, Ernesto Tiello.”
Reese stepped forward and extended his hand automatically, trying to ignore his racing pulse. What was she up to? She’d deliberately made it sound as if he were a very good old friend. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you, sir.” Tiello was a bulky fellow, probably ten years older than Reese himself, with a heavy accent that might indicate nonnative roots. The man looked from one to the other of them. “Were you out on the water?”
“Yes.” Celia turned to face Tiello. Her free hand reached for and found Reese’s and she intertwined their fingers. “A little night fishing. We used to do it all the time when we were young.”
A gleam of amusement lit the dark eyes and Tiello smiled. “I see.”
Reese felt his own lips twitch as he fought not to chuckle. Celia was going to be sorry she started this.
Another boat light along the dock snapped on. “I thought I heard your voice, Ernesto.” The voice was feminine, smoky and suggestive. It instantly made a man wonder if the woman attached to it lived up to its promise.
Tiello’s tanned features creased into what Reese assumed was a seductive smile. “It is, indeed, and I’m flattered that you thought of me, Claudette.”
A form leaped from the deck of the yacht from which the light shone. Backlit by the brightness, the woman appeared tall and slender. Then she drew closer. She had blond hair caught in a thick braid that trailed over one shoulder so far that Reese knew if it was unbound her hair would reach her hips. Big blue eyes, a heart-shaped face and a slight cleft in her chin added even more interest to her pretty face, but the mouth changed it all. “Pretty” became “sexy as hell” at the first glimpse of those lips.
“Hello,” she purred, extending her hand and favoring him with a brilliant smile that revealed small, perfect white teeth. “I’m Claudette Mason.”
“Reese Barone.” He repeated the ritual he’d just completed with Tiello, who was wearing a distinctly sulky look on his face.
“Did you just arrive?” Her gaze drifted over him. “I’m sure I would have noticed if you’d been here earlier.”
“I docked a few hours ago.” Celia’s fingers had gone stiff and uncooperative in his; he glanced down at her but she was wearing an absolutely expressionless mask that would have served her well in a poker game.
“I hope you’ll be here for a while. We could get to know each other.” Claudette had yet to acknowledge Celia’s presence, let alone the fact that he was holding her hand.
“Er, thanks,” he said, “but I’ll be occupied while I’m here.” He dragged Celia’s hand up with his to display their entwined fingers. “Celia and I haven’t seen each other in a while and we have a lot to catch up on.”
“Ah. I see.” Claudette Mason made a moue of regret. Without even a pause, she turned back to Tiello. “Could I interest you in a drink, Ernesto? Mr. Brevery has gone to Boston for the night.”
The man’s face brightened as if she’d brought him a gift. “I would be delighted,” he said. He turned to Celia and Reese. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Barone. Have a lovely evening, Mrs. Papaleo.”
“Thank you. You do the same.” Celia tugged discreetly at the hand he’d lowered, but he kept her fingers imprisoned in his. “Are you ready to go, Reese?”
As the other pair walked back down the dock toward the woman’s yacht—the Golden Glow, he noted—he lifted a brow and looked down at Celia. “Sure.” In a lower voice, he added, “But it might be nice if I knew where I was supposed to be going.”
“You’ll have to walk home with me.” Celia sounded grumpy and grudging as they moved out of range of the other couple, and he felt his own surly mood creeping back over him. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
Reese nodded. “I guess.” Sarcasm colored his tone as he allowed her to tow him along the dock toward the street.
“Thank you,” she said curtly. “I appreciate you going along with my…my…”
“Deception?” he offered pleasantly. “Fabrication? How about lie?”
They were walking along the edge of the harbor now and as she turned onto a street away from the marina, Celia yanked her hand free. “There’s a good reason.” Her voice sounded defensive.
“I imagine so,” he said, allowing the cutting edge in his voice to slice, “since I can’t think of any reason you’d want to hold my hand after dumping me thirteen years ago.”
“I dumped you?” Celia stopped in her tracks. “Excuse me, but I seem to recall you being the one who dropped off the face of the earth.” Then she started walking again, fast, and despite his superior size, he had to take large strides to catch up with her. “Why are we arguing? As you pointed out, it’s ancient history. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He could feel the anger slipping free of his control and he clamped down on it, gritting his teeth to prevent another retort. It made him remember gritting his teeth in a very similar manner—but for a very different reason—just a short while ago, and he pulled up a vivid mental image of himself smacking the heel of his hand against his forehead. How stupid would I have to be, he lectured himself, to care about what happened when we were still practically kids? He wasn’t any more interested than she was in resurrecting their old relationship.
“No,” he said softly, definitely. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
They walked in awkward silence for a few hundred yards.
“Who’s Mr. Brevery?” It was an abrupt change of topic but he wanted to show her how little he cared about the past.
Celia cleared her throat. “Claudette’s employer. He’s put up here every October for at least a half dozen years.”
“And Tiello?”
Her mouth twisted. “Playboy. Too much money and too much time to waste. This is the third year he’s visited us in the fall.”
The same probably applied to him in her estimation. So what? He’d stopped caring what Celia thought of him long ago. “So why were you out on the water with no lights?”
She looked around and he realized she was checking to be sure no one was near. “I’d rather tell you when we’re inside.”
Inside. She was going to invite him into her house. Although he knew she was only doing it because she’d entangled him in whatever little scheme she was up to, he still felt a quickening interest, as if he were still a teenage boy who saw a chance to score.
She broke your heart, remember? You’re not interested.
Right. That’s why you came back after you stopped by Saquatucket in late August and found out she was still around.
“Here,” she said. She pushed open a gate in a low picket fence and led the way up a crushed-shell path to the door of a boxy Cape Cod farmhouse-style home. The place clearly was an old Cape treasure. She paused on the stoop to unlock the door, then pushed it open and beckoned to him without meeting his eyes. “Please come in.”
Formal. She was nervous. About having him around? About what he’d interrupted? He told himself it didn’t matter. “Nice place,” he said. When she was young, she’d lived in one of the most modest cottages on the Cape. This house probably was on the historic register.
The living room was furnished with heavy pieces in shades of creams and browns, with an irregularly shaped glass coffee table mounted atop a large piece of driftwood. Over the mantel hung a painting of the harbor as it must have looked a hundred years ago, with small fishing boats moored along the water’s edge, stacks of lobster pots and nets piled haphazardly and a shell path leading to small, boxy cottages similar to the one in which he stood. There was a bowl filled with dried cranberries on the coffee table, and as he watched, she switched on additional lights.
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “It was my husband’s family home for four generations.”
“Your husband the harbormaster.”
“Yes.” She sounded faintly defensive. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No.” He flopped down into a comfortably overstuffed chair without invitation. “I’d like an explanation.”
Two
Celia took a deep, nervous breath, trying to calm the fluttering muscles of her stomach. What on earth had possessed her to involve Reese in this mess? She’d reacted instinctively, knowing she’d had no time to waste. And knowing Reese was safe. The one thing she did know was that he couldn’t possibly be involved. That would have required him to be in the area in the last few years.
“I was looking for drug smuggling activity.”
“Drug smugglers?” He sounded incredulous. The faint air of hostility she’d sensed from him disappeared as he sat up straight and stared at her.
She perched on the edge of the couch and clasped her hands together. “It’s imperative that none of the clients along the dock learn about it.”
“Why?”
“It’s possible that someone moored here could be a part of a drug operation.”
“So when I came along and blew the whistle, you decided to use me as a cover?” Reese’s eyes were intent, unsmiling.
She shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. You were shouting loud enough to wake folks on the other side of town.”
The side of his mouth twitched, as if he were struggling not to smile. “Sorry.” He leaned back against the rough fabric of the chair, stretched out his long legs, then looked at her skeptically. “Drug smuggling?”
She popped up off the couch, uncomfortable with his questions and annoyed at the derisive tone. “I’m not crazy,” she said defensively. “You’d be amazed at the amount of illegal stuff that goes on around here.”
He laughed aloud, but she had the sense that he was laughing at her rather than with her. “I’ve been in dozens of harbors along dozens of shorelines and, believe me, I’ve seen more kinds of ‘illegal stuff’ than you could imagine. I’m just wondering what you think you can do about it.”
“Maybe nothing.” She carefully looked past him, hoping her face wasn’t too transparent.
“Celia.” He waited until she reluctantly dragged her gaze back to mesh with his. “You could be putting yourself in serious danger. Drug runners are criminals. They wouldn’t think twice about hurting you if they caught you spying on them. Leave the investigation to the law enforcement guys who get paid to do it.”
She wanted to laugh, an entirely inappropriate reaction, and she bit the inside of her lip hard. If he only knew! “I’ll be careful,” she said.
“Careful isn’t good enough.” His tone was harsh. “Do you think I’m kidding about getting hurt? This isn’t a game—”
“I know it’s not!” Her voice overrode his. “They killed my husband and my son.” Dear God, help me. She couldn’t believe she’d blurted that out.
The words hung in the air, still stunning her after two years. She collapsed again on the couch like a balloon that had lost its helium, putting her face in her hands. An instant later she realized that Reese’s weight was settling onto the cushions beside her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. A large, warm hand settled on her back and rubbed gentle circles as if she were a baby in need of soothing. “I am so sorry, Celia. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t expect you would.” She pressed the heels of her palms hard against her eyes, pushing back the tears. She wasn’t a crier; tears accomplished nothing but making you feel like you needed a nap to recharge the batteries you drained bawling. “It was just local news.” Except to me.
There was a small silence. “Tell me what happened.”
She hadn’t spoken of it in a long time. Not even to Roma, who she knew worried over her silence. But for some reason, she felt compelled to talk tonight. Maybe it was because she had a certain degree of familiarity with Reese due to their shared past. Maybe it was because he hadn’t known her family and therefore could be less emotionally involved. Most likely it was because she knew he wouldn’t be around long and it wouldn’t matter.
Drawing in a deep breath, she sighed heavily and shifted back against the couch, her hands falling limp in her lap. Reese sat close, his arm now draped along the back of the couch behind her shoulders. It should have bothered her, but the numbness that had been so familiar in that first horrible year of her bereavement was with her again, and she couldn’t work up the energy to mind.
“We only had been married for two years when Milo’s dad passed away and Milo was asked to take over as harbormaster. He’d been raised on the pier and he knew the work already.” She smiled briefly, looking into the past. “He was good at it. Everybody liked Milo.”
Reese didn’t speak, although she saw him nod encouragingly in her peripheral vision.
“Our son was born three years later. We named him Emilios, like his father and grandfather. Leo was his nickname. I had worked at the marina but I stayed home with him after he was born.” The numbness was fading and she concentrated on breathing deeply and evenly, forming the words with care. Anything to keep from letting the words shred her heart again.
“When Leo was two, Milo mentioned to me that he thought there was something funny going on down toward Monomoy Island. One night in September he came home and told me he’d called the FBI, that he was pretty certain some kind of illegal contraband was being brought ashore.”
“That was smart.” Reese’s voice was quiet.
“He didn’t know what else to do,” she said. “After he showed them where he thought the action was happening, he stayed away. The federal agents got a lot of information from him and that was it. Almost a year passed and nothing happened that we knew of. We figured they probably were proceeding cautiously, starting some kind of undercover operation. And then one day Milo took Leo with him on an errand over to Nantucket. Halfway across the sound, their boat exploded.”
Reese swore vividly. “What happened?”
She took another deep, careful breath. “At first I assumed it was an accident. Just a horrible, awful accident. And then federal agents came around one day and told me there had been an explosive device attached to the bottom of the boat. It had been detonated by someone close enough to see them go out on the water.”
She stopped speaking and there was silence in the room, broken only by the steady tick-tock of the old captain’s clock Milo’s father had restored. She wound it every morning when she came downstairs.
“How old was your—Leo?”
Her heart shrank from the question. She could deal with this if she just didn’t think too much about it. But she couldn’t talk about Leo. She just couldn’t. “Two and a half. He would have started kindergarten next year.” Her voice quavered. Shut up, shut up. Stop talking. “He was very blond, like I was as a child, and he had big velvety-brown eyes. He adored his daddy and there was nothing he loved better than going out on the…the boat w-with Milo.” Her voice was beginning to hitch as sobs forced their way out.
She felt Reese’s arms come hard around her, pulling her to his chest as the floodgates of long-suppressed grief opened. “Shh.” His voice came dimly through the storm of agony that swept over her.
“I wish—I w-wish I’d died, too.” She stuffed a fist in her mouth, appalled at voicing the thought that had lived in her head since the terrible day she’d buried her husband and her baby boy.
“Shh,” he said again. “I know.” She felt a big hand thread through her hair, cupping her scalp and gently massaging. He’d done that years ago, she remembered, when she’d been upset with her father’s reaction to him the day she’d introduced them.
Abruptly, it was all too much. Her father, her family, Reese…
She cried for a long, long time. Reese did nothing, simply held her while she soaked the front of his sweatshirt with tears. At one point he reached over to the end table and snagged a box of tissues—probably afraid she’d use his shirt to blow her nose—but he didn’t let go of her and as soon as he handed her a tissue he put his arm around her again.
His hands were big and warm and comforting. His arms made her feel ridiculously secure. She hadn’t allowed herself to lean on anyone in so long….
Reese tilted his head and glanced down at the sleeping woman in his arms. He’d been shaken to the core by her flat recital earlier. His problems, his issues with his family, seemed petty in comparison.
Not for the first time, he wondered if his parents were still living, if his siblings were all right. Some of them might be married now. For all he knew, he could be an uncle. He’d frozen them forever in his mind, but they’d moved on with their lives just as he had.
Although he really hadn’t. In more than a dozen years he’d done nothing of note besides win a few silly boat races here and there. He’d made plenty of money and given a lot of it away, but he couldn’t think of one single lasting thing of importance that he’d leave behind if he died tomorrow. Except Amalie, and he couldn’t take credit for her.
Celia must feel like that, too. Only it must be worse knowing that she had had something lasting and it was gone. A steady relationship and a child to carry on her genes—yes, it was much worse for her. He was sure her marriage had been good, just from the way she uttered her husband’s name, as if the mere speaking of it could evoke warm, fond feelings of affection. A ridiculous feeling of jealousy swept through him. She wasn’t his, hadn’t been his for years. She’d chosen another man. And yes, she’d definitely had something lasting…until it had been ripped away from her in one brutal moment.
Jealousy faded beneath compassion and pity. I wish I’d died, too. What would it be like to lose the people you loved most in the world? Particularly the child. God, losing someone close to you, a friend, was bad enough, as he well knew. And he had firsthand experience with a child who’d lost her parents. But to have your child go before you— He shivered, thinking of his adopted six-year-old daughter, Amalie, a bright butterfly flitting through his life, bringing radiant colors to his days. It wasn’t natural for any child to die and there was no way to accept it. He couldn’t even imagine what he would do if he ever lost Ammie.
And she wasn’t even his. Well, she was now, thanks to the adoption laws of the State of Florida. But her parents had been his best racing buddy, Kent, and his wife, Julie. They’d died at sea before Amalie’s second birthday and he’d been called on to honor his pledge to be Amalie’s godfather in a far more intimate way than any of them ever had expected.
He lifted one hand and wearily rubbed his temples. He needed to call down to the Keys where he’d made his home, to check in with Velva, his housekeeper, nanny and surrogate mother all rolled into one, to talk to Amalie. This was the first time he’d left her in the four years since her parents had died and he hadn’t been sure it was a good idea. But Velva and Amalie’s teacher both had urged him to take a few weeks for himself. He hadn’t sailed anywhere alone since Kent and Julie had died and he’d finally let himself be talked into this vacation. He’d decided to have one last carefree fling before selling the cruiser. He was a man who had responsibilities now. No more world-cruising for him.
One carefree fling? Ha. The minute you heard Celia was still around, you made plans to come back up here and see her for yourself.
He pulled his head back farther to look at Celia. Hard to believe she was lying here in his arms, even if it was only because she needed comfort. She’d wept silently, her slender body set in tense denial as huge tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked the fabric of both their shirts, until he’d told her to stop holding it in. And then she’d finally broken. She’d let him draw her against his chest and she’d sobbed and sobbed. Awful, desolate sounds that had made his own throat ache. How the hell long had it been since she’d let herself cry? Surely the woman had friends, if not family, around. She’d lived here all her life.
But there was something almost austere about Celia now that she hadn’t had when she was young. The woman she was now didn’t need people—or didn’t want to need them, he’d bet. The woman she’d been when he’d known her, a flower just in the first fresh moments of full bloom, had had no such boundaries. She’d been free with her hugs and her bright silvery laughter; her face had been open and alive, always smiling. And when she’d seen him coming, that smile had lit up the world.
As he thought of the girl he’d known, another memory floated through his head. It wasn’t of the first time they’d made love. Though he could remember that, too. She’d been a virgin and it hadn’t been particularly fun for her, he suspected, although she’d never told him so, and she’d made him feel like the king of the world.
No, the memory that haunted him was of an entirely different time….
“Reese! It’s the middle of summer a-and it’s broad daylight. There are tourists everywhere!”
He laughed, enjoying the way her eyes widened when he took her hand and pulled her down onto the deck of the catamaran, his purpose clear. It was a small boat with no cabin, but it did have a low railing around the deck. If they were careful… He’d fantasized about making love to Celia under the bright summer sun since the first time they’d been together more than two months ago.
“This little bay is fairly private, though.” He slid his hands over her bare, tanned torso, gently tugging at the strings that tied her bikini top into place until he could toss the scrap of cloth aside. “It’s an unwritten law of the sea. You never approach a moored boat if you’ve hailed them and nobody answers.”
Her finely arched eyebrows rose. “I can think of a dozen times I’ve broken that rule myself.”
But she wasn’t really arguing with him. Her small hands ran lightly up his arms, over the swell of his biceps and onto his shoulders, and she shivered, falling silent as he flicked his thumbs over her nipples, bringing them to beautiful taut points. He’d never seen her before in bright light and her skin was so satiny, her peaks and valleys so smoothly curved, that she literally stopped his breath.
“Celia.” He breathed her name as if it were a prayer, finding her mouth with easy familiarity, feeling the thrill that always shot through him at her instant response.
“I love you.” Her words were a whisper of sound, barely audible as he nibbled his way along her jaw, then slid his mouth down the tender column of her neck, pressing kisses to the delicate arch of her collarbone. He trailed his tongue along her skin, catching the faint scent that wasn’t perfume but merely the essence of her.
“You’re so beautiful.” His palms cupped the sweet weight of her breasts and he drew back just far enough to feast his eyes on the soft, feminine flesh he’d uncovered. Her nipples were a glowing coppery color, begging him to taste them, and he leaned down again, touching her with his tongue, lightly at first, then tugging her fully into his mouth to suckle one tender tip until she arched against him, twisting and crying out.
Smiling against her skin, he released one tight nubbin and blew on it. Celia’s eyes flew open. “Reese…” Her hands had been clutching his shoulders. Dragging them down over his chest, she indulged in a little teasing of her own, running her fingers through the dark mat of hair that spread across his breastbone and arrowed downward. She touched his flat nipples, rubbing small circles, making his breath come faster as the sensation triggered an even more intense need within him.
As she trailed one finger down along the ribbon of hair to his navel and beyond, he stripped out of his bathing suit one-handed and kicked it away without leaving her. The mere act of freeing himself from the restrictions of clothing turned him on even more as he felt the warm air move over him, the sun hot on his back. All that lay between them now was one tiny piece of fabric. He stroked her ribs, her hips, her belly, moving slowly down her body, savoring her. He loved the feel of every smooth inch. His finger skimmed the delicate dip of her navel and farther, over her hipbone and down to where the elastic of her bathing suit bottom impeded his exploration.
With slow, deliberate motions, he slipped a finger beneath the elastic and ran it back and forth, then delved a bit deeper until his long fingers combed through the dense mat of curls between her legs. She was dewed and slippery, and she arched beneath him, one long silken leg curving up over his hip and pulling him hard against her. They both made small sounds of delight as their bodies reacted to the sweet pressure.
Gently, reluctantly, he slid away from her long enough to hook his fingers in the fabric and pull it down and off. Celia watched him, her breath rushing in and out, but as the sun poured over her gloriously naked body, she made a motion to cover herself with her hands. “This makes me feel…exposed.”
He chuckled, lowering himself to her, taking her wrists and pulling them up beside her shoulders as he covered her. He shifted, snuggling himself firmly into the cleft of her thighs, groaning a little at the exquisite pressure that resulted from sandwiching himself between them. “Is this better?”
She smiled up at him, her lips quivering slightly. “Yes. But what if someone—”
He covered her mouth with his own again, using his tongue to draw a response from her until she was fully engaged in the kiss. When he released her wrists she clasped his shoulders, clinging to him, pressing her bare flesh against his chest and making him growl with approval. He worked one hand between their bodies, bypassing his straining flesh in favor of the soft fleece that hid her feminine secrets. Slowly, slowly, he inched one finger down, until he felt the pouting bump beneath his finger. Equally slowly, he pressed and circled gently, ignoring his body’s urgent demands until she was writhing and frantic beneath him.
“Reese,” she begged him, tearing her mouth from his. “Reese…”
“What, baby?” He used the moment to push his hand farther between her thighs, loving the slick, moist heat and the fact that he’d been the one to make her respond that way. “Do you want me?”
She nodded, reaching one small hand down to encircle him. He groaned as an involuntary surge of excitement threatened his self-control. She’d only recently gotten brave enough to touch him but she was a fast learner and the mere thought of what she could do to him— Under the circumstances, he thought, it might not be such a good idea. As she traced one finger across the sensitive tip, he reared back, removing himself from her grasp. He set his hands on her inner thighs, pressing them apart and looking at the secret treasure they yielded.
Celia reached for him, her modesty all but forgotten. “Hurry…”
He was dragged from his reverie by Celia’s hand, which he held loosely in his, slowly rising to tuck her hair away from her face. It was only quick thinking that kept him from pulling her hand down to palm the hard ridge pushing at the front of his pants. Her eyelids fluttered as she stretched and he caught his breath, further aroused by both the memory and the soft slide of her body against his. Then her eyes opened and she blinked at him. “Reese.” She didn’t sound surprised, only cordial and a bit wary. “What time is it?”
He glanced at the old clock that had faithfully announced the hour as well as the half all night long. “Nearly six. Sleep well?”
“Nearly six?” She tried to shove herself upright. “Oh, no! You were here all night.”
“Yeah.” He held her easily in place though he was careful not to settle her too snugly into his lap. There was no way she could miss the evidence that would betray his thoughts if she lay against him any more closely. “Relax,” he said, stroking her back. “All we did was sleep. Literally.”
“Yes, but—”
“And you did make sure those folks down on the pier knew that I was coming home with you, remember? This will just make your story more convincing.”
She stopped pushing against him, but her body felt stiff. It made him realize just how much he’d liked having her draped bonelessly over him in slumber. They’d never slept together all night way back when…and he was reminded of his daydream before she woke.
Without giving himself time to think, he asked, “Do you remember the first time we did it on the boat? We fell asleep afterward and my butt got sunburned.”
“Reese!” A startled half laugh burst out of her and she sat up again, pushing herself away from him as he reluctantly let her go. “What brought that on?”
He shrugged, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. “I was thinking about that summer.” He didn’t need to clarify. “So do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Remember.”
She was avoiding his eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I remember.”
“That was the first time we ever made love on a boat.” He was gratified to see that she was breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her soft T-shirt. Oh, yeah. She remembered.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” She shot off the couch and stood over him, rubbing her arms briskly as if she were cold and her velvety-brown eyes held a determined look. “Are you leaving?”
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