Almost Forever (33 page)

T
he room lay in shadow. Andrea stood in the door to the hall and looked toward a glass door that led onto a deck. Beyond the deck was the huge, dark, star-scattered sky and the black shapes of distant hills. A sliver of moon hung just above the hills.

It was a beautiful view, Andrea thought. Lucky Clay, to go to sleep every night in a place such as this.

Clay stood behind her. Light as a breath, his hands rubbed her arms. She felt the touch of his mouth at her nape and shivered as his lips caressed her.

Andrea leaned back a little, her body giving a sensual signal to which Clay's arms instantly responded. He pulled her close so she felt him more fully against her and his hands came around her, seeking and finding her breasts.

Andrea moaned. Clay cupped her breasts, felt for the response of the nipples and then rubbed them, so they hardened more through the fabric of her clothing. And then his hands were on the bow at her neck, pulling it loose,
slipping buttons free. The front of her blouse fell open. He took it from behind and peeled it away. As he had in the office, he began sliding down straps, getting her underclothes out of his way.

Slowly and with great care, he undressed her. As he removed her clothes, he pressed his body against her back. He kissed her neck and caressed her in long, gentle strokes, making her burn hotter and then hotter still.

The moment came when she was naked. Her clothes were over there and she was over here. Clay turned her so she faced him and then he guided her backward to the bed. He pushed her down. His eyes were burning her again.

Clay backed away from her to turn on a light, just a little one, in a corner. By its soft glow, she could see him. And he could see her. He still wore all his clothes, except for his jacket, which he had shed with his coat downstairs. He approached the bed once more.

When he stood over her, she reached for the buttons of his shirt. But then he knelt on the bed beside her and put his hand on her, there, in her most secret place.

Andrea gasped, shocked. And then she realized how totally she was aroused. She could feel her own wetness. She was like a river down there.

“Yes,” Clay said softly. He began to move his hand.

Andrea cried aloud. Her body responded, found the rhythm he was showing her. Nothing else mattered but the magic of his stroking hand. She closed her eyes, sure she would faint, it was so glorious. And all he did was touch her, in this way that should have embarrassed her, but only made her want to beg for more.

Clay said, “You're ready.”

Andrea moaned and lifted her hips again. And then his hand went still. She opened her eyes a little and saw that he was pulling off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt.

She rose up enough to help him, though it meant she lost the fabulous intimate caress of his hand. She didn't care. She knew what he hungered for. And she wanted it, too.

It was crucial, essential. He had to be pressed to her, naked as she was. He had to be inside her. Now.

Sooner
than now….

Andrea shoved Clay's shirt off his shoulders, helped him tear it off his arms. Swiftly they pulled at his clothes together, getting rid of them, getting them off and away.

And then he rose over her. Oh, he was so wonderful to see. The powerful, sculpted shoulders, the strong arms, the hard, deep chest. His manhood jutted out from the silky nest of brown hair.

Slowly Clay lowered himself upon her. She felt the satiny length of him going in. And it was everything. It was what she had always dreamed. The man of her impossible girlhood fantasies. Made flesh.

He was all the way in. It was the most marvelous, fulfilling ache Andie had ever known. She tried to move.

But he didn't let her. He levered up on his hands and held her fast with his body.

Andie licked her lips. They were so dry. She would die if he didn't let her move.

Clay looked down at her, pushed against her one sweet, tantalizing thrust. He pulled back. And then he groaned. And his face went softer. He slid deep into her once more. She lifted her hips to better receive him.

And at last, he was moving, pushing in and out in long, delicious strokes.

It was such heaven. Oh, she had always known that it could be like this. Her whole body was shimmering. The fulfillment was building.

Andrea longed for the feel of him along the length of her. She lifted her arms, tried to pull him close.

“No,” he said. “I want to watch you. I want to see your face.” His hips kept moving, the length of him going in and slowly, so slowly, pulling back out.

She felt frantic, so hungry, so needful. She was reaching, reaching…

And he was murmuring things, little hot urgent things. She moved faster. He moved with her, picking up each of her body's signals, before she could send them, it seemed.

She reached for him again. And when he still wouldn't come down to her, she stroked his shoulders and the hot, smooth, powerful flesh of his chest. Her fingers moved over him, swift as the wings of a butterfly, learning every contour, committing him to memory.

She had always known him. She had
never
known him….

And then it happened. A pulsing. An expanding and a rippling outward of sensation. Andrea cried out.

Clay whispered, “Yes.”

The pulsing went on, to encompass all that she was, to free her for the briefest eternity from her doubts and her unhappiness and from all that remained unsaid and undecided.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Clay was caught up, too. She felt him push strongly into her, a movement of his own need, his own hunger that had claimed him at last.

He groaned, a sound of both pleasure and pain. He thrust once more. They both held absolutely still.

She dared to look at him. He met her eyes. The pulsing went on and on.

They whispered “Yes” in unison.

A moment. Forever. And then a gentle fading. Stark wonder became a kind of glow.

Clay sighed. He lowered himself carefully upon her. She
welcomed the warmth and hardness of him against her slowing heart.

Gently he rolled to the side, holding her with him, so that they lay facing each other, still joined, arms and legs entwined. He stroked her damp hair and kissed her moist cheek. Andrea cuddled up closer to him, curling her arms against his chest, wrapping him tighter with her legs.

It came to her that something wonderful had happened; she was completely at peace.

Clay said in a whisper that was tired, yet triumphant, “Now you're
both
mine.”

She knew what he meant. Both herself and the baby. And she had no desire to argue with him. Perhaps his claim was true. In any case, she understood right then that what had just happened changed everything.

Clay went on gently stroking her hair. For the first time in days Andrea felt totally relaxed. She felt safe. It was okay to give in to exhaustion. She drifted off to sleep.

 

When Andrea awoke the room was flooded with daylight. She was warm and cozy under the covers. And she was alone.

She sat up and looked for a clock, finding one on the stand on the opposite side of the bed. It was after ten in the morning. She had slept for more than twelve hours.

She stretched and realized she felt quite rested. Her stomach growled. She was starved. She also had to answer nature's call. Badly.

She smiled as she saw the man's robe Clay had left for her at the foot of the bed. Then she tossed back the covers and jumped from the bed, grabbing up the robe and shoving her arms into it as she ran for the master bath.

After relieving herself, she left the private stall that housed the commode and went back out to the main part of the big
bathroom. She washed her hands in the sink and stood before the wall-to-wall mirror to run one of Clay's brushes through the wild tangle of her hair.

Her stomach growled again. She really was starved. But aside from hunger, she felt just fine. No queasiness at all. Her morning sickness, which had never confined itself to the morning at all, had been fading for the past week or two. She wasn't the least bit sad to see it go.

Andie turned sideways in the mirror, looking at her stomach. In a feminine gesture as old as motherhood, she put her hand there. It was still flat, nothing showing at all through the heavy bulk of Clay's robe. There was, however, a slight roundness when she was nude.

Nude. Andie blushed a little, thinking of the night before. Clay had been careful with her, in spite of the intensity of what they'd shared. Careful for the baby's sake.

Andie smiled, a dreamy smile. She probably shouldn't feel so wonderful. The only thing that had happened was good sex.

But then, since she'd never had good sex before, she supposed she had a right to feel a little wonderful about it.

“You're awake.”

With a small exclamation of surprise, Andie shifted her glance to see Clay in the mirror. He was leaning in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing jeans and a snug, dark blue T-shirt, watching her.

She set down the brush and turned to him, tightening the sash of the robe. “How long have you been standing there?”

He was grinning. “Long enough.”

“It's not nice to spy on people.”

“I know.” He contrived a remorseful expression, though she knew very well he wasn't the least contrite.

“Then why do you do it?”

His beautiful shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Because I've always done it. At least, where you're concerned.”

“That's no reason.”

“I know.”

She planted her hands on her hips, feeling devilish, feeling really good. “How am I going to start an argument with you if you refuse to be goaded?”

He left the doorway then and came toward her. “I don't know. Maybe we'll just have to forget about arguing for now.”

Her body seemed to be humming again, the way it had been last night. “That wouldn't be normal. We
always
argue.”

He was less than an arm's distance away. He reached out and took the sash of the robe from her fingers. He gave a tug.

She landed against his chest with a soft little sigh. “Don't we?” she prompted, since he had said nothing.

“Don't we what? I forgot what we were talking about.” He lowered his mouth and kissed her, slowly, sweetly and thoroughly. Andie forgot what they'd been talking about, too, as she slid her hands up to link around his neck.

When the kiss ended he continued to hold her close, stroking her hair and her back. “Hungry?” He breathed the word against her temple.

She pulled back, though she stayed in the circle of his arms. “Am I ever. I could eat your tractor. Have you eaten?”

“Hours ago.”

“You should have woken me up.”

“No, I shouldn't. You needed the sleep. Want breakfast?”

“Yes, and a shower.”

“In which order?”

“I don't care.”

“Go ahead and shower. I'll cook you some eggs.”

“Three. Over easy. And toast. With butter and jam.”

 

Andrea's eggs were waiting when she came downstairs dressed in her rumpled skirt and blouse from the night before.

Clay cast a glance at her clothes. She read the look. He was wondering if she was planning to leave as soon as she ate. But he didn't ask her about it. And she was glad he didn't. Because she didn't know yet just what she was going to do.

“I heated some water,” he said. “For your tea.”

It touched her that he had noticed she wasn't drinking coffee anymore. But maybe that was silly, for her to be touched about that. Of course Clay would notice. He noticed
everything,
always had.

“Thank you.” Andie sat down and spread her napkin on her lap.

“I only have regular tea, though, not that peppermint kind you drink at work.”

“Regular tea is fine.” She picked up her fork and started to eat. It was so
good.
She forced herself to eat slowly so she wouldn't end up feeling nauseated, after all.

Clay poured the hot water over a tea bag and placed the cup at her side. Then he poured himself some coffee and sat opposite her chair.

After Andie had finished two of the eggs and half of the toast, the sharp edge of her hunger was blunted. She savored the rest of the meal. At last, she pushed the plate away.

“That was wonderful.”

He took a sip from his coffee. His eyes were serious.

She knew what was coming. “Oh, Clay.”

“We have to talk about it.”

“No. We don't. Not right now.”

He shook his head. “Andie, Andie. What is it with you? Never do today what you can put off till tomorrow?”

There was a window beside the breakfast table. Andie looked
out over the lower deck, over the hillside that sloped away beneath the house and the gnarled live oaks that clung there.

“Look at me, Andie.”

She did as he demanded. And took issue with his analysis of her. “I'm not really like that, not about most things. I'm not a procrastinator anymore. If you're going to judge me, please judge me as I am, not as I used to be.”

“Fair enough. But still, about this particular subject you
are
putting me off.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Maybe. I don't know. I admit, since last night…”

“What?”

“I feel differently.”

He leaned on the table. The intensity in him came at her like waves of heat from an oven. She knew the strength of his will and the way he was holding himself in check. “Differently, how?”

“I feel kind of hopeful.”

“About you and me?”

“Yes.” She found she was blushing. “I, um, never felt anything like that before.”

He was puzzled. “You never felt hopeful before?”

“No. I mean I never felt anything like what happened last night.”

“Good.”

Andie gave a little cough, because her throat felt dry. “It looks like, if nothing else, we could get along in bed.”