Coming Home (10 page)

Damn, she was in trouble.

Not willing to acknowledge it, she tore her attention off him and began to strip out of her own clothes. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, merely watching as she lifted her shirt and pulled it over her head. A loud squawk of a seagull sounded overhead, but just before it had broken the silence, she’d have sworn she heard him groan softly. She heard the sound again when she pushed her shorts off her hips to reveal the tiny pink bikini bottoms.

“Jesus, Nick…”

Suddenly feeling every one of her
many
bared inches of skin, she tilted her head back, willing him not to think she’d bought the suit just to try to catch his interest.

And interested he was. He didn’t seem able to tear his gaze off her. He lifted a hand, rubbing it over his square jaw, and swallowed hard.

Heat swirled between them and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the air. This came strictly from inside them. It was old—primal—and powerful. Heaven help them, after all they'd been through, and all the years that had passed, they
both
wanted to fall together on the sand and give in to the powerful hunger encompassing them. She knew it. He knew it. They didn’t have to speak it.

The possibility hung there for a second. Only, of course, it wasn’t possible. They weren’t alone on the beach, anyone could walk by. And a huge amount of baggage stood between them, creating a nearly insurmountable barrier.

Finally, releasing a hissed breath through his teeth, he muttered, “Ready?”

She nodded, turning toward the ocean. Wyatt, with his long-legged stride, reached the water first, not waiting for her, as if he didn’t quite trust himself to. By the time she hit the foamy surf, he was already several yards away, jeweled drops of wet sunshine sparkling on that smooth, delicious-looking skin.

The surf wasn't too rough and the ocean's temperature did a lot to cool Nicole, both mentally and physically. Wyatt splashed her and swam out further, his strong arms cutting evenly through the waves as he paralleled the shore. She treaded water, watching him silently.

"Too bad we don't have a surf board," he teased as he swam back toward her. "You used to say you wanted to learn how."

"Who needs a board?"

Eyeing an approaching wave, Nicole dove toward shore, allowing the surf to push her on top of the water. She sensed Wyatt right beside her and kicked her feet to propel herself ahead of him. She enjoyed herself thoroughly...right up until the second the current caught her bathing suit top. Feeling the ties giving way around her back, she cursed the new bikini and immediately dropped beneath the surface. Unfortunately, she'd ridden the wave too close to shore and could feel rough sand and rocks only a couple of feet beneath her. No way could she stand up. Nearly out of breath, she lifted her head out to gulp a mouthful of air.

"Problem?" Wyatt asked with an amused grin.

"Not at all," she snapped.

He stood just a few feet away, staring down at her. She suddenly wondered what anyone watching from shore would think. She was practically lying at his feet in the shallow water. And he looked like some pagan sun god...all brown, hard and glistening, with water sluicing off the rippled muscles of his chest. Only the orange and green trunks proclaimed he wasn't some mythical specimen of manhood.

She wished she had a free hand to throw a clump of sand at him. But both her hands were occupied keeping her bathing suit from riding away on the surf.

Squirming, she shot him a dirty look, then reached behind her back to tie the flimsy bikini straps. Nicole managed to keep her head above water, and her body completely beneath it, balancing carefully on her knees, until another wave hit her. She was sucked in the undertow, her bathing suit forgotten as her hip scraped painfully along the rocky bottom.

Wyatt, watching her from above, had initially been amused by Nicole’s predicament. He'd seen her horrified grimace when she came up out of the water, and the way she held her arms protectively across her chest. But when a wave knocked her flat and sucked her under, he stopped laughing.

"Nicole? Where are you?" he asked as he scanned the surface, watching for her head to break through.

Finally, after a few long seconds, he saw her a few yards away, sitting up in the shallows. Her bathing suit top was mostly in place, though he could see a tempting strip of pale flesh on the side of her right breast. Gulping, Wyatt quickly splashed over to her. "Are you all right?"

Her nod was accompanied by a wince. He reached down and held out his hand to help her stand up.

"I think everything's covered," she muttered as she took his hand.

"Want me to check?"

"I somehow suspect you already have."

"Guilty," he admitted with a chuckle.

As they through the surf, Nicole visibly winced again. Realizing she was in pain, he followed her gaze as she looked at her hip. A wide, ugly, red scrape was clearly visible, from just under her ribcage down into her bikini bottoms. Another scrape marred her outer thigh, from her hip all the way down to the back of her knee. Several flecks of blood oozed over her skin, and he saw bits of sand and rock embedded in the cuts.

"You’re bleeding!” Not waiting for permission, he bent down and picked her up in his arms, knowing it must hurt like hell to walk.

"This is silly, it's just a scrape," she said as he stepped out of the water.

Reaching their things, Wyatt gently knelt down and placed her on one of the new, brightly colored beach towels. She bent her knee and twisted to see the side of her leg, her face suddenly going a little pale despite the bright sunshine.

"Here, I've got some clean water. I picked up a bottle in the store," Wyatt said.

She reached for the bottle, but he held it away from her. "Lie back."

"I'm not an invalid."

"Just do it."

She reached for the bottle again. “I can…”

“Dammit, Nick, will you let me help you? When did you get so stubborn?"

"Hurt me and you'll pay, pal," she muttered as she finally relented and leaned back to let him look at the scrapes.

He gently poured water on her, frowning when he heard her hiss in pain. Most of the sand and blood washed away under the flow of the liquid, but he needed a cloth to finish the job. He grabbed his dry shirt, poured more water on it and gently wiped at the bits of rock sticking to her skin.

When he finished cleaning the cuts on her thigh, he moved up to work on the scrape on her midriff. Wyatt found himself staring intently at her ribcage, rising and falling as she took deeper and deeper breaths. He deliberately did not look anywhere else…not at her pain-wracked face, not at her tense, soft, amazing body.

But despite the fact that he was helping her, that soft, amazing body grew more stiff with every second. He saw the flex of her muscles under her supple skin. Wondering if he was hurting more than helping, he raised his eyes to stare into hers.

He didn’t see pain. No. This was pure, unfiltered need.

Her lips fell apart slightly and she moistened them with her soft, pink tongue. And he was done. Just…done. Done with resisting, done with pretending. Done with being angry.

Right now, it was taste her or die and not another thing under the sun mattered a damn.

He didn't pause for a moment to consider it before he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Her soft lips welcomed him and Wyatt felt like he'd come home after a long time away.

She turned her head slightly and he took advantage, urging her lips further apart as his tongue sought hers. She tasted him back, slow and hot, and so unbelievably good.

Wanting to feel her body against his, he slid his arm around her back and pulled her tighter against him. She flinched and jerked back.

"Oh, God, Nicole, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" He pulled away, shocked he could have forgotten about her cuts when he pulled her close.

Nicole shook her head quickly. “I’m fine. We should probably go.”

That was when he realized she wasn’t in pain. Not physical pain anyway. She regretted the kiss. But he wasn't about to lie to himself—he didn't regret one second of it.

"Are you sure you’re all right?" he asked, wondering if the small goose bumps he saw on her chest and shoulders were caused by pain, by cold or, more likely, by heat.

She didn't answer. Her mouth tightened as her gaze fell to his chest, separated from hers by only inches of hot summer air.

"You gonna punch me?" he teased, wanting to lighten the moment before she had a chance to fly off the handle about the kiss.

"Don't laugh," she retorted. "I don't punch like a girl anymore."

"I'm shakin' in my shoes."

She finally smiled in response to his grin. Nicole appeared glad he didn't mention what had just happened between them. Of course, it wasn't like he felt like talking about it, either. He was still trying to figure out when his feelings toward her had changed from resentment to bone-melting desire. Then again, he silently admitted, he'd never really stopped desiring Nicole Ross. He'd never in his life found as much pleasure with a woman as he had those few weeks during his twentieth summer.

"You've ruined your shirt," she said glancing toward the wet, blood-stained shirt he still held in his hands.

"I've got dozens. Come on, let's get you outta here. You probably should put some ointment on that. Why don't we stop at the store and pick something up on the way."

Nicole nodded, relieved they would be getting away from the beach. Her head still felt woozy. She hadn't hit it on the ocean floor, but it sure felt that way. She hadn't been so confused and disoriented in years.

It was his kiss. He'd done exactly what she'd been fantasizing about while he tended her wounds. It had been torture watching his long, strong fingers gently touching her skin, watching that thick lock of dark hair fall over his brow while he concentrated on what he was doing. And then he'd looked up and kissed her before she even had time to pretend to protest.

Kissing Wyatt today was every bit as mind-blowing as it had been when she was a teenager. Nicole had dated other men over the years, even had one serious relationship, but she'd never felt her world rock in the arms of any man except Wyatt.

Trying to forget what had just happened, she quickly stood. She didn't want him to carry her again and bit the inside of her cheek to avoid cringing with pain. She carefully wrapped one of the towels, sarong-style, around herself.

"No point in me ruining my clothes, too," she said.

He walked to the truck slowly, obviously sensing she was hurting. At one point, he took her by the arm and she leaned into him, grateful for his support.

They stopped at a convenience store near the highway and Nicole waited while he went inside. When he came back, he carried not only ointment, but also a couple of ice cream treats. She grinned when she saw the vanilla and orange bar, realizing he'd remembered it was her favorite. "Bribing me with goodies?"

"Yeah. You got me nervous talking about that 'martial arts' stuff. You had a pretty mean right hook before."

"Thanks. Try to stay on my good side."

The ride back to Windover was more comfortable than it had been that morning. For some reason, Nicole wasn't as nervous around Wyatt. It wasn't like the past could be forgotten with one kiss, nor did she think she wanted that kiss to be repeated. Her life was pretty orderly, letting Wyatt back into it would cause major repercussions.

But, at some point, maybe during the afternoon, maybe when they'd worked together at the ranch, she'd remembered how much she really liked Wyatt Clayton. He was still cocky and arrogant, but also had a disarming sense of humor to go with that truckload of charm. And seeing him so emotionally torn up over Winnie's injuries had reminded her of how loving Wyatt could be.

She wasn't ready to forgive him for how he'd treated her when they were young, or for ignoring his responsibilities ever since. But, she was finally able to concede that Wyatt had just been a kid, too. At nineteen, he'd been physically mature, but certainly wasn't worldly. He'd lived all his life on his grandfather's ranch, and the trip to Europe to visit his mother had seemed a major step to him. Maybe his callous treatment of her was more a result of his age and immaturity...maybe the things he’d said, the accusations he’d made about her, were just because of panic and fear of being a father at nineteen. Maybe he could even be forgiven for it. Maybe.

And the rest?
Could she forgive him for a decade of silence?

Well…that might take a little more time.

She closed her eyes, leaned her head back in the seat, wondering how things had gotten so very confusing again. All because of this man, who she’d known for such a very long time, since she was just a little girl.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"I'm thinking," she replied, "of the day I met you."

Wyatt chuckled, "You were such a prissy brat."

Her eyes shot open and she sat up immediately. "I was nothing of the sort. You were just a big bully."

"Oh, come on, I remember seeing you get out of the station wagon with your Dad at Tucket's General Store on your way home from the airport. You were wearing that hideous pink dress with all the ruffles, and your hair was in those awful bell curls. You had this pinched look on your face when I accidentally ran into you, like I smelled bad."