Housebound (23 page)

It took her a lot longer to walk back to the house than it had taken her to run from it, and as she walked her determination crystallized. She was going to take a rock and smash every one of those windows she'd worked so hard on. It didn't matter that it was her own handiwork she was destroying; indeed, she couldn't have brought herself to hurt either Sam's careful work or even Noah's weekend projects. She only had the right to destroy her own efforts, and destroy them she would, with a fine crashing of glass.

There were stones piled in the living room, waiting for the mason to build the massive fireplace that was the heart of the house. Her sneakered feet were silent as they bounded up the steps to the balcony that surrounded the house on three sides. The house was dark and silent in the twilight, all of Sam's tools put away with his customary care and neatness. Forcing herself to move forward with careful deliberation, she picked up a good-sized rock and moved to face the wall of windows.

The house sat facing southwest on a spit of land jutting into the ocean, and the setting sun reflected on the sea in front of her, gilding the water with a fiery glow. It would be a beautiful room for Noah and his memories, she thought bitterly. He could lie there in front of the fire with whatever short-term fling accompanied him, watching the ever-changing ocean through the expanse of windows. She hefted the rock in one hand, staring mesmerized out at the ocean. And then she let it fall out of numb fingers. She sank down on the plywood subfloor and dropped her head in her hands.

“I knew you couldn't do it.” Noah's voice came from directly behind her.

Anne's back stiffened and slowly she raised her head. “How did you know?” she asked in a conversational, of somewhat hoarse, voice. “I didn't know it myself.”

“In some ways I know you better than you know yourself.” She felt him kneel down beside her, and she kept her face staring out at the ocean, frightened to look at him, frightened of the overwhelming emotions that swept over her—anger, betrayal, regret and love, all tied up in a jumble that left her hopelessly confused.

She could see his long legs stretched out beside her, clad in a pair of faded corduroys. He was wearing an old pair of running shoes that had definitely seen better days. What would his face look like if she turned to see him, she wondered. Better wait until it was darker. It wasn't so much the problem of her seeing him, great as it was. She already knew every inch of his body, had it emblazoned into her memory. No, even more dangerous would be his knowing blue eyes looking into hers, all vulnerable with love and longing. She would just as soon keep that from him for as long as possible. He was right—at times he did know her better than she knew herself.

“I've missed you, Annie,” he said, and she gritted her teeth.

“I'm sure you did,” she replied evenly, tonelessly. “And of course there's no need to ask where I've been. Aunt Lillian must have been more than helpful.”

“Don't blame her—it's not her fault I talked her into helping me.”

She couldn't stop herself; she had to turn at that. Immediately she regretted it. His face was lean and strong in the waning sunlight, his eyes glowing with a blue intensity that
took her breath away. And his mouth, that beautiful mouth that knew so well how to give her pleasure, was parted slightly, waiting for her.

Quickly she scrambled to her feet, moving out of his reach. “I'm sure you were very persuasive,” she said bitterly. “I know just how persuasive you can be.”

“That's not fair,” he shot back, jumping to his feet in one fluid move. She backed farther away, and he ran an exasperated hand through his curly mop of hair. She could see strands of gray in the black curls, gray that hadn't been there last time she'd seen him. “Don't be afraid of me, Annie,” he added in a gentler tone. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“That's right, you're not. Not ever again.” She headed for the door, but he was there ahead of her, his tall figure blocking the exit.

“Are you going to listen to me?” he demanded hoarsely.

“No.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Annie. You're acting like a child!” he shot back angrily, all his well-planned explanations vanishing in a burst of frustrated temper.

“That's my prerogative,” she said sweetly. “And you can't keep me here. There are five different doors to outside, and I can reach one of them before you can stop me. Not that you should want to. You've accomplished what you set out to do.”

“And what did I set out to do, Annie? What have I accomplished?”

“Why, you appeased your conscience and got your house built at the same time. Very efficient, if I do say so. And I can assure you, I'm a lot better off than I was three months ago. I've resigned myself to the loss of the house, resigned myself to—”

“To the loss of me?” he questioned softly.

“I never had you to lose,” she replied flatly, ignoring the searing pain that swept through her when he looked at her like that. “Why did you do this, Noah? Why did you trick me?”

“I owed you a house,” he said stiffly. “I helped take one from you. I thought I could give you one in return.”

“I don't need your help, Noah, or your condescension. You can finish your house by yourself and live in it with your guilt and your memories.” She started for the door, but his voice, rich and vibrant and unbearably seductive, stopped her.

“I only want to live in it with you,” he said.

She turned very slowly, halfway across the room from him, determined not to move closer. “This is a small house, Noah. I don't think there's room for the three of us.”

“Nialla's gone, Annie. Laid to rest, as she deserved to be long ago. There's only me here, waiting for you.”

She stood very still. She wasn't going to settle for crumbs, for half measures after all this time. Her family thought she was strong, and she was about to prove them right. She was strong enough to make it without him. It would hurt, it would hurt like hell, but she could do it if she had to. No, she couldn't, she thought suddenly. To tell with pride. She took a small, symbolic step toward his waiting figure. “What do you want from me, Noah?”

Slowly he moved toward her in long, measured strides, and firmly she held her ground. “I have no right to ask you, Annie love,” he said. “I want you to marry me and live with me in this house. But you're right, it's too small for three. I have to be honest with you. I don't want children. It's wrong of me to ask you to be with me anyway, but I can't help myself.”

“Why don't you want children?” She kept her voice level with an effort.

“Because I'd be too afraid of losing you.” He was standing directly in front of her, and the heat from his body radiated outward, penetrating her bones, which had been so cold for so long. “I love you, Annie, and I can't live without you. I should have left you alone, let you marry Wilson and have lots of babies, but I couldn't. Please, Annie, stay with me.” There was just the faint hint of a break in his voice, and she melted.

He could have told her anything, put any restrictions on their relationship, and she would have given in. Without hesitation she consigned all her babies to the four winds, moving another step toward his lean, waiting figure, the tension in his body pulsing like a highly strung wire.

“You want to marry me?” she said doubtfully, not quite believing him.

He made no further move toward her, content to let her come to him. “As soon as possible. I'm tired of being celibate,” he said lightly, a small hint of a smile flashing across his face.

“Celibate? The great lover celibate?” she scoffed.

“If you don't believe me ask your sister. I haven't slept with anyone since that night in Philadelphia.”

“Goodness, you must love me,” she breathed, a hint of laughter in her voice.

His hands reached out then to catch her shoulders, drawing her slowly against his lean body, and there was an answering glint in his eyes. “I do,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers with a slow, tantalizing pressure she had thought never to feel again. “And you love me, don't you, Annie?”

“Do I?” she murmured beneath his mouth, and in reward his strong white teeth bit into her lower lip.

“Witch,” he whispered. “You've already told me so.”

“When?” Somehow her arms had slid around his waist, her hands trailing up under the cotton knit shirt to explore the flesh that had been denied her for so long.

“That night in Philadelphia. I realize a gentleman shouldn't pay any attention to words uttered in the throes of passion, but then, I never was a gentleman.” He'd managed to pull her top free from the loose jeans, and as his mouth still traced tantalizing little kisses around her lips his hands were deftly pulling the shirt up her torso.

“You said a few things at the time,” she protested huskily as she pulled back to allow him to draw the shirt over her head.

“Then why didn't you believe me?” He buried his face against her full, soft breasts, his mouth seeking and finding one aroused bud beneath the wisp of lavender bra.

“A lady doesn't pay attention to words uttered in the throes of passion,” she echoed innocently, then gasped as he pulled her closer against him, his heated maleness pressing against her soft hips.

“I think we'd better believe each other,” he groaned against her cheek, his hands reaching down to unfasten the loose carpenter's pants.

“If you think we're going to make love on the floor here you've got another think coming,” she threatened him sternly, even as she aided him in stepping out of the jeans.

“Why not?” He pulled the knit shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner, exposing his beautiful bronzed torso to her hungry gaze.
It had been so damned long
. Unable to resist herself, she slid her hands through the fine mesh of hair that drifted over his muscles.

“Because plywood subflooring is full of splinters,” she replied in a low groan. “Unless you want to be on the bottom.”

He looked out into the gathering nightfall. “Sand isn't a lot better.” Her hands were already on the zipper of his corduroy pants.

“I agree,” she whispered, sliding the pants down his narrow hips. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, we do have to seal the bargain, don't we?” he murmured, leaning down for his mouth to capture the rosy-tipped breast that the removal of her bra had exposed.

“What bargain?” she echoed dazedly.

“You're going to marry me, aren't you?” He caught the other breast, and a low, agonized wail escaped her breathlessly parted lips. His hand reached down between her legs, teasing her unmercifully, and she parted them willingly.

“Yes,” she moaned, no longer sure what she was saying yes to.

Gently she found herself pressed up against the wall, his hands still firm and arousing on her heated flesh. “No splinters in Sheetrock, are there?” he whispered in her ear, his hand driving her to distraction.

Wordlessly she shook her head, her arms around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. “Please, Noah,” she whispered breathlessly. “I need you.”

“And I need you. I can't wait for a bed, Annie.” And he levered forward, filling her with one deep, strong thrust, the force of his body lifting her in the air as the wall supported her back.

Instinctively she wrapped her long legs around his as his large, strong hands cupped her buttocks. All she could do was cling to him, arms and legs wrapped tight around his straining body, as he moved within her, the rhythm steady, irregular and then overwhelming. There was no room for the passion to build—it was already well beyond fever pitch. As
she drew him ever deeper she could feel her body clench around him, feel the spasms ripple through her as she sobbed against the smoothness of his shoulder. And then he joined her in that midnight darkness, thrusting into her as he pressed her up against the wall.

Together they collapsed on the floor, his body cushioning hers, oblivious to the danger of splinters. His hands were infinitely gentle on her fevered flesh, his voice full of words of praise and love and commitment. Closing her eyes, she flowed against him, home at last. For a moment the question of birth control reared its ugly head; then she banished it. He had done nothing about it, she had done nothing about it. It was too late now—they would just have to be more careful in the future. She opened her eyes to meet his soft, almost reverent gaze. “I do love you, you know,” she whispered.

And he smiled, that dazzlingly sweet Gypsy smile that he reserved for her alone. “I know,” he said, and kissed her again.

 

“H
OW ARE YOU DOING
, Annie?” Elena Mendoza Richardson leaned over her friend, concern in her warm dark eyes as she placed a gentle hand on Annie's hugely rounded belly. “Won't be long now.”

A fine sheen of sweat covered Anne's face, but she managed to smile up at her old friend. “I don't suppose you could perform a cesarean in the hallway? It's pretty bad.”

Sadly Elena shook her head. “Don't worry, one of the operating rooms will be free in a few moments. It's a shame you didn't take Lamaze classes—it would help you through the pains. Your husband might help even more.”