Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) (13 page)

Today it was Ted's turn to meet her animal, Five Star. "He isn't
actually my horse, but his owner loves to let me ride him," she
had explained when she'd escorted Ted into the stable and over to
Five Star's stall. "It's good for the horse-he's a jumper, he needs
the exercise. And good for the owner, because every time I win a
ribbon it increase's Five Star's value."

"So you don't own your own horse?"

"I wish I did," she'd admitted, "but it makes more sense this
way. Owning a horse is so expensive. You have to pay to board
him, pay for feed and grooming services and shoes ... and the vet
bills can be staggering. Anyway, I don't have to own Five Star to
feel like he's mine. I depend on him, and he depends on me.
We love each other, don't we?" she'd cooed to the horse, stroking the creature's nose and the flat expanse of his cheek before she'd
fitted a bit between his teeth.

She'd let Ted hold Five Star's reins as she'd strapped a saddle
onto him. The horse was huge. Not huge huge like those Clydesdales pulling the beer wagon in the Budweiser commercials, but
when Ted thought of Erika seated on Five Star's back, so many
feet above the ground, he felt queasy. He knew she was a champion rider, but if something went wrong, she'd be falling a long
way before she finally hit the ground.

He was still wearing his caddying clothes from a gig earlier that
day. He'd untucked his shirt as soon as Erika had picked him up
in her Wagoneer, but he'd kept on his Sommerset Country Club
cap because the brim cut the glare of the sloping late-day sun.
Even with the hat, he had to shield his eyes as Erika galloped to
the far end of the fenced-in enclosure. She had on tight-fitting
gray pants and a tank top, the velvety black helmet, and a pair of
knee-high black leather boots that he found incredibly sexy, even
though they were styled for business, not pleasure.

Everything about her was sexy when she rode: the speed, the
inherent risk, the fluidity of her body. The way she leaned forward with each jump, her torso parallel with the horse's neck and
her sweet little behind rising out of the saddle. He was unable to
see her face when she'd ridden to the far end of the enclosure, but
when she rode back toward him he couldn't miss her expression,
which was a complicated blend of intense concentration and
otherworldly bliss.

That was what he wanted to draw: her face when she rode.

She cantered toward the fence where he stood watching her. The
horse's hooves thundered against the track and he found himself
thinking again of how high off the ground she was, and how big
those hooves were, how much the horse weighed, and what would happen if she slid out of the saddle and got trampled. But of course
she didn't. She was perfectly balanced and secure. Confidencethat was another element in her expression. Confidence, concentration, and sheer joy.

She'd told him she loved Five Star and depended on him. Ted
wanted her to love and depend on him. As much as she loved and
depended on her horse. More.

"I hope that didn't bore you," Erika said once they were back
in the Wagoneer, coasting out of the stable's dirt lot and onto the
road.

"Bore me? Are you kidding?"

She was driving, so she couldn't look at Ted. But she could feel
his gaze on her. He didn't seem bored now-in fact he seemed
more wired than usual, one leg jiggling and his voice bright with
energy. But that was now. Watching her do some jumping runs
couldn't have been that exciting. The excitement was in the riding. She herself got restless when she watched other people ride.
She'd evaluate their form, rate them in her mind-but all the
while, she'd be wishing she was on the horse, not standing on the
side, watching.

"You were awesome," he said. "At first I thought, shit, what if
you fall? But then I watched you and realized you weren't going
to fall."

"I've fallen a few times," she told him. She could feel him start
beside her, and she laughed. "Nothing serious. I'm still here. But
sometimes, you get an ornery horse and he just doesn't want
someone on his back, so he throws you. Five Star would never do
that," she added. "He's my sweetheart."

"I thought I was your sweetheart," Ted grumbled, although she
could hear laughter in his voice.

"You're my other sweetheart," she assured him, then taunted
him by adding, "Don't forget, I've been with Five Star a lot longer
than I've been with you." She cruised down the road in the
waning light. The Wagoneer's windows were open, letting in a
hot, dry breeze that carried the scent of pine and fresh-cut grass
and summer. "I'm going to miss him so much when I leave for
college."

Again she sensed Ted shifting next to her. She glanced his way
and saw him staring out the side window.

"I'll miss you, too," she said, realizing that maybe she
shouldn't have teased him. Maybe she should have told him that
once they'd started dating, she'd reapplied to Colorado College
with the request that she forego the Summer Start program and
begin college in the fall, so she could spend the summer with him.
If she told him that, however, he'd probably hear only the part
about her beginning college in the fall, not the part about her asking the school to reprocess her application because she wanted to
be with him all summer.

The subject of her leaving for college rarely came up, but when
it did Ted grew quiet, melancholy. She would miss him. They'd
been together nearly every day since the graduation party at
Jennifer's house, and they'd talked on the phone when they
couldn't see each other. She'd grown so comfortable around Ted,
as comfortable as she was with Five Star. She could sense his
moves, his moods. She could trust him.

Yet they'd been together for only a few weeks. And she'd known
that even if the college agreed to accept her into the freshman
class that would matriculate in the fall-which, thank goodness,
the school did-she would eventually be leaving Mendham. She
regularly reminded herself of that fact. She would be leaving Ted.
If they were meant to last, they'd manage to keep things going while she was away. But her idea of a college experience didn't
include sitting alone on Saturday nights, pining for her boyfriend
back in New Jersey.

"Let's not think about it," she said.

Ted knew what it was. "Yeah, right."

"You could go to college, too," she suggested.

Not the best thing to say. She felt him bristling. "The only reason I'd go to college would be if it was Colorado College and I
could be with you. And I don't think that would play real well on
my application. `Dear Colorado College, Please accept me despite
my lousy transcript because I want to be with Erika Fredell. Oh,
and make sure you toss in a full scholarship. Thanks."'

Even though the subject was touchy and kind of depressing,
she found herself laughing. Ted laughed, too.

She didn't love him. She kept telling herself that. She enjoyed
his company, enjoyed his wit, enjoyed gazing at his beautiful face,
his mesmerizing eyes. She enjoyed kissing him, steaming up the
windows of the Wagoneer with him. She liked him more than any
other guy she'd ever known, and then some. And when they were
both descending into a funk about something-in general, the
only thing that sent them both into a funk was discussions about
her impending departure for college-she loved the way he could
make them both laugh.

But she didn't love him. She couldn't. If she loved him, she
would never be able to leave him at the end of the summer.

And she was determined to leave.

"I still don't believe your house is haunted," she said.

They were parked outside his house. It was after midnight, and
the windows were all dark. His parents had left the porch light on
for him, but they'd probably gone to bed hours ago.

Erika had driven back to her house after they'd left the stable,
and she'd changed from her riding pants and boots into a pair of
cut-offs and a sexy little sleeveless top that let her bra straps peek
through. Her black bra straps. A guy couldn't help noticing.

From there, she'd driven to his house so he could change out
of his caddying outfit into regular clothes. They'd tossed swimsuits and towels into the backseat and driven to Will's house,
where they and a few other friends had swum in his pool and sent
out for pizza. Things had finally wound down there, and Erika
had driven Ted back to his house.

"How can a house not be haunted if it was built where a cemetery used to be?"

"Assuming you're right about that-"

"I'm right," he argued.

"Your house was built, what, two hundred years ago?"

"Not quite."

"And yet you're positive it was built on a cemetery."

"They moved the cemetery," he reminded her. "They reburied
all the bodies up the road at Pleasant Hill Cemetery."

"Well, it makes more sense to me that the ghosts would have
moved when the bodies moved. I mean, wouldn't the ghosts want
to stay with their bodies?"

He loved when she got all logical. How could you be logical
about something as ridiculous as ghosts? "I'm telling you, Erika,
I know this stuff. I was born on Halloween."

"And that makes you an expert on ghosts?"

"It makes me an expert on getting Fun Size candy for my birthday," he said with a laugh, then feigned seriousness. "I've heard
ghosts thump around the house all my life. I'll be lying in bed and
I'll hear them moving around in the attic." Her skeptical frown
only inspired him to greater heights of imagination. "I hear them
whispering."

"That's the wind blowing through the cracks around your
windows. I bet an old house like that must be pretty drafty."

"It's not drafty. What some people think is a draft is actually
the hands of a ghost brushing against you. Ghosts' hands are very
cold." He gave his voice a little shiver as he said this. "Very, very
cold." He reached across the console and ran his hand lightly over
her bare leg.

His hand wasn't cold. Her leg wasn't cold.

She didn't pull away. "So what do these ghosts say when
they're whispering?" she asked, her voice sounding a little huskier
than usual.

"They say, `Make Erika believe."' He whispered, too, because
the air inside the Wagoneer was getting warmer and closer and he
was getting warmer and closer to her.

She leaned toward him as he leaned toward her. He hooked
his free hand around the back of her neck, drew her to him and
kissed her.

They'd done a lot of kissing in the past few weeks. Light, easy
kissing. Deep, hard kissing. Yet every kiss seemed like something
new to him, some amazing discovery of just how good he could
feel. Every time Erika's lips touched his, his entire body experienced a jolt of sensation. Not horniness, not lust but something
more, something that felt like life itself.

If pressed, he wouldn't have been able to describe it. Words
weren't his thing. Pictures were, and each time he kissed her it
was like discovering a new color, one he'd never known the existence of before. Some of her kisses were a cool, fresh green, not
quite mint and not quite emerald but a shade in between. Some
of her kisses were a variation on hot pink, some a metallic
bronze.

Tonight her kiss was dark blue, midnight blue, a blue that bled into black. Her kiss was shadow, smooth and round and dark. His
fingers clenched reflexively against her thigh as her tongue met
his and lured it into her mouth.

Oh, God. This was love. It had to be love. He'd kissed other
girls. He'd had sex before. But nothing, nothing had ever felt as
good as this.

Erika didn't remember moving from the front seat to the back,
but somehow, there they were, stretched out along the leather
upholstery, Ted on top of her, considerately distributing his
weight so he wouldn't crush her.

She didn't care. If he wanted to crush her, she would die smiling.

She was a good girl. She'd never gone much beyond kissing
with a boy before, but with Ted she wanted everything, welcomed everything. When he kissed her throat she wanted to
purr like a cat. When he stroked her breast through her shirt,
she wanted to arch into his hand. When he pressed his groin to
hers, and she felt him through the layers of clothing separating
their bodies, she wanted to strip naked, to see his body, to
touch it.

She didn't dare.

Maybe, someday. Eventually. After she'd thought about it,
analyzed it, made sure that this was the right thing to do, the
right time. The right boy. Actually, she was already pretty sure
about that.

She was by nature a cautious person. She made plans. She
thought about the future. She wore a helmet when she rode,
and she wanted the same protection for her heart. Ted had been
right to worry about what might happen if she fell; a rider
could get seriously injured, permanently damaged, even killed.
A cracked heart could be as painful as a cracked skull.

And she didn't love Ted. She couldn't. Not when she knew she
would be leaving him soon.

Still, when he kissed her like this, when he blanketed her body
with his warmth, and she inhaled his clean sunshine scent, and
the world beyond the fogged windows of her car fell away, she
trusted him. She might not trust herself, but she trusted Ted to
her very soul.

"I still don't think your house is haunted," she murmured
when he lifted his head after a very long, probing kiss.

"There's this one ghost," he said, then dropped a light kiss on
the bridge of her nose. "The ghost of a young guy who died when
he was maybe twenty." He touched his mouth to her forehead.
"He died a virgin. He sneaks into my room and whispers, `Don't
do what I did."'

She laughed. "I'm glad to hear you're not going to die when
you're twenty."

"He whispers, `Have sex every chance you get. You never know
what tomorrow may bring."

"That is the dumbest line I've ever heard," she said, even as her
hips gave an involuntary wiggle against him.