Sunny Chandler's Return (15 page)

She turned and left the church parlor where the reception was being held. Don followed her. She stopped in the hallway outside. “I think this is as private as it should get,” she said.

He looked nervous and kept shifting from one foot to the other in a way she had once thought endearing, but which now irritated her because it made him appear indecisive.

“I’ve thought about calling you a lot,” he began.

“I’m glad you didn’t. It would have been awkward. And wrong. You’re a married man, Don.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “How well I know.” Sunny didn’t remark on his lack of enthusiasm. “It’s ... Gretchen and me, well ... Did you know she’s pregnant?”

Sunny was surprised but not crushed. Why not? She wondered. Not long ago, the idea of Don’s child growing inside Gretchen’s body would have been unbearably painful. “No, I didn’t. Congratulations.”

“Don’t congratulate me,” he said with a grimace. “She shouldn’t be having this baby. The marriage has gone sour and this is Gretchen’s last-ditch effort to hold it together.”

“You shouldn’t be telling me this, Don. Excuse—”

“Sunny, please.” He caught her hand when she tried to move away. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to hear about your marriage. It’s none of my business.”

“But it is. I made a big mistake, Sunny. A terrible mistake. I told you that when you caught me with ... uh ... the day we were supposed to get married. I guess you didn’t believe me. Anyway, I forgive you for walking out and making a fool of me in front of the whole town.”

She recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “I don’t recall asking for your forgiveness,” she hissed angrily. “Don’t you dare put me on the defensive. I did nothing wrong. I covered up for you and Gretchen.”

“I know, I know. Don’t get mad. Please. Just hear me out.”

He glanced over his shoulder as though afraid someone might see them. Sweat glistened on his forehead. Sunny made the ludicrous observation that he didn’t sweat as attractively as Ty Beaumont did.

“Sunny, I still love you,” Don said with desperation. “I’m not happy with Gretchen. She’s ... she’s nice and all, but she’s not you. And with the baby coming, I feel trapped. Yeah, that’s it, I feel trapped.”

To his consternation, Sunny began to laugh. “I’m sorry, Don,” she said, watching the incredulity break across his face. “There’s nothing funny about what you’re saying. It’s just that I think this is probably the same speech you gave Gretchen three years ago. On the night before your wedding to me, you suddenly felt trapped and had to do something naughty just to prove you were still free to.”

She shook her head with pity for him. And for herself. For three years she had clung to the memory of a deep love that hadn’t existed. He was a shell of a man. Weak. Always blaming others for his unhappiness. A whiner. Why had it taken her this long to realize it?

“I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Don. Really I am.”

She turned her back on him and started down the hallway. “Sunny, I love you. I never stopped loving you. Doesn’t it mean anything?”

She faced him again. “All that it means, if it’s true, is that you’re as big a fool as I am. Goodbye, Don.”

She was in no condition to stay. Tears were standing in her eyes, precariously close to overflowing. She would make her excuses to Fran later, and, being the friend she was, Fran would understand.

Sunny brushed past a small crowd of people standing in the breezeway and rushed toward her car. Seconds later, she was speeding down the lake road, the wind playing havoc with her hairdo.

She left a cloud of dust in her wake, but rising out of it like a specter was the sheriff ’s car. When Sunny saw it in her rearview mirror, closing in on her, she cursed. Instead of slowing down, as the flashing red lights dictated she should, she accelerated.

Nine

She drove right to the edge of the porch before stopping the car, then racing up the steps. She let herself in the front door and slammed it closed behind her, taking only a second to lock it. She ran through the large common room to her bedroom and immediately began unzipping the long zipper down her back.

She had to get the dress off. She wanted no reminders of weddings or marriage. She had to get away from everything bridal once more and forever. She had to flee this place.

“Sunny, unlock this door!”

She heard Ty’s shout and the pounding of his fists on the front door, but she paid no attention. Instead she stepped out of the silk dress and flung it across the room, where it settled in the corner like a landing parachute.

“I’m warning you,” he shouted.

Sunny smeared her makeup as she wiped tears from her eyes. What a fool she’d been to think herself still in love with Don. All that heartache, for nothing. All that pain, for nothing. Why had she borne the humiliation and ridicule? Why had she protected him?

She kicked off the dyed-to-match pumps. Then she stood stock-still. The sound of splintering wood, accompanied by vicious cursing, was followed by heavy footfalls in the living room.

Sunny stepped through the bedroom door, disbelieving that even Ty would have the nerve to break down her door. But it was standing open, hanging by one hinge, still vibrating from the impetus that had shattered its lock. And Ty, eyes as cold as a frozen fjord, jaw set as though hewn out of stone, was crossing the living room with a stride so determined that Sunny’s racing heart stalled.

At some point since leaving the church, he had shucked his black tuxedo coat and untied the bow tie. It was still hanging around his neck and made him seem even madder somehow. The collar button of his formal shirt was undone, though the onyx studs were still in place between the pleats.

Fascinated into immobility by the fury he personified, Sunny maintained her position in the hallway. When he reached her, he jerked her up so sharply and so high that her toes dangled above the floor, barely touching it. “I ought to wring your neck for driving like that.”

“Leave me alone.”

He was the last person she wanted to hassle with, especially after last night, when he had once again verbally led her down the primrose path only to pull back with a casual “g’night, Sunny.” She wasn’t going to fall for his glib charm. Not now. Not ever again.

“Get out of my house,” she shouted up at him. “How dare you break—”

“Shut up! Didn’t you see me behind you?”

“Yes!”

“The flashing lights?”

“Yes!”

“Why didn’t you stop?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“What were you trying to do, kill yourself?”

“No!”

“Are you so heartbroken over that simp that you’d kill yourself because of him?” He shook her slightly. “He’s not worth it, you little idiot. Can’t you see it?”

Yes, she did. Ty’s harsh condemnation of her foolishness was no more severe than her own. She had wasted three years grieving over a man who had been magnified in her mind as much more than he actually was. She had been in love with an image, a figment that had risen out of the ashes of her decimated ego.

In that instant, she acknowledged the enormity of her folly and slumped against Ty. He supported her while her tears trickled inky stains down the front of his white tuxedo shirt. Then, dipping his knees, he curved one arm beneath her legs and swung her up into his arms.

He carried her into the living room and lowered himself into one of the overstuffed easy chairs. Keeping her on his lap, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, tucking her head safely beneath his chin.

Then he did nothing but let her cry. He indulged each racking, cleansing sob. Her tears ran out before his patience did. Even then, he sat still and silent while she hiccuped against his chest.

Only when they had ceased did he use a crooked finger to tilt her chin up and her head back so he could see her face. Using his thumbs, he wiped away the muddy tracks running down her cheeks. “Better?” Sniffing, she nodded. “He’s not worth crying over, Sunny.”

She blinked away lingering tears and brought him into cleaner focus. “I know.”

“You know? Then—?”

“I wasn’t crying over Don. I was crying for all the time I’ve wasted mooning over him.”

His eyes, which had been moving over her face compassionately, became still. Gruffly he said, “Tell me about it.”

Sunny, staring at the base of his throat where she could see a strong and steady pulse beating, began talking slowly. “For three years I’ve lamented what was probably the best thing that could have happened. I should have thanked Don and Gretchen. What they did prevented me from making a dreadful mistake.”

Ty kept one hand resting on her thigh. With the other he went searching through her mass of hair looking for pins. One by one he removed them and watched as each heavy curl unwound and fell against her bare shoulders.

“Don needed a woman who would nurse his insecurities. I can see that now.” Sunny absently moved her head around to facilitate Ty’s questing fingers. “He needed a wife who would devote her life to him at the exclusion of everything else, including any personal ambitions.”

Ty laid his collection of hairpins on the end table at his elbow and began combing his fingers through her hair, giving some semblance of order to the disarranged tumble of golden curls. “He needed a hausfrau who worshipped him,” he said gently. His gaze moved over the sensuous woman curled up in his lap. His eyes lighted on her ankle bracelet. “You hardly fit that image.”

“Nurturing him would have been a full-time job. I wouldn’t have had a career beyond that.”

“And what about the nurturing you need?”

“I’ve managed to live without it.”

“Why?”

She knew he was playing devil’s advocate again, forcing her to voice thoughts as they became clear to her. “Fear,” she said, “of being hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“Disillusioned, maybe.”

He smiled tenderly. “I think so.”

She returned his smile and laid her head on his shoulder. For several minutes they said nothing, only enjoyed the peace and comfort and unity of the moment.

“Ty?”

“Hmm?”

“This is the enactment of my fantasy.”

Several heartbeats thrummed by before he angled his head back and looked down at her. “Had any others?”

His mouth had never been warmer or softer as it moved over hers. It had never tasted so good, and Sunny dared to let her tongue dart between his smooth lips for more.

Twilight, filtering through the shuttered windows and spilling through the door, which was still hanging open, forgotten and unimportant, cast the room in shades of lavender. Shadows were deep, but not ominous. The evening air was heavy and sweet with the summery scents of honeysuckle and magnolia and gardenia.

The only sounds made were those of nocturnal animals coming out from their daytime covers, and of night birds calling to each other through the trees, and of the lovers sighing against each other’s lips when they finally drew apart, and of Sunny’s stockings scratching against each other as she shifted her legs and tried to become smaller and needier within his embrace.

“Sunny, Sunny.” Her name was a soft groan coming from Ty’s damp lips. With her assistance, he began extracting the studs of his shirt from their holes until they were lying next to the hairpins on the end table and Sunny’s hand was resting inside the starched cloth and touching the furry warmth of his chest.

As their kiss deepened, his hand curled around her throat. His fingertips stroked her neck as though in awe of its softness. Inside his shirt, Sunny’s fingers were delicately exploring, tweaking clumps of crisp hair, testing the suppleness of muscle, finding and fondling his firm nipple.

He swore in a hoarse whisper and dropped his hand over her breast, cupping the fullness inside her slip. The silk shifted beneath his moving caresses, deliciously abrading her skin. Even the rustling sound it made was erotic. Her breath was nothing more than a catching noise in her throat when he lightly pinched her nipple to a peak.

“Ty?”

“What, darling?”

“Don’t stop touching me this time.”

“Not a chance.”

She kissed his strong, tanned throat all the way down to his chest. She parted his shirt wider and pressed her lips against the solid curve of his chest where she could feel the rapid beating of his heart.

He kneaded her breast, repeatedly sliding his thumb over the hard bud at its tip, before his hand slid down to her waist, which he squeezed affectionately. Then he laid his hand on her knee. The skirt of her slip had worked its way up and was now bunched around her hips.

He raised his head from the hollow of her shoulder, where he had been planting ardent kisses, and stole a glance at her legs. They were sheathed in pale stockings. She was wearing a garter belt. Ty could see the lacy suspenders where they met the stockings at mid-thigh. The sight was so sexy it made his loins thicken with a lust so potent he wondered if he could contain it.

He slipped his hand beneath one of the suspenders and caressed her satiny thigh. A current of white-hot sensation shot through Sunny and she cried out his name. She flung her head back; her lips parted in a silent, but earnest, appeal for his kiss. He was all too glad to grant her request.

Their kiss was unashamedly carnal. As he sent his tongue in search of the back of her throat, his thumb inched up her thigh and stroked her cleft. Once. Twice. Sunny arched her back. Her hands, buried in his hair, clenched and threatened to pull out every single strand.

“Let’s make love, Sunny.”

She tried to nod in agreement, but her neck felt limp and useless while every other part of her body had never felt more alive. Ty came to his feet, effortlessly bearing her to the bedroom where he stood her beside the bed.

His gaze was ravenous as it moved over her, taking in her golden eyes, glassy now with passion, her moist, coral lips, and the riot of hair that shone like a halo in the fading light. Made of silk, her slip clung to the body that Ty had wanted to possess ever since he first saw it.

Her shoulders were broad but had a feminine slope. The complexion of her throat and chest was smooth and creamy and slightly tinted from her suntan. Her breasts were high, round, taut. The nipples were standing out enticingly beneath the silk slip.

She reached for the thin shoulder straps and began to lower them. “No,” he said, staying her hands. “Leave it on.”

Before she even had a chance to wonder why he didn’t want her to undress, he was drawing her against him. His kiss robbed her of all other thoughts save how much she wanted this man, filling her, ridding her of the emptiness she had lived with for so long, restoring her faith in romance, reassuring her that she was desirable.

His hands slid up the backs of her thighs. He squeezed the firm cheeks of her bottom. He held her against the stiff projection behind his trousers until their breathing was so rough and fast that kissing was no longer possible.

He pushed his hands down into the elastic waistband of her panties and rubbed his palms against her bare flesh. Sunny offered no resistance as he worked the scanty garment down her thighs and released it at her knees. She stepped out of the panties.

“Lie down.”

Sunny did as he instructed and watched as he yanked off his cummerbund and let it fall. He unfastened his formal trousers and pulled them down, stepping out of shoes and pulling off socks in the process. He had more difficulty taking off his briefs, and there was no secret as to why. He was full and hard when he came to her, still wearing his unbuttoned tuxedo shirt. The black bow tie was still dangling incongruously beneath his collar.

He lay directly atop her, settling his body between her thighs as his hips nudged them apart. Cupping her head between his hands, he ravaged her mouth. When his tongue couldn’t plunder it any more thoroughly than it had already done, he flicked it over her lips and used it to wash away the salty tracks of her tears.

“As of now, this second, you’ve forgotten Don Jenkins,” he rasped. “He no longer exists for you. Understand?” For answer she arched her hips against his erection. He might have smiled, but it was difficult to tell in so intense a face. “There’s only you and me now, Sunny. And I’m going to make all your misery well worthwhile.”

He levered himself up and raised her slip. His eyes closed momentarily and a spasm of longing swept over his face as he gazed down at her. He knelt between her open thighs. He played with the lacy garter belt, feathered the soft tuft of fair curls beneath it, caressed the smooth belly above it.

He eased himself down over her again, this time planting his hard flesh snugly against the pouting lips of her sex. His hands smoothed over her breasts. Her beaded nipples drew his fingers like magnets. He kissed them through the slip, thrusting his tongue against the stiff crests as though he wanted to spear through the fabric.

Indeed, impatience overcame him. He tried to work the slip’s strap off her shoulder. It snapped. Neither Sunny nor he paid any heed to the damage because her breast was suddenly free and her nipple was in his mouth and he was sucking it greedily while his hand massaged her upward until she surrounded his lips and chin plumply and firmly.