Take Me Home (21 page)

“What?”

“It will be all right in the end, because if it’s not all right, it’s not the end.”

A
S
C
LAIRE DROVE
up to her rented home, her headlights flashed on the dark sheen of a big SUV parked in front of the double garage door. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

She’d forgotten to turn on the outside lights, but she could see a silhouette sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch.

It was 9:15. Tim was waiting for her to come home.

All the chaotic emotions of her day converged into one searing bolt of joy: He had come to spend the night in her bed again. Practically leaping out of her car, she forced herself to slow down as she approached the porch.

“Evening.” Tim’s deep voice rumbled through the still night air. She felt it on her skin.

“Hi. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” she said, feeling shy as she walked up the steps.

He was standing now, holding a dark shape out to her. “Here’s something to apologize for not calling sooner.”

She flicked on the outside light switch. The yellow bulbs threw deep shadows over Tim’s face, but sent warm highlights dancing over his hair. She remembered the delicious tickle of it brushing against the inside of her thighs less than twenty-four hours ago. “Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans,” Claire said, taking the bouquet. “These bring back such memories!”

“The florists aren’t open on Sunday, so I had to make do with wildflowers.”

“Wildflowers are better than a store-bought bouquet,” Claire said, looking up at him, wondering why he didn’t kiss her. “Come in and have a beer.”

His hands were shoved in his pockets, and for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. In fact, he made an almost imperceptible movement toward his car before he pivoted toward her door. “A beer sounds good.”

Her incandescent happiness flared and died at his strange response. There would be no throwing herself into the comfort of his arms. Instead, another strand of pain went twisting into the dark tapestry of emotions she carried with her tonight.

For the entire day, Tim had wrestled with his demons, taking such a long tramp through the woods that he had to carry an exhausted Sprocket home. Sanctuary was supposed to keep his ugly phantoms at bay, and here he was, facing ghosts again.

His night with Claire had brought him a pleasure and peacefulness he hadn’t felt in months. Today he was paying the price.

He didn’t know how to deal with this. He had no idea what he should say to Claire.

He knew he had to say something, offer an explanation or an apology. He flinched away from the thought of delivering either.

As it got later, he paced around his house while Sprocket watched him from the sofa. He picked up the phone and dropped it again. Then he forced himself to dial Holly’s number. A flood of relief washed through him when Holly told him her sister was not there.

Now here he was, two feet away from the woman who had let him sleep without nightmares last night. He had watched her
expression shift from excited welcome to stunned bafflement, and felt the guilt of it.

He wanted to leave before he said words that would wound her. Last night had included an unspoken declaration of trust and respect. He was about to ruin both of those things.

He followed her into the pine-paneled kitchen. As she bent to rummage in the refrigerator, her pants outlined the shape of her hips and bottom. His hands twitched with the urge to trace those curves again. She turned with a bottle of Molson in each hand, saying with a forced smile, “Hope you don’t mind imported.”

Something in his face made her smile vanish. “Tim, what’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth, but no words coalesced in his brain. He had nothing good to say, so he did what he’d been holding back from since she walked onto the porch.

He took one stride toward her and, with both hands, tilted her face upward. Before she could react, he dropped his head and devoured her mouth. As her arms came around his back, he felt the chilled glass of the bottles through his shirt. She opened her mouth and let him explore at his leisure while she clung to him. Her pliancy threw gasoline on the flames.

He shifted his grip to her behind and lifted her onto the beige Formica of the kitchen countertop, spreading her legs so he could come up against her.

“Tim!” Her voice was part laughter, part shock. “Let me put these bottles down.”

He gave her just enough room to twist sideways and slide the beer onto the counter. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her to him. The V of her legs rubbing against his erection tore a groan from his chest and snapped any control he might have been holding on to. He wanted to slip into the forgetfulness of being inside her.

“Ahhh, yes,” she said, pushing her hips forward to bring the friction to an exquisite pitch.

He felt the tightness spiraling into his groin and brought his hands around to the button of her pants, almost yanking it off in his haste to undress her. He jerked her zipper down and bent to pull at the cuffs while she worked the waistband down over her thighs. She started to toe off her hot high heels.

“Leave those on,” he said, unfastening his fly and rolling a condom over his cock.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but he silenced any comment by sliding two fingers inside her. Her head fell back with a gasp as he tested her readiness. Her hot slickness made him harden even more. He withdrew his hand and slid his palms around and under her hips, positioning himself and then driving into her just as he pulled her forward.

“Oh my God!” she yelped as she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and arched into him. “Oh yes!”

His mind went blank. All he could feel was the gathering, widening pool of electric sensation as he slid in and out. Her knees were braced on his hips as she opened herself farther for him, tilting to give him an even better angle.

Then the pool drew in to a point of infinite pleasure and vaporized in a blazing cloud as he felt her muscles contract and release around him. He threw his head back as his climax hit him like a freight train.

He drove himself inside her as far as he could and then wrapped his arms around her as she came again, holding her tight against him to absorb the power of her orgasm. When she went limp, he kept holding her, feeling the little shudders running through her as her body slowly relaxed. He wanted to stay like that, without the necessity for words, but he knew it had only been a temporary reprieve.

“Wow!” she said, her voice muffled against his neck. “That was not what I expected. But I liked it. A lot.”

“I was afraid I’d been too hurried.”

She lifted her head on a chuckle. “I used to think you always moved with slow deliberation, but that was a gross misconception on my part.”

“You being from New York, I feel I have to keep up,” he said, joining her banter with a guilty sense of relief.

“You kept it up quite nicely.”

He laughed, a real laugh. This was why he wanted to be with Claire; she brought fun into his life.

He was making this more difficult than it had to be. He should just enjoy the lovemaking, the banter, and not get twisted into knots about any deeper levels. He just needed to convince his subconscious of that.

She slithered sideways and snagged a beer, holding it up to him. “You earned this big-time.”

“We did this in the wrong order,” he said before opening the bottle and handing it back to her. “I was supposed to get you drunk before I took advantage of you.”

“Is that what you were doing? Taking advantage of me? I could have sworn we were just having hot sex on the kitchen counter.” Claire took a swig of beer and grinned at him. “Which, by the way, seems to be the perfect height for someone of your...er...stature.”

“I figured that out a long time ago,” he said, stepping away to dispose of the condom. “Kitchen tables are too low. Bar stools are too unstable. But a good solid countertop makes for a perfect base of operations.”

She threw back her head and guffawed. It was the sound of a woman who felt all was right with her world.

As he watched her sitting on the counter, swinging her bare legs so her spike heels tapped the cabinet, her hair spilling out of
her ponytail at odd angles, he knew he wasn’t going to say one damned thing to ruin this moment.

Because he wanted to stay for the night.

At six a.m., his eyes came open as usual. He never could sleep past six. This morning he was glad to be awake because he had an armful of warm, sleeping Claire. In fact, he had cocooned himself around her in the night so that his front was touching every inch of her back, while his right hand was tucked under her left breast.

As he lay still and enjoyed the feel of her bare skin against his, he checked the recesses of his mind for lingering nightmares, but found none. Once again, Claire’s presence kept them away.

So he had two options. One was to spend every night with Claire. The other was to stay completely away from Claire. He didn’t have to think much about which he would prefer, but Claire might not agree.

A
POWERFUL SUNBEAM
smacked Claire awake. She rolled away from it and stretched luxuriously, a sense of satisfied well-being humming through her body. She was alone in the rumpled bed, but she expected that. Tim had to go to work, while today was her day off—from everything. Holly insisted she not come over on Monday mornings.

Claire lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Tim had been so different last night. He’d made love to her with an intensity bordering on desperation. And he hadn’t talked.

The night before, it had been all about teasing and playing with each other. Last night, conversation was minimal. If she managed to get three sentences out, he would interrupt her with such a fierce kiss that her words went right out of her head.

She shoved herself up to a sitting position as it hit her: There was something he didn’t want to talk about. He almost hadn’t come into the house. Had he meant to break it off last night? Was that why his lovemaking had given her the weird sense of being held on to by a drowning man?

It had the unsettling effect of reminding her of Milo. After a business dinner she wasn’t invited to, he had come home to find her lying on the couch, reading a book. He’d practically ripped her clothes off. Their coming together had been so violent they had rolled off the sofa and ended up sprawled on the Oriental rug.