And cows fly. Furthermore, youre totally nuts for my sons. You love them both. So why the hell cant you just say so? What, do you think Godll reach down and slug you if you admit to caring about things again?
I dont care!
And you dont feel anything. For anything or anyone, right?
Right. Exactly right!
Aw, hell. Arguing with her was a complete waste of time. He didnt know he was going to do it-he swore to himself!-but somehow he was hard as rock; somehow he was fighting this impossible, powerful urge to kiss her; and somehow he knew he was going to give into that temptation unless something drastic happened, fast.
So just as her forefinger was aiming to poke his chest again, he clamped both hands on her waist and lifted her in the air. She shrieked before her sandals even left the ground.
She was still shrieking when he turned her in a circle-she was light, but not so light he didnt need to build up a little momentum-and then hurled her into the pond.
He knew the pond well. Off the shore edge, it went straight down for about five feet. It was a fantastic pond for swimming on a broiling day, because it was spring fed-which meant it was fifty-five degrees. Cold enough to make her nipples pucker, for damn sure. And thinking about her nipples puckering was enough to make his tighten like buttons.
She came up sputtering, and oh, man, was she mad. So, so mad.
He was in awe of the sequence of words she strung together. The only other person he knew who could get that eloquent with swearwords in a high temper was him. The amazing part, though, was watching all that passion and fire pouring from a woman who thought she didnt feel a damn thing.
Before Pete could think twice, he heeled off his boots and dove straight in after her. The shock of icy water slapped every nerve awake. He came up two feet from her, gasping and sputtering. The cold water should have taken care of his arousal. Heaven knew why it didnt.
Hed barely hauled in a lungful of air before he felt a punch of water splashed in his face. Cam splashed him a second time, then in one long stroke swam closer with the clear intention of drowning him-or at least dunking him good.
He deserved it, he knew. And normally he wouldnt mind being emergolated-not by Camille-but just then, there was so much more at stake than her momentary temper. So when she clutched her hands on his shoulders, trying to push him down, he kicked them both several feet toward shore toward shallower water. The instant he could stand, he dragged her wet body against his.
She was right in the middle of reaming him out a new litany of insults when he plastered a kiss on her mouth. The kiss was so wet and hot that it made steam shoot up his veins, where seconds before hed been shiver-cold. So had she. But she warmed up damn fast, too. When he got around to it, he tore his mouth free.
Show me, he said roughly. Show me again how you dont feel. How you dont give a damn.
He kissed her again. Again. He used his body to brace her, to walk her out of the water, climbing to the tall prickly grasses on the shore. Their clothes stuck to them like soggy glue, miserably cold, and still he kissed her. Still she kissed him back.
Out of nowhere, both of them paused-both heaving from lack of breath-and when they tried to gulp in a fresh batch, her eyes opened. Her gaze lost that sexy, foggy haze and suddenly sharpened as if she remembered how mad she was. Her fist came swooping toward his ears, so obviously, he had to kiss her again. Had to peel off her clothes. Had to peel off his.
Sunlight poured down on them as they sank down. The grasses were rough, tingly against bare flesh, and still both of them came together in a frenzy, rolling next to the pond edge, rolling away, the sun blinding him, then her, and always, nothing mattering more than claiming the next kiss, reaching the next level of hunger, inspiring the next touch.
It had never been like this for him. Not even close. His world centered around her taste, her kiss, her touch. For him, she was champagne and velvet, moon and sunshine both. She brought him light. She matched him, passion for passion, touch for touch, stroking him as intimately as he stroked her, braving ways to tease him, to take, as he braved ways to fuel sensations and needs in her.
So you feel nothing, Cam? No cold, no heat. Especially you dont feel anything for me, right? Beyond a little sexual urge. You dont want anything to do with real life, right?
MacDougal? She lifted up, her hands splayed in his hair, her eyes as fierce as black satin.
What?
Ive taken all the grief Im going to take from you. Now shut up and kiss me.
Sheesh. She was so impatient.
So was he. All right, maybe he was a little rough, but he could feel the desperation building inside of him. Not just the desperate need to have her, but the desperate instinct that hed never have another chance. He knew she was healing. He knew she was growing stronger, physically and emotionally, becoming more like herself. She was only a blink away from not needing help anymore.
Not needing him.
And that was exactly what he wanted, Pete told himself fiercely. Hed never counted on more.
Never.
This was all there was. These moments, with her thick wet hair, tangling around his fingers, her soft luscious mouth feeding off his. Her naked body slipped and slid against his, her breasts so sweet to the touch, sweeter yet to the taste. Her slim legs were made to wrap around him, her hips made to tighten and take him in. When he first plunged inside her, she let out a soft, hoarse cry that echoed on the spring wind, carried into the canopy of leaves, rustled with longing and need.
Oh, Pete, she said, as he drove deep and hardand then did his damnedest to drive deeper and harder.
He wanted to love her better than her husband ever had. He wanted her to remember a man whod loved her beyond all reason, all sense, on a sunlit morning in the meadow by the pool, brazen with love, inspired by how much he wanted to give her, to show her, to be for her.
He understood she was going to always remember the man who died for her. But he wanted her to know irrevocably that there was a man who wanted to live for loving her, too.
Because her back had to be scratched up from the grasses and rough ground, he swung her on top of him, and gave her the power and the reins. There was a moment, in all that fierce coupling, all those sweaty limbs and teeth and hot wet kisses, when she lifted her head with a glorious smile for him. And just shook her head to the sun and let out a wild, joyful, sweet laugh.
But then she swooped right back down to him with a wicked glint in her eyes, and that was the end of the smiling. She took him ferociously, riding him as if she were determined to show this stallion what-forfor damn sure she was going to show this man what a woman could do when she was in the mood.
Needs sharpened, cried between them. Her need was his, no different than his need belonged to her. Hands clasped, lips glued, hips pumped to the same erotic rhythm. She crashed first, one spasm of pleasure cascading into another until she cried out, high and spent. Then it was his turn.
His eyelids closed in release, just needing to breathe for a minute. His arms folded tenderly, tightly around her. He didnt want to let her go. Ever. Didnt know how he could. Ever.
But of course, that was passion and love talking.
Not reality.
Pete really knew this was their last time-and knew that he had to face that. There was no other choice.
So he took this momentand held on for as long as he could.
Ten
It was over a week later that Camille awakened at daybreak with her heart pounding and her palms damp. Swiftly she climbed out of bed and headed into the kitchen.
The night before shed left doors and windows open. For the second week in June, it was unreasonably, unfairly hot and humid.
As she fussed around the kitchen, she thought it was edgy weather. Stormy weather. Something-had-to-happen weatherand then almost jumped out of her skin when a gust of wind scraped a twig against the screened door.
She admitted to being nervous. Not because of the looming storm, but because of Pete.
With a mug of coffee in one hand, she started two pounds of ground round sizzling in a frying pan. She forked it around, breaking up the clumps. Her heart felt squeezed-tight and achy, as if it were beating under pressure. Building pressure. She simply couldnt shake the panicked nerves.
It wasnt as if she hadnt seen Pete every single day in the past week. She had. But the boys were out of school now, and theyd been with him on every occasion. All three had pitched in to help her finish pruning and grooming the lavender. Pete hadnt spoken about that wild morning at his pond. Neither had she, because there hadnt been a chance-she kept telling herself.
Down deep, she knew perfectly well that if you sat on a train track and refused to budge, sooner or later there was going to be a train wreck.
Irritably she pushed her bangs off her forehead and reached for a spatula. Its done, but it has to cool for a couple minutes, she said aloud, but when she turned around, no one was in sight, much less listening to her.
Granted, it was still the crack of dawn, but she still expected the smell of hamburger would at least waken Miss Priss. She scooped a huge portion into Killers bowl, a smaller version into the cats.
Like any sane person, shed tried buying cat food, but Miss Hoity-toity Priss had turned up her nose at every brand shed brought home, no matter how expensive. And obviously she couldnt feed the derelict, no-account cat ground round and then try to give Killer ordinary dog food, so she was stuck cooking for both of them. If anyone found out she was cooking hamburger for the animals, shed have to kill them, but really, what else was she supposed to do? Not care? Neglect them after all theyd been through?
Breakfast, she called out. No one answered. No bodies showed up in the doorway. The cottage was as quiet as a manless house. Peaceful. Still.
Lonely. She tromped around barefoot, searching in the usual sleeping spots. It wasnt as if there were a thousand places to hide in the cottage. She found both of them, snoozing side by side on her bed. Again.