Blame It On Paris

CHAPTER ELEVEN

KELLY DECIDED that her office was starting to resemble a cave. The door was still visible, but the windows were now blocked with case boxes and texts; her desk was heaped high, and files had started wandering around, to the floor, to the chairs, to the windowsills.

The chaos was unavoidable. It happened every time she neared the end of a case. Like now.

Peripherally she was aware that Samantha had shown up in the doorway, but some things mattered more than bosses. Will, for example. One reason she was working herself into a frenzy was because it put relationship worries on the emotional back burner, at least for a few hours.

The current case was about a woman named Penelope. From the instant Kelly uncovered the name, she had a mental picture of highlighted hair and upper-crust bones. Somehow Penelope had copped a dozen or more credit cards. From the stolen cards, she'd ferreted out social security numbers, birthdays and all the other personal ID info that enabled Ms. Penelope to rob a half dozen innocent people.

Kelly's love of snooping had practically reached orgasmic proportions on this one. The credit card companies had all been contacted by the various people whose identity Ms. Penelope had stolen. So had the police. But everyone else had been stymied in the quest to identify the culprit…except for Kelly. Who hadn't yet found her, but man, she was sure on the cusp.

Ms. Penelope only purchased certain items with the cards. She didn't pay rent or make car payments. She bought Coach handbags. Versace clothes, Mackie tops, Wacoal underwear. She made a lot of long-distance calls to Los Angeles. She'd paid for a visit to a plastic surgeon in Minnesota.

Ergo, Kelly figured she was a hotshot wannabe, probably an unemployed actress with some youth and looks, willing to do anything to get what she wanted. Kelly had pinned down the first name for sure. The woman moved around, so finding her wasn't going to be a matter of pinning down a base address, but where she was trying to function, en route to Hollywood…

"Kelly." Samantha let out such an exasperated shout that Kelly finally looked up.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I've been trying to get your attention for at least four minutes!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Well, she wasn't. Not only was she close to solving this particular identity-theft problem, but coming back to earth meant coming back to reality. Family messes. Life messes. Will, who hadn't called since the dinner with his parents, and who she knew darn well was mighty ticked at her.

She also knew why. Will wanted her to take his side. Instead, she'd felt compelled to tell him that he was being bullheaded. Of course, she shouldn't have been that honest with him. What man ever wanted to hear the truth?

Samantha stepped in. giving her another exasperated look, as if her boss was well aware she'd mentally wandered off again. "Two things. This-" she put an envelope on Kelly's desk "-is a bonus. I can't give you a raise right now, not until your review in August. But you've poured on the coals so thoroughly that I had to express my gratitude."

"Thanks." Kelly didn't mean to rip open the envelope like a kid with a candy bar, but her fondness for living in student rental housing-even after the paint job-was paper-thin. She was saving money now, but she wasn't about to start looking for new digs until she'd scared up a seriously heavy down payment. Anything extra was more than welcomed.

Her jaw dropped, though, when she saw the amount printed on the check. Yeah, she'd done an outstanding job in the past few weeks. But after all, it was her job. And maybe she'd saved credit card companies considerable money. But that was her job, as well. "Wow," she said honestly. "Thanks so much. What a surprise-and I really appreciate it."

"I just want you happy, Kelly. I don't want you looking for another job."

"You know I love the work."

"Yes, I do. But I also know you're working too many hours. I don't want you burning out."

"I won't. I won't."

Her boss lingered one more minute. 'The second thing I wanted to tell you-just as I was going through the lobby, a man was walking in to see you. I told Brenna I'd let you know so she wouldn't have to page you."

"Thanks!" Kelly popped out of her chair thinking it was Will. No, she wasn't expecting him. And no, she couldn't imagine a reason on the planet why he'd stop by her place of work in the middle of the afternoon, but it wasn't as if clients normally showed up out of the blue, either, so it could be him.

Even if her thinking was illogical, her heart was still soaring before she'd reached the door, then she ran back to the desk, opened the middle drawer, brushed her hair and smacked on coral lip cream. Her tan slacks and salmon shirt were hardly femme fatale attire, but en route to the lobby, she undid an extra button at the throat and put some sauce in her step.

Her enthusiasm was squashed when she saw the man in the lobby-the guy facing the windows, jingling change in his pocket. The one with the dusty-brown hair and skinny shoulders and handsome features. Familiar, handsome features.

Jason spun around as if sensing her presence. His expression was hungry and raw even if his posture was protectively stiff. "I've been out of town. Just got back."

"I heard you were gone."

He nodded. "I went on the honeymoon we were supposed to take together." He barely paused. "All I could think of was speeding from the airport, getting here, seeing you. I've got something I have to say."

Kelly thought she knew every flavor of guilt, but this taste was acid all the way down. She herded him into her office, aware of faces and eyes drawn to doorways. They all knew Jason, all knew of her wedding plans, her broken engagement. And seeing him again made her heart clutch. His dear face was as familiar as peanut butter.

She did still love him, the way she loved cocoa in winter and peppermint ice cream and snuggly slippers. It was a real enough love, even an important love. But there was none of the excitement she felt with Will, none of the fierce loneliness when she wasn't with Will, none of the singing joy of life or the lusty pizzazz.

She couldn't treat Jason as an enemy, because he wasn't. But she wanted this conversation with him like a hole in the head, and he started in the instant she closed her office door.

"Kelly…on this vacation, I drank. Swam. Took a lot of time to think. I think you're making a mistake. I think we both are. I want you to give us another try."

She started shaking her head, but he wasn't about to let her answer. Not yet. He jammed his hands in his pockets and slowly stalked around her bitsy office like a wounded cat. "I don't care what you said. I know there was a guy. There just had to be a guy. because nothing else makes sense. So let's get that out in the open. I don't care. I mean, of course I care. But I still love you. I still think we can make a damn good marriage. Lots of people have flings before the wedding. Weddings make people panic. When people panic, they do crazy things. So maybe that's wrong and not smart, but it's still one of the mistakes people make."

She tried to interrupt him again, but he'd obviously prepared this whole speech, and he was already gulping for air between sentences. Her work phone rang. Then the song on her cell phone started playing. Her coworker two offices down-Myrna, the one getting the testy divorce-pushed open her door and started to ask a question, saw her with Jason, backed right out again.

And Jason kept talking. "We've known each other our whole lives. I know you love me. I love you. Maybe we forgot some of the romance because we knew each other so well. But both of us could take a fresh shot. We're invested in each other, Kelly. We have shared family, shared friends, a shared history. It's just plain crazy to throw that all away."

He'd been talking so steadily that she wasn't expecting him to suddenly move toward her, clearly intending to pull her into an embrace. She froze like a scared rabbit. "Jason," she said, "I'll care about you forever. I'll always love you. But not the way-"

She smelled the familiar scent of him, the familiar feel of his hands on her shoulders, the familiar way he approached a kiss and her stomach rolled. His lips came down, yet thankfully within seconds, he stopped, jolted upright.

He met her eyes. He looked sick. She felt sick, too. but there was no way to pretend a feeling that didn't exist.

"You can't even try?" he asked thickly.

"It doesn't take trying to care about you. Jason. But it's not there-the kind of love you want. My heart can't make it happen."

"That doesn't make sense. What the hell is the right kind of love, the wrong kind of love? Love is love. It changes over the years, anyway. So we hit a lull. So what? It doesn't mean we won't care for each other ten years from now. Or twenty."

Her office phone started ringing again. Another coworker. George, poked his head in and backed out faster than a fire.

Kelly sucked in air, thinking this was about as much fun as a case of leprosy. Slowly, carefully, she said. "We're not getting married. Jason. I hate hurting you. I'm terribly sorry. But I am one hundred percent positive that it isn't going to happen."

He put up his hands in an exasperated gesture of giving in, and finally started shuffling toward the door. "It's your mother's birthday party next week. I assume the neighborhood will put on a big block party, same as always. So if you think we won't be talking again, trust me, we will. But I can see there's no point in trying to get through to you anymore today.'"

Talk about a way to put a girl in a funk. Kelly couldn't reclaim her workaholic mood after that, couldn't get anything done. She grouched around her office until she finally gave up. Outside, it had turned hot and humid; South Bend traffic was as snarled and grouchy as she was, and once she deposited the bonus in the bank, she holed up at home.

Her room had no air-conditioning, so she stripped down to shorts and a tee. slapped together a peanut-butter sandwich and then sat at her laptop to pound out an e-mail to her father.

It was a waste of time, she knew. Her father didn't care, and pretending otherwise was getting a little ridiculous. But sometimes, Kelly figured, a woman was entitled to beat her head against a wall if she wanted to, and right then, she was definitely in that type of mood, which possibly affected the tone of her e-mail.

Hi, Dad. You haven't responded to any of my other e-mails and I suspect you won't to this one. But I'm still writing to you.

I'm really sorry you were a low-down cheater who never considered there might be consequences from your having a good time. But you affected my mother's whole life. And mine.

I always, always tried to be a good daughter, a good person. I never took chances, never did anything wrong if I could help it. I know, I know, you don't care, or you'd have written me back by now. But I'm trying to tell you that's who I've always been-a girl who was afraid of taking risks-and I think it's partly because I had no dad. No sense of someone who could pick me up if I fell really hard.

My mom has always been there for me. As I hope I've been for her. But there's always been a hole…a wondering how different my life might have been if I'd had a dad, known a dad.

And I do get it, of course. Why you haven't responded. My existence is just a nuisance for you. But I'm angry, do you understand? Angry at you. Angry at you for not knowing about me, for not caring enough to even find out if your actions created a baby. I'm angrier yet that you never even considered whether having a daughter might have added something good to your life.

I guess I've never been real to you.

I'm starting to understand that I was never all that real to me, either. But now there's a man I've fallen in love with. Real love. The kind of man I think I could spend a life with…except that I'm not sure of anything right now. I thought I was a "good girl." Now I'm doing some pretty wild things. I thought I was the daughter of a single mom. Now I know that's not true, either. I thought I knew myself- what I wanted, what I needed, what I was capable of. And all that seems in question now, too…

I know you don't care, so I don't know why I kept venting to you, why I…

Kelly startled when her cell rang. She didn't want to answer. Her mood had evolved from low to subterranean. Bleak, dark. Cry-close gloomy. PMS with thorns. She had absolutely no motivation to push that on anyone else.

But the phone kept ringing, too distracting to concentrate further on the silly e-mail that her father was just going to ignore anyway. Finally she jerked out of the computer chair and tracked down the phone in her purse.

"What?" she answered crossly.

"Kel?"

Damn. Just like that, a single syllable in Will's lazy tenor, and the nasty mood she'd been clinging to disappeared like dust in the wind.

"Yeah, it's me, Will, but-"

"Are you free this Saturday morning?"

"Yes. But-"

"Pick you up at ten. No questions."

"But-"

"Bring sunscreen. Sunglasses. A hat, if you have one. Otherwise, just think ultracasual. No-worry clothes."

"But-"

"Plan on the whole day. all right? Because I can't give you an exact time when we'll be back. Ten," he repeated, and then clicked off.

THE INSTANT Will pulled into the driveway on Saturday morning, Kelly flew out the door. She was dressed as instructed-a blue-and-white shirt and capris. a white hoodie for the cool of the morning. Her hair was freshly washed and held back with sunglasses and her tote carried the required sunscreen.

She had no idea where they were going and didn't care. When she climbed into the unfamiliar BMW convertible-which was satin-red and cuter than sin-she immediately pounced on Will about what mattered. "How come we're doing this?"

He looked her over with lecherous eyes. "Because I thought of a splendiferous way to spend a Saturday. Specifically with you."

"But you're mad at me. Remember?" She swallowed him up in a look. She hadn't seen him in a whole week, a stretch of time that seemed longer than months. Heaven knew what he'd been doing. His nose was sunburned; his right knee was skinned; his chin had a brush of blond whiskers and he looked edible-edible, jumpable and lovable-in frayed cutoffs and a Cambridge tee.

"I was never mad at you," he corrected. Two turns later, they were on the freeway headed north. "I was slightly aggravated at having dinner with my father. Being with my father, anytime, under any circumstance, is a guaranteed way of yanking my chain."

"But it was me you were aggravated with, not your dad. Because you thought I wasn't taking your side." At last she had a chance to get that out in the open. "But I am on your side. Will. Totally. Completely. It's just that being in your corner doesn't mean I always have to agree with you, does it?"

He shot her a quick look, then reached over faster than quicksilver and traced a fingertip down her ribs.

She convulsed. "Is that your way of avoiding a serious discussion, you varmint? Tickling me?"

"Yeah. My sisters taught me that trick. Besides-there are rules for today. It's a play day. We've both had too much family stress. No serious discussion allowed. This is a day for forgetting all the heavy stuff and refilling the energy wells."

"You think that's possible, huh?" she murmured. She wished it were but didn't believe it. Hiding from problems never got them solved. Taking a break made her feel she was running away and that a lightning bolt of guilt was going to slash out of the sky any second and catch up with her.

Still. The wind tugged at her hair; the warm sun beat down, and Will flipped to a radio station playing such god-awful, twangy, corny country songs that she had to either groan or hum along. He kept sending her lazy grins. She kept trying to hold on to a careful, wary, worried mood, but as the miles sped by, serious thoughts ebbed away.

It didn't take her long to figure out their destination, since 31 North led straight into Michigan, and in less than an hour, Will turned off at St. Joseph- an old-fashioned town built on top of a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.

Kelly knew the town, had known the area for years, because the beach was fabulous and the shopping was fun. The long street was packed with little shops, lots of art. interesting jewelry, cafes, a blend of things to do and see.

Will bypassed the shopping section-no surprise. That left pretty much nothing to do but the beach.

"I know the temperature's warm out," she said tactfully, "but in case you've forgotten what the lake is like at this time of year, it's colder than ice. Maybe you could handle swimming, but I really-"

"We're not going to swim. We're going to sail."

"Sail," she repeated warmly, trying to treat the demented man with kindness. "The way I heard it, it's awfully tricky to sail without a boat."

He grinned at her teasing. "Luckily we happen to have a boat. A thirty-foot Sabre, in fact. Waiting for us."

She stared at him in confusion, until he turned into a marina called Harbor Isle. The place was more crowded than a zoo, with massive yachts and sailboats everywhere, a fancy crane operation going on where big boats were being hoisted into the water, and people wearing everything from painting clothes to jewels to anything in between. Will parked in front of a long, sleek white baby with a blue sail cover. The side of the boat read Soul Asset.

"It's not mine. It's my sister's. Or to be more accurate my dad's-he's the one who paid the bill- but, regardless, it's ours for the day. Tell me now if you tend to get seasick. I've got some-"

"No, not a problem."

"Good. And I've been sailing all my life, so don't start worrying I'm going to tip us over or strand us… that is, unless you want to be stranded. I stocked her up yesterday, so there's nothing you have to do but slip off your shoes and climb aboard. There are extra jackets below if it gets cold. And if you want to be busy. Til give you things to do, but the boat's set up for single handing so you can sit back and put your feet up and relax."

She wanted to say something-when had she ever been speechless? This was such a surprise. She'd expected an extra-nice lunch or dinner, maybe. A picnic. She never dreamed about spending a day doing anything like this.

Will zipped around the boat like an acrobat, untying lines, unbuttoning the sail cover, starting the engine. He unlocked the companionway to the cabin below, brought up thick white cushions and ice water, and then they were off.

"We're actually on the river here, and we have to go through two old-fashioned drawbridges before we reach the lake-and they're a pain." As they neared the first one, Will picked up an air horn, let out an earsplitting long toot and then a short one. 'That's the signal, asking the gatekeeper to open the bridge for us. As soon as we're out of the river channel, we can cut the motor and put up the sails."

It was Greek to her. She'd been on boats before, even a few sailboats-South Bend was so close to the lake that kids just naturally had a chance to enjoy it, growing up. But she'd never been on a beauty of a boat like this.

They passed a red-and-white lighthouse, piers and a white beach dotted with sun worshippers. Then civilization faded away, leaving nothing but an open lake with silver-hemmed waves. Will flipped a cleat and suddenly, a huge white sail zoomed up the mast. He turned the winch, cranking her all the way until the sail touched sky. then repeated the same procedure with a second billowing sail.

Last, he cut the engine, and suddenly there was silence.

Magic.

She didn't know what else to call it.

People and city sights and sounds disappeared. The wind cupped the sails and they flew across the water, the sun blessing her cheeks, the air brushing her hair like sensuous fingers.

"You want to take the helm?" Will asked her.

"Are you nuts? Do you want me to sink this gorgeous boat?"

He laughed. "You can't sink her. Promise. I'll be right behind you."

He was. Right behind her. Perched on the fanny of the boat while she stood at the wheel. There were dials-for water depth and wind and speed and Lord knew what else. But Kelly was conscious only of him. of his sun-warmed body just behind her. shirtless, his brown chest nestling against her back. The boat skimmed the water in a silent dance and unbidden, unexpectedly, she felt a burst of emotion. A feeling like freedom. Joyful. Easy.

"Did you know," she asked, "that I couldn't have needed a day like this more?"

"We both did." he said, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Just a second."

He peeled down the steps to the cabin, emerged seconds later with two Notre Dame sun visors. He perched one on her head, one on his. Then readjusted hers, to fit her smaller head, making her laugh- which made her accidentally turn the wheel too hard, which made the boat suddenly dip and the sails wildly flutter.

People and city sights and sounds disappeared. The wind cupped the sails and they flew across the water, the sun blessing her cheeks, the air brushing her hair like sensuous fingers.

"You want to take the helm?" Will asked her.

"Are you nuts? Do you want me to sink this gorgeous boat?"

He laughed. "You can't sink her. Promise. I'll be right behind you."

He was. Right behind her. Perched on the fanny of the boat while she stood at the wheel. There were dials-for water depth and wind and speed and Lord knew what else. But Kelly was conscious only of him. of his sun-warmed body just behind her. shirtless, his brown chest nestling against her back. The boat skimmed the water in a silent dance and unbidden, unexpectedly, she felt a burst of emotion. A feeling like freedom. Joyful. Easy.

"Did you know," she asked, "that I couldn't have needed a day like this more?"

"We both did." he said, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Just a second."

He peeled down the steps to the cabin, emerged seconds later with two Notre Dame sun visors. He perched one on her head, one on his. Then readjusted hers, to fit her smaller head, making her laugh- which made her accidentally turn the wheel too hard, which made the boat suddenly dip and the sails wildly flutter.

"Whoa there, lady."

But her heart didn't want to whoa. Her pulse was racing, chasing, as exuberantly as the wind. He smoothed sunscreen down her arms and neck when she had the helm, and she did the same for him when he took his turn at the wheel.

It was foreplay. that touching, the smell of Cop-pertone and water, the ripple of his skin under her hands, the responsiveness and heat of her skin under his. He knew. The way he looked at her. With invitation. With wanting.

With waiting.

They sailed the shoreline until around lunch. Will didn't stop the boat or throw out an anchor, but he did something with the sails he called "heaving to." Once the boat stopped, he gave orders. She was to close her eyes. Sit there. Not move. "And for damn sure, don't think."

"Hey." She put plenty of "insulted" into her voice. but he just laughed.

She closed her eyes, as ordered, heard him rummaging around, up and down the steps, humming an old rock song under his breath. She was aware when he finally stopped moving, because there was suddenly complete quiet-except for the sound of a distant gull crying in the sky and Will's shadow cooling her hot cheeks. And then something else. A sensation of something fluttery-light and soft and fragrant raining on her head.

Her eyes popped open. Everywhere, on her shoulders, her arms, the deck, were rose petals. Bowls of them, buckets of them. She wanted to laugh, and did, but something squeezed her heart-the gesture was so frivolous, so romantic. So Paris.

Suddenly he was watching her in a way she couldn't back away from. The way the wind ruffled his hair, the rush of heat in his eyes, the electric tension between them-every detail invoked a flush of memories of Paris. It was as if they were there again, in his bed, waking up to warm rumpled sheets and a patch of lazy sunlight and street vendors below, hawking flowers to lovers.

Lovers like they'd been.

Lovers…the way she still felt with him. for him.

"Lunch," he murmured. "French style. Baguettes. Cheese. Fruit. Wine. There's ice water, as well, because I figured we'd be thirsty."

She tried to eat. She was certainly hungry enough. Will wolfed down lunch easily, but then he stopped, poured the wine, hunkered down next to her on the long white cushion.

That was the last time she could put a bite in her mouth.

"You know what occurred to me?" he asked lazily.

Everything before really had been foreplay. she thought. The looks. The smile. The sun and sea and sexy white sails. The hopelessly corny rose petals and French picnic and wine.

All that was nothing, though, compared with the next seductive trick he pulled.

He lifted the forefinger of his right hand, hooked it with the forefinger of her left hand.

Was that the act of a low-down sneaky creep, or what?

That was all. Absolutely no body parts touched except for their two fingers. And then his lazy, quiet voice asked, "You know what I was thinking about?"

Torturing women? "What?" she asked in a reasonably normal voice.

"I was thinking that this was how it was in Paris with you. As if there were just the two of us. The rest of the world didn't mean a damn." He added carefully. "Have you noticed that I haven't made a pass?"

What could she say? No? Why haven't you jumped me?

"It's because you asked me not to, Kel. Because I've tried to honor what you asked of me." He lifted their hooked fingers, waggled them together playfully. "You felt there was too much confusion and trouble in your life, that you needed to work some things out before tangling your life up with sex."

"Yes." Why had she said that? When had she been that sane?That stupid?The tip of his forefinger circled hers, such an innocuous, lightweight caress that there was no explaining the thrumming low in her belly.

"And I wanted you separated from that guy before I made any more moves. But you did that. And now

I think we're both ready for a new plan. I want you to come back to Paris with me."

"Paris," she repeated.

"Just listen." Still he caressed her finger, slowly, gently, as if there were nothing in the universe hurrying either of them, stressing either of them, worrying either of them. "There's nothing holding you here. You've come home to nothing but trouble. You love your mom, I know that, but she could visit us in Paris anytime she wanted. I'll pay. I've got money, Kel. My grandfather left me a good inheritance. Anytime you wanted family to visit-or you wanted to come back to South Bend-we could swing it. absolutely no sweat."

She was getting dizzy from his eloquent finger caress. From his soft, slow, tender voice.

"You could work there. Do whatever you love to do there, no different than here. We could find a place of our own, if you don't like mine. Are you hearing me? We could do this. Go back to Paris. Be in Paris together. Forever, if that's what you wanted. There's nothing we can't do together, Kel. Nothing we can't try."

She turned to face him directly. She didn't interrupt him. but as if he feared she was about to lodge a handful of protests, his voice sped up. "Nothing was right for me after you left. Nothing's right here, either, until I'm with you, and then everything works. It's not the boat. It's not the day. It's being with you. Everything gets right again when I'm with you. Kel, come to Paris with me. You know how it was. You know how it can be again."

She didn't know she was going to kiss him. She'd been wary of Will seducing her. not the other way around. She'd wanted Will to seduce her, not the other way around. And vaguely she recalled having at least a dozen reasons why making love with Will again was temporarily a terrible idea, but just then, she couldn't think of a single one.

He needed love, right now.

And it was easy to give him.

The only thing hard, all this time, had been holding back. And maybe she should try to hold back for her own emotional protection, before she fell any deeper, but Kelly suspected it was already too late for that.

She was already so deeply in love with Will that she couldn't imagine surviving without him. Couldn't imagine another man in her life, ever, not intimately. Couldn't imagine wanting to take risks…like the risks she wanted to take with Will. Couldn't imagine feeling lust or fear or frustration or tantalizing dreams with any other man. Not the way she did with him.

His lips were warm, his body absolutely motionless when she turned her head and took his mouth. But that first one was a gentle kiss-a tease, like the wicked, wild foreplay of their entwined fingers.

When she climbed on his lap-making the boat suddenly buck and rock-she really kissed him. Just bent her head and took it, like a brazen hussy or a woman with a mission or the boss of the universe. All of which she felt like at that precise moment, but it was his fault. The damned man responded as if she were everything-as if the touch of her, the kiss of her, was all he had ever wanted.

He let out a strong sigh, as if he'd been holding in temper and tension for years. Then he roped his arms around her and pulled her into the warm circle of his skin, his heartbeat, his strength. '"Hey," he murmured thickly. "I thought we were supposed to behave."

"Behaving is so overrated. I've been behaving all my life." She kissed his earlobe, the spot right underneath it. "Until you." She felt his hands sneaking under her tank, his hand on the strap of her bra. "You're the only one I want to behave badly with, Will. What do you think that means?"

She couldn't continue talking for a second, because the tank was swirled over her head. Her bra seemed to come off it with it. In fact, her bra seemed to miss the seat and instead take a dive into Lake Michigan, a bobbing bit of red-and-white polka dots that matched her thong-which he was likely to discover soon.

Very soon.

"I think it means…" he said, and then lost his breath. She was already on top of him. so it was easy enough for him to angle kisses down her throat, down to her breasts, the nipples, the swelling round, the underside crease, her ribs. He seemed to forget what he'd been about to say.

She forgot whatever had ever been in her head, anyway. She'd never been bare naked outside before, in open sunlight. It didn't matter if there wasn't a boat near enough to see; it felt brazen and wicked and delicious.

He suckled her breast, tight, pulling her into his mouth, nuzzling, tasting. Her back arched like the sway of a reed. Desire elevated her awareness. Need magnified her senses. Or maybe it was just Will's touch, his scent, his eyes, his mouth that could do these things to her. All she knew…was wanting him more. Intensely, fiercely, greedily wanting more… and wanting to give him more. To make him feel sky-high as a man. the way he'd made her feel sky-high as a woman from the very start.

Out of nowhere, she heard a discordant sound. A distinctly civilized sound.

"Will?"

"I know," he muttered immediately, as if answering the question he assumed was on her mind. "Too damned narrow and hard and open out here. Not comfortable. The cabin. We'll go down to the cabin."

Talk was cheap. He'd barely made the incoherent announcement before he'd lowered her back to his lap. Her legs naturally wound around his waist, enabling more of those potent, dangerous kisses. They'd danced before, she knew, but this music had a beat, a power, that seemed to own her from the inside out.

They swayed into each other, a courting dance of chest to breast, lip to lip, her lap nestled against his erection. With each kiss, the dance seemed to intensify the beat of hearts, the drum of wind, the lyrics of longing and passion and fire.

The discordant sound intruded on her consciousness again.

It was a phone, she recognized with frustration. The sound emanated from down beneath the seat cushions. It was Will's cell phone-it must have fallen.

"Will," she said, and maybe she whispered it against his neck, but her tone meant to communicate seriousness.

"Forget it. I don't care. Whoever it is can leave a message."

But it wasn't that simple. The phone eventually stopped ringing and then started up again. Stopped and started…again. After the fifth time they couldn't help but notice and slowly Will pulled away from her to answer the phone.

Kelly could hear, all too clearly, the sound of a woman's frantic voice on the other end.

"Will. It's your Mom, dear. Your dad's been in an accident. He'll be fine, we're almost sure…"A catch in his mom's voice, raw and soft. "But could you come? Lakeland Hospital."