One Summer’s Knight

Chapter 13

The phone rang while Mirabella was giving Amy Jo her bath. Since Jimmy Joe was out on a cross-country haul and J.J. was spending the night at his friend Rocky’s house, she had no choice but to let it ring until the machine picked it up. And then it was a hang-up after all. She really hated that.

It rang again while she was getting Amy Jo settled down, reading her her bedtime story and tucking her in for the night, and there was no way she was going to let a phone call interrupt that! Especially a phone call from somebody who didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a message.

Consequently, when it rang for the third time just as she was sitting down to the computer to work on the plans for Blue Star Lines new company offices, she was a wee bit short tempered and out of sorts.

“Yes!” she barked. And then, slowly, she said, “Yes, this is Mirabella Starr.” For some reason the voice on the other end of the line, though polite as could be, made a chill go down her spine.

“Mrs. Starr, this is Special Agent Jake Redfield, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to ask you-”

“The FBI?” Mirabella’s first impulse was to laugh. For some reason, instead, she asked very quietly, “Is this a joke?” And her heart had already begun to beat faster.

“No, ma’am, this isn’t a joke. This concerns-”

“It’s my sister, isn’t it? Which one? Oh, God, it’s Evie, isn’t it? I knew something was wrong-I knew it.”

“Ma’am-calm down, please. Ma’am, this does concern your sister, Summer Robey-”

“Oh, God-”

“Your sister’s fine, Mrs. Starr. However, we would like to ask you for your help in resolving a matter that concerns her.”

“A matter-hey, wait just a minute,” Mirabella cried, relief restoring her naturally bossy and forthright nature, “how do I know this isn’t some kind of joke? Just because you say you’re with the FBI-”

A sigh interrupted her. “Mrs. Starr, here’s what I want you to do, okay? I want you to hang up, and then dial long distance information for Savannah. Ask for the number for the FBI. When they answer, I want you to ask for Special Agent Redfield-would you do that for me, please?”

Mirabella gulped and gave a grudging “Okay.” There was a distant “click.”

She had to look up the area code for Savannah. But a few minutes later she was listening to a flat male voice droning, “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” while fear fluttered in her stomach and icy sweat beaded like dew on her forehead. She had to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth in order to ask for Special Agent Redfield, but a moment later heard the chillingly neutral voice saying, “Thank you for calling me back, Mrs. Starr. Are we okay now? All squared away?”

Well, you needn’t be quite so polite, Mirabella thought testily. After all, you can’t just trust people nowadays, can you? She cleared her throat and said crisply, “Yes, thank you. Now, you say this concerns my sister Summer? Is she in some kind of trouble?” Oh, Got, I knew it. I knew it.

“Not at all,” Agent Redfield said smoothly. “But what we’d like you to do, if you wouldn’t mind, if anyone should call you or contact you asking about where they can get ahold-”

“Hal! This is about him, isn’t it? That no-good ex-husband of hers-I knew it!”

“If anyone contacts you, Mrs. Starr-anyone at all-asking about your sister, I’d like you to give them this address that I’m about to give you. Got a pencil? Okay, good-then I’d like you to call me immediately. If you can’t reach me here, I’m going to give you my beeper number. Call me anytime, day or night, understand?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mirabella impatiently; she disliked being asked if she understood. Did they think she was mentally deficient? She frowned at the numbers she’d written on the message pad beside the phone. “Agent Redfield, did you by any chance try to call me earlier this evening? Twice?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t Just the one time. Why?”

“Nothing. Just had a couple of hang-ups on my machine, is all. I thought-well. Never mind…” She let her voice trail off as shifting patterns of light and shadow glanced off the kitchen windows and slid across the walls of her office. Someone-a car-was turning into her driveway. At this time of night? Jimmy Joe wasn’t due back until tomorrow.

“Just be sure and call the minute-”

“Yes-would you hold on for just one second, please?” The hand that gripped the phone had become slippery with sweat. She was suddenly aware that, except for her baby daughter sleeping in her crib upstairs, she was alone in the house. Alone, and surrounded by uninhabited darkness. The phone in her hand had become a lifeline.

“Mrs. Starr? Everything okay there?”

“Just a minute-someone’s coming.” She tried not to sound breathless; she really didn’t want the FBI man to think she was afraid, especially if it turned out to be nothing. With the cordless phone pressed tightly against her ear, she tiptoed through the darkened living room and peered out across the front porch. Her heart pounded as she watched an unfamiliar car pull in and park beneath the oak trees at the edge of the lawn. Lights and motor were turned off. There was a long and suspense-filled pause… and then the door opened, briefly-too briefly-illuminating the driver inside. Mirabella’s breath caught.

“Mrs. Starr? You okay?”

The car door closed, and a lone figure started toward her, walking with purpose, angling across the grass. She gasped, “Oh, my God-”

“Mrs. Starr?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She was laughing, maybe half crying, too. “I have to go now. It’s my sister-she just arrived. My other sister-Evie. Agent Redfield, I’ll call if I hear anything-I will, I promise. But I have to go now. Bye!” She punched the disconnect button and threw open the front door. “Oh, my God-Evie!” She flew across the porch and down the steps. “I can’t believe this-you have no idea-where on earth did you come from?” And then she was enveloped in her older sister’s arms, and in the warmth of her throaty chuckle.

“Hey, Bell-wow, this is some reception. Sorry I missed the big anniversary celebration.”

“Never mind-I’m just so glad you’re here. You have no idea…but what are you doing here? I thought you were in Las Vegas.”

Her sister dismissed that with an airy wave. “Oh, I was. Now I’m on my way to Savannah, actually. Gotta meet my crew there day after tomorrow. That should give us a day or two to get set up-”

“Set up for what? You’re filming in Savannah? What’s in Savannah?”

“The hurricane, of course! Don’t you watch television? Hurricane Angela’s supposed to be on course to make landfall somewhere between Savannah and Charleston in the next couple of days-nobody knows for sure, of course. But hey- wherever and whenever it hits, I plan to be there right in the middle of it.”

Mirabella gave her head a shake, already feeling overwhelmed. Evie had that effect on people. “You could at least have called-”

Her sister waved that aside as well. “Oh, God, I’ve been so busy. Just swamped-you have no idea. Besides-” she gave a cackle of laughter “-this news just had to be delivered in person.”

“News? What news?” Mirabella paused, frowning suspiciously, only to be spun around and gripped by both arms as her sister, taller by a head, bent in an exuberant crouch and resoundingly kissed her cheek.

“You’ll never guess-never, in a million years.” She paused, and in the light spilling from the kitchen windows, Mirabella could see her eyes light with excitement.

“What?” she breathed, already caught up in it herself. “Tell me!”

“You’ll never believe it, Bell, after all these years! I never thought it would happen, but it has-I’m getting married!”

The police were finally leaving. Summer stood in her children’s bedroom and watched the lights of the patrol car grow smaller down the curving lane and wink out beneath the canopy of live oaks. Behind her all was quiet The children were in bed, though probably not yet fully asleep, with Beatle nestled alert and on guard on David’s pillow, for a change, instead of snuggled down with the covers tucked up to her chin.

Downstairs, Cleo-whom they had found backed into a corner of her cage with her wings upraised like a gargoyle, screaming “Get out, get out!”-was brooding and muttering beneath her night cover, and Peggy Sue, pacified with a quarter can of water-packed albacore tuna, had stopped pacing and growling in front of the morning-room windows. Beyond the windows, lightning bugs winked, insects screeched and frogs resumed their interrupted love songs. Out there, the air was hot and oppressively still. Inside the air-conditioned house, Summer hugged herself and shivered.

A cup of hot Postum, she thought; that’s what I need. It had been a roller-coaster kind of a day. She felt tense and on edge. Her skin felt sensitized, as if all her hair were standing on end. Maybe something sweet and warm would soothe her.

She had just reached the top of the stairs and was starting down when she heard Riley come in. She hesitated, thinking he might go straight to his study, but instead he came on through the kitchen and into the hallway, turned and started up the stairs. Took two steps, looked up and saw her, and halted, one hand on the banister rail.

Two steps down from the top she waited, then said softly, “I saw them leave. Is everything all right?”

He made a restless movement, something between a nod and a shrug. “They think it was probably just some kids-climbed the fence just to see what was on the other side.” His eyes remained on her as he climbed two more steps. “How ’bout you? Everyone okay in here? The animals seemed pretty upset.”

She descended two more steps, waved a hand and gave a low laugh. “They’re fine. They were definitely spooked, but that could just as well have been because of all the strange people tromping around out there with flashlights.”

He shook his head and, as he came up several more steps, said dryly, “With those three around, who needs a security system?”

Summer had no reply to that. She continued on down the stairs, sliding one hand along the rail, her heart beating like a trip-hammer. She didn’t look at Riley as he came up to meet her, closer…and closer. But she could feel him. It was as if he’d brought the outside in with him-the heat and humidity, the heaviness and tension-so that the warm summer night seemed to rise as he did, and engulf her like a fog.

They met somewhere just below the landing, and as they drew even Summer said in a stifled voice, “With any luck you won’t have to put up with us much longer.” His hand shot out and caught her by the arm, and she gave a little gasp. She had no choice but to stop then; he wouldn’t let her continue. But she still wouldn’t look at him. There was so much tension in his fingers…in his voice. She couldn’t bear to see his face.

But she couldn’t bear the silence, either. She licked her lips and said with a tight laugh, “Don’t try to tell me you aren’t going to be glad when this is all over and everything’s back to normal again. Just think-you’ll have the place to yourself… peace and quiet,…”

“For God’s sake, what kind of man do you think I am?” His voice sounded scratchy, but oddly thickened, too. His fingers gripped her arm like steel bands, urging her to turn and face him.

But she resisted, and instead turned her head and looked at him along her shoulder. “One who lives alone,” she said softly.

He made an impatient sound. “I live alone. That doesn’t mean I prefer to be alone.”

She didn’t answer, and the silence between them sang with tension. She wanted to cover her ears and run.

He broke it finally with a whisper, one so soft it was like the brush of an owl’s wings on the night wind. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s been happening to us.” And her small, distressed cry was like the sound the mouse makes in that final instant she knows she’s been caught. Ruthlessly he continued, “Don’t pretend, Summer. Don’t lie. The other day, on the beach…”

She felt a sob rising in her throat, but swallowed it and whispered, “You kissed me-that’s all.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to, before and since?” She shook her head, meaning many things. But his fingers on her arm…the pressure was inexorable. She could feel herself weakening. “Tonight, when we danced…you were trembling.”

“I was nervous…”

“You’re trembling now.”

So was he. And how did she know that? Because somehow, unbeknown to her, the same arm he held so tightly had bent at the elbow and her hand had found its way to his waist, where it rested now, palm flat against the pulsating warmth of his belly.

“You’re trembling…don’t deny it.”

“I won’t…I can’t-”

“Nervous?”

“No…” she whispered as his mouth came down to meet hers. “I can’t-”

The breadth of a whisper away from her lips, he paused. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t do this,” she gasped. And she could already feel his mouth, and the kiss she couldn’t allow to happen. She could taste him-his breath was in her mouth, his heat and energy already part of her, already inside her, running through her veins. “No matter how much I want to.” Her lips twisted, she’d never known such pain. She felt engulfed by it…made hopeless and exhausted by it…like a starving person denied all hope of food. “I have…the children…”

He made a sound so full of frustration and sorrow she wondered if he might be feeling the same pain, or at least understood hers. For the space of a few dozen heartbeats neither of them spoke, while the truths they couldn’t bring themselves to utter vibrated in the hairbreadth that was left between them. Yes, the children, Riley. We both know there is no place in your life for my children.

“Just once in your life,” he grated as he released her, the warmth of his exhalation settling on her face like a veil, “just once…have you ever done anything…that was just for you?”

She shook her head, half numb now with loss and regret, and mumbled, “When you become a parent…” One step above her he paused to look back. His head was high, and she could see his eyes glittering down at her through the curtains of his lashes. She swallowed in a futile attempt to ease her aching throat and finished in a whisper, “You forfeit the luxury of thinking only of yourself.” And then it was she who turned and continued down the stairs on legs she couldn’t feel, knowing his eyes would follow her all the way.

Sheer will carried her as far as the kitchen, but she didn’t stop at the refrigerator or the cupboards as she’d planned. It would take a lot more than a cup of warm Postum to soothe her now. Instead, she wobbled on through and into the morning room, where she pulled out a chair, sank into it and laid her head down on the table, pillowed on her folded arms, the way nursery school children do during rest time. After a time, Peggy Sue came padding in, climbed up the trailing skirt of the yellow dress and into Summer’s lap, and the gentle rhythm of her kneading paws and ratchety purr became like an anesthetic to her mind. blocking out thought.

Riley knew he wouldn’t sleep. And of the several alternatives available to him, he knew the only one that carried with it any real hope of surcease for the turmoil inside him was to swim himself to a state of exhaustion. He seldom swam these days; it wasn’t often that he found himself in need of that distraction. His pool was more decorative than functional, designed more to feed the senses and relax the mind than exercise the body. But there were still occasionally nights, like this one, when some new stress drove him to the water as old demons once had, and he would find in the humid darkness, in the caress of warm water on his naked body, in the churning of his arms and legs and the burning in his lungs…in the memory of nights when those things had meant actual physical, not just mental, escape, a strange comfort.

He’d been at it for a while-had no idea how long, or what time it was-when he felt the crawling sensation along his spine that told him he had company. He halted and sank in midstroke, heart pounding more with adrenaline than exertion, then surfaced cautiously, eyes first, like a cruising gator. And just barely did get his nose and mouth out of the water before his gasp of shock would have had him inhaling half the pool.

It was Summer. She was standing there on the deck near the shallow end, a pale, almost ghostly form with her golden hair, golden skin and the yellow dress lit to a silvery glow by the house security lights.

He growled, “What’re you tryin’ to do, scare me to death? Damn near…” But his voice faded to nothing as she unbuckled her belt and let it drop to the flagstones near her bare feet.

Now her fingers were on the topmost button of the long row of buttons that ran from chest to hem down the front of the dress. Very slowly, Riley let his feet sink to the bottom of the pool. His mind was full of thoughts and questions, all of them zooming around and flaming out like bugs in an electric zapper, none of them living long enough to give rise to coherent speech. In that bemused state he watched her hands… her strong, nurturing hands…work their way down that row of buttons to a point several inches below her waist…watched her slip her arms from the sleeves, then skim the dress down over her hips and let it fall in a creamy puddle around her feet, leaving her standing before him in a pair of the panties he’d bought for her…and nothing more. And then those, too, were peeled off, rolled down, abandoned like an old chrysalis…

He wondered if he could be dreaming, hallucinating-some fever of the brain, perhaps, a by-product of the fire in his loins. But no-his heart was pounding too hard, rocking the water where it lapped against his sternum. He could feel his blood surging through his body, feel himself growing hot and hard. Barely breathing, he watched her move away from the puddle of her clothing and step over the edge of the pool, her legs long and graceful, one foot reaching for that first step down into the water, slender arms extended out to her sides just a little for balance. Her body was like sculpted marble in the dim light. He’d never seen anything so lovely. A modern-day Venus, he thought, rendered by the hand of an Old Master.

And then she was in the water and moving toward him, the dark water sluicing over her breasts like oil. Incredibly, he felt her hands on the sides of his waist, her touch cooler than the water-felt them slide around him, fan across the ridges of muscle that cushioned his spine, then down over his buttocks.

A bolt of desire shot through him, so intense it was like pain. His eyes closed of their own volition, and he groaned aloud. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask her-meaning to ask her-what in the hell this was all about, and did she have any idea what she was doing to him! But his arms were full of her, his hands-both hands-were tangled in her hair, and his mouth was filled with her mouth…her lips…her tongue Standing in water up to his middle, he felt as if he were being consumed by flames.

This was madness…insanity. He knew she’d been right to stop him, there on the stairs, right to remind him of all the reasons they shouldn’t do this. He knew that, and surely she did, too. But though he knew it he didn’t care. There was a wildness in him-yes, and she’d called it the wild lonelies!-that he remembered from long, long ago. A terrible emptiness. She-this woman in his arms-could fill it; he knew that, too, in the very depths of his soul. And yet the slippery friction of her body against his, and the panting heat of her mouth, seemed only to taunt and torment him, while his mind screamed Yes! But not like this…not like this!

The sound she made when he tore his mouth from hers was like a sob. With his fingers tangled in her hair he held her head ruthlessly still, upturned so he could look into her face as he demanded in a harsh, guttural cry, “Why? What… is…this?”

She answered him the same way, her head thrown back and defiant, while her eyes glittered with a fierce, pale light. “This is for me. For me!” She shook her head free of his grasp. “It came to me that I’ve been too proud to admit-” she was panting, out of breath, as if she’d been swimming long and hard “-that it wasn’t the children I was protecting…it was me.” Her laughter was like moonlight on water-it touched only the surface. “My kids aren’t going to be hurt by this-how can they be? They’ll never know. I’ll find the right man for them-for us-someday. I’ll find someone who’ll be the father to them they deserve… need.”

“My God, Summer-” It was torn from him, a groan of anguish.

“No, I will-I must.” Her hands slid up his back and pressed against his shoulder blades with a strength that shamed him for all the times he’d thought her vulnerable and weak. “And when I do, the only one who’ll ever know about this…about us…is me. I’m the one that has to live with it. I’m the only one who can be hurt. So…this is for me.”

No-not the only one! “God, Summer…” He felt the emptiness yawning before him, felt as though she were the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by it Like an animal in a trap, pain-racked and dazed, he growled, “What if I don’t want to let you go? Maybe-”

She stopped him there with a shake of her head and a finger touched gently to his lips. “My children deserve more than just to be taken on as part of my…baggage. It’s okay, I understand. I don’t expect happily ever after. This is enough-for as long as I’m here, okay? It’s enough…” The last was a whisper, rough as sandpaper. And so were the words that followed. “Please, Riley…just close your eyes and…kiss me.”

He’d never felt so conflicted, so torn. He was on fire with passion, but there was a heaviness inside him; he trembled with fury, but ached with tenderness. Never in all his life had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one, but the thought of taking her made him feel one good breath away from crying. He wanted to lift his head and cry out from the depths of his soul, scream to the heavens his rage at fate, which had given him his demons, the demons that would not let him give her all she deserved, and take from her what he needed.

Instead, he simply did as she asked, and kissed her.

And in the end, for that moment at least, it was what he needed; she was a healer, after all.

He held her tightly at first, taking her mouth with a savagery that was more a product of frustration than of passion, plunging his tongue deep, with a growl in his throat, lungs burning and his heart exploding in primitive rhythms. And she gave it back and more, but with a little chuckle of pleasure that for some reason delighted him. It rolled up from her throat, passed from her mouth into his, rippled down into his chest, and he gave her back its echo.

He drew back a little, and she brought her hands to the back of his neck, swirled her tongue over his lips and then between, opening to him, inviting him in, deeper…deeper. She was all warmth and generosity, her body lush and humid even in the coolness of the water. Her femininity seemed to surround him like a sultry summer night; she was the air he breathed; he absorbed her through the pores of his skin. He wondered whether he’d ever really made love to a woman before… whether all the experiences he’d had before had only been leading him to this…preparing him for this. For this woman.

He slipped his arms under her buttocks and lifted her-or did he only suggest, and she come without hesitation? He didn’t know for certain-the water made it such an effortless thing. Her legs parted and slid around his hips and he nested himself in her warm and giving softness…just nestled there, hot and aching with his need. And groaned with the sweet agony of it, knowing it was a need that must not be filled. Not yet…

He walked with her to the shallow water, still plundering her mouth with a hunger that only seemed to grow more insatiable with every kiss. The air cooled on their bodies, raising shivers and goose bumps and hardening her nipples so that they abraded his chest like pebbles. He wanted them in his mouth with an intensity he could taste, sharp and edgy as brass on his tongue. But not yet. Not yet…

She made a small growling sound of protest when he lowered her to the steps, uncoiled her legs and arms from around him and tore his mouth from hers, until he muttered, “Sorry..but before this goes any further, there’s something I have to do.”

She opened her mouth to say something, to protest, and he could see the struggle play out across her expressive face-frustration warring against gratitude. Then she nodded her acceptance. He kissed her once more, lingeringly, promising… asking patience. Then he snatched up the towel he’d left on the deck, knotted it carelessly around his hips and left her there.

He wasn’t gone long; it only seemed like forever to her. She’d been afraid that the fever that had driven her to do this insane, this aberrant thing might cool before he came back, but she’d underestimated the intensity of her hunger for him. Her whole body vibrated with it She waited for him, sitting on the steps, half submerged in the tepid water, rocked by the rhythm of her own life forces and counting the seconds of his absence in the slow drumbeat of the pulses that throbbed in her swollen, secret places.

When he came it was almost without a sound, but she’d have needed none to know he was there; every nerve in her body sprang joyfully to life, humming with excitement. Languid with arousal, her breath heavy in her throat, she tilted her head and watched him as he dropped the towel on the flagstones and stepped into the pool. She couldn’t see his face; his body was a dark sculpture silhouetted against the house lights. Like a phantom, she thought. My phantom lover. And somehow that made it easier, to think of him as something not quite real. Not a real man but a fantasy…a dream that would vanish in the light of reality. Or like Cinderella’s Prince, at the stroke of midnight.

She felt him ease in behind her on the step, felt his legs slide around her so that the silky unsheathed hardness of him nestled in the cleft of her buttocks. She sighed and would have arched back against him, but unexpectedly, almost roughly, he pushed her forward, gathered her hair in his hand and thrust it aside, baring her vulnerable neck. He lowered his mouth to her nape, savagely demanding, raking her tender skin with his teeth, marking her there with his sucking, staking his claim on her in that most primitive and elemental way so that she gasped at the surprise, the raw sexuality of it. Then she began to whimper as desire exploded inside her with such force it frightened her.

She was on the edge of panic when, with a gentling sigh, he abruptly leaned back and drew her with him so that she lay on her back on top of him, completely open and exposed to his sensitive hands…his long, questing fingers. Exposed and vulnerable…bewildered at the flood of feeling that had all but swamped her. Trembling. The warm, humid night air cooled the water on her naked body, raising goose bumps and hardening her nipples until they hurt.

“This is for you. Just for you.” The words were a whisper of warm breath against her ear. She felt his hands warming her breasts, and then the pressure of his fingers on her tight, aching nipples. A shaft of pure need, bright and sharp as pain, arrowed through her belly and deep into her core, and she arched her back and uttered a high, thin, panting cry as she turned her head, frantically seeking him. His head came down, blocking light and thought. As his mouth angled across hers, swallowing up her cry with a masculine growl of satisfaction and encouragement, his hands swept down over her ribs and belly, and the friction of his fingers rubbing on her chilled skin made her burn, but inside. His hands cradled her hips, slipped down and under the backs of her thighs, lifted and drew them apart. She’d never felt so utterly vulnerable, so exposed…so naked and helpless.

Do you trust me?

Where had they come from, those words? Were they a reminder or a plea?

Trust me. A great shudder passed through her body. With emotion swelling inside her like a tsunami, she lifted her arms high above her head, thus opening herself to him even more, making of herself an offering, totally without restriction or restraint. She reached blindly for him, found his shoulders and then his neck, clung to him and whimpered as his fingers stroked her, soothed her, parted her, pushed into her yielding softness…and then withdrew… slid inside her again, gently at first, then deeper, deeper…until she felt as if he touched the very center of her being. It was then that she felt herself coming apart, as though her physical self was separating into its individual atoms and then merging with all the bright electrical impulses that made up her emotional self…her soul, her being… so that it was no longer possible to distinguish one from the other. Her physical self and her emotional self were one, and somehow she knew that neither would ever be the same again. She held on to him, to Riley, the man who had brought her to this, dazed and sobbing partly with rage, partly with rapture, and with hopelessness, too. And fear. And she thought, What have you done to me? I trusted you. And you’ve shown me heaven, knowing I can never have it Knowing this is just a fantasy that must end at the stroke of midnight…

It was later, much later, when Riley carried her to the nearest chaise and laid her gently, tenderly down. He ached so exquisitely, the pressure inside him was so intense he feared he would explode before he’d even had a chance to savor the feel of her feminine softness around him. He was surprised then, and humbled, too, when he felt her body enfold him, almost immediately swell and heat and quicken to his urgent rhythms, and finally, one last time and even as his own body tightened and trembled, then seemed to break apart in total devastation, he heard her small, wild cry and felt her body pulsing with his, drawing him out, nurturing his release… healing, even then.

They lay together in the aftermath, bathed in the warm, soft night, lulled by the soothing music of the water, stroking each other with lazy, sated fingers. Riley couldn’t remember ever having felt so relaxed in his life before. Or so…he realized with a shock that the word he was looking for was happy. He felt dazed with happiness, dizzy with it…awed by it, as if he’d spent his entire life up to this point under clouds and was seeing the sun for the first time. When Summer sighed and sat up, stretching and combing her hair back with her fingers, he felt bereft, even though he knew and understood that they couldn’t have stayed where they were.

“Come upstairs with me,” he whispered, drawing his fingers lightly down her spine. But when she looked at him with longing and shook her head, he understood that, too.

So he sighed and drew her down for one more lingering kiss. And when she’d pulled away from him and turned to pick up her dress from where she’d left it in a puddle like melted butter on the deck, and her fingers were deft and hurried on the buttons, he gently and wryly teased her, saying, “What’s your hurry? Do we turn into pumpkins at the stroke of midnight?”

He didn’t understand what made her burst into ironic and pain-filled laughter.