A Home by the Sea (21 page)

Rain drummed on the windows as they staggered up another flight. This time Noah tugged one shoulder of Grace's robe down and drew a raw breath when he saw there was nothing underneath. One hand to the wall, he leaned down to take her with his hungry mouth, moving over her with restless skill. The robe fell lower, snapped at her waist and Noah drew her breast into his mouth, tasting and goading
until Grace realized she had never known desire, not even close, until Noah's mouth burned over her skin like this.

He made her feel achingly young—and darkly experienced. The combination was another assault on her senses.

They managed six more steps. Their clothes fell forgotten while they claimed and took blindly, then gave back in double measure. Outside the storm hurled wind and rain at the old walls, but for all its problems, Harbor House had been built in earlier times by men and women stout of heart and clear of vision. There would be problems and repairs to come with the old house, but it had stood against decades of storms. This wind would find no opening.

They lost track of anything but each other. With a low sound of pleasure, she shoved him back against the wall, savoring the hard angles of his chest with her hands. Her mouth followed. She nuzzled her way slowly down where the buckle of his belt intrigued her. Her hands trembled when she pulled the belt away and opened the top snap of his jeans.

His muscles clenched. His breath tore into a low groan. “Grace.”

Her fingers worked under the soft denim, seduced by warmth and hot muscle. He was hard as her fingers closed around him. Need left her blind and giddy.

Noah gave a strangled laugh and caught her wrists with hands that trembled. “It's my turn, honey.”

“No, I want to feel you.”

“Later. All you want.”

Grace sighed in regret as he lifted her. Her back against the wall, she shivered in waves of pleasure, trapped beneath his clever, callused hands. He gave and took, stirring her unspoken need until her body melted against him.

“We're not going to make the bedroom, are we?”

“Doesn't look that way.”

She felt his heart hammer. He knelt on the old carpeted stairs. His fingers slid beneath the last bit of cotton at her hips, and her robe fell away, baring creamy skin already sheened with sweat.

His eyes brooded, savored. He whispered her name, the word smoky with the weight of his desire. He kissed her stomach and then his tongue trailed lower until his mouth found her. His hands dug into her thighs, holding her when she trembled, when she gasped in shock as need slammed her up into explosive pleasure.

Noah's hands opened on her hips. He whispered hoarse praise across her skin and then tongued her sleek heat, slipping inside her. Grace's body rocked in another race of pleasure as Noah taught her a dozen kinds of hunger with his mouth and hands. She had never felt more beautiful or more loved. She had never trusted anyone more.

Her body sang, drawn tight in chords that only he could create. She gasped as he skimmed and
searched, and she locked her trembling arms around his neck, breathing his name.

The old house seemed to float in restless silence against the roar of the storm as she shuddered, speared her hands into his hair with a raspy cry and fell.

N
OAH TOOK A RAW
,
shuddering breath.

She had amazed him. She had awed him, open and generous with her body and her trust.

She, who had every reason to shy away from trust.

He felt her knees tremble in the wake of passion and he stood, bracing her when she would have fallen. With her body anchored safely, he listened to the howl of the wind from the sea, feeling more than a little savage. Her breathless climax had hit him with a surge of emotions. Possession, desire, unimaginable joy.

He was determined to weave their lives together, no matter what it took. He knew the process wouldn't be easy. His job was a cruel master and for now personal attachments would always have to yield to emergency calls. For her part, Grace had serious commitments to her grandfather, to her friends and to her own dreams. She would always stand by to support the animal shelter that belonged to her beloved grandfather. After Peter Lindstrom recovered…?.

Noah's grip tightened as she nuzzled his neck. Would he lose her to the dusty roads and far-flung cities, when they drew her away in search of some new exotic type of plant or rare spice?

Neither of them could change what they were.

But both of them had to try.

It would be easier if their lives were less complex, but in the end life had its own gifts. He and Grace would find a path to their future.

Her eyes flickered open. A glorious haze of color swept her cheeks. “Noah. I haven't felt so…hungry. Dizzy. Amazingly alive.” She took a shaky breath. “Not ever.”

“I like the sound of dizzy and amazing. How about we go for unforgettable next?”

“You didn't…” She glanced down at his thighs. “I thought you would.”

He brushed a wave of hair from her cheek. “We've got all the time in the world, honey.”

She wet her lips, looking tousled and hungry and restless in a way that had a fresh ache building, threatening his control. But Noah wasn't about to be hurried. He had waited forever to find her and they were going to have all night to follow this restless dream into being.

Suddenly he saw Grace shiver as a cold wind gusted up the stairs. Only a fool would have gotten so carried away, nearly taking her on the stairs.

Cursing, Noah swept her into his arms and strode up the last flight, leaving their scattered clothes
behind. “You're freezing. I want you in a bed. I want soft covers and lots of room.”

She flushed again. Her smile grew. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

Sheer seduction, he thought.

He laughed as he crossed the top landing. Behind a freshly painted blue door he found the bedroom where Grace had led him to sleep earlier that night. He hadn't noticed much before. Now he saw a single lamp shedding half-light from a chipped side table, and a rug that was probably twenty years old. But the bed made up for everything, tall and graceful with twisting wood posts and crisp sheets topped by a thick quilt.

Grace wrapped her arms around Noah's neck and kissed him hard. When he tried to let her go, she gripped the waist of his jeans and pulled him down so they hit the down quilt together in a tangle of legs and a burst of laughter.

But the laughter stilled when Grace rose to her knees and moved across him, cupping his face. “I love your mouth. I love your chin, too. It says don't mess with me, but then your mouth says, mess with me all you want. And I want to mess with you a whole lot. Here. Here.”

Noah closed his eyes, following the road where she was taking them, his body hard with need.

“Definitely…here.” She inched down the worn denim and studied his stomach, her eyes shimmering. Noah twisted, pressing her beneath him.
He started to pull off his jeans, but Grace caught his hand.

“I want to do that. I want us both to know that I'm here completely. No regrets or reservations,” she said gravely. “I've never felt half the things you make me feel. And that's why I need to do this.” She pulled his jeans free and then the white cotton beneath.

Grace leaned down, her fingers trembling. Every move she made felt perfect to him. When her mouth opened, Noah bit back a groan, wrapping his leg across her naked thighs and lifting her up to ease his fingers against her.

Her back arched and she opened to him, gasping his name, pressing down to find his body waiting.

She closed around him sleekly and Noah lifted her, moving in a rhythm that left them both crazy and panting. The blind call of release throbbed through Noah's blood. He fought for control, to savor every second of her wild, joyous giving, so aching in its beauty. Then her legs tightened around him and her nails dug into his shoulders. She raised her head. He saw her eyes darken, dazed with her climax.

Noah's fingers snaked through hers. He let the pleasure rock her and then he took her up again, driving deep until she shuddered and closed around him, their joining complete.

Only then did Noah let himself follow her down, deep into the brooding need and chaos, her name on his lips, their fingers entwined.

 

A
FEW LIFETIMES LATER
, Grace let out a shaky breath. Her hand moved slowly to Noah's shoulder. “I may be breathing again. In case you're interested.”

“Breathing is good.” Noah heard the rasp in his own voice. With the last of his energy he pulled her closer and guided her head to his shoulder. “I try to do it all I can.”

Rain drummed at the old windows. In the quiet room neither spoke.

There was no sense of withdrawing. No awkward searching for words. Instead, they seemed to breathe together, testing this new space, growing even closer in their linked silence.

Noah snaked one arm across her waist. “I love your waist. I love your hips. I love how you fill my hands.” His fingers opened, enjoying her curves. Funny, he had always liked petite women. It had become a kind of habit.

Yet now all he wanted was long legs and real curves. Full breasts and strong arms. All he wanted was Grace, with her broken fingernails and her cool strength.

He smiled when her palm spread possessively on his stomach. She traced the ridged muscles. “I can talk again. But none of the words seem good enough.”

Noah simply nodded. “I know what you mean.”

Grace slid to her side. She traced his mouth, then kissed his ear. She feathered the hollows with her
tongue, smiling when Noah's breath caught. “What happens next?”

“Your choice, honey.”

“Hmm.” She brought their bodies together. He was already hard, already filling her as she breathed his name in husky surprise.

Her gasp turned to a sigh as he lifted her higher, thigh to thigh. Her head fell back and her nails drove into his shoulders. She bit the curve of his ear, moving to meet him, lost in passion.

Then she took him home inside her, past the shadows and the memories of old loss, past betrayal and regret, giving herself completely, trusting all that they could become together.

The rain grew less intense. The wind stilled to a sigh. Fog crept over the harbor and across the snug houses that hugged the coast. A first gray shimmer of dawn touched the sky.

Beneath the thick quilt Grace and Noah slept, their bodies curled together, and in the wake of the storm the journey to weave their lives together began.

“Y
OU SHOULD BE RESTING
.”
Gage Grayson frowned at his radiant wife. “It's nearly eleven.”

“I won't melt. Besides, I'm almost done here.” Caro Grayson gave the wooden mantel another swipe with her grandmother's favorite lemon oil, finally satisfied when the smooth grain glowed. “That's done. Now I'm going to knit for a bit.”

“You should go to bed and try to sleep, honey. I know these last few days haven't been easy for you. I can feel you toss and turn.”

Caro started to deny her growing restlessness, then took a deep breath and touched her husband's cheek. “Okay, I admit it. My back hurts more than ever, and if I get any bigger I may not be able to stand up without help. I hate feeling so big and clumsy. But I hate complaining about it, too. So now that I've admitted the truth why don't we put it to rest? It won't change anything, Gage. Knitting calms me down and right now I need that badly.”

Neither one mentioned the other source of Caro's worry. Her husband was going back to a war zone in less than forty-eight hours. The certainty of the
danger waiting for him there weighed on them both, especially with Caro's delivery date only two weeks away.

“How about I make you some of that herbal tea your grandmother dropped off? The one with the chamomile.”

“I'd like that.” With a little grimace, Caro slid into her favorite recliner near the fire. Bogart circled the room and then came to lie near her feet.

Gage tucked a big, hand-knitted afghan around her. “What do you think about this guy Grace is seeing? Noah something or other.”

“Noah McLeod. Jilly said he seems reliable. Grace lights up when she's with him, according to Jilly. After what she's been through, I'm glad for anyone or anything that can make her laugh again. But who's to say?”

Gage stirred the fire. “I've got friends I can call to check him out.”

“Grace won't like it.” Caro looked uncertain. “I don't want to interfere in her private business.”

“You're looking out for a friend. Nothing wrong with that. She'd do the same for you,” Gage said calmly. He leaned down to scratch Bogart's head. “You want me to rub your back?”

Caro shot him a radiant smile. “That would be lovely. But I want to knit a little first.”

“Okay.” Gage rummaged in the kitchen and then returned with his wife's tea. “By the way, watch this. I've been teaching Bogart a few things.” Gage tossed
a treat in the air, and the dog shot to his feet, eyes alert. But instead of going for the food, the big dog ran into the bedroom and returned with a pair of Grace's slippers in his mouth. He ran to her chair and dropped the slippers in her lap, looking very pleased with himself.

“That's wonderful, honey. What a good dog you are, Bogart.” Grace scratched the dog's favorite spot, smiling as the dog slumped, nuzzling her hand and whining. She glanced at Gage. “What does that mean?”

“He doesn't get the treat until you have your slippers on and you're sitting down with the afghan. He's going to be acting in my stead, making sure you don't overdo it. Every time you give him a treat, he checks on you. It will be a good system for you both while I'm gone.”

While I'm gone.

The moment he said the words, Gage regretted them. Neither of them needed to be reminded that his leave was running out. Within hours he would be driving along the curving coast road, headed back to Portland.

Grace turned away, leaning down to look at her knitting. But Gage wasn't fooled by her sudden attention to her wool. “Honey, you know that I…”

“Don't. I can't talk about it, Gage.” Her voice broke. “We have to do this and talking won't change anything.”

“Caro.” Gage knelt beside her and cupped her
cheeks. A single tear glistened. “Cry if you need to. It hurts me like hell, too.”

“I don't want you to remember me crying. I want you to have the very best to take with you. Over there,” she said. “Oh, Gage. I'm going to miss you so much. I don't know how I can bear it.”

His arms closed around her and he held her as her body shook with the sobs she could no longer hold back. Their fingers linked and she squeezed hard, as if she was trying to hold back the hour of departure that was coming too soon. Bogart barked, squeezing up against her, tail banging in Gage's face, and Bacall bounded across the room to see what the fuss was about. In one leap the white cat jumped onto Gage's shoulders and began to purr.

“Hail, hail, the gang's all here,” Gage said after a long time. “It's all going to be fine, honey. I can feel it. I've had these dreams lately—images of you near a white fence with a big tree. It's some kind of field, and there's a big farm table out in the middle, full of great food. It feels like summer and all your friends are there.”

“There's a big tree up in the meadow above the sea. It was my favorite place growing up. Maybe that's in the dream.”

“See? It's a good omen.” Gage squeezed her shoulder. “It's all going to be fine.” He brushed the tears from har face. “Believe it.”

He rested his head on her hair. They didn't move for a long time. Even in their pain, they gave strength
to each other, anchored in the unbreakable threads of their love.

When Gage finally went to make a call to check on Grace's grandfather, Caro snuggled against Bacall. She shed a few last tears, hidden in the cat's soft fur. She didn't believe in premonitions or dreams, but she was going to work hard to believe in those that Gage had seen.

And that he would be home soon.

 

G
AGE WAITED UNTIL
Caro was asleep before slipping out his cell phone and moving quietly to the living room. He dialed and waited impatiently.

The man answered on the first ring. He launched into a report with no preamble. Just the facts and only what was required. He was exactly as Gage remembered him from Afghanistan.

“No problems noted. I'm parked down the back street. So far, three perimeter checks. Everything's quiet.”

Gage relaxed. It wasn't a war zone here. No snipers on the cliffs.

But nothing got past his friend Tyler. A fellow Marine from Afghanistan, Tyler was a man of few words. He had saved their squad more than once in mountain ambushes.

Gage owed Tyler, and Gage always repaid his debts. Tyler was at loose ends, back in the States after a medical discharge courtesy of an artillery round that had blown out his right eardrum and torn
up his shoulder. Though his friend would never mention it, Gage knew that Tyler needed a mission and purpose. The Marines had been his life for eighteen years. Shifting gears to find his way as a civilian was not going to be easy for a hard case like Tyler. The answer had come to Gage during a long, restless night.

He wasn't about to leave Caro here alone, about to deliver and involved in a complicated and expensive renovation of the old Harbor House. She had good friends and close family nearby, but Gage needed to know that she was safe at all times and that someone he could trust was close in case of a problem. Tyler fit the bill.

He would watch over Caro like a bulldog and she'd never know he was there.

Gage felt slightly guilty about the arrangement. He didn't like being deceptive with his friend and his wife. To Tyler, he had implied that Caro's health was a little bit worse than it was, aware that a personal request like this would be just the morale builder Tyler needed. Gage didn't want Caro to feel as if he didn't trust her or have confidence in this new undertaking at Harbor House. It was just the opposite. He knew his wife well enough to guess that she would tackle any challenge head-on and ask for help only as a last resort. The same held true for her two friends. All three of them were tough, stubborn and capable women. But with the baby due in weeks, Caro needed extra protection, even if Gage had to
provide it by deception. All he had told his wife was that Tyler was a fellow Marine from Afghanistan, describing the hostile action in which Tyler had saved his life. That one conversation had been enough to ensure that Caro welcomed the ex-Marine with open arms, no reservations and no questions asked.

Tyler would have a home on Summer Island as long as he needed it, and that was exactly what Gage wanted.

He hated leaving Caro, hated knowing he would miss seeing their baby being born and witnessing the miracle of the new life their love and commitment had created. But nothing would change his duty and commitment to his country. He would board his plane and not look back, keeping his focus on his men during the difficult weeks to come. He had heard hints of a new campaign to cut terrorist supply routes through the mountains. Word was that it was going to be a long, protracted struggle.

He was ready. Whenever, wherever. He would see the mission through.

To know that Tyler was here close by, keeping a close eye on things, was going to make leaving a whole lot easier.

“When do you head out, Lieutenant?”

Gage frowned at the term of address. Tyler was out of the military now. He would have to start getting accustomed to civilian behavior and informality. “No need to call me Lieutenant, Tyler.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gage looked out the window, smiling slightly. “You're a civilian now, Tyler.”

“So they tell me, sir.” He didn't sound happy about it.

Something soft bumped Gage's knee. He looked down and scooped up his white cat. Bacall purred louder, rubbing her head against his chest.

“Everything okay, Lieutenant? What's that noise?”

“Relax, Tyler. It's just my cat. Bacall doesn't sleep any better than I do these days. And I fly out in thirty-six hours.”

Silence fell, both men caught up in dark memories. At the other end of the line Gage could hear the sound of wind and the muffled slap of waves. He knew that Tyler was bunkered down somewhere near the water, but he didn't ask for details. No one was more thorough than Tyler. He could vanish in plain sight, and he always got the job done.

His wife would be in good hands here.

“In that case, I'll sign off, sir. You've got better things to do than shoot the breeze with me.”

The line went dead.

The man had no social skills whatsoever, Gage thought wryly. He was a definite hard case. But even hard cases needed friends and a place to belong. They needed a family most of all. Finding Tyler a family was another thing on Gage's very long to-do list.

But right now he had to get upstairs to bed. Caro never slept well these days. He didn't want his wife waking up alone any sooner than she had to.