A Self-Made Man (19 page)

Adam arrived at six, the time at which Lacy's shift was scheduled to end—and their date was scheduled to begin. She'd been surreptitiously checking her watch for the past hour—the slowest hour in history. And then he was fifty-seven seconds late. She hadn't realized she could hold her breath that long.

She was up on the platform, helping Becky Jared into the saddle of a big horse covered in blue roses, when she saw him. She smiled at him across the little girl's wispy, carrot-colored curls. When he smiled back, she felt a strange swooping sensation in her midsection, as if they had started the carousel turning prematurely.

Danger.
Her instincts sent up the alarm.
Hold on, hold in, hold back.
But she couldn't. She simply couldn't. Tilly had been right—like it or not, her safe emotional hibernation had finally ended. She could no more keep Adam Kendall's smile from setting her heart spinning than she could stop the moon from rising over Pringle Sound tonight.

She patted Becky's head, handed her the reins and picked her way around the colorful horses toward where Adam was waiting. He was holding two hot dogs and one gigantic Coke with two straws.

“Hi,” he said. “Hope you're hungry.”

She looked at the hot dog. It was covered in mustard, just the way she used to like them. “Good heavens,” she said, her mouth watering at the wicked, wonderful smell. “I haven't had a hot dog in ten years.”

“It shows.” The comment clearly wasn't a compliment.

“What do you mean by that?”

He did a quick scan of her body, then gave her a strangely intimate smile. “It means you weigh fifteen pounds less than you did in high school. It's not natural.” He held the hot dog toward her. “Eat.”

She took it, registering another small ripple of pleasure. Actually, she weighed twelve pounds less, but it was close enough. Close enough to prove he remembered her body very well.

She bit into the warm, juicy hot dog and closed her mouth around a delighted groan. “Umm,” she mumbled. She chewed, swallowed, and knew she'd have to eat the whole thing. “This will be dinner, then. It
blows my calorie budget till about…August.” She grinned. “At least I'll be a cheap date.”

He chuckled. “Good. I could use a break. You'd never guess what my dinner date cost me
last
weekend.”

“Let me try.” She bit into the meat. Now that she'd surrendered to the guilt, the hot dog tasted like heaven. “Maybe about…fifty thousand dollars?”

“Exactly. Amazing, isn't it? I calculated it. It came to about three hundred dollars a minute.”

Lacy took a sip of the Coke, then tilted the drink in his direction. “Wow,” she observed comfortably. “A bargain.”

Two heartbeats. Three. “Yes,” he said, his eyes darkening just a little. “Actually, it was.”

The carousel had stopped. Becky Jared was crying, and, looking over, Lacy noticed that Silas Jared was staring at Adam, obviously forgetting that his granddaughter needed help with her dismount.

“Hi, Silas,” Lacy said pleasantly. “You remember Adam Kendall, don't you?”

He scowled. “You bet I do. And I hope that Adam Kendall remembers my gun. And my knife.” He shook a finger toward Adam. “You'd better treat our Lacy right, Mr. Kendall. I don't allow anyone to upset her.”

Before Adam could answer, the old man turned away and began attending to his granddaughter, who had moved from squealing joy to shrieking panic in a mere thirty seconds.

Adam sighed. “Have you been designated the official town treasure, or what? Everybody here acts as
if I'm about to draw a mustache on the Mona Lisa. I don't think I've ever in my life received so many dire warnings about behaving myself.”

“Sure you have,” she said, licking the last of the mustard from her finger. “Have you forgotten about high school? You had a standing three o'clock appointment in Dean Bittner's office.”

He laughed. “Good old Bittner. Where is he these days?”

“Right now I think he's manning the haunted house. We asked ourselves who we could get to act mean and scare the kids to death, and somehow his name came up.”

Adam wiggled his eyebrows, a mischievous grin tilting the corners of his eyes. “Too perfect. Come on. Let's go.”

He took her hand, and he started to move across the amusement park. But then, so suddenly she bumped into him from behind, he stopped. He held her hand up slightly, twisting it back and forth, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

“Your ring,” he said. “Where is it?”

She curled her fingers. “I took it off.” He looked at her, a question in his eyes. “I didn't want to lose it,” she explained. “Out here. All this dirt. So many people. Knocking into things—”

She was overexplaining, so she stopped herself.

“Good,” he said succinctly. He ran his finger slowly over the untanned line of skin. And then, as if he had satisfied himself of something, he turned around again and, still holding her hand, took off toward the haunted house.

He walked so fast she almost had to break into a trot to keep up with him. It felt so familiar—her hand in his, following where he led. She felt her blood speed up, tingling faster through her veins, responding to the running. And to him.

“Coming through.” He shouldered his way through the crowd, pulling Lacy behind him. Curious eyes followed them. At first Lacy murmured apologies, wondering what her friends must be thinking about this unprecedented loss of dignity.

And then she caught sight of Jennifer Lansing, who stood over at the hot dog stand, watching their progress with an unmistakable distaste. Her eyes were narrowed, her mouth pursed tight, looking harsh and pinched.

Lacy hesitated, stunned by the pure petty ugliness of Jennifer's face. Was that what
she
used to look like? Suddenly Lacy found the possibility horrifying. She stopped apologizing for running, for nicking the more sedate visitors who blocked the way. It was an amusement park. It was a beautiful, cloudless summer Saturday. Surely it was all right to run.

When they reached the haunted house, Lacy saw that Tina Seville was just coming out. The woman paused, giving Lacy a double take as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

Poor Tina. She was just about to discover what bad luck it had been to run into Lacy at this particular moment, in this particular mood.

“Tina,” Lacy called out, louder than she'd ever raised her voice in public before. Even Adam turned around, wondering what was up.

Tina lifted her brows delicately. “Lacy,” she said, blinking her subtle disapproval. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Lacy said, her breath coming a little harder from the race across the park. “I'm glad you're here. I need to talk to you.”

Tina smoothed her teal silk pantsuit, which must have become slightly wrinkled in the haunted house. “Right now?” Her voice expressed the most polite incredulity.

“Right now,” Lacy confirmed unflinchingly. “It's important. It's about Gwen. I wanted to tell you that I don't appreciate the way you insulted her at the interview.”

Tina frowned. “I did?”

“Yes. You did. Even worse, you put words in my mouth. You told her that I had said some cruel things—things I wouldn't have dreamed of saying.”

Tina looked appalled. One didn't discuss such things in a public forum. One didn't discuss such things at all, if one could possibly avoid it. Lacy was vaguely aware of Adam standing at her shoulder, still clutching her hand. She had the sense that he was extremely amused.

“My dear,” Tina began stiflingly. “I remember distinctly that I merely said she had behaved like a—”

“Exactly,” Lacy broke in. “
You. You
said those things, Tina. Not me. My only mistake was in letting them pass. But that's about to change. I wanted you to know that you won't be able to get away with insulting my stepdaughter in my presence any more. I happen to think she's a very bright, very brave
young woman. In fact, I think you would have been very lucky to have her at your school, and if you are too narrow-minded to see that, it's your loss, not hers.”

Tina looked like a comic book picture of outraged indignation. “Lacy.” She was practically speechless. “Lacy, what on earth has gotten into you? Have you lost your mind?”

Lacy smiled, strangely exhilarated by the encounter. It felt like the first time in ten years that she'd heard her own voice, her own words, issuing from her own lips.

“Lost my mind?” She felt the warmth of Adam's hand as he gave hers a supportive squeeze. “No, Tina,” she said. “On the contrary, I think I've finally found it.”

She heard Adam chuckle as Tina moved away stiffly, her chin lifted so high it stretched her neck, carrying her wounded dignity on her padded shoulders.

“Well done,” he said softly.

But was that true? She wondered if remorse would start to set in, now that the adrenaline of the encounter was ebbing. Cautiously, she listened for her internal censor, expecting to hear it scolding her. But she heard nothing. Nothing except a strange, vibrant humming, like the sound of something electric and powerful coming to life.

“Thanks,” she said. “It felt— It felt good.”

“Of course it did.” Adam smiled. “But now I'm thinking maybe we should skip the haunted house.
Once you've faced down a monster like that, I'm not sure there's anything left that can scare you.”

 

T
HREE HOURS LATER
, when the park was finally closing, Lacy knew that Adam had been very, very wrong.

She wasn't beyond being frightened. In fact, she felt more vulnerable than ever. Jennifer and Tina and the whole notion of relentless propriety might have lost power over her, but a million new terrors had risen to take their place.

For instance, now that it was dark the blue moon shone in Adam's hair, and she was afraid of the way her fingers kept straying there, combing the moonlight through the soft strands.

She was afraid of the way she was nestling under his arm, just exactly the way Hamlet fitted himself against her knees at night—open, unguarded, limp with trust and comfort.

She was afraid of the shimmering current of electricity that zipped through her veins when he leaned over and kissed her neck. Or her shoulder. Or the inside of her wrist. All of which he had done, over and over, until she was shivering with a fear that was intensely sensual.

Most of all, she was afraid of the way everyone was leaving.

She was afraid of being alone with him here in this fairyland of strung lights and twirling horses, treading paths of colored tickets that had fallen to the ground like confetti.

Already she felt its magic closing in on her. It made her feel wild inside, sensual and reckless and edgy.

“Come on. It's the last ride.” He steered her toward the Ferris wheel, which stood so tall it seemed to pierce the blue-black velvet of the sky. “I won't let you fall.”

And so she climbed in and let the wheel slowly lift her up to the stars. The wind was cold up here, and he wrapped both arms around her, causing her heart to thump crazily in her chest.

She looked down, all that long, dizzying way down. And she saw things…

She saw herself making love to Adam—here on the dangerously swaying, windswept wheel; down there, astride the hard, plunging carousel horses; and over there, in the funhouse, where the mirrors would reflect their nakedness into a limitless infinity.

And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the visions departed. The wheel rolled back to earth. But as she climbed shakily out of the small metal bucket, she finally knew what frightened her the most.

She was falling in love with Adam Kendall all over again.

Y
OU KNOW
,
YOU DON'T
really have to stay,” she said as they walked away from the Ferris wheel, listening to the men shut off the switches and circuits behind them. Theirs had indeed been the last ride of the night. “There are quite a few maintenance men still here. And a security guard. I'll be fine.”

“Don't be silly.” His arm tightened around her shoulders. “I want to stay.”

She didn't protest further. They wandered together, doing all the practical things. Checking bathrooms for stowaways who didn't want to go home—and they even found some. Two teenaged boys scattered, laughing, at their approach, and made for the gates.

A fog began to roll in from the Atlantic, but still Lacy and Adam made their rounds. They checked the food stands, making sure the fried batter machine had been turned off and the popcorn stashed away. They patrolled the picnic tables, gathering abandoned sweaters, lost watches and sunglasses and keys and locking them in a lost-and-found box.

But through it all they kept coming back to each other. A touch as their hands reached across a table. A kiss as they met beneath a tree. A quick waltz as they passed the merry-go-round, which still played its
lilting organ music, though the horses were frozen in their spots.

Each touch lasted longer than the one before. Each kiss probed deeper. His hands grew urgent. Her body began forming a small, intense whirlpool of need. She didn't see how they could go on much longer without…without…

As they passed the funhouse, she almost turned in at the door, obsessed with her earlier vision of the two of them in there. She was mesmerized by the thought of being surrounded by endlessly repeating sexuality. She wanted to lose track of what was real and what was not.

But he kept on going. The fog was thick now, swirling as they moved through it. They were only a hundred yards from the gate.

“Adam,” she said.

He turned, his face partly obscured by the thick silver mist. “What?”

“I want you,” she said quietly. “I want to make love to you. Now.” She took a deep breath. “Here.”

He touched her face. “I know, sweetheart.” His voice was husky. “I know.”

He took her hand again, and he led her down a small side path overhung with elms. Tiny white lights twinkled on the branches, like fairies hiding. Their footsteps were muffled, and the night was very still, cloaked in silence by the gathering fog.

She was slightly disoriented. She wasn't sure where they were headed. But then, out of the mist, a glowing red heart appeared—and she found her bearings.

They were at the entrance to the Tunnel of Love.
The heart was crudely made of neon, she knew, and it wasn't even particularly pretty. But at this moment, draped in fog, and beckoning from the darkness, it seemed completely magical.

He paused just under the heart. It cast a wine-colored glow over his face. His strong, handsome, so familiar face… She touched it, just to assure herself that he was real.

“Lacy.” His voice was a strange combination of tension and tenderness. “Are you sure about this? If we were caught… The gossips would have a field day.”

“I'm sure.”

“We could be seen,” he said. “An argument with Tina Seville can be survived. But this…” He shook his head, and she saw the ghost of a smile through the shifting fog. “I'm not sure you could maintain your status as the official town treasure after this.”

“I don't care.” And it was true. She wasn't a painting, or a statue, or a monument. Not tonight. Not with him. And she didn't belong to the city. She belonged to Adam Kendall. She always had.

“I don't care,” she repeated. “I want you to make love to me.”

“Then come.” He turned. “Follow me.”

He led her into the tunnel, and for several curving yards they followed a misty footpath lined with tiny glowing pink lights. It led them to the boats, which waited at the dock, lined up dark and empty and mysterious, as if waiting for ghostly guests who inhabited the park after the crowds went home.

Lacy hadn't ever seen this ride before. The park
had been abandoned her whole lifetime, until today. But now she saw that the boats were obviously designed for romance, their heart-shaped backs forming a secluded bubble of privacy. The seats were wide, generous benches thickly padded in red velvet.

Looking at the seats, Lacy had another of her flashing, breathtaking visions. This one was so vivid that her knees suddenly went weak. She wrapped her fingers around Adam's hand.

She felt him turn, and she knew there was a question in his eyes.

“I'm sure,” she said again, not taking her gaze from the lightly rocking boat. “I'm so sure I can hardly breathe.”

For answer, he raised her hand slowly and kissed her fingers. His warm lips grazed the newly bare spot where once Malcolm's wedding ring had been.

Then he helped her aboard. The boat tilted under their weight then righted itself. The restless water lapped at the side of the boat with small wet sounds.

He guided her to the seat and knelt before her. He began to undress her—partly, anyway. He took his time, showing the same expert and imaginative understanding of the need for quick flight that he had learned back in their teenage years, when every encounter had been stolen, every coming together accomplished only with great risk.

She wore a long summer dress that buttoned from scooped neck to swirling skirt. He unbuttoned from the top, slowly making his way to her rib cage. Then he worked from the bottom, releasing her up to her hips. He peeled the dress away from her shoulders,
pushing it down onto her elbows, and unclasped the lacy white bra that fastened between her breasts. Then, opening her skirt, he slid her bikini pants over her legs, dragging them across her bare feet with a tormenting, sensual tickle.

Just three inches of midriff remained covered. The rest was his.

He ran the palm of his hand slowly over the swell of her breast. “So soft,” he said thickly. “I knew it was true. I remembered it too well. You're as soft as an angel.”

Every breath she took was a struggle. Desire was thickening her blood, tightening her lungs. But he went so slowly, as if he needed to relearn her with his hands. He stroked her softly in slow, complicated patterns from shoulder to breast, sometimes rising up to her neck, sometimes dipping down behind her dress to her arching back. Then up again, as if to home, to settle possessively around her swollen, aching breast.

Finally, he bent his head, brushing his lips across her skin. Warmth flooded her veins, and she shivered and closed her eyes. It had been so long—and the years had been so cold. She was weak with relief to learn that her body still knew how to react, still knew what to do.

“Relax,” he whispered, as if the ghosts in the other boats might hear them. “Lean back.”

She obeyed him. She let her bare shoulders rest against the quilted velvet of the boat's padded walls. Her hands fell weakly at her sides as he moved in closer and touched her thighs. He lifted her legs, ar
ranging them gently along his shoulders. And then he bent his head again.

Had it been dark in this tunnel? Suddenly, though her eyes were closed, she saw bright light, and a whirlpool of colors. His mouth was warm, his lips velvet soft, but his tongue was hard and knowing. She felt herself straining, grasping the safety bar overhead as if she might indeed be swept overboard by these pounding waves of desire.

At the last moment, he pulled back. She tossed her head against the velvet, protesting silently, and tensed her legs, trying to hold him. She had been so close—so close to some perfect, rainbowed release that she hadn't known in ten long, terrible years. He couldn't deny her now….

He stroked her hair back from her forehead, murmuring comfort. She reached for him, and realized that he had freed himself from his blue jeans. He even had a condom ready. Apparently he had grown wiser over the years.

But had she? If he hadn't brought protection, would she have been able to stop now? Or would she do what she had done ten years ago—seek joy in his body, comfort in this sensual abandonment, pushing away all fears about tomorrow?

“Adam, hurry,” she said desperately. “I need this. I need you.”

He was ready. He pulled her close, and then, in one easy shift, smoothly reversed their positions. The boat rocked, and then somehow he was against the seat, half sitting, half leaning—and she was astride him,
her knees cushioned by quilted velvet, her unbuttoned dress flowing out behind her.

He slipped his hands under her dress, lifted her, and positioned her above him. But though his muscles trembled, humming with the effort required for restraint, he didn't thrust. He let her decide when it would happen, let her absorb him at her own pace.

She forced herself to move slowly, deliberately, making every inch a torture of pulsing heat and swollen pleasure. She took a deep breath and tuned her senses to a deep, dark, interior frequency, where she could almost feel their veins throbbing against one another.

She moved her hips once. He groaned. And then she didn't dare move any more. She was too close to the edge.

It was a small, wonderful miracle, and she wanted it to last forever. She had been so afraid. So afraid that this would not happen, or that she would have to fight for it, making him work, too, muscles straining, to bring her back to life. And yet, here it was, as near at hand as a ripe apple poised to drop with the first kiss of wind. As pure and unstoppable as a gushing mountain stream.

“It can't be this easy,” she said softly.

He reached up and cupped his hands around her breasts. “When it's right, it's always easy, sweetheart.”

She let her head fall back, in love with the touch of his fingers as they found her nipples. “But it's been…so many years….”

“A lifetime couldn't come between us.” He
dropped his hands and placed them around her waist. “Hold on to me, Lacy. Let me show you how easy it can be.”

Where did he get the strength? She wasn't sure whether he moved her hips with his wonderful hands, or whether he created the rhythm with his own body. She knew only that a wild tension moved through her, and none of the effort was hers. It was like flying, like being thrust ever higher into a black night sky.

So high. So high it couldn't last. And yet it did. With that amazing, graceful strength, he drove her to the edge of the sky, until she wanted to scream with the fearful exhilaration, until she was longing for the fall.

She gripped his shoulders, crying out, muscles begging for release. Her breasts brushed his chest, and for the first time, his rhythm grew strained. He called her name, and she helped him, rocking her hips to add her strength to his.

For a long, crystalline moment, movement was all they knew. Their bodies rocked, the boat rocked, the whole world rocked around them.

And then there was nothing but the long, helpless fall, dropping through a tunnel glowing with small pink fairy lights and hearts as red as neon.

When it was over, she collapsed against him, their drenched bodies meeting slick and warm and spent. It was several minutes before she could breathe without effort, and she felt his heart thumping fast beneath her ear.

“Thank you,” she whispered when she could talk. She ran her hand up inside his shirt, relishing the
smooth, damp curves of his chest. “Thank you for giving that back to me.”

He touched her hair softly. “I didn't give you anything, Lacy. It was always yours. Even at eighteen, you had so much power, so much instinctive sensuality…. I've never known another woman like you.” He growled with animal appreciation. “You drove me crazy then. You drive me even crazier now.”

She noticed the casual reference to all the other women he had known. But she didn't let it sink in. She refused to brood about how he had spent these past ten years, years when she was locked in a frigid, loveless servitude to Malcolm.

Instead she wriggled subtly against him. Once wasn't going to be enough, she realized. With Adam, once hadn't ever been enough.

Memories surged back to her suddenly, the echo of his delighted laughter that first night, as he had realized what she wanted. She had turned away, embarrassed, but he had flipped her over with a low, sensual laugh, ready to bring her the miracle again, some new and wonderful way.

“Never be ashamed of wanting more,” he had said. “I love to love you, Lacy. Any way you want it, as many times as you want it. Do you understand that? Nothing is too much to ask.”

Emboldened by the memory, she shifted one more time, hoping he still felt the same way. She wanted more. Much more. She had so many years to make up for. It was like trying to fill a sun-parched lake.

He chuckled, tightening his hand on her back.

“I'm not eighteen anymore, you know,” he said,
but his body proved him a liar. He was as ready as she was, and the heat was building fast.

But then they heard voices. Someone was whistling, and he sounded to be just outside the Tunnel of Love.

Lacy lowered her head in an agony of frustration. “Oh, no,” she murmured against his arm. “Make him go away.”

He laughed quietly. “God, I hope it's not Silas Jared and his knife.”

But the whistling man wasn't going away. Instead, the whistling was drawing closer—a maintenance man, she thought dismally. Probably headed here to tie down the boats and shut off the power to the neon heart.

She forced herself to lift away from Adam, though the disappointment of the physical disconnection was almost painful. She pulled up the dress he had so thoughtfully left accessible, and began closing the buttons with fingers that felt rubbery and ineffectual.

Suddenly the entire tunnel was flooded with light. She glanced nervously at Adam, who was just buckling his belt. He scooped up her underclothes and handed them to her in a tight ball of satin.

“Your call,” he said with a smile. “Want to brazen it out—or try to save face?”