A Soft Place to Fall (44 page)

Sunny was the first girl he'd ever kissed,
the first girl he took to bed, the first to claim his heart. It was
only logical he'd feel something toward her, a tug of emotion over
what they'd once shared. They'd loved with the intensity of youth,
the fire of innocence. They'd believed in the sanctity of marriage,
believed that the vows they'd taken with such hope for the future
would last a lifetime. For an instant he caught the scent of orange
blossoms in the air and he glanced about the room, looking for a
potpourri hidden away somewhere. He couldn't find one but that
didn't mean it wasn't there.

Nobody imagined the scent of orange
blossoms.

#

Sunny prayed he didn't notice the way her
hand shook as she accepted a glass of red a few minutes later.

"To old friends," he said.

She smiled. "To old friends."

They clinked glasses. Sunlight streamed in
from the stained glass window on the far wall, casting shadows of
sapphire and ruby across the polished oak floor of her living room.
She wished she'd turned on the radio, anything to mask the
thundering of her heart inside chest. What had she been thinking
of, inviting him back to her house like this? They should have gone
to a restaurant, some nice, anonymous place in the center of town
where she knew everyone and everyone knew her.

She felt painfully aware of his presence, the
faint citrusy smell of his skin--the way she longed to run her
hands through his thick, silky hair.
Get a grip on yourself,
Sunny. This isn't a date. This is your ex-husband
.
Ex-husbands didn't make your hands tremble or your
pulse beat faster. And they certainly didn't make a woman dream of
slow kisses in the moonlight.

Or of second chances.

"There's a beautiful view of the river from
my back porch," she said after taking a sip of wine for courage.
"Why don't we take our drinks outside?" Space and fresh air would
help her recover her equilibrium.

But sitting outside didn't help. The scent of
orange blossoms followed Robert and the world itself seemed too
small to contain the emotions in Sunny's heart. For an endless time
neither one spoke. Sunny made no effort to excuse herself to
prepare the lunch she'd promised him. Robert made no attempt to
leave. After a while he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers
with hers. They'd held hands like that back in high school,
enraptured by the way their fingers meshed so perfectly. Everything
had seemed miraculous back then, as if a benevolent God watched
over them, making sure no harm could ever come their way.

They watched as the sun began to disappear
behind the trees, blushing the sky with the pink and orange flames
of evening.

But it was always you, Robby. From the
very beginning, it was you and you alone,
she thought.

I loved Christine, but no woman ever
touched my soul the way you did,
he thought in
return
.

The night breeze off the river grew
chilly.

Still holding hands, they rose and went back
inside.

The house seemed to reach out and embrace
Robert.

To Sunny it felt like a home for the very
first time.

He built a fire in the hearth while she
prepared a simple dinner. The domestic intimacy between them felt
simultaneously familiar and terrifying--a wild combination of
emotions that charged the cottage with electricity. There was a
sense of destiny about them, as if the fates had conspired to bring
them together once again, to give them one last chance at
happiness.

Robert pulled a folding table close to the
fireplace in the living room, and Sunny set the table with cherry
red water glasses shaped like tulips and plates she had painted to
resemble giant cabbage leaves.

"Chopsticks?" he asked as she laid the ivory
utensils across the lime green linen napkins.

"Live dangerously." She took her seat
opposite him. "Chopsticks improve the taste of everything."

"Of potato salad?"

"You'd be surprised."

"You haven't changed," he said, refilling
their wineglasses from the half-empty bottle of Chardonnay on the
red lacquer butler's table. "Still taking the road
less-travelled."

She took a sip of wine. "That's where you
find the best scenery."

He started to say something flip about the
scenery being just fine from where he sat, but the words stayed
locked inside his throat. This was the real thing. Not dinner with
some friend-of-a-friend-who's-dying-to-meet-you. Not just a way to
pass a lonely spring evening while the kids were out of town.

This was Sunny.

"It looks great," he said, gesturing toward
the food on his plate, "but I'm not hungry."

She pushed her own plate away. "Neither am
I."

The look in his eyes was as hot and dangerous
as the fire burning in the hearth. "Do you still believe in love at
first sight?"

Her eyes fluttered closed for an instant as
the impact of his words ignited an answering flame deep inside.
"Robert, I--"

Her words ended abruptly as he pushed back
his chair and stood up. He reached for her and, as if in a dream,
she placed her hand in his and rose from her chair. She felt his
touch in every part of her body and she wondered how it was she had
managed to live without the other half of her heart. The feeling
was dangerous and mad and totally irresistible.

Slowly, deliberately, he drew her into his
arms, pulling her so close that her body seemed to melt against
his.

"Put your arms around me, Sunny."

Lifting her chin, she met his eyes. The look
in them was smoky. Unmistakable. The boy she had married years ago
was gone. He was a man now in every way. Taller. Broader. More
self-confident. She shivered with pleasure as he threaded his
fingers through her hair.
More demanding
.
She placed her hands on his shoulders.

"You've been lifting weights," she murmured.
He ran his thumb over the swell of her lower lip. "I always
imagined you'd play squash or something. Don't all successful
lawyers play squash?"

He placed his hand beneath her chin and
tilted her face up toward him. "I don't want to talk about sports,
Sunny."

"You don't?"

"And I don't want to talk about the law
firm."

Her laughter was low, her excitement deeply
female. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing," he said, dipping his head toward
hers. "Not one damn thing."

And then he drew her closer still until the
last of the emotional barriers between them incinerated before the
primal rush of passion their first kiss brought to life. His mouth
was hard and demanding; her lips, soft and yielding. She answered
his need with a fierce need of her own and he didn't leave her
wanting.

All that they had shared was in that kiss and
in the dozen kisses that followed.

"Robby...oh God...." Her voice drifted away
on a wave of pleasure. "This is crazy."

"Yes," he said, his lips hot against the
curve of her breast. "Crazy."

"The sofa," she said as her knees grew weak.
That soft and welcoming sofa before the fireplace where she'd
watched
Top Model
reruns alone.

Moments later they lay together, greedy for
the feel of skin against skin. He cupped her breasts beneath her
t-shirt, letting his palms tease her nipples until they grew taut
and hard. She felt that touch in the deepest, most secret part of
her body. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Robert moved
her hands away then ripped it open, scattering buttons across the
floor. In the space of a heartbeat he stripped her of her t-shirt,
then eased her jeans and panties over her hips and legs. The night
breeze rippled over her heated skin. He devoured her with his eyes,
as if he owned her, body and soul.

She reached for his belt buckle and he
laughed deep in his throat. Moments later they were both naked, so
ravenous for the sight and sound and smell of each other that they
had no time for preliminaries.

Only a raw and primitive mating could satisfy
their need.

Their lovemaking was sweet and savage, as
swift as the river flowing beyond the open window and when it was
over and she lay in his arms with her cheek resting against his
chest, Robert knew without a doubt that he'd never let her go.

"Sunny."

She burrowed closer to him. "Hmm?"

"We're getting married."

At Last

(Book #1 - The Idle Point Series)

Prologue

The last person to actually see Graciela
Taylor on the day she left Idle Point, Maine forever was old Eb at
the Stop & Pump. Maybe if she’d planned her getaway a little
better – or had any idea at all that she was going to leave her
fiance standing at the altar – she would have seen to it that her
gas tank was full. As it happened, the needle on her fuel gauge
hovered over the E and she was forced to make a right into Stop
& Pump and pray Old Eb wasn’t in a talkative mood. She might
have taken her chances that she’d make it to Portland before the
engine sputtered then shut down, but that was too risky. The last
thing she wanted was to run out of gas on Main Street and bump into
Noah on his way home from the wedding that wasn’t.

Old Eb peered out from his office, then did a
double-take which didn’t bode well for her speedy getaway. He’d
been around since long before Gracie was born and he’d seen
everything there was worth seeing around Idle Point and a few
things he’d rather forget. He was the one who’d found Gracie’s
mother dead at the bottom of the ravine, trapped in that old Chevy
with the horn blaring . He was the one who’d found Gracie, thrown
clear from the wreck and crying to beat the band. He was the one
who wrapped her in blankets and held her close while they waited
for her father to identify his wife’s body. She and Eb had a
history. If he had any idea what she was up to, it would be all
over.

“
You forgetting where you’re supposed
to be?” he asked as he ambled over to where she stood next to the
old Mustang she’d bought four years ago with the money she’d saved
working in the kennels for Doctor Jim. “They’re down at the cove
waitin’ for you, Gracie. I’d be there myself if I didn’t have to
earn a living.”

She smiled, wishing she’d taken time to
exchange her short lacy white dress for the pair of jeans and a
sweater. She looked like exactly what she was: a runaway bride.
“I’m on my way,” she said, carefully not specifying her
destination. She was too fond of Eb to lie to him.

Eb checked his pocket watch. “Thought the
clambake began at two o’clock,” he said. There was a sharp note of
curiosity in his voice as his faded blue eyes took in her outfit.
“It’s near to half-past. You can’t be late for your own goodbye
party.”

Eb knew that she was due to leave for
Philadelphia the next morning to begin her first year of veterinary
school at the University, the goal she'd been striving for since
she was barely old enough to walk.

“I know,” she said, “but I’m running on fumes
and . . . “ She shrugged. “You know how it is. There was so much to
do.” He was a native New Englander, same as she. Didn’t he know New
Englanders were famous for minding their own business?

Eb checked her oil and cleaned her windshield
while the tank guzzled down the gallons. If he wondered why Sam the
Cat was grooming herself on the passenger's seat, he never said.
Gracie peered nervously over her shoulder every time she heard a
car approach. A clean getaway, that was all she wanted. When the
dust cleared and the hurt feelings mended, maybe then they could
talk. She’d left a note for Noah on the kitchen table. She told him
that she was sorry, that she hadn’t planned on any of this, but
wasn’t it better to put an end to it now before it was too
late?

Besides, how did you explain to the boy you’d
loved since kindergarten that leaving him was the best thing you
could ever do for him.

Eb screwed the gas cap back on good and
tight.

"What do I owe you?" she asked as she reached
for her purse through the open car window.

Eb plunged his gnarled hands deep into the
pockets of his overalls. “Just get yourself a good education,
girlie, then come back home to us where you belong. I've waited a
long time to dance at your wedding. I want to see you all set up
with a job and a husband and a few babies.”

He didn't have any idea what he was
saying.

You don’t understand, Eb. There was supposed
to be a wedding today but I backed out. We were going to throw
aside all of our plans and run away to Paris together. Can you
imagine, Eb? I love him and he loves me but we don’t have a chance
in the world of being happy together. His father has seen to that.
That’s why I’m going to get behind the wheel of my car and get away
from here before I start believing in fairy tales.