Beside a Dreamswept Sea (36 page)

“That’s because you don’t have to take care of it.”

“I’d like to, though. I’d like to take care of all of you, Cally.” He let the brush glide down the lengths of the strands, scalp to ends, and eased his free hand up her side to the curve of her waist, pausing just beneath the fullness of her breasts, over her ribs. “Will you keep it long for me?”

She shivered. “At the risk of ruining the moment, Counselor, I’d like to remind you that we vowed honesty. My hair being long or short can’t matter at all to you.”

Cranky, scared as hell. She was loving this. And hating loving it. He nearly smiled. “You want honesty?” She didn’t. Not really. But he’d give it to her anyway. “Everything about you matters to me, Miss Tate. Every”—he punctuated his words with kisses to her nape—“little . . . thing.”

She let out a low, sexy moan on a shiver, and he leaned closer, pressed his chest flush to her back, then buried his face in her hair and inhaled the scent. His throat went thicker still. “Mmm, peaches. Fresh, lush peaches. I like peaches, Miss Tate.” He dropped his voice to a growl and confessed. “Though your coconut shampoo does wicked things to me, too.”

“I’ll, um, remember that.”

“Good.” He nuzzled the shell of her ear, growled, low and deep. “Sexy.”

She sucked in a quick little breath and her fingers sank into his thigh. “You’re forgetting again.”

“I’m not forgetting.” He pulled the brush down slowly, rhythmically, letting himself drift into fantasies of him and Cally and them making love. Of her touching him, letting out little moans of pleasure that told him she liked what he was doing to her, liked what she was doing to him. The erotic fantasies sent him spiraling, deeper and deeper into desire’s web, and he wanted Cally there with him, free of inhibitions; free, and feeling beautiful. He paused brushing, kissed the tempting tender skin at her nape, nosed the cay of her neck, then whispered raggedly, “Cally?”

She laid her palm over his hand at her ribs, and encouraged, he kissed the soft hollow behind her ear. “One day—not today, but one day—I’m going to undress you before that mirror. And I’m going to make love with you until you look at yourself and see all I see.” He dropped the brush onto the floor. Heard it land on the rug with a thump. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he felt her chest heave, saw her nipples draw tight. He trailed kisses to her temple, her chin, her shoulder, winding his way down to them. “But for now, I’m just going to adore you.”

Through gauzy fabric and shuddered breaths, he captured her breast in his mouth. She locked her hands in his hair, drew his head to her chest, and murmured sweet sounds. When he’d paid homage to both breasts, she lifted his face to hers. Their lips met, melded, eagerly mated. He nudged her shoulder and hip, and she lifted, then straddled his thighs. The contact stunned him, innocently seductive, sensually provocative, mind-drugging. He skimmed her sloping curves, pausing to embrace, to nestle, to caress, clasping bits of her gown, craving the heat of skin. She sighed against his mouth, parted her lips, and welcomed his tongue, then raised a hesitant hand and let it hover at his chest. Darling Cally. So unsure. So fearful of doing something wrong. He held her with one arm and unbuttoned his pajama top with the other, then unsnapped his pants at the waist, his arousal pressing firmly against her thigh. “Touch me, Cally.” He looked deeply into her eyes, let her see all he was feeling. “I need your touch.”

Cally couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t fathom that the hunger in Bryce’s eyes was genuine, was for her. He hadn’t been with a woman in two years; that had to be spurring the fire in his gaze, the strain etching his face. It’d been a long time. His primal instincts had engaged and any woman would arouse him. That should bother her. Instead it set her emotions free. She just happened to be the lucky one.

With wavering hands and pounding hearts, they eagerly removed each other’s clothes, tossed them onto the floor, then hurriedly pressed bare skin to shuddering bare skin. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once, to feel all of him, now. She gazed down his broad chest to his flat stomach, followed the vee of dark springy hair to his groin and saw the evidence of his desire. Her heart skipped a full beat and she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Touch me, Cally.” He lifted her hand, pressed it flat on his heaving chest, over his heart, between his male nipples.

They were peaked and taut, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to taste them. Both tempted and aching to please him, she splayed her fingertips on his heated skin, then caressed his body, delighting in the ripple of his flesh, the quiver of his muscles reacting to her slightest touch. Thoughts of her being lacking, being ugly, or not satisfying him fled and, celebrating their departure, she let her fingertips drift down and capture his essence.

From the back of his throat quivered a grunt of pure male joy that sang to her woman’s heart, and again he claimed her mouth. Heat swirled and tippled, flowed and burned. His arms circling her, he rocked back and then tugged; clasped her hips and positioned her atop him, mouth to mouth, thigh to thigh, heart to heart. His arousal pressed hard against her belly, and the sweet pressure rippled her enchantment into riotous waves, glorious crests, and fulfilling swells. The silken hair sprinkling his chest taunted her breasts, and fingertips suddenly gone sensitive seemed tempted beyond redemption by texture, by design. His hands smoothed down her back, over her buttocks, down to her thighs. Against the back of her knee, he bunched her gown, skimmed his gentle hand to the skin beneath it, murmuring sweet, breathless words, lover’s secrets that seeped into her heart.

She broke their kiss and studied his face, his slumberous eyes, heavy-lidded and smoldering with passion, the tense line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose with nostrils slightly flaring, the perfect arch of his thick brows. His eyes captured, entranced, enthralled. She let herself get lost in them, in the thick haze of heat and hunger swimming in their depths, and the truth arrowed through her like honey-tipped spears. This was real. Not honest with love lies between them, but real. He wasn’t thinking of Meriam or of other women with whom he might have made love. He wasn’t thinking of proving Cally lovable. He wasn’t thinking at all. He was feeling. Yearning. And so was she. But for her pride, she wanted the words. “It’s only us here, Bryce,” she said, more than asked.

“Only us,” he vowed, then reinforced his promise by praising her body with short raspy kisses, with long languorous ones, and adoring all of her with wisps of feather-light touches that seemingly dripped flame, setting her skin and soul on fire. And when they came together, a great shudder rippled through him, inciting sensations of belonging and joy too potent to persevere, too precious to protest. She shimmered over the first crest and plunged into sensation, mindless, boneless, reckless, opening herself totally to him, body and spirit and soul.

He sensed the change in her, stilled, then looked deeply into her eyes. “I was right. I hate loving making love with you, Miss Tate.” Sweat sheening his skin, he favored her with a slow, seductive kiss that had her cresting the summit again.

Her heart hammering, taking flight, she knew at that moment her decision on his proposal had been made. “I hate loving you, too, Counselor.”

In a copse of trees, she passed a little clearing where a bench nestled beneath overhanging limbs, climbed over the prone trunk of a downed oak, then glanced over at the gazebo. Freshly painted, it looked pretty in the morning mist, sitting as
it was at the foot of the pond. A low stone wall separated Seascape lands from the next-door neighbor’s. Everyone called that neighbor Batty Beaulah Favish, but Hatch had told Suzie not to say so in front of Miss Hattie. Both Cally and Bryce knew that, of course. At the Blue Moon, Lucy Baker had told them about the woman traipsing through the woods with her binoculars, ghost-hunting. Seeing Tony could prey on a body’s mind, and wondering how he came to be as he was could drive a person insane—unless they accepted him unconditionally. Suzie’s friend Selena Mystic had been right about that.

Cally sat down on a protruding root, beneath a sprawling oak that had shed its leaves for winter, then gazed out onto the water. Curls of sun-streaked mist rose from it, dreamy, lovely, and a little rowboat hovered just off the opposite shore. Even through the mist she recognized the craggy, bent man aboard it as Hatch.

Wondering about Tony could make a woman crazy. Funny thing was, Batty Beaulah was sane. Everyone just thought she was crazy, except for Miss Hattie, who took serious exception to such remarks. The villagers all deferred to Miss Hattie, and never risked upsetting her. Cally understood why. Who could resist her? A unique blend of guardian angel and magical Mary Poppins with an iron will, a pure-gold heart, and a broad streak of Maine-stubborn that people from away could marvel at but never emulate. And her devotion to her soldier inspired others, proved being loved was possible.

Poor Tony. How it must hurt him to be denied all that love. To know it was there and to not be able to bask in it. Cally moaned, sad for them, amazed at how little store people put in oddities that only others could see.

She picked up a leaf, crunched it between her forefinger and thumb. Wondering what to do about Bryce’s proposal could make a woman crazy, too.

The wind nipped at her fingers. She tucked them into her pockets and admitted she wanted to marry Bryce. Last night, while making love with him, she thought she’d made her decision, that she’d be a damn fool if she didn’t marry him. He was gorgeous, had three totally adorable kids, a good sense of humor, a body to die for, and he was financially secure in a respected position within a respected profession. Well, respected by those who don’t hate all lawyers. He trusted her. He’d made her promises. And for some reason—which she prayed didn’t prove she hadn’t learned thing one from her experience with Gregory—she truly believed Bryce would keep his promises. He would be faithful to her. And be honest. He cared. She knew he cared.

If only she weren’t in love with the man, she’d jump on his proposal with both feet. He’d be perfect. They’d be perfect. And at peace.

Grating sounds of the little boat being dragged up onto the shore snagged her attention. She smiled at Hatch. “Good morning.”

“Well, good morning.” He dropped the rope and it hit the stony ground with a healthy
thunk.
The water rippled around his rubber waders, and the string at the bottom of his parka dragged a line in the water. “Fine day for fishin’, ain’t it?”

“It’s a beautiful day.” She smiled up at him.

“Uh-oh. Man trouble.” He squatted down beside her and pulled his pipe out of his shirt pocket. “I can spot it a mile away.”

Did he ever light that pipe? “The troubles are easy to spot.” Cally shrugged. “It’s the solutions that are as misty as that pond.”

“You listen to this old man, girl. You gotta figure out what you want in life.”

She’d recognized the wisdom in him before, and now some sixth sense warned her what he was telling her was exactly what she needed to know to do what was right for her, Bryce, and the M and M’s. “I know what I want, Hatch. I have since I was a little girl. It’s getting it that’s been the problem.” She tossed down the crumbled leaf. “I thought I’d found it once, but I hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I heard about your husband running off with that biochemist. Joleen, wasn’t it?”

Geez, did everyone in the village know she’d been dumped? “It was.” No sense denying it.

Hatch skipped a stone over the water’s surface. It bounced three times, then plunked down with a little splash. “Maybe you deserved better than him.” Sun-dappled under the oak branches, he squinted over his left shoulder at her. “Ever thought of that?”

She hadn’t.

“I didn’t think so.” He dusted a sprinkling of sand from his hands, then stepped over a gnarled root, coming closer to her. “Point is, little lady, no matter what happens to us in life, it’s for our greater good. We gotta make our climbs and take our tumbles believing that deep down in our guts.”