Forever After (38 page)

He eased his way into her, jolts of pleasure shooting through his starved body as her tight, moist heat sheathed him. She quickened at the invasion, the velvety walls of her femininity closing around him. The wary look vanished completely from her eyes.

“Oh, my…”

She was ready for him, and he was well past ready. He drove home, hard, pushing her a ways across the quilt with each thrust until he feared she might scoot right off the bed. He caught her behind the knees and lifted.

“Put your legs around me,” he urged.

She did as he asked, crossing one ankle over the other to lock the position. He plunged deep, his tempo hard and fast. She clung to him, absorbing the thrusts, little moans catching in her throat, begging for more and urging him on. Her cries grew more shrill and rapid as he pressed her closer and closer to another climax. When it came, he sought his own as well. It crashed through him with the force of a nitro blast. A kaleidoscope of blinding colors exploded inside his head. Seconds later, Old Glory dwindled to limp exhaustion and Heath collapsed, barely managing to shift his body so he wouldn’t crush her as he sank to the mattress.

She turned into his arms, snuggled closed, and almost instantly went to sleep. His feet dangled over the end of the bed. He didn’t care. He threw one leg over both of hers,
gathered her close, and sank with her into total blackness.

Two hours later, he awoke to the feeling of velvety lips trailing kisses over his chest and arms. He cracked open one eye. Meredith pushed up on an elbow and smiled dreamily. Then she leaned closer, lightly grazing the stubble along his jaw with her nipple. The tip went as hard as a little rivet, and she dragged it over his cheek to tease the corner of his mouth, then the crease of his lips. He managed to pry open his other eye. God help him, that was all he had the energy to do.

“Are you too tired?” she asked sweetly.

“You are so beautiful, I’ll
never
be too tired,” he lied.

Urgent SOS to God. I need a miracle
.

There was a blush on her cheeks. Her smile was shy. He had a feeling she had never initiated lovemaking with a man in her entire life. He had failed miserably to react appropriately the first time. If he was unable to rise to the occasion this time, she might never approach him again.

Where
was
God, anyway? Vacationing in the Bahamas?
SOS signals to Saint Peter or Luke or John—whoever the hell was on duty up there
. As seldom as he prayed, he would have thought
someone
would snap to attention.

She trailed her fingertips lightly down his chest to his belly, then even lower. Praise God and all the saints, Old Glory responded with no help from his brain, and by the time her small hand curled over him, at least
something
had snapped to attention.

He made love to her again, outshining even his first attempt, which in his opinion had been pretty damned spectacular. At the finish, his arms hung from his shoulders like overcooked spaghetti noodles, and if he had legs, he couldn’t feel them. She curled around him like tendrils of silk and buried her face against the slope of his neck. He opened one eye when he felt her tongue tracing circles under his ear.

“I never knew,” she whispered throatily. “I never had any idea.”

“About what, sweetheart?”

“That it could
be
like that. It’s so wonderful, Heath. I want to make love with you all night.”

Somehow—maybe it was God finally getting back
to
him—he managed to open both eyes and paste what he hoped was a reasonably awake and cognizant expression on his face. He found himself gazing into the most beautiful,
expectant
blue eyes he had ever seen.

He had created a monster.

God help him. He was thirty-eight years old, hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, and the last time he had, he’d tossed and turned all night, worrying about his dog. Since then, he’d been scared nearly to death three or four times, kicked, pummeled, shot at, and chased. He’d driven all night. He’d stolen a car. He’d tossed away his life. And he’d lost his hat. He just wasn’t as young as he used to be. Old Glory was at half mast, and a whole regiment playing trumpets wasn’t going to revive him. Only who could say no to those huge blue eyes? Not him.

Luckily, and just in the nick of time, God finally answered his SOS. As Heath kissed Meredith, he made a mental note to be sure and thank Him.

Later…much later.

When Meredith woke
up the following morning, sunlight filtered through the white cotton curtains at the bedroom window, and the cheerful singing of birds drifted to her. She lay alone in the bed, a depression in the pillow beside hers the only sign that Heath had slept with her. She rolled over and yawned, listening for movement in the other room. She heard the faint
clink
of a spoon against glassware and then the tread of a man’s booted feet. She smiled. Knowing he was there made her feel sleepily content and completely safe, even though, in the back of her mind, she knew it couldn’t last. Glen was still out there, as ruthless as ever. The danger wasn’t over. But, if all ended badly, at least she’d been granted this one fragment of time with a man whose very touch filled her with wonder.

The only trouble was, now that she’d had a taste of what it was like with Heath, she wanted a lifetime with him. Love and laughter. She couldn’t help but hold the hope close to her heart that maybe, just maybe, this time she would come out a winner.

Slipping from the bed, she rummaged for a change of clothes in the cardboard box Heath had set in the corner. Wrong box. These were her old things, stuff she’d brought with her from New York but had never worn in Oregon. Knit tops, blouses, dress slacks, two bras from her prepadded days. At the bottom, she found two pairs of de
signer jeans, both far too formfitting to provide any camouflage.

Disgruntled, she closed the box and went searching for her shirt, thinking that she’d slip it on and go find the other boxes of clothing. Just as she shoved an arm into one sleeve, it occurred to her that her wig and contact days were over, at least for the moment. Here at the cabin, she needn’t worry about wearing baggy clothes or padded bras. She went back to the box, tugged out a red knit top, jeans, and underwear.

When she stepped out of the bedroom, Heath was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee cupped between his hands. When he glanced up at her, he did a double-take then smiled and ran his gaze from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, whistling appreciatively. Meredith felt a flush rise up her neck.

“Wow.” He leaned back in his chair and made a circular motion with his hand. “All the way around. Let me look at you.”

She almost made a U-turn back to the bedroom for her baggy shirt and jeans. She had small breasts and big hips. Pear-shaped best described her. What if he measured her against women he’d known before and found her lacking? All this time, he’d believed she had a much more generous bust than she actually did. Some men were really hung up about that sort of thing. Weren’t they?

A horrible, frightened feeling attacked her stomach. If he didn’t like how she looked, what was she going to do? If she lost him, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She would die inside and never be the same again.

He said nothing as she turned in a circle for him. Why? she wondered miserably. Oh, God, he was disappointed. He’d discovered she had a fat butt and no top. He probably liked tall, slinky women with big breasts. As she came back around to face him, Meredith prepared herself for the worst.

He just sat there, rocked back in his chair, staring at her. She lowered her gaze to the planked floor, wishing she could dissolve and disappear through the cracks.

“I can’t believe my eyes,” he finally said.

All and all, she truly didn’t think she was
that
bad. She looked up and met his gaze, which was twinkling mischievously.

“Christ! Have I ever got my work cut out for me. Sammy’s going to be the spittin’ image of you. I’ll have to run the boys off with a shotgun.” He crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

Her feet had grown to the floor. “You mean you think I’m—? Well, you know.”

“Do bears shit in the woods? Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous. I can’t believe you had all of that covered up with those tents you wore.”

“Tents?”

“Those God-awful britches! The legs in those buggers would swallow me.”

“If you hated the way I looked so much, what made you feel—interested in me?”

He winked. “I have vision that can peel paint off walls. Whenever you weren’t watching, I stripped away layers.”

“You did not. You were always a perfect gentleman.”

“Have I ever got you fooled. Polite, maybe, but not stone blind. Besides, it wasn’t your body that hooked me. It was that fantastic hair and those great big, beautiful eyes.”

Both of which were now a different color, she thought dismally, and a horrible urge to cry came over her. She absolutely would
not
give in to it. He’d start to think she was a big old bawl baby. That might be the final draw for him, considering he’d fallen in love with a dark-eyed, larger-breasted brunette who didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

His brows swooped together in a scowl. “For what?”

“For—for not being all you thought I was.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. “Meredith, you were pretty before. Now you’re beautiful. Talk about hiding your light under a bushel. You’ve got a figure that makes my eyes nearly pop out of my head. And that hair. Whenever I look at it, I want to get my hands in it. And those
eyes—I think they’re the most wonderful eyes I’ve ever seen. When you walked out of that bedroom just now, I almost swallowed my tongue.”

Flattery to
that
degree was highly suspicious. She searched his dark face. He
knew
she felt self-conscious, and he was trying to make her feel better. And, oddly, she did. Not because she believed, even for a second, that she could ever make him swallow his tongue, but because he loved her so much. He didn’t care if she had big hips and no breasts. Or hardly any, anyway. He loved her just the way she was.

She moved toward him, and when she reached him, he grabbed her and jerked her across his lap, kissed her until she felt dizzy, and then began nibbling along the neckline of her top, growling like a bear. Meredith didn’t feel alarmed until he dragged her top down with his freshly shaved chin to plunge his tongue under the edge of her bra cup. Somehow, he coaxed her breast out, and right there, in the middle of the kitchen, in
broad
daylight, he began suckling and worrying her nipple with his teeth.

“We can’t—you can’t do—Heath? What about—?”

She meant to remind him of Sammy, but somehow, the words never got out. He caught the sensitive tip of her between his teeth, tugging and dragging with his tongue. She felt as if all her bones melted, and she couldn’t quite recall her daughter’s name.

He teased her until she wanted to pull him to the bedroom by his hair. Then, with a satisfied glint in his eyes, he stopped and tugged her clothing back into place. “Good morning,” he said huskily. “Would you care for a cup of fresh coffee?”

“That’s it? After that, and all I get is coffee?”

He tweaked her other nipple through the layers of her clothing. “Feels like I have all your nerve-endings fully awake. That little sweetheart is standing at attention and begging for attention.”

She bent to kiss him. He laughed and evaded her. “Nope. You gotta wait.”

“Until when?”

“Tonight,” he whispered. “No time for that today.”

“That is
so
mean!”

“Mean? Nah. This way, you’ll think about it all day. By tonight, when I finally get around to it, you’ll be putty in my hands.”

“I’ll be putty right now.”

“Nope. We have to talk and take care of business.” He set her off his lap to go pour her a mug of coffee. As he returned to the table, he said, “I’ve been thinking, and I believe I’ve come up with a way to get you out of this mess.”

“You have?” That news made Meredith forget about going to the bedroom. She cupped the steaming mug between her palms. “How?”

He sat down across from her, planted his elbows on the table, and leaned toward her. “Ever since I woke up, I’ve been mulling it over, thinking there has to be a way to outsmart Glen Calendri and do battle with the mob on our own terms. And there is, I think. Remember the exposé letter you wrote? I want you to tell me everything you can recall that was in it, along with anything else you can remember that might be evidence against Glen or any of his associates.”

“Why? What good will that do?”

“Just humor me. I’d like to hear all of this before Sammy wakes up.”

Meredith settled in her chair, cradling her mug and taking sips of coffee as she let her mind drift back in time. “There was a man named Peter Caldwell that I’m almost certain—” She stopped and met his gaze. “Well, actually, I
know
. They had him killed.” She stared into her coffee for a moment. “I told you last night, I have a lot to be ashamed of, Heath. How are you going to feel about me when you hear all of this and realize I did nothing—not to stop it from happening or to report it to the police?”

“What could you have done to stop it?”

“I don’t know. Something! Instead, I pretended I hadn’t overheard them.”

“What would Glen and Dan have done if you’d called the police? Would Dan have known for sure you had done it?”

“Of course. I was the only person who could have known. When they had discussions like that, they planned ahead of time and gave the household staff time off. I always knew when something was up, because everyone, from the cook and butler down to the maids, got an afternoon or evening off with pay.”

“So they would have known you snitched. What would they have done to you?”

“Dan would’ve killed me! That’s why I didn’t have the courage to do anything.”

“Courage? You were how old? Twenty-five.”

“I was twenty-three when I married, almost twenty-four when Sammy was born.”

“Very young, in other words, and scared to death. Get past it, Meredith. Forgive yourself. When you’re in a no-win situation and you know one wrong move will mean your death, it’s your instinct to survive. You were young, pregnant, emotionally and physically battered. What were you supposed to do? Take on a brutal husband, all the corruption and the mob as well? Singlehandedly, of course.”

“You make it sound so understandable! I let people die. That haunts me.”

“You know, sweetheart, I know this may sound really cold-hearted, but most of those people who got knocked off were probably white-collar criminals. When they decided to play ball with Glen Calendri, they knew they’d be screwed if things went sour. They
asked
for it. Now, you tell me. Why should an innocent girl and her baby have to die to save men like that? When you feel guilty, you look at your daughter. And if you can honestly say you should have let her die to save some crooked bastard, then by all means, beat your breast and punish yourself with guilt for the rest of your life.”

“It’s just that I used to think I was the kind of person who would always do the right thing, no matter what. Someone brave. That I’d run in front of a car to save a child, or leap off a bridge to save someone from drowning. Now I know that I’d only stand there. It isn’t a good feeling. It makes me feel so ugly inside.”

“Merry…that isn’t true. Remember that first night you met Goliath? You were terrified of him, but when I got there, you were about to take him on barehanded to save Sammy. And leaving New York? If that didn’t take guts, I’ll put in with you. Reacting on impulse to save someone in a dangerous situation is easy. You have no time to feel scared. You just do it, and people call you a hero. You were terrified of dogs
before
, but you stood your ground. You must have been scared when you left Dan, and again when you fled from New York, but you did it. You’d be amazed at how many people wouldn’t have. I think you’re quite a lady.

“You did what you had to do to protect yourself and your baby. You weren’t responsible for Glen and Dan’s actions, and you weren’t elected to save the world. You couldn’t have, not without dying yourself. I want to hear you say it. ‘I wasn’t to blame.’ Come on. Say it!”

“I wasn’t to blame,” she said faintly.

“Louder. And look at me. Don’t hang your head as if you’re ashamed.”

She raised her chin. “I wasn’t to blame! Is that
loud
enough?”

He grinned at her. “It’ll do. Now, back to Peter Caldwell. He got knocked off, you knew and didn’t do anything, thank God, amen. Now give me details.”

She laughed in spite of herself and drank in his smile. It was the most wonderful feeling, to have him here with her. She felt safe and happy for the first time in so long that she couldn’t remember when.

There had been times in her life when she had wondered why so many bad things had happened to her—if, perhaps, she’d done something wrong, and it was all some kind of
punishment. Now she realized that all along she’d been on a journey—sometimes a terrible journey—but every step she’d taken had been leading her to this man. It seemed so clear, in retrospect, that nothing had been left to chance. Something—or someone—had guided her in every move she made. She’d chosen to go to Wynema Falls by closing her eyes and stabbing her finger at a map of Oregon. Out of hundreds of towns, somehow her fingertip had landed on
his
town, in
his
county. And because of financial difficulties, she’d rented a rundown old house on a deserted country road, with only one other house in sight,
his
house. God, fate,
something
had arranged it all. They were meant to be together, had always been meant to be together.

Heath Masters was the one man in the world for her, the
only
one. He filled her up where she was empty, and he healed her where she was wounded, and he was strong for her when she was weak.
Home
. Oh, how she had yearned all these years to be able to go home. And now, thousands of miles away from where she’d always believed home was, she had finally gotten there. Not back to the old farmhouse where she’d grown up, where the shade of the oaks cast lazy shadows over a world that moved in slow motion. Not back to her dad, with his pipe and his coveralls and his great big hugs. Or to her mom, with her loving smile and her dingy house dresses and a kitchen that always smelled of fresh baked bread. Home wasn’t a place at all.