Taboo (19 page)

"Three months, Grant. Give us three months and we'll see how far we've come."

"That's a long—"

"If you believe in us, it'll work out, no matter how much time it takes."

His mouth covered hers, and his tongue swirled against, around, and parried with hers. She responded, and as he released her wrists she wrapped her arms about his neck. Her pride insisted she shouldn't give in, yet in her heart she knew it had never been more right.

"Three months," he agreed, then sealed it with a heart-stopping kiss. He cradled her face between his palms, his eyes revealing naked, emotional need. "I hate it when we argue. Tell me you forgive me."

"I forgive you."

"Tell me you love me."

"I do. I love you." And she did, so much that she hurt. She loved him in spite of his maddening nature, just as she loved him because of it.

He led her hand down to his groin.

"Show me. Touch me. I need you." His hand glided up her inner thigh, then he unfastened her jeans. Tugging the zipper down, he whispered, "I want to undo the damage. I need to know I can still make you need me."

She needed to know too. She needed the reassurance that the ground she'd gained was intact, challenged but stronger for it.

Her anger spent, the hurt diminishing fast and supplanted by passion, she unzipped his pants and grasped him in her hand.

He was hard. Pulsing. For her, only for her.

"You're wet," he murmured, relief and victory suffusing his discovery.

A pearly drop of his liquid answered hers, life unborn, yet symbolic of one that could be theirs together.

With a cry, she rejoiced in their mutual need, their undaunted love. Their lovemaking was frantic, urgent to forgive.

It was a pact sealed in flesh, a commitment to believe in tomorrow.

Chapter 12

"Cammie, sweetheart, would you go ask Grant how long before the turkey's done? He's had it on the grill all mornin', so surely it's about ready."

"Sure, Mom. Want me to help set the table after that?"

"You always love settin' that good china of Grandma's out, don't you?"

"You bet. Thanksgiving only comes once a year."

"Thank goodness," chimed in Trish. "All this dishwashing by hand and football games ad nauseam is once a year too many, if you ask me."

Cammie slid Trish a sidelong glance that silently agreed. She could do without the dishwashing, too, and fancy china wasn't at the top of her list of priorities. But she knew how much Dorothy enjoyed using it, and she, too, liked what it symbolized. Knowing it had belonged to Grant's grandmother gave her a sense of posterity and kinship. The handing down from generation to generation was something she equated with security—like Grant.

Glad for the excuse to seek him out, she set the bowl of fruit salad she'd just finished making into the refrigerator.

"Don't take too long," Trish whispered with a knowing wink, "or I'll have to cover for you again."

"Thanks, Trish," she muttered under her breath before heading to the back porch, where Grant was basting the turkey.

Nothing had been admitted, nothing had been asked, yet Trish had left little doubt that she was on to them—and approved. Thank heaven for Trish, Cammie thought. Though she still shuddered to think of how their parents might react, it was wonderfully reassuring to know Trish would be in their corner when the lid blew.

Six weeks down, six to go to judgment day. She dreaded it. She was also weary of the farce. Grant was chomping at the bit, but he was making a valiant effort to give her time. He slipped occasionally, pressuring her. And the episodes were on the rise. But he had her number, always managing to turn a battlefield into a negotiation that ended in passion.

He was bent over the turkey, basting it with his usual level of concentration, she noticed. She longed to go to him, to slip her arms around his waist and rest her cheek against his broad, strong back.

"Hey, Bro," she said instead. "Are you about done with that, or do we have to wait till Christmas?"

Grant turned at the sound of her voice. The nickname no longer irritated him. It had become a joke of sorts, and he was glad they had come far enough to laugh about things that hadn't been funny in the past. Progress. Yes, they were moving ever forward. Only not fast enough to suit him.

"I figured if I stayed out here long enough," he said, "they'd send you to check on me. Just another reason why we need to fess up, babe—so they could eat on time. Not to mention you could mosey on over here and plant one on me right this minute, instead of standing there looking hungry. " He gave her a leering grin. "And we both know I'm not talking turkey."

"You're incorrigible." She smiled, then wet her lips in a deliberately seductive gesture.

"If you like living on the edge, just keep that up."

To taunt him, she slowly repeated the action, then giggled. "I'll keep it up."

"Okay, that does it. You've pushed me too far this time."

"Grant!" she yelped as he quickly strode over to her and hoisted her over his shoulder. "What do you think you're doing? Someone could come out here any minute!"

She kicked her feet and he gave her a swat on the behind.

"Keep up the ruckus, Sis, and we'll have an audience for sure."

He rounded the corner to the side of the house, glanced around to make sure they were alone, then slowly slid her down his length and pressed her back against the wood. All play ceased, and they seized the stolen moment of privacy. His lips found hers, quick, sure, proprietary. He hated the subterfuge, just as he craved the haven of her mouth, the familiar warmth of her body molding into a natural fit against his.

"Ahem."

Cammie pushed him away, distress immediately surfacing on her flushed face, marring the glow of desire. Oh, how he hated it, resented her retreat.

He was slow to release her, but faced their intruder with an expression of challenge, and pleasure. To be seen together, openly, the way it was meant to be. Yes, he delighted in that.

Heedless of her furtive struggles, he embraced Cammie with a firm arm beneath her breasts, pulling her intimately against him, her back to his chest.

"Hello, Trish," he said in a lazy, nonchalant tone. He hoped Cammie would take the cue to relax, find her own ease with the openness he felt. "What brings you here?"

"Just thought I'd check on the status of what's cookin"—she chuckled—"before Mom could beat me to it."

"What's cookin' is us, as apparently you've already guessed."

"I'll say. Some of those looks you've been exchanging lately could torch Antarctica. I'm horribly jealous, of course. Seeing you together makes me realize how much I miss Mark."

"You don't think Mom and Dad know, do you?" Cammie's voice was anxious. Grant stifled an angry curse.

Trish looked from one to the other, then shrugged. "I don't think so. They're pretty nearsighted when it comes to us, as we all know."

Grant could feel the sigh of relief leave Cammie's chest, and he tightened his hold in reflexive frustration.

"Cammie and I are serious, Trish," he said.

"So I gathered."

"But we don't see eye to eye about how the folks might take the news."

"Grant, would you quit trying to drag Trish into our dispute? This is between us and not—"

"Hey, she's family," he argued. "I thought we should get an objective perspective."

"I don't think—"

"Look, y'all," Trish interrupted, "I'm bowing out. Cammie's right. This is between the two of you. I don't know how Mom and Dad might react, but as for me, I'm for you one hundred percent." She gave them a considering look and added, "Anybody ever tell you what a cute couple you make? You look good together."

"We
are
good together." Grant pressed his palm flat against Cammie's abdomen and kissed her temple. "Aren't we, Cammie?"

"Yes, Grant," she said, loud enough for Trish to hear, which was the most encouraging sign he'd had yet. That and her impulsive kiss on his hand. "And we're good
for each other."

Her stiffness had gradually yielded to softness. She leaned against him naturally. The way it should be, he thought, proud to be seen together. Recognized as the inseparable, match-made-in-heaven couple they were. Trish's discovering them had validated them somehow—and it only made him yearn for more. A ring, an altar, a church full of witnesses.

Unexpectedly, Trish dabbed at her eyes, then stepped forward to put her arms around them both.

"I love y'all so much. You've always been there. In the best of times. And the worst. And it makes me so happy to see you this way. It shows on your faces, makes me remember how much I miss—" Her voice caught. "Ah, hell, I'm such a sap for a love story. Just be good to each other. Don't ever take what you've got for granted, 'cause one day it's there and the next it's gone." She dashed aside a runaway tear, then summoned a jaunty smile. "Okay, while you finish swapping some spit, I'll tell everyone the turkey's on it's way."

As soon as Trish rounded the corner, Grant turned Cammie to him.

"She still misses him," she said sadly.

"Would you miss me as much?"

"At least."

He regarded her a moment, his head tilted in thought. "Given that, dare I hope you're coming around?"

"Time, Grant. But I'm getting there."

"I know. That's the first time you've kissed me in front of someone. And it felt good, Cammie. For me it was something I needed. Did it mean nearly as much to you?"

"Yes," she confessed. "It was good not to hide for a change. It felt almost natural after a little while."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Life's too precious, Cammie. And Trish is right: We should make each minute count." He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Know what I'm giving thanks for today?"

"The same thing I am?"

He smiled. "Depends on what that is."

"Do you even have to ask?" Wrapping her arms tight about his neck, she urged his mouth to hers.

* * *

"Go ahead, open it."

"I want to guess first." Cammie shook the elaborately wrapped gold and silver box. "Now let me see... Could it be a new dorm shirt? The one you gave me a few years back is getting a little ratty."

He chuckled. "Fat chance. I'd rather see you in nothing than that. Of course, a few years ago that was the closest I could get to sleeping with you."

"Little did I guess."

"And if you'd known?"

She cocked her head, thinking back. "I would have been shocked."

"Offended?"

"I don't think so... but then again, I wouldn't have been ready for this." She reached for Grant's hand and kissed it, close to his ring finger.

A wedding ring would be there by now, he thought, if he could have his way. Clamping down on the never-ceasing urge to propose, he settled for testing the waters.

"Are
you ready, Cammie? We could see the new year in together without sneaking off alone like we are tonight. I think the folks are pretty disappointed we're getting in so late for Christmas Eve."

The careful tearing of the foil wrap suddenly ceased. Cammie bit her lower lip.

"Grant, please. Let's not spoil Christmas Eve by beating a dead horse. This is a special time, and it's up to us to talk to your parents when we won't upset their holidays. That would be really selfish on our part."

"So you do admit we are going to talk to them."

"It's inevitable. Eventually."

He snorted his disgust. "At the rate we're going, they'll get the news at the pearly gates. I gotta tell you, Cammie, all this pretense over the holidays is taking its toll. I won't go through this again next year."

"Next year..." She sighed. "I'm sure by next year we'll have everything worked out."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm in love with you, Grant. And, I know things are coming to a head. But it's Christmas Eve and we've only got three hours until we have to be at the folks', and we aren't going to solve our problems before then. I want to make what little time we've got left count. Now let me open my present so I can give you yours."