The Lake House (39 page)

“Ah, conceited ass—I can tell you find your buddies’ pranks hilarious,” she said as she shook her head in disgust.

Tom bowed his head. “Sorry . . . But you have to admit it’s creative.”

Heather turned her attention back to the now bubbling marshmallow. “Sorry, I’m too pissed to find it funny.”

“You have the right to be ticked off, considering what they did.” With a steady motion, he led her stick toward him, slid the marshmallow onto a graham cracker, topped it with chocolate, and pressed another cracker down. The sticky mess oozed onto his fingers as he handed her the dessert.

White and brown goo stuck to her hands as she bit down. “This is disgustingly sweet.” She licked her fingers as marshmallow dripped into the sand.

“You gotta love s’mores. It’s campfire tradition to get sick on these things. Drink your wine. It’ll cut the sweetness,” he said.

“I’ve never had a s’mores wine pairing before,” she said, wiping marshmallow from her mouth.

“Then you’ve been hanging with the wrong people.” He smiled.

She drank the wine, which tasted bitter when combined with the decadent sandwich.

“If you think what they’ve done to you this week is bad, you should’ve seen the mess I picked up when they tried to sabotage your home inspection.”

“Why would they do that?”

He pushed marshmallows onto two sticks and handed her one. “It’s fun just to roast them. You don’t have to eat them.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

He sighed. “You’ve walked into a century’s worth of history. This place is all they have left. The world they grew up in—hard work, family traditions, and a sense of community—no longer exists. They’re bombarded with technology and their kids barely have time for them. Their grandchildren don’t bother to visit. The parties that have been held since the nineteen twenties are now obligations for their children who stop in on their way to something else. You were able to buy your place because Aaron stole his mother-in-law’s house and moved her into a nursing home. They’re just trying to preserve the life they built. They’re afraid that their time has passed and you got caught in the middle.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, the wineglass tucked into the crook of her elbow. “I get it. If I had what they had or grew up the way you did, I would fight to keep it too.”

“You do have it,” he said. “Molly and Victoria adore you.”

“Yes, but the rest of them hate me. You grew up around all this, so you don’t know what it’s like
not
to have a place to call home. How would you feel if your neighbors sabotaged your house?”

He looked at her and she turned to stare at the fire. His hand
turned her chin to look at him. “It would suck. I promise I’ll put an end to it.”

The fire was reflected in his eyes; her hurt and anger softened as she realized he genuinely felt bad for what happened. He moved his hand away and she shook her head. “No, this is my battle. If you get involved, they’ll just continue to hate my presence. I’ll figure it out.” Heather took a sip of wine, stretched her legs, and began to roast another marshmallow directly in the flames. “Can I ask you something about Evelyn?”

“About the mailbox?” he said as he lifted his wineglass and drank.

“How did you know?”

“I thought they would’ve told you, but I should’ve known better. Their generation doesn’t air private matters.” He paused and focused on rotating his stick. “During World War II . . .”

“No! Not another war story. I think I’ll go mad if I hear one more!” Heather said.

“Just be quiet and listen.” He smiled at her impatience. “Evelyn was engaged to Maryland’s brother, James. While he was at war, he bundled his love notes to Evelyn with his letters to his family. Every day she checked the mailbox to see if he’d written.”

Heather took a sip of wine and put a new marshmallow into the flames. To her astonishment, it exploded into a bright orange fire and wouldn’t go out. She waved the stick until the burning mass fell into the sand.

“You really haven’t done this before,” he said.

She grabbed a chocolate bar, broke off a piece, and stuck it in her mouth. “Just finish your story.”

“James’s platoon came under heavy fire and he was never found.
Evelyn married Roger three years later. They had a good marriage: five kids, twelve grandchildren, and who knows how many great-grandchildren. But Evelyn never forgot her first love. Every year, on his birthday, she wore his promise ring . . .” Tom paused.

“Heather, Evelyn has Alzheimer’s. She can’t remember Roger or any of her kids. All she knows anymore is that James is coming home someday to marry her.”

Heather stared at the fire. “Poor Roger. I assumed she had dementia of some kind. I even thought she might have lived in my house growing up and was simply confused. But to have all this”—Heather spread her arms to indicate the community—“and she can’t remember it. Does she at least know that these people are her friends?”

Tom shook his head. “No, they’ve aged. Most days she doesn’t recognize them. Grandpa says Roger barely comes out of his house to socialize. There’s talk about putting her in a home, but he doesn’t want to take her away from the one place she does remember, her home and this neighborhood.”

“Speaking of your grandfather, did you meet Geraldine?”

Tom laughed. “Yes, I hear you had something to do with that. Leave it to my grandfather to use the computer I bought him to pick up women. I told you he was a Casanova.”

“I think you might have to keep him in check. I hear those sights are for serial daters. Should I call you if he starts having multiple women over at the same time?”

He laughed. “Like I could do anything about it.” He stretched his arm across the log behind Heather’s head and they both looked to the sky. The full moon dimmed the starlight.

“When I traveled to Peru, this Incan woman told me that the goddess of fertility looked down from the full moon and watched her daughters. Fertility wasn’t just about babies; the ripeness of a
woman’s spirit rose during this time of month. Creativity heightened, and the feminine energy could drive any man to his knees.”

He looked into her eyes. “Oh, really, any man to his knees.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not flirting with you. I used that information to write my column, but I never understood what the Incan woman meant.”

“I think you understand more than you know just by being female,” he said. “I like when you tell stories of your travels. You light up.”

Heather stared at him: the fine chiseled lines of his face accentuated by the firelight, the wavy blond hair that made him almost too pretty, and the body that made her flush. She shivered and looked away.

“Are you cold? Come here.” He pulled her into his arms and rubbed her bare shoulders with his large hands. “I told you to grab a sweatshirt.”

The goose bumps on her skin weren’t from the cold. She pressed her back against his chest, pretending she needed warmth. His heart beat against her body and she curled closer to him, feeling safe. His breathing changed and the air became alive with energy. She assumed her own attraction had her imagining the shift, but her heart began to race as his touch on her arm became softer, more intimate.

The world stopped when she looked up; their eyes searched each other. Her lips moved toward his, and the firmness of his mouth melted hers as they connected. She experienced a strange mix of warmth, comfort, nerves, and excitement. His hand brushed against her jaw and she whimpered from the depth of her longing to be touched this way. A tear dripped down her cheek and he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she jerked back, ashamed of her emotion.

“No . . .” He paused to catch his breath and looked away.

“I gotta go.” She ran for her house, embarrassed. She was such an idiot.

“Heather!” He caught the door before it closed, but she continued to move up the stairs. She kept her back to him as she stood by the window in her bedroom. “Heather, please, look at me.”

She froze, refusing to turn. He stepped within inches of her body. “You smell like chocolate, sugar, and wine mixed with the scent of your perfume. It’s a little intoxicating and I lost myself.”

“You don’t have to explain why you kissed me. It’s no big deal. You felt bad for what I was going through and . . .”

“I didn’t kiss you because I felt bad.” He brushed his hand along her shoulders and slowed his words. “I saw you in your pajamas and pigtails and I thought you were sexy as hell.”

Her breathing quickened as he moved closer. With a slow caress, he ran his fingers down the sides of her arms. “I’m sorry I pulled back. It’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone in. And God knows you should walk away after I’ve been such a jerk.”

Heather crossed her arms over her chest.

The moonlight illuminated his skin as he turned her to face him. “I don’t want to go.” His fingers found paths along Heather’s shoulders. Arousal flushed her body. Breath against the nape of her neck brought a soft moan. Fingertips down her spine sent shivering spasms up her back. He slipped off her tank top. His arms wrapped around her and she soaked in the touch of his skin—the companionship of another’s body. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and his fingers traced the curve of her arm; her skin
seemed to leap to his touch. He removed his shirt and then slowly slid the straps of her bra down her biceps. Her arms jerked in reaction, protecting the undergarment from falling. She wasn’t ready to be naked in front of him.

“Let me see you,” he whispered. He angled her in front of the old standing mirror and placed her back against his bare stomach, her black lace bra still in place.

With a gentle touch he traced the curve of her abs. The flow of her hips. The edge of her low-rise jeans that revealed the top of black lace underwear. She felt the pressure of his attraction against her lower back and he stepped away.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“You’re beautiful.”

She looked down, embarrassed by his compliment.

He picked her up, cradled her in his arms, and carried her to bed. He laid her head on the pillows. He unzipped her jeans and slid them down her thighs. His large hands caressed and massaged her waist with firm squeezes that made her breath catch. His mouth was warm on her shoulder, his muscles firm and strong over her body. Her hands felt the encasement of his abs and the dip at his hip bone as she pulled him closer.

Need began to tear at her and sensations flowed everywhere as he kissed her mouth, this time deeper. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she rolled away to find a sense of self. She allowed his fingertips to trace her spine, and when he began to nip with feathery bites at her shoulders, she felt as if her flesh was entirely under his control. His mouth caressed the curves of her body, then he turned her onto her back. Her breath came faster and she felt exposed in her need for him. His kiss against the inside of her hip sent her over the edge, and her body shook in a wave of release.

“Wow,” he said, pulling her onto her side and against his body.

T
om’s fingertip drew circles around her nose, cheek, and chin, rousing Heather from sleep. He kissed her lips, teasing her mouth open with his tongue, as he pulled her closer into the nook of his arm.

“Did I sleep in your arms all night?” She squirmed away from his hold, realizing she was naked except for her underwear in the morning light.

“Does that surprise you?” He grabbed the sheet as she tried to cover her body. “I like looking at you. Stop trying to cover up.” He nuzzled his cheek along her neck, and the stubble on his chin sent tingling sensations racing down her back and arms.

“It’s just . . . I have a hard time sleeping.” Her feet squirmed as she tried to relax, but here in the daylight, the night before seemed like a dream, a beautiful fantasy that she didn’t understand. There had been no intercourse, no complaints that she couldn’t leave him in an excited state, unsatisfied. Instead, his mouth traced her body with gentle, fiery sensations.

She tried to pull the sheet around her and slide away, but he held her close.

“Can I put some clothes on?”

He kissed her eyelids and propped his head on his hand. He pulled the blankets and sheets out of her reach. “Your clothes are on the other side of the room.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a child?” She sucked in her stomach and walked across the room in the bra and panties
that had never come off. The footboard provided cover as she threw on the tank top and looked for her jeans.

Tom sat at the end of the bed grinning at her and grabbed her waist.

“My body is not your plaything!” She laughed as he wrestled her back to bed, pulled off her tank top and tickled her.

“Get something through your head.” One arm pinned her under his body while the other hand caressed her face. “I hope I proved to you last night that I think you’re beautiful and sexy. So, when you’re around me, my personal request . . . be naked.”

“You mean, when you’re visiting your grandfather I should walk the beach without clothing?” Heather said with mock innocence.

The cleft in his chin deepened as he smiled. His warm lips traced her neck and she could feel his long eyelashes against her skin. “Now, that would give them something to talk about. I think Carl would vote for you to stay and he’d do your yard work for free.” His hand tickled her belly. “It would definitely stop the abuse.”