Together always (11 page)

Dinner was even more silent than lunch. They'd run out of small talk and neither had the inclination for anything more. The winds blew steadily. The subdued roar seemed to emphasize the silence within the house. After the quiet meal, Trace offered to do the dishes, but Lily insisted that she could do them herself. He would have protested but the look in her eyes told him that she really wanted to be alone.

He wandered into the living room and turned on the television. Slumped back in a chair, he stared at the bright screen without seeing it. He could hear Lily in the kitchen, the quiet clink of dishes, the rush of running water. Under

other circumstances he couldn't imagine a more pleasantly domestic scene. Sort of like Life with Father.

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when he became aware of the silence beyond the range of the television. The news poured out, unheard, unwatched. The wind still battered at the windows like an angry child wanting to get in, but other than that, he couldn't hear a sound. Up until a little while ago he'd heard the occasional clink of a plate or glass, a cupboard door shutting, all indications that he wasn't alone in the house.

But now there was only silence. Maybe Lily was having a cup of tea. Just because she wasn't making noise didn't mean something was wrong. It was foolish to feel so uneasy just because of a few minutes of quiet. Any minute now he'd hear a noise or she'd come in and tell him she was going to bed. Any minute now. But he wasn't going to wait. He stood up and shut off the television, his head cocked as he hstened. For a moment, all he could hear was the roar of the wind, but then there was another sound, softer, more mournful.

She was crying. •

He moved into the kitchen, his footsteps silent on the wooden floors. Maybe he shouldn't intrude on her grief. But he couldn't just walk away and leave her alone any more than he could have walked away when they were children. She was part of him, the bright half of his soul, and he couldn't ignore her pain.

Lily was hunched over the counter, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Her hands were cupped together and Trace's first thought was that she might have hurt herself. Two long strides carried him across the room to her side.

"Lily? Are you hurt?"

His anxious question brought her head up. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, her mouth trembled with pain.

* Trace." His name came out on a sob and she held her hands out without speaking. Trace looked down, seeking some sign of injury. She hadn't hurt herself but what she held made his throat tighten in sudden painful memory. Cupped between her hands was a pipe. Nothing fancy, just a plain briar pipe, the stem slightly chewed.

"I... found it while I was... putting away the dishes." Sobs broke the sentence into choppy lengths.

The pipe blurred as he took it from her, weighing it in his hand, remembering the way Mike would clench his teeth around the stem while he worked on a crossword puzzle. If he closed his eyes he could almost smell the warm aroma of tobacco.

"Oh, Trace, Fm going to miss him."

*'I know, honey, I know." He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leaned into him, her tears dampening his shirt, her sobs tearing at his heart. He set the pipe on the counter and ran his hand over her hair, a mindless rhythmic movement meant to soothe and comfort.

She sobbed against him, the cleansing flood of tears washing away some of the hurt. Trace held her, wishing he could absorb her pain. But her hurt was her own and all he could do was let her know she wasn't alone. He rested his cheek on the softness of her dark hair, closing his eyes tight, feeling tears burn beneath his eyelids.

*'It's going to be all right. I'm here, love. I'm here."

After a long time her sobs eased to an occasional broken breath. When she pushed against his chest, Trace's arms loosened slowly. Holding her was an exquisite agony but one he was reluctant to relinquish.

*'I must look awful." She wiped self-consciously at her eyes, sniffing. Trace leaned over and pulled a handful of tissues out of the box on the counter and handed them to her.

**You look beautiful, as always."

Lily dried her eyes and blew her nose before giving him a skeptical look. **Thanks/' She glanced down, her fingers tearing at a tissue. **rm sorry I fell apart like that."

"You're entitled." He brushed a lock of hair back from her face, aware of the silky feel of it in his fingers.

"I promised myself I was going to be strong."

**Crying doesn't make you any less strong."

She tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyes bright green. "Did you cry?"

"Sure," he lied without hesitation. "Howled like a baby."

Lily studied him for a long moment with that look in her eyes that always made him feel as if she were seeing things he couldn't see. She shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think you've let yourself cry in a long time—not since I've known you. You didn't cry when we left home and you never cried all those awful months."

He shrugged. "I guess if I was a sensitive kind of a guy, tears would come easier." But he remembered a Christmas Eve when tears had eased some of his pain.

"It doesn't take tears to make a man sensitive."

Trace looked away, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. He shouldn't have let himself remember that hot summer day. The memories were too close, too vivid. The room was quiet for a moment and then he glanced back at her. She reached out, fingering the pipe.

"I'm going to miss him an awful lot."

"I know. He was a great guy."

"Do you ever wonder where we'd be without him?"

"Sure. I'd be in prison and you'd have been left on the streets alone."

Her lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with fresh tears. "It hurts, Trace. It hurts so much."

"I know, baby, I know. Don't cry anymore." He responded to the pain in her eyes instinctively, reaching up to

cup her face in gentle hands. A single tear slid down her cheek.

"Fm sorry/' The apology came out as a choked whisper and Trace felt his heart break. She looked so small and vulnerable. He'd been protecting her for so long. It hurt that he couldn't protect her from this pain.

'*Don't, baby. Don't cry anymore. I'm here. I'll always be here." The words were whispered against her cheek as he kissed the solitary tear away. His mouth touched the comer of her mouth and time froze. For an endless second neither of them moved. Trace would never know who moved first. Did he shift or was it she? In the end it didn't matter. What mattered was that their lips met and suddenly there was nothing else in the world but them.

He'd almost managed to convince himself that her mouth wasn't as sweet as he'd remembered from those few stolen kisses. He'd told himself that it wasn't possible that a woman's mouth could mold to his so perfectly. He'd told himself that, but he hadn't believed it.

Lily's mouth softened and opened beneath his like a flower responding to a spring shower. The kiss had started out as a comfort, but the quality shifted too quickly for Trace to stop it. It wasn't possible to want to stop it. She felt so right in his arms. Grief sharpened the edges of their need. Death had walked through their lives, leaving wreckage behind. Each felt a deep need to affirm life, to hold on tight to each moment, aware of life's fleeting qualities.

His tongue explored the warm sweetness of her mouth, his arms pulling her close until not even air could have fit between their bodies. Lily's hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, chnging to him.

Sanity returned to Trace's mind and he drew back, staring down into her eyes. "This is crazy. I shouldn't be doing this."

"Yes, we should." The delicate emphasis made it clear that this was a step she was taking by choice. "Please, Trace. This is right. Feel how right it is."

He didn't move, trying desperately to remember all the reasons why this was wrong. This was Lily. He had no right to want her hke this. No right to touch her. But it was impossible to think when her fingers were busy sliding the buttons of his shirt loose, one by one, her fingertips brushing against his chest with each move.

He closed his eyes, his hands coming up to catch her shoulders, intending to push her away. This had to be stopped now before something happened that they'd both r^ret. But her hands were against his chest, her fingers kneading his strong muscles.

"Lily." He couldn't have said whether the name was a protest or a prayer. His hands tightened on her shoulders but he didn't push her away.

"This is right. Trace. I know it's right." She leaned into his hold and his arms bent weakly, allowing her closer. He shuddered as her breath ghosted over his skin and then her mouth touched his collarbone.

"Love me. Trace. Please love me." Her hand slid up into his hair and she raised herself on her toes, pressing herself against his rigid body. "I need you."

Trace opened his eyes, looking down into her face. He was lost. He knew and she knew it. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong but he couldn't seem to remember why. He couldn't think of anything but the way she felt, the way she looked, the scent of her.

"Crazy." But the word was smothered against her mouth. Lily's arms circled his neck as he bent to scoop her into his arms. He carried her upstairs to his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them. The room was dim, lit only by the bright moonlight that spilled in through the open curtains.

He set Lily down next to the bed, letting her slide against his body, feeling the teasing pressure from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Her hair cascaded over his hands, a silken black waterfall that seemed to bind him to her. His mouth traced the length of her throat, his tongue settling on the pulse that beat so heavily at its base.

He'd been waiting for this for so long. All his life, it seemed. Lily pressed against him, feeling the boldness of his arousal along her hip. Her eyes widened for an instant, their expression impossible to read in the moonlight. His hand found her breast and her eyes closed, her slim body shuddering in his hold. Trace eased his leg between her thighs, pressing upward with gentle insistence. A soft whimper escaped her, her head falling back against his arm.

Arousal pounded in his veins, hot and demanding. He'd wanted for so long, needed for so many years. His hands were impatient with her shirt, tugging it off over her head, begrudging even those few seconds when they had to be apart. Her bra slid away, baring high firm breasts to his eyes, to his touch. He lifted her off the ground, an arm under her buttocks bracing her.

"Trace." His name escaped her on a gasp of startled pleasure as his tongue teased gently at one taut nipple. He held her there, taking his time as he painted each breast with delicate strokes before drawing a firm peak into his mouth to suckle hungrily. Her skin was hot and flushed as if with fever when he finally let her slide the length of his body. Her knees buckled and she would have slipped to the floor if he hadn't kept hold of her.

Trace looked down at her dazed expression and felt a purely male satisfaction. He'd brought that look of mingled need and wonder to her face. And then it was his turn to shudder as her trembling fingers slid the remaining buttons from buttonholes, tugging at his shirt until he shrugged it off, leaving them both bare to the waist.

Lily stretched up on her toes, linking her arms around his neck, her eyes meeting his as she leaned into him. Trace flushed, his eyes closing at the first sweet pressure of her breasts against his skin. His hands spanned her smooth back, drawing her closer, savoring the gentle torture. Lily's fingers slid into the thick hair at the base of his skull and his eyes flicked open to stare down into hers.

She wanted him. The knowledge washed over him like a sweet benediction, filhng all the dark corners of his soul with warm light. She truly wanted him. For now, for a little while, he let that knowledge drown out the small voice that was trying to tell him that this was wrong. Lily wanted him. He didn't want to know anything else.

His mouth caught hers, his tongue slipping inside and then withdrawing, only to plunge forward again. She moaned, her hands clenching in his hair, her mouth welcoming his invasion. His breathing was harsh when he dragged his mouth from hers. He kissed his way down her throat, sinking to his knees in front of her, his lips and tongue worshiping her breasts. The snap on her jeans gave way beneath his fingers and he slid his hands inside the worn denim, cupping her bottom through the thin fabric of her panties.

Lily whimpered low in her throat, her hands clinging to his shoulders, his hold the only thing that kept her from sinking bonelessly to the floor. The jeans slid downward and she braced herself against him as she stepped out of them, her knees shaking. He knelt there a moment longer, his face pressed to the firm plane of her stomach, her hands tangled in his hair.

He rose slowly to his feet, lowering her to the bed with the motion. She lay beneath him, her slender body clad only in silk and moonlight. The white-gold light gilded her form, casting shadows and lighting curves. She was the embodiment of all his dreams.

Trace's hands were shaking as he unsnapped his own jeans. The rasp of a zipper sounded loud in the quiet room. The heavy denim rustled as he tugged the jeans off, tossing them aside. He stood before her as if awaiting some judgment. He could feel her eyes on him, tracing over broad shoulders and hair-matted chest, a taut stomach and narrow hips. Her gaze paused there and he felt the look as if it were a touch. There was a frozen moment when neither of them moved, and then Lily lifted her arms to him.

The bed creaked beneath his weight. Her soft moan of pleasure was swallowed up in his kiss. Their bodies slid together, softness and strength. Her panties slipped away, leaving her as vulnerable as he—more so perhaps, as woman is always more vulnerable than man.

His hands stroked her, learning every warm curve. Lily's hands explored his body. Sweet torture. He wanted it never to end; he wanted to end it right away. His fingers threaded through the triangle of dark curls that lay at the top of her thighs, finding the moist heart of her, and she shuddered beneath him. Her hand slid across his hip and closed around his arousal with delicate demand and it was his turn to shudder.