The house was quiet and dark when he slipped through the door. He dumped everything in the kitchen and went to his own bedroom, acutely aware that Hattie's was only a few yards away. It was only nine o'clock, but he couldn't see any light from beneath her door.
He stripped off his clothes and took a blisteringly hot shower. The water felt good on his tight, salty skin, but if he had been hoping for a soothing experience, he was out of luck.
His recalcitrant imagination brought Hattie into the glass stall with him. Her generous brea**sts glistened with soapy water as he washed her from head to toe. His erection was painful. As he stroked himself, he imagined lifting her and filling her, wrapping her long legs around his hips.
Ah … . He came with a muffled groan, slumping at last to sit on the narrow seat and catch his breath. He ran his hands through his wet hair, massaging the pain in his temples.
He was ninety-nine percent sure that Hattie was still sexually attracted to him. And he wanted her in his bed again. But on his terms. She had nearly destroyed him once upon a time. He'd be a fool to let it happen twice. So he'd be on his guard.
Sleep was elusive. Though he'd been up before dawn, he tossed and turned until he finally gave up the pretense of reading and turned out the light. He left the window open, relishing the humid night air. It suited his mood.
The nocturnal sounds were vastly different from back home. Birds and other wildlife filled the night with muted chirps and rustles and clicks. The sea created a hushed backdrop.
At 2:00 a.m. he tossed the tangled covers aside and padded to the kitchen in his boxers to get a drink. The house was dark and silent. He might as well have been the only person on the planet.
He drained the tumbler of water and stepped outside, tempted to run on the beach again. As he moved forward on the boardwalk, his heart stopped. A slender figure in white stood silhouetted against the dark horizon. Hattie. As he closed the distance between them, unconsciously treading as silently as possible, he saw that her back was to him. Her head was lifted to the stars. Her hair danced in the breeze. That same wind plastered her satin nightgown to her shapely body, leaving little to the imagination.
He should have turned back. It was the wise choice. But retreat had never been an option for him. Jump in the deep end, full steam ahead, onward and upward. Pick your cliché-that was how he lived his life. Perhaps if he had handled things differently a decade ago, he might never have lost her.
Something in her posture screamed sadness. And loneliness. An artist would have painted her and titled the canvas Melancholy. Seeing Hattie like this cracked something inside him. It hurt.
She didn't flinch when he joined her. Was she as attuned to him as he was to her?
He stood beside her, their shoulders almost touching. Her freshly washed hair was a tangle of damp waves, the light scent of shampoo mingling with the faint fragrance of her perfume.
"Are you okay, Hattie?"
Her chin lowered a bit, her gaze now on the water. She shrugged, not answering in words.
"I was being an as**s earlier. I'm sorry."
Her lips twisted. "I should be the one apologizing. I was painfully young and immature back then. I know I hurt you, and I regret it more than you realize. I should have done things differently."
He winced inwardly. She wasn't apologizing for the breakup … only for the way she did it. The distinction was telling.
"I think we're going to have to agree to leave the past where it belongs. We're different people now."
"Leo remembers."
"Leo?"
"He threatened to tear me limb from limb if I hurt his baby brother again. He's very loyal."
Luc snorted. "Leo's a pain in the butt when he wants to be. Forget anything he said to you. I don't need his protection. And he's hardly in a position to be giving relationship advice."
"Maybe not, but he loves you very much."
They fell silent. Luc tried to steady his breathing, but the longer he stood beside her, so close that her warmth radiated to him, the more he became aroused.
"You're sad," he accused softly. "Tell me why."
She shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. "It's not exactly the wedding night I dreamed of."
Dangerous territory. "I'm sorry, Hattie. But, hey." He forced a dry chuckle from his throat. "At least there's moonlight, a romantic beach, a million stars. Could be worse."
"Could be raining." She shot back with the famous line from Young Frankenstein, and they both burst into laughter.
He couldn't help himself. He touched her. It was a matter of utmost urgency to find out which was softer-the satin, or her skin. At first, all he did was take her chin in his hand. He turned her so that they were face-to-face, their pose and position mimicking that of the wedding ceremony.
Hattie moved restlessly and he dropped his hand. He sighed. "I take it you couldn't sleep?"
"No."
"Me, either. I've never had a wedding night before. Turns out this stuff is pretty stressful."
That coaxed a small smile from her. "At least you didn't have to contend with a receiving line and five hundred guests."
"Why do people do that? Sounds exhausting."
"I imagine they want to share their happiness with as many people as possible, and they want to express their appreciation to those who made the effort to show up."
"You apparently have given this some thought."
"It's a typical teenage girl fantasy."
"I wish you could have had your dream wedding."
"Can we talk about something else?" The hint of fatigued petulance made him smile. It was so unlike her.
"I could tell you that when I first looked out here, I thought I was seeing a ghost."
She touched his cheek, making him tremble. "I suppose this must seem like a bad dream to you, your whole world turned upside down. And no end in sight. I owe you, Luc."
He put his hand on hers, keeping the connection. "Perhaps I could collect an installment right now." He'd be kidding himself if he didn't admit that this had been his intent all along. Otherwise, he'd have stayed in the house. But he wouldn't force her. "I'm not the groom you would have chosen, and this sure as hell isn't what you expected from a wedding day. But at least we deserve a kiss … don't we?"
His free hand settled at her waist, caressing the satin-covered curve that led to her hip. As far as he could tell, she was bare beneath the seductive piece of lingerie.
Her eyes searched his, and she moved her hand away. Now both of his palms cupped her hips, inexorably pulling her closer. Her brea**sts brushed his bare chest. Someone moaned. Was it him?
He leaned his forehead on hers. "Do you want me to stop?"
Small white teeth mutilated her bottom lip. "What I want and what is wise are two different things."
He pushed his hips against hers, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal. He was going to pay like hell for this, but he couldn't stop. "I don't really give a damn about what's wise right at this moment."
They were pressed together now, and they might as well have been naked for all the modesty their thin garments afforded. Every hill and plane of her body fit with his like the most exquisite puzzle. Yin to yang. Positive to negative. Male to female.
She slid her arms around his neck.
He shuddered, struggling to keep a rein on his passion. Sexual attraction. That's all it was. Natural male urgency after a stretch of celibacy.
At first, their lips barely met, hardly touched. Some innate caution they both recognized pretended to slow the dance. But the cataclysm was building and nothing could hold it back.
When her small tongue hesitantly traced his bottom lip, he growled and lifted her off her feet. Their mouths dueled, fumbled, smashed together again in reckless, breathless pleasure.
He had never forgotten her taste … sweet, but with a tart bite like an October apple. The month they first met. The time he'd fallen hard.
And speaking of hard. He rubbed his shaft against her soft belly, making her whimper. That sound of feminine longing went straight to his gut, destroying all semblance of sanity.