Part 8 (1/2)
But not always. Sometimes she thought herself into a frenzy of need and frustration. However, just occasionally, the thinking was...pleasant. The sound of his laughter, the long touch of his leg against hers in the theater, the way his knees b.u.mped hers under the table-those were pleasant too.
The warmth between her thighs was developing a distinctive tingle. She'd really like it if he kissed her. And held her. She absolutely knew there'd be no safer, better feeling than being held by Boone Brennan. Well, maybe not safer. Boone being Boone, he might very well drop her. Even that would be all right, though, because he'd stick around to help her up.
Oh, he was talking.
”Are you missing Richmond and those conveniences you mentioned the other day? I've heard they have more than one gas station there.”
Heat climbed her cheeks. She wondered exactly how much she'd missed. ”I'm sorry. My mind was out there somewhere.” She didn't think she'd tell him exactly where. ”Oh, Richmond? No, I really don't miss it very much. I miss everyone who worked at Dolan's. The last few years I was there, they were the only people I really talked to. I always worked at the restaurant, but I'd had my own apartment for eight years or so when Dad was diagnosed. I didn't move back home until it became necessary, about five years ago, but then there was no life other than Dad.” She smiled sheepishly. ”I started going to church so I could have a couple of hours on Sunday that were all my own. I gained faith as I went along, but in the beginning it was just so I could have that two hours.”
”Never married?”
”No. Went steady in high school. Engaged once later on.”
He raised an eyebrow. ”Cold feet?” He moved his knees so that they b.u.mped the sides of hers and the crisp cotton of his slacks caressed her bare legs.
”Not mine. My high school boyfriend went away to college and met a cheerleader with great legs and a black Corvette. My fiance-” she hesitated, surprised that it still hurt when she thought of Scott Knight's defection, ”-forced the choice between him and my father. Dad was already sick, and I was all he had. I couldn't leave him.”
”Hard to call that a choice. You really didn't have one.”
She shrugged. ”Made the decision easy.” And lonely.
It was just after midnight when she parked his Jeep behind Crockett's car. Boone walked around and opened her door. ”I'll walk you home.”
”All that way?” She met his eyes in the moonlight. ”Do you mind that I consider this my home?”
”I'd mind if you didn't.” His lips were close to hers. ”Do you mind if I do this?”
He didn't wait for her answer, just captured her mouth. He tasted of coffee and strawberries and longing. Response flowed warm and liquid through her. Oh, dear Lord, nothing had ever felt this good. It wasn't as though she was completely inexperienced-she was nearly thirty-three and had left her virginity with the high school boyfriend on prom night-but she was positive nothing had ever been this right.
”Good,” he murmured, breaking away just long enough to catch her bottom lip in a nibble before kissing her again. Longer and deeper, his embrace fitting her body to his.
Her arms went up around his neck, her right hand tunneling into his streaky brown hair. The night air was deliciously cool against her skin, contrasting sensuously with the heat where their bodies touched. And where they wanted to. She imagined steam rising and stifled a giggle against his mouth.
”Funny?” he murmured, breaking contact. ”I'm doing my very best 'come and see my etchings' act and you think it's funny?”
”Huh-uh.” She framed his face, relis.h.i.+ng the feel of his skin against her fingers, smiling into his eyes. ”Just fun.”
”Ah.”
From somewhere came the faint sound of music. ”Hear that?” he whispered. ”I ordered it so I wouldn't have to let you go.” His arm went around her waist and he took her hand in his other one. ”I have to count,” he said, leading her into a two-step, ”but it's really very romantic if you can ignore me saying one two, one-two over and over again.”
She tilted her head into his shoulder, laughing. He smelled so good. ”I can ignore the counting if you don't dance us into the rose bushes.”
”I wouldn't think of it. Aunt Gert would-one two, one-two. No, left foot-be out here in a heartbeat telling me to cut a switch so she could-one two, one-two-whale the tar out of me.”
They danced the length and breadth of the driveway, swooping between cars and around bicycles. When they got close to the bench that sat in the flower bed, Boone lifted a foot to its seat and draped her dramatically across his leg. ”Beautiful,” he said. ”You're beautiful.” He kissed her. Not an especially s.e.xy kiss-his lips were barely open, hers even less so-but appealing and arousing all the same. It made her feel everything with startling intensity. The soft cotton fabric of her dress against her legs, his hand warm on her arm, the strength of him. As precarious as their positions were, she had no fear he would drop her.
The dance ended after the song did, but she didn't notice when the music stopped and she didn't think he had, either. They stood at the back door of the house and he released her hand to lay his on the upper curve of her breast. ”Your heart's beating fast,” he observed, slipping his fingers inside the vee neck of her dress. ”You feel like warm silk.”
His kiss was deep this time, his tongue exploring, doing an erotic little tangle with hers before withdrawing. His fingers mirrored the movement, teasing her nipple to a pebbled crest then pulling away just enough to weigh the curve of her breast with his palm.
”We need to go in,” she said, when she could get her breath.
”I know.” He kissed her some more, his hands sliding up and down her bare arms. Up and down, chasing gooseflesh in their wake. He held her, swaying a little to music only they heard. ”Really,” he murmured, ”we should go in.”
A few minutes later, they did. She straightened her dress and he re-fastened his s.h.i.+rt where the b.u.t.tons had mysteriously come undone.
”Thanks for the evening,” she said inside the kitchen. ”It was fun.”
He backed her up to the island and kissed her once more. Long and leisurely and deep. Way deep. She'd never drunk brandy, but his kisses reminded her of how she'd read it described. Dark and sweet and hot. Oh, G.o.d, hot.
”It was. What do you say we do it again soon?”
Easy question. Her answer was instant, whispered against his mouth. ”Okay.”
”I'm going to check on Sims before I go to bed.”
”Goodnight.”
She took off her shoes and went up the back stairs, humming almost silently. She felt like a Rodgers and Hammerstein movie. All that was lacking was a swirly skirt and a little more cleavage. The thought made her breathe soft laughter as she slipped inside her room.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, she slept through the night, not waking until the sun made its presence known at the east windows of her room.
”I have to get back to Richmond,” Crockett said. ”I've already been gone longer than I intended. They get along fine without me, but there are things I need to attend to. Programs that involve kids like you and I were, like Jack is. ”
Boone stood at the door of Crockett's room, watching him pack his things neatly into a black leather duffel bag. ”When will you be home again? Aunt Gert likes having you here.” I do too.
”When I can, or when she really needs me to be.” Crockett's eyes met his, and something light glimmered past the sadness that seemed to have settled there. ”So. You and Lucy, huh?”
”I don't know.” Boone shrugged. ”She's a nice girl. Fun.” The room was motel neat, the bed made, the dresser without so much as a handful of change on its top. He remembered when Crockett's room was as messy as his own-they used to bribe Kelly to clean for them. Forcing them to pay up on the bribes was probably why she'd become a litigator. He guessed that meant both he and Crockett had something to answer for in the hereafter, because he didn't think Kelly Brennan as an a.s.sistant prosecutor was a whole lot of fun.
Crockett frowned. ”Fun? Is that all?”
”I feel something for Lucy, something I hadn't expected to ever feel again,” Boone admitted, ”and I feel guilty as all h.e.l.l.”
”Don't.”
The terse reply stung. And irritated. ”Oh, come on, Crockett. I know you're still mad at me, but surely we can talk about it after all these years.”
Crockett glanced up, his expression startled. ”Mad at you?”
”Yes, mad. Over Maggie. Because I loved her when you did, but not enough. I lost her when you wouldn't have, and I don't think even you have enough faith to forgive that.” There, he'd said it aloud, and the pain was as sharp and ragged as he'd feared. ”If I'd stayed out of the way, she'd have married you and she'd still be alive and you'd both be happy. You'd probably even have a bunch of little Crocketts running around. I knew you cared for her that first weekend when you brought her home. I knew it and, G.o.d help me, I didn't care.”
”Boone.” Crockett just stared at him, then walked around the room shaking his head. ”Gentle Jesus, where do I start?” He stood still, apparently listening. ”Why can't I be one of those who hears the voice of G.o.d when I want to rather than when He wants me to?” He paced more, then faced Boone over the s.p.a.ce between them.