Part 3 (1/2)
An undercurrent of s.e.xual tension wrapped around them, drawing their bodies even closer together. His breath whispered into her mouth. ”Sky...”
Her mind spun. When he slid a hand to the nape of her neck, still gazing into her eyes, silently asking for her approval, she answered him with a press of her lips to his. His lips were softer than any she'd ever kissed, pillowy and inviting. The first slide of their tongues was cold and deliciously sweet, sending s.h.i.+vers through her even as their kiss grew hotter. Their tongues tangled together, searching, tasting, taking. Despite her outward calm, her insides were racing, heating, getting all too stirred up for a first date.
She forced herself to pull back, and in the s.p.a.ce of a second their lips came together in another tender kiss. It was sweet and languid, and too incredible to stop. The ice cream fell from her hands, and without breaking the kiss, she pressed her palms to his cheeks and deepened it. His mouth was demanding, his whiskers scratchy, and his lips-his gloriously soft lips-slowly slipped away.
No. Come back.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, fisted his hand in the back of her hair, and drew her in closer again.
”Sorry,” he whispered against her lips. ”I really didn't intend to-”
”Uh-huh.” She couldn't resist pressing her lips to his again, and just as quickly, she reluctantly retreated. ”My fault,” she managed. She shouldn't do this. She wasn't used to moving so fast, and yet she felt powerless to resist him.
She physically scooted away, putting a few inches between them. ”s.p.a.ce. We need...We should...Gosh, Sawyer. I never kiss like that on a first date.”
He grinned and said, ”Lucky me,” without missing a beat.
”Yes, but...” I want to kiss you again and again. Would three weeks be too long of a kiss?
A car door slammed and a little boy ran up the stoop beside Sawyer. ”Look, Mommy! She dropped her cone!” His mother gave an embarra.s.sed smile as she shooed her son inside.
Sawyer and Sky both laughed as he cleaned up the discarded cone and tossed it into the trash. He reached for her hand and they walked back to the car.
Fifteen minutes-and a car ride full of furtive glances-later, as the sun dipped behind the trees and the temperature cooled, they arrived at Stony Brook and parked across the street from the gristmill. Sky had been to Stony Brook many times, as it was only a few minutes from where she'd grown up. It had always been one of her favorite places, with the old stone gristmill and the babbling brook. There were elaborate gardens with romantic walking paths surrounding Stony Brook Pond by the mill across the road and a wooden bridge that arched over the water. It was about as picturesque as anything could be, and with her heart still pinging around in her chest, she had to dig deep to stop thinking about their kisses and focus on why they were there.
”How do you know that C. J. Moon wrote about the brook?” Sky asked as they walked up the gra.s.sy incline on the property across the street from the mill, toward the babbling brook.
Sawyer's eyes grew serious, as if he was wrestling with his answer.
”You don't have to tell me if it's some kind of secret.” She knew from her friend Kurt Remington, a bestselling thriller writer, that writers could be covetous of their privacy, and obviously C. J. Moon went to great lengths to keep his ident.i.ty a secret. She was intrigued by how Sawyer knew anything more about Moon's poems than what was online, but she was even more intrigued by his apparent conflict over sharing the hows and whys of his knowledge. She had to respect a man who honored his commitments-unless he was making the whole thing up, and this was one big farce to get into her pants.
”I knew Moon a long time ago, but the man I knew is...no longer around,” he finally said as they came to the crest of the hill. The brook snaked out before them, lined by pitch pines on one side and a rocky incline on the other. Gra.s.s ran between the rocks, making them look as if they were featured in the landscape.
Sky heard sadness in Sawyer's voice and immediately disregarded her thought about his making up his friends.h.i.+p with C. J. Moon.
”I'm sorry. At least you had a chance to know him. He was such a talented man. He was a man, wasn't he? Online they refer to the writer as a man, but I know that sometimes that isn't the case with pen names.”
He nodded, and his eyes turned thoughtful as he led her down the hill toward the brook. The sounds of the water running over the rocks and the whispering of the leaves against the evening breeze filled the silence between them.
”Yes, he was definitely a man. A good, honest, and virile man.”
”I get the sense from his work that he was all those things, as well as sensitive. He wrote such lovely and powerful poems.”
”He was, Sky.” He took a giant step from the gra.s.s to a rock, then turned and set his hands on her hips, steadying her as he helped her down. His touch was gentle yet strong. He gazed into her eyes with a conflicted look she didn't understand.
”Sky...Are you familiar with the poem, 'Race of the Pebble'?”
”Her current changed beneath the light of the moon.” She'd read the poem so many times the words flowed without thought, bringing a smile to his lips. ”Lighter, darker, narrow, shallow. Dancing in her depths. Swept up in her ecstasy. Tumbling, turning, out of control...It's one of my favorites, because it holds true to so many things.”
”That's exactly what he said when he wrote it. I was with him. I was only a kid, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”
”You were with him? I can't imagine how great that must have been.”
Sawyer stood on a rock beside the brook, gazing at the water as it trickled by. ”It meant a great deal to me. All of our time together has.” He paused, and when he met her gaze again, that conflicted look was back.
”Sky, C. J. Moon is my father.”
”Your father?” She watched as sadness and pride swept over his face in a look so troubled she reached for his hand. ”I don't understand. You said he was no longer around. Did he pa.s.s away?”
He shook his head. ”My father is very much alive, and you're the first person I have revealed his pen name to. I'm not even sure why I did, but it felt like I was lying to you, and I know this is our first date, but I didn't want to lie to you.”
”Sawyer.” His name came out as a whisper. She was so touched by his confession, but the sadness that lingered in his voice made her ache.
”He has Parkinson's,” Sawyer explained. ”It's been really difficult and heartbreaking to watch his health decline. He hasn't written since shortly after he got his diagnosis.”
Wrapping her arms around Sawyer came naturally, and even though part of her worried that the comfort might embarra.s.s such a strong man, she couldn't stop herself. They remained like that for a long moment, with the sky turning dark above them. She felt herself opening up to the sensitive man she'd only just met.
When they finally parted, his lips curved up in an appreciative smile. She didn't push for more information about his father, and when he asked her if she was from the Cape, she knew he needed to change the subject.
”Yes. I grew up in Brewster,” she answered. ”How about you?”
”Hyannis, actually. If you're from Brewster, then you probably know all about how the herring run from Cape Cod Bay into Paine's Creek, then into Stony Brook, and ultimately into Stony Brook Pond.”
They began walking along the rocks again, and she stumbled.
”Careful.” Sawyer caught her. His fingers tightened around her waist, and it wasn't the heat wrapping around them again that brought her closer, or the way his pupils flared. It was what she felt coming off of him in waves, something longing and real, that she recognized but couldn't name.
”My father used to take us to see the herring run in the spring.”
She felt herself wanting to know more about his childhood, and to share more of herself. This was too fast. Wasn't it? How could she feel so comfortable with a guy after just a few hours? She didn't know what to do, but the heat between them was melting her brain cells a handful at a time, and he was opening up to her, trusting her with his father's true ident.i.ty, and that was melting her heart at the same time. Pretty soon she'd turn to liquid and trickle away with the brook.
He laced his fingers with hers and she gave in to a smile as they fell into step beside each other again.
”I think I'm just as enamored now with how the fish run upstream as I was as a kid. I have great memories of running alongside the brook, watching the fish with my older brothers, Pete, Matt, Hunter, and Grayson.”
His eyes widened as he sat down on a rock, bringing her down beside him. ”You have four brothers? No sisters?”
She shook her head.
”I bet you were spoiled when you were growing up, as the only girl.”
”Maybe a little, but I loved keeping up with them. At least until I was about twelve, when I started really getting into painting and drawing. My dad built me this amazing art studio in the backyard. It's a shed, really, but when you're a kid and your father respects and supports your talents enough to build you your own s.p.a.ce? Then it feels like a mansion.”
He covered her hand with his. ”It sounds like you have a wonderful family. Are you all still close?”
”We are. Maybe a little too close.” She laughed. ”My brothers are a little protective of me.”