One Summer (24 page)

For a long time they lay unmoving, spent in the aftermath of passion as their breathing slowed and steadied and their bodies cooled.

Unable to be still a moment longer as his much greater weight threatened to suffocate her, Rachel wriggled to be free. Johnny’s head lifted, and with his face just inches from hers he met her gaze.

Rachel looked into those knowing blue eyes and felt her cheeks grow warm. It was embarrassing, without passion for an impetus, to remember what she—and he—had done.

“Could you get off me, please?” she asked.

24

“T
hat’s not very romantic.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re crushing me so that I can’t breathe.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “So much for romance, hmmm?” he asked, and dropped a quick, possessive kiss on her mouth. Rolling to one side, he sat up. Rachel glanced at the muscular half-moons of his buns cradled by the soft plush, acknowledged that they were sexy-looking even when the sexual bloom was off her particular rose, and didn’t feel one whit happier for the admission.

With his back to her, she could not see what he was doing, which was probably just as well. Harsh reality had descended, as harsh reality tends to do, and she was supremely conscious of her situation as she sat up and tried to restore her appearance as best she could. She was naked to the waist, her skirt rucked up around her hips and sadly crumpled. Her pantyhose had a great gaping hole torn in them, and her panties had been ripped so that they hung from one hip by a single piece of elastic. She was shoeless, though when the second one had dropped, she couldn’t have said. Her mouth felt bruised and swollen, and her hair, when she got a glimpse of it in the rearview mirror,
looked like a bird’s nest. She felt dirty, sweaty, smelly, and disgruntled.

So much for romance.

He hitched up his shorts and jeans, and she heard his zipper going up. Rachel, casting about for her bra and sweater, realized that he was now perfectly decent while she was next to naked.

“Let’s go skinny-dipping.”

“What?” The suggestion, coupled by a devilish grin as he turned and ran his eyes over her, took Rachel aback. She clapped her hands over her breasts and scowled at him.

“Skinny-dipping. You’ve heard of it? You know, when people swim naked in a body of water?”

“No way!”

He laughed. It was a spontaneous, joyous burst of sound, and Rachel saw that his eyes were sparkling with humor as they surveyed her.

“Are you always this grouchy when you’ve just had great sex, teacher?”

Rachel’s scowl deepened, although reluctantly she felt herself begin to respond to the humor in his gaze.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, and stuck out her tongue at him.

“Oh, yeah?” He grinned at her.

“Yeah. Now would you please get out of here and let me put myself back together in peace? Go—go eat a Twinkie, or something.”

“I think I will.” Reaching a long arm between the front seats, he retrieved the Cokes and Twinkies and slid out the door. With one last glimmering grin at her, he took himself off to perch on a picnic table by the water’s edge.

Rachel watched him go, silently admiring his long-legged, wide-shouldered body and graceful stride, then turned her attention to the business at hand. Her pantyhose and panties were ruined, and these she stripped off, not without some regret for the panties. Lingerie was
her weakness, and she had lovely underthings. This particular pair of panties was pale blue and exactly matched the lace bra that must have gotten lost under one of the front seats. Feeling under the passenger seat, Rachel located it, pulled it out, and put it on. Her sweater was crumpled on the floorboard. She pulled that on, too. Her purse was tucked under the front seat. Squeezing through the space over the console, she caught its strap and pulled it free. Finally she had the few minutes alone with her makeup that she had craved. She ran a quick brush through her hair, glad that restoring it to shining smoothness was a simple operation, then tucked the brush back into her purse and pulled out her powder compact and lipstick. Flipping open the lid on the compact, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Despite the absence of any makeup at all—whatever had survived the day had not survived Johnny—she was surprised to see how young she looked even in the bright afternoon light. Sparkling eyes, pink cheeks, and a rosy, slightly swollen mouth definitely conveyed an illusion of youth, she reflected as she patted powder onto her nose and smoothed deep pink color on her lips. There. She looked herself again, only better: carefree, slightly mussed, happy. Snapping her compact closed and returning the items to her purse, Rachel reflected that a wild, passionate affair with Johnny Harris was the best beauty boost she had ever tried. If only she could bottle him, she thought with a wry inward smile, she could make a fortune. Her eyes strayed to where he sat with his feet on the bench and his rump on the top of the picnic table, tossing what she assumed were bits of Twinkie to the battling ducks. Great sex? Oh, yes. Not that she intended to admit it. Not to him. He was full enough of himself as it was.

One blue pump lay on its side on the floorboard, and if she remembered correctly, its mate had fallen on the gravel outside. Scooting out of the car, she picked up her shoe from the ground, balanced on one leg like a stork,
and thrust her foot into it, then stood on the opposite leg as she donned the other. Wadding her ruined garments into a tight little ball, she walked over to a nearby waste can and tossed them in. Feeling absurdly self-conscious about her lack of underwear, she went to join Johnny.

“ ‘A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou,’ ” he said, glancing around at her as she reached the picnic table.

“Don’t you mean a package of Twinkies and a can of Coke?” Rachel climbed up beside him and sat down, accepting the aforementioned foodstuffs as he handed them over.

Johnny grinned. “Loses something in the translation, doesn’t it?”

“I haven’t eaten one of these since I was a little girl.” Rachel pulled at the package with her nails. The plastic wrap held fast.

“Here, let me.” Johnny took the package from her, put it between his teeth, and tore it open without difficulty. Passing one of the golden cakes over, he lifted the other from its wrapping and took a huge bite.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Rachel frowned at him even as she delicately nibbled at the end of the cake she held.

“I’m starving. I gave half of mine to the ducks.” The plaintive note to his voice made her smile. He crooked a finger beneath the ring on top of the Coke, popped it open, and passed the can over to her.

Rachel obligingly took a swallow. “I’m going to get sick if I eat this junk,” she said, taking another bite out of her Twinkie.

“Danger is the spice of life.”

“I thought variety was.”

“That, too.”

He took one more giant bite and threw the tiny end section to the ducks clustered at the water’s edge. With a squawk and a great flapping of wings, three of them converged, battling for the prize. A fourth one, more cunning or luckier than his mates, grabbed the tidbit and fled.

Johnny took a gulp from his Coke, set the can back on the table, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Rachel?”

“Yes?”

“Now what?”

Rachel finished her Twinkie, delicately brushed the corners of her mouth with her fingertips to make sure no errant crumbs lurked, and looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. Assuming there is an us. I’d hate to think that you see me as just another easy lay.”

A half-smile twisted his mouth, but Rachel sensed the seriousness behind his words. Nervously, she crumpled the discarded Twinkie wrappings into a compact ball.

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Maybe you should.”

Rachel dug her nails into the wadded plastic wrap, not caring that its stickiness transferred to her fingertips, and turned to look at him directly.

“Are you saying that you want us to—date?”

“Date.” His mouth quirked. “Now there’s a word. Yeah, something like that.”

“We could have dinner.” The words almost stuck in her throat, so difficult were they to get out. More than anything in the world, she wanted a relationship, a real relationship, with him. But imagining any kind of mutual future for the two of them was so mind-boggling that it was almost impossible.

“Dinner would be nice. For a start.” Johnny got down off the table with easy grace, turned, put his hands on her waist, and lifted her. Rachel squealed as she was unexpectedly swung high in the air and held at arms’ length above him. Her hands grabbed for his brawny upper arms to steady herself. He was grinning up at her, clearly experiencing no difficulty at all in holding her aloft, and she
was once again reminded of how very much stronger he was than she. The golden afternoon sunlight played over his face, lending a warm glow to the smoky blue eyes, gleaming off the swarthiness of his skin and the whiteness of his teeth as he laughed up at her. He looked so handsome in that moment that he stole her breath.

With a sickening lurch of her stomach, Rachel realized that she was falling in love.

“Put me down,” she said, her voice harsh.

“Uh-unh,” he said, teasing as he continued to hold her high in the air. To prove his complete power over her, he started to walk toward the car without lowering her by so much as an inch. “We’re going to dinner.”

“Please put me down.” She was panicking, but she couldn’t help it. The thought of being in love with Johnny Harris scared her to death.

“Persuade me.”

“Put me down!” The sharpness in her tone made him frown. He put her down. With her feet on terra firma again, Rachel expected to feel better. But she didn’t.

“What’s the matter?” There was concern in his voice.

Rachel was already walking away from him toward the car. She knew she was behaving badly, but she couldn’t help it.

“Rachel!”

She needed time alone, time to sort out this appalling development, time to consider her options and decide what to do. Lusting after Johnny was bad enough. Loving him, with all the complications that would ensue, was infinitely worse.

“I—my sister Becky is home. Did I tell you that? I can’t go to dinner, or anywhere else. I have to go home. I forgot all about Becky.” She spoke over her shoulder, her voice jerky, as she pulled the door open and got into the car.

“What does Becky being home have to do with us going to dinner?” He leaned in the open doorway, his arm on the roof preventing her from closing the door. Rachel looked
up at the handsome face and frowning blue eyes and felt dazzled by the sheer force of her impulse to agree to anything he wished. She felt like an explorer who had stepped unwarily into quicksand. Now she was in way over her head and sinking fast.

“Michael, her husband, told her he wants a divorce. She’s upset. I need to go home to be with her.”

“The same Michael that you were in love with all those years ago?”

Rachel stared at him. “How did you know about that?”

“I remember when you brought him home with you that summer. You know why I remember? ’Cause I was jealous. The one bright spot in that whole hellish fall was when he dumped you for your sister.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it. It’s true.” His lips compressed, and he studied her for a minute. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Rachel. No matter how many girls I had, I was always aware of you and what you were doing. Now, how about dinner? Gino’s has great catfish.”

“I can’t. Becky is so upset.…” Rachel’s voice trailed off. His confession had merely served to underscore what she already knew: the situation between them was becoming far more serious than she had anticipated it would.

He stared at her for a moment longer without speaking. Then he straightened, closed her door for her, came around the car, and got in beside her.

Rachel started the car.

“Bullshit,” he said as she shifted into drive and swung around in a wide arc heading back toward the highway.

“What?” She glanced over at him nervously. His lips were tight, and his brows almost met over his nose in a winged line of displeasure.

“You heard me. I said that’s bullshit.”

“It is not. It’s the truth. Becky is home, and—”

“She may be home, and her husband may want a divorce, but that doesn’t have a damned thing to do with the
way you’re looking—or not looking—at me.” The cold, measured quality to his words was more cutting than outright fury would have been. Rachel bit her lip and concentrated on her driving. Pulling out onto the highway from the narrow road that cut through the woods, she glanced over at Johnny.

“You never did answer my question, Rachel,” he said silkily before she could say anything, turning his head to meet her eyes.

“What question?”

“For God’s sake, keep your eyes on the road!”

As she jerked her attention back to the road in response to this furious outburst, he was silent for a moment. He continued in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear. “Are you ashamed of me, Rachel?”