The Driven Snowe (19 page)

 

“A
LL RIGHT, LADIES
…turn. Clap clap. Turn.” The flamenco instructor wore a long, swirling skirt, and her heels clicked loudly on the wooden floor in the dance room at the community center. Angela's attention was only half there.

It was the Thursday after that disastrous night at the
diner, and Angela still didn't know how she was going to deal with what she'd seen. More importantly, she didn't know how she was going to deal with what she felt.

Turn turn clap.
She had spent the better part of the week at a bed-and-breakfast in Napa. Ginny had recommended it to her. She hadn't really done much of anything except think. She had returned this afternoon to go to her class, and because the midweek rates at the B & B shot up for the busy weekend trade. Still, she had needed the time to sort out what had happened.

She didn't think he was cheating on her, even after what she'd seen. Ginny would probably call her foolish, but in some way, she felt like she knew Josh. He wasn't that sort of person. If he'd grown tired of her, then he would have done something or said something, and dissolved their “arrangement” months ago.

No. He would have
broken up
with her. That's what people did in relationships. Besides, he was an honorable man. And she genuinely felt like he loved her. That wasn't the problem.

It wasn't what he'd done, anyway—she knew that. It was her own reaction that had scared her the most.

She had just realized that she loved him…was dancing with the euphoria of that fact just moments before facing the image of him with another woman. And that was when it had hit her—what being in love with someone really meant. Being in love didn't mean that she accepted the fact that he was in love with her. It meant that she wanted to be with him, that she wanted it more than anything on earth. And to her shock, the first thing that had crossed her mind on seeing him sitting and laughing with Shelly was
what did I do to make him unhappy?

She shook, and misstepped. She quickly looked around, correcting herself, trying to match the other dancers.

She had been scared to death by the fact that, in that second, she regretted going out with her friends—that she would have done anything to be sitting there with him. That she didn't want to lose him, and didn't want him to leave her. She had never wanted anything the way she wanted Josh Montgomery. And she was terrified of what she'd give up, just to be with him.

And what if I gave all that up, just to lose him anyway?

She misstepped again, almost stumbling. She decided to get a drink of water from the fountain in the corridor, ignoring the instructor's look of concern. She felt her long skirt swish against her ankles as she walked out of the room.

She leaned down to the fountain, feeling the cold water spill across her lips as she took several long sips.

“You looked great in there.”

She jerked her head up, a little water splashing on her chin. She quickly wiped off her face. “Josh? What are you doing here?”

He looked strange. His eyes were shadowed, and he looked really tired. Her heart immediately ached for him. He looked good besides that. She'd been tossing restlessly in her strange hotel bed for the better part of the week, and her body longed to just snuggle beside his, feel his warmth and the soft whoosh of his breath.

“I came here to see you, Angela,” he said. “I came here to talk to you. I hoped you would still come to class.”

She had almost considered skipping it, but knew it would help take her mind off him, if only a little. Besides, it bothered her that thinking of him had made her miss so much already. “I wasn't ready to talk to you.”

“I was hoping you'd be ready now.”

She heard the low note of pleading in his voice, and saw the weary look in his eyes. He looked so unhappy.

“All right.”

“Will you come with me?”

She nodded, grabbing her jacket and purse from where it was hanging in the hallway nearby, and let him lead her out to his car.

“There's someplace I'd like to take you,” he said, as the car cruised quietly along the darkened road. There was a sliver of moon in the sky.

“You don't need to take me anywhere special. We just need to talk.”

“I want to take you here,” he demurred. “I haven't taken anybody else here.”

Setting the scene meant so much to him, she thought, as he drove silently. “Josh, I agreed to talk to you. I was really upset…”

“Here we are,” he said, and the low tone of his voice surprised her. They were up by his house. The car bumped along a dirt road, and pulled out between some trees. She peered out with apprehension. There was a grove ahead of them, but it was shadowy and dense. “This is my thinking place. I used to come up here a lot, when I was a senior in high school, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.”

She gritted her teeth, fighting her impatience. “I'm trying to say something here.”

“I am, too.” He unbuckled his seat belt, and turned a little to face her. “I've thought here a lot in the past week. And I realized I'd never taken anybody else here, ever.”

She glanced around. It was secluded, completely shaded in by trees. “Not even some girl?” she said, skeptically, then could have bitten her tongue.

He took her hand, lacing it with his. She didn't make any move to clasp his back. His palm was warm. “I know what you must think of me, Angela. I can only say that I wasn't there with Shelly in any sort of romantic way. I was out to dinner with her, yes. But I thought of you the whole time.”

She tugged her hand away. “That's not a great excuse, Josh.”

He let out a weary breath. “That didn't come out right. Yes, I was a little mad. I think I was trying to get even a little, or prove something to myself. I'm not proud of that.”

She turned to him, relaxing a little. She was glad he was being honest, at least. “I can understand.”

“I was angry that you'd been avoiding me that week after San Diego, but only because I had something really important to tell you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Josh, I didn't think—well, no. I
did
think that maybe you were cheating on me with Shelly. At least, I did at first.”

“I wasn't.”

She nodded. “I know. Now. I figured that out on my own.” She took a deep breath. “But it
hurt…
”

She didn't know how she was going to get through this, when he reached over, not kissing her, just pulling her against his chest. She felt the warm strength of him,
and buried her head against his shoulder. “Honey, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

“I know. I just…”

“Angela, I know that you're probably afraid to trust me, or anybody, but I have to tell you.” He nudged her away from him, and she looked at him with eyes rimmed with tears. “I love you, Angela. I've never loved anybody as much as I love you.”

She felt her heart catch in her throat. She had trouble speaking.

“I love you, too.”

His eyes glowed like Christmas lights, and he smiled. Then he crushed her back against his chest, and she could feel heat pouring off him like a furnace. He was so happy he radiated with it.

He nuzzled her hair, kissed her neck, then kissed her mouth, hungrily. She kissed him back with equal ardor.

“I love you,” he whispered again, against her flesh.

“I love you, Josh,” she murmured back, clutching his shoulders.

That's why I'm so scared.

A
NGELA LOOKED UP
at Josh, who was getting ready for bed. She put her book down next to the bed, on top of a growing pile of her books. While waiting for him, the herbal tea she'd been sipping had cooled and was sitting on the nightstand. She'd wash the cup out tomorrow, she thought, when she made breakfast.

In a surprisingly short time, the little actions had become routine.

“Rough day?” she asked.

He looked over at her, and her stomach felt sugary at the heat in his eyes. “Better now,” he said, stripping down to boxers.

Her eyes devoured him. She'd been all but living with him for the past three weeks, had seen him naked at various points for the past five and a half months, and she still couldn't get over the sight of him. He climbed into bed next to her. He smoothed his hand over the silky nightgown she was wearing. “Why do you still wear nightgowns?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. They always seem like a good idea.”

He nuzzled her neck, and she felt her synapses shorting out, one by one. “You're so cute,” he murmured. “You continually wear something that you know you'll only keep on as long as I'm not home. Sometimes, I just don't get you.”

His nuzzling was getting a little more purposeful, and her breathing went shallow. “I think you're figuring me out,” she said, around a little gasp.

He paused momentarily in his goal, angling up on one arm to look at her. “If only,” he said, and though he was grinning, his eyes were serious. “I've been trying to figure out how to ask you this, but I don't know how you're going to react.”

She froze, like a startled cat.
Please, please don't ask about Italy.
She hadn't made up her mind, herself.

He had to notice the tension shoot through her—curled as he was around her, it'd be hard to miss. “Relax,” he muttered, with a tiny edge of annoyance in his voice. “It's not like I'm proposing murder or something.”

“What did you want to ask me?”

He paused for a moment, then let out a deep breath. “I've got this big party for Solar Bars on Friday. It's for our sales team…they've busted tail, and we're doing twice our target for this quarter. It's going to be a big blowout. I'm having it over at that new Moroccan restaurant they just opened.”

She finally relaxed. “That doesn't sound so horrible.”

“I'd like you to go with me.” He pinned her lightly to the bed, pushing wayward locks away from her face with gentle fingers. “It would mean a lot if you would go with me.”

She paused, a little tension creeping back into her muscles. “Friday—that's…”

“That's the night you and the girls were going to go over to San Francisco, stay at that hotel. See the Asian art exhibit on Saturday.”

She could feel the pressure increasing, like a spring. His eyes didn't waver.

“Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?”

“I forgot,” he said, and his eyes darted away, then darted back to her full of guilt. “I'm really sorry. I meant to, I swear. Besides, I only planned it about two weeks ago, when the numbers came in, and I wanted to do something while it was still fresh in their minds. I wanted them to know how much I appreciate their efforts.”

She squirmed beneath him. There was only a thin nightgown and boxers and tons of heat between their bodies. She felt him starting to get aroused, and her body started responding characteristically. She focused on the conversation, frowning. “It's not like you'll miss me,” she started to point out. “You'll be with all of your company people, you'll need to talk to a lot of them…you know, power-mingle or whatever. I don't see how my being there will do you any good.”

His eyes were intense. “Don't you?” He laughed, and it had a ragged little edge. “It's an important night for me. And if it's important to me, I instantly think of you.”

She felt a pang in her heart. How could she argue with logic like that?

“I can't…I mean…”

He started kissing her throat, up behind her ear, and her body made the smallest of writhes before she
stopped herself. “You guys haven't made the reservation for that room yet,” he murmured. His voice against her skin sent a tickling thrill up her back.

“Well, no.”

“You could always schedule for another weekend…”

“Josh, that's not the point.”

He retreated again, and there it was—the plea in his eyes, that masculine plea that was not begging or even conceding, but full of need nonetheless. “Angela, please. I promise I'll make it up to you. But this means a lot to me. Please, please come.”

His voice positively rang with it.

This means so much to him.

“Let me talk it over with the girls, see what I can do.”

His smile was like winter sunshine—brilliant and warming. “Thank you, Angela,” he said.

He moved down, with purpose, and kissed her intently. “I said I'd talk it over,” she said, although she figured they both knew she'd agreed.

“I know,” he said, trailing down her neck, coursing over her shoulders. His fingers turned clever, using the silky nightgown against her, rubbing it across her breasts. “And now I'm thanking you for trying.”

“Well, then,” she said, then gasped as he edged the nightgown up her body. “As long as we both know that.”

He tugged the nightgown over her head, smiling as the straps got caught on her arms. “This is why I advocate sleeping in the nude,” he said. He stroked her sides, ignoring the obvious jutting tips of her breasts, kissing the flat of her stomach, around her navel, along the top edge of her panty line. His hands continued to move in
long, gliding strokes. It was like being memorized by hand, she thought, as he moved back up, kissing her face gently as his hands ran through her hair. She arched her hips up to meet the hard point of his erection, and felt him back away.

“Not so fast,” he murmured, and she caught a glimpse of his smile before he nuzzled her breasts and simultaneously started edging her panties down her legs. “I'm not through thanking you.”

She let him take off her panties, feeling herself go wet before he'd removed them completely. He eased between her legs, moving lower…

She shot up, her hand going out toward his head. “That's okay. You don't have to…”

He pressed her back down, gently but firmly. “Of course I don't have to. I do this because I
want
to.” He moved forward, giving her right breast, then her left breast a quick suckle that had her arching her back and moaning. “There. Now just lie back and let me do what I want.”

She felt like one big, boneless, shivering mass of nerves as his head retreated down between her legs. She felt his fingers part her, probing tenderly at her entrance, and she moaned and bit her lip to stop from yelling. He was gentle—he seemed to know every single sensitive spot on her. She felt one of his broad fingers enter her as another toyed with her clitoris, and a whimper escaped despite her efforts.

“That's it, Angela. Just relax.” She felt as well as heard the words, his breath warming her most sensitive spot.

“Josh,” she said, half warning, half plea. Before she could go any further, she felt his mouth close on her.
His tongue circled where his finger had been playing, moving in loving strokes. “Oh…
oh.
”

He was relentless in his attention, and she was pushing up against him insistently, ignoring her previous reluctance as she moved greedily to get more. She was panting now, feeling her body throb and ache. It was just his mouth, but it was full of warmth and tantalizing strokes. She felt the pressure build, and was begging mindlessly for release.

He obliged her. She felt the orgasm hit her like a fist, and she arched off the bed, screaming his name.

She was lying there, dazed, when he sat up, grinning. “Like I said. I can't believe you still wear nightgowns.”

She felt him move up toward her, vaguely recognized that he was taking his boxers off. Then he was moving on top of her, hovering there for a moment, seeming so big and substantial that he was sure to crush her. “Josh,” she said, breathless.

He moved inside her easily, her previous orgasm making his entrance a smooth glide. She still felt him, large and insistent, as he pushed in to the hilt. She put her hand up on his shoulder. “Let me get on top. Your turn. I want to make love to you…”

“I think we're doing just fine,” he said instead, supporting his own weight so she wasn't crushed, but rather circled by his arms, again lightly pinned to the bed. “But really…”

“Shh.” To continue to quiet her, he moved inside her, circling slightly. To her amazement, her body started to feel aroused again, when by all rights she should have been exhausted, wrung out.

“Oh,” she breathed, and her hands traced the hard muscles of his chest. “Oh, Josh. Right there.”

He withdrew, slowly, moving his hips just enough so she felt every inch of him. She raised her hips to meet him as he buried himself again. His slowness was delicious, torturing.

Still, she felt like he was the one calling the shots, from his vantage point above her. His eyes were closed, his face set in fierce concentration. She felt her body taking over, moving against his, feeling the rhythm he set.

“That's it,” he murmured, and she felt him moving against her, inside her.

She moaned as he kept stroking inside of her, moving against her spot unerringly. She murmured incoherently, spreading her legs further, wrapping them around his waist. The corresponding pressure was almost unbearable.

He lowered his head against her, and his breathing was that of a predator, harsh and fast. She was breathing the same way, she thought, but the combination of his very mass, his animal sexuality, made her feel a moment of excitement just bordering on fear. Her body was jumping with sensation, overloading her system.

The second orgasm was followed by a third, then a smaller, echoing fourth, all in quick succession. She felt sure she screamed, and clawed her nails down his back—in that moment, just as animal-like as he was.

He groaned in response, and pumped against her, hard. Then he let out a deep, shuddering breath.

“It keeps getting better,” she heard him mutter from the tangle of her hair beside her right ear. “How does it keep getting better?”

“I don't know,” she murmured, and she wasn't humoring him. It had somehow moved past what they'd started with. “I thought maybe you'd get bored with me, after all this time. It's not the variety you're used to…”

He rolled over, putting her on top of him. He put a finger on her lips, gently tracing them. “
You're
what I'm used to,” he said, silencing her. “I love you, Angela.”

She sighed. “I love you, too.”

She saw a shadow in his eyes, just for a moment. “I'm not just saying that, either. I've never said that to any other woman.” He paused. “And if you're not sure, you shouldn't say it, either.”

“Of course I'm sure,” she said, stung. “I don't say things I don't mean.”

He studied her for a moment, then closed his eyes. “Sorry. I…sorry. I guess I'm just a little anxious lately.”

He didn't have to say why. He'd all but circled in red: their six month was coming up.

Italy,
she thought, feeling a pang of guilt.

“Well,
you
should relax,” she said, nuzzling his chest. “It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

She immediately regretted the choice of words, and bit her lip.

“I guess not,” he said, and his voice sounded relieved. “Thanks, Angela. For agreeing to come to the party.”

She was about to protest, yet again, that she'd only said she'd talk to her friends, but he edged her gently over to the side. She turned over to shut out the light. By the time she'd snuggled against the pillows, he was spooned companionably behind her, his breath warming the nape of her neck. His fingers moved beneath the pillow her head rested on, reaching for and finding
the hand she habitually tucked under it. Their fingers laced.

Within minutes, it seemed, he'd fallen asleep.

Angela lay awake for a long time afterward, thinking.

I love this man.

She'd been living with him for three weeks, seeing him for five and a half months, and she felt like the idea of being apart from him would be like driving a stake through her chest.

That hadn't stopped her from seeing a subtle trend.

She'd only set up three rules: no staying at each other's houses, no breaking plans for him, and not ever saying “I love you.” Systematically, she'd broken each one. Now, it was as if the floodgate had broken. She couldn't say no to him. Didn't want to say no.

He'd suggested that he wanted to spend more time with her, and somehow, she'd dropped the intermediate stained glass class that she'd recently signed up for. She'd planned to sign up for part two of Chinese cooking, too, but that hadn't happened. She kept flamenco dancing, but that was it. And she'd spent less time than usual with her friends. Not that they had complained—if anything, Tanya had been encouraging. But she felt it, the distance that was growing steadily.

Yet every time she went to do something about it, it seemed like he'd come up with some new plan to be with her—and there was something in his eyes that made her want to stay, do anything to make him happy.

What would I do if I lost him?

The idea of him unhappy—the idea of him
gone
—was beyond unpalatable. It was intolerable.

Italy came back in her mind, sharply. Five weeks,
max. That was all the time she could manage away for her trip, after her little “sickness” when she'd vanished for a week.

She'd been getting happy, buzzing calls from Bethany on her voice mail at the library, and had heard her on her machine at home when she called in to retrieve messages.