The Surprise of His Life (21 page)

The
bed sagged beneath Lindsey. She registered this only marginally, for something
far greater overrode all else. Walker was beside her, his flesh touching hers,
his hands seeking and finding all the feminine places that begged for his
attention. Was this really happening? she thought. Or had all those nights in
London, those lonely, endless nights when all she'd thought about was Walker,
finally pushed her over the precarious edge? Was this only a dream?

"Walker?"
she whispered, wanting, needing confirmation that this moment was real.

He
spoke only with his mouth, his hands, his body. He, too, wondered if he'd once
more stepped into a surreal world. But then, it didn't matter if he had.
Lindsey's sweetly bold, boldly sweet kisses joined with his. She matched his
passion, his desire, devouring him with her mouth. Everywhere her lips touched,
he burned. Everywhere her hands roamed—his back, his hips, the heat of
him—begged for more. He had no idea whether what was happening was right or
wrong, but he knew without a doubt that he couldn't live another second without
her.

He
took her, the way a man takes a woman, the way a man takes
his
woman. He
buried himself deep. She was hot and soft and, ironically, filled his emotional
hollowness even as he filled her physical being. On a deep moan, he gave
himself up to feeling, setting a rhythm that she lovingly, sexily followed.

The
end came, but he had no idea whether it was soon or late. He knew, though, that
it was like racing through time, through space. It was the powerful
acceleration of a sports car. Like the wind, ecstasy whipped about him.
Exhilaration raced through his veins. Speed... power... pleasure... a blissful,
soul-shattering pleasure.

He
cried her name.

She
cried his as she, too, reached the pinnacle of pleasure.

And
then peace. A peace like neither had ever felt before. A numbing,
please-let-this-last-forever peace.

Lying
on their sides, they peered at each other. Their bodies were yet entwined
simply because neither could bear the thought of separating. Though slowing,
their breathing filled the silence with a grated rasp. Lindsey could feel her
mouth tingling from the bruising pressure of Walker's kisses.

Walker
could feel his heart pounding. Its message was loud and clear. Nothing in his
life had ever felt so right.

Lazily,
he drew his knuckle across Lindsey's cheek. She laid her hand on his and, like
lovers, their hands joined, palm to palm. Walker remembered the night weeks
before when she'd first taken his hand in hers. The warmth of that hand had teased
and taunted him, making him want to touch her again... and again... and
again....

"Why
did you call off the wedding?" Walker heard himself ask. The question had
come out of nowhere. No, not nowhere. It had been in his mind for months, in
his heart for weeks. He had to have an answer.

"Don't
you know why?" Lindsey whispered.

Did
he? Did he know the reason? Had it revealed itself slowly to him these past few
weeks, and had he simply chosen to hide from its truth?

"Tell
me," he said, needing to hear the words.

"I
realized that I was in love with someone else." Lindsey smiled softly,
sweetly. "That's a devil of a thing to realize on the eve of your
wedding."

Walker's
heart, the one that hadn't yet slowed from their lovemaking, sprinted into a
new and wilder rhythm.

Lindsey's
smile faded. "Actually, it wasn't as emotionally simple as it sounds. I
didn't realize I was in love with someone other than my fiance. I just knew
that something went very wrong at the rehearsal. A bride-to-be shouldn't be
feeling more for the man walking her down the aisle than for the man waiting
for her." Lindsey's voice lowered to the sound of lace being drawn across
satin. "I shouldn't have been wondering what your lips would feel like on
mine."

Her
confession wrapped itself around Walker, warming him as her presence did.

"I
love you," she whispered. "I don't know when it happened or why it
happened or how it could have happened." She smiled. "I just know
that it happened."

Strangely,
what she had said didn't surprise Walker. Even more strangely, he clung to her
words as though they were the most precious gift he'd ever been given. He just
didn't know what to answer back. He didn't know what he was feeling. His
emotions were still too new to put a name to. But he had to say something. He
wanted
to say something.

"Lindsey..."

As
he had earlier that evening, she now placed the pad of her thumb across his
lips. "You're not required to say anything," she said, adding, her
voice now husky with feeling, "just make love to me. If only for tonight."

On
a dark, desperate growl, Walker hauled her to him.

At
ten minutes to two o'clock, both as naked as the day they were born, Walker
scooped Lindsey into his arms and started from the bedroom. He was aware, but
only vaguely, that his knee hurt. The truth was that there was little room for
any awareness other than that of the woman cradled against him.

Laughing
even as she tightened her arms about his neck, Lindsey asked, "Where are
you taking me?"

"Timbuktu,"
Walker said, uncertain whether he liked her best when she was laughing or when
she was serious. He guessed that he liked her both ways—any way. Mostly,
though, he just liked the way he felt around her. As if he were a seed that had
lain dormant and was only now sprouting to life. Only Lindsey's sunshine had
provided the stimulus for growth.

He
tried not to think about what had happened, what was happening, between them.
Lindsey had pleaded with him to give her, to give them, tonight—even if they
were to have nothing else. When he thought at all, he kept his mind focused on
that. Mostly, though, he kept his body occupied with feeling. Tomorrow he'd
wonder if he were having the same mid-life crisis as his friend Dean. Tomorrow
he'd find a name for the strong feeling that was in his heart. Tonight he'd
just feel.

At
Walker's answer, Lindsey laughed again. "Do you think this is the dress
code in Timbuktu?"

Walker
grinned as he slipped through the dark kitchen and slid open the patio door.
"If it isn't, it ought to be."

The
hot and humid night air swept over Lindsey's bare skin, reminding her that
there was a real world beyond the idyll she and Walker were living. But she
didn't want to be reminded of that. In fact, she refused to be. She
concentrated instead on Walker's arms, on his hair-matted chest, on the
laughter she heard in his voice. He, too, was living only in the now.

"You
know something?" she said, liking his grin, loving his teasing.

"Hmm?"
he asked, knowing too well that tomorrow and reality were only frustrating
hours away.

"You
seem different. I've known you all my life, and suddenly it's as though I've
just met you." She smiled. "Does that make sense?"

Walker
had been steadily heading for the pool. Slowly, carefully taking the steps, he
submerged them to their waists. Cool water, turquoise and refreshing, rose
around them like a quiet, untroubled sea.

"Yeah,"
he answered, understanding exactly what she meant. It was as though they'd met
for the first time only hours before. And, in a sense, they had. Lover had only
then met lover.

Lowering
her, he allowed her body to skim the length of his. The hours they'd spent
loving had been in the moonlight-dappled dark. Now the underwater lights
illuminated their bodies in a way they had not been before. Lindsey saw the
thick pelt covering his chest, the way some of the ebony hair was shaded in
silver, the narrowing strip of black that led down his belly and beyond. Walker
saw the creamy color of her skin, a smattering of freckles on a single
shoulder, the pert fullness of her breasts. He knew the feel of those
breasts—the way they filled his hands, the way the nipples tightened when he
ran thumb or tongue across them, the way they flattened against him when he
held her close. He knew their taste, too. Their sweeter-than-honey taste. Like
a greedy man, a starving man, he now indulged himself in their visual beauty.

Lindsey
luxuriated in Walker's hunger. She wanted him to look at her, just the way she
wanted to look at him. She wanted to see every inch of him, memorize every
inch, in case tonight was all she had of him. She wanted memories enough to
fill the long, lonely nights that might lay ahead. And she wanted him to
remember her. Not as his goddaughter, but as the woman who loved him.

"You
are different," Walker whispered, reaching out and touching her
love-tossed hair with his fingertips. "So very different."

A
tiny smile budded, grew, ripened. "I grew up."

At
that, he began to gently twist the blond strands of her hair about his fist.
Each roll brought her closer to him until the tips of her breasts brushed
against his chest. Her neck was arched, her head angled upward. "Did
anyone ever tell you that you grew up in all the right places?" he said,
his mouth only milli-inches from hers.

"I've
been waiting all these years for you to tell me," she whispered.

He
did more than tell her. He showed her. Completing the distance, he dropped his
mouth onto hers. He intended the kiss to be gentle and tender, but, when flesh
met flesh, his intentions scattered like crisp leaves in a chafing wind. In
seconds, the kiss became hot and wet and graphically explicit. Abruptly, Walker
jerked his mouth from hers. Just as abruptly, he released her hair, backed away
and began to swim brisk laps.

Lindsey
let him, even when one lap led into another, then into another, each delivered
as though he had a surplus of energy he had to dissipate. She knew, though,
that it was more than energy. It was desire. For through all that was
happening—his concern, his doubt, his fear of betraying aged friendships—she
knew that he desired her. She knew, too, that the extent of that desire
startled him. It even frightened him.

Slowly,
she began to swim, letting the cool water glide over her damp skin. She was
tired. Yet exhilarated. She needed to sleep. Yet sleep was the last thing she'd
be able to do. Closing her eyes, she ducked her head beneath the surface,
allowing the womblike stillness, the silence, to surround her. When she
resurfaced, she saw Walker slowly swimming toward her. He looked as tired, yet
as wired, as she.

Using
her hands, she smoothed back the wet hair from her face. By placing one hand on
each side of her, Walker immediately pinned her to the edge of the pool.
Without warning and forcefully, he took her mouth again—one short fierce kiss,
as though to prove to himself that he was still in control.

For
moments, they didn't speak. They just stared. Finally, Lindsey angled a lock of
wet hair from his forehead. "Tired?" she said, her eyes fully on him.

He
grinned. "A little. I'm not used to such late nights. We old folks go to
bed early."

The
grin Lindsey returned was pure deviltry. "You went to bed early."

"Yeah,"
he answered, the husky delivery of the word sending Lindsey's blood to
simmering.

She
lazily, sexily drew her finger down his chest. "We could go back to bed...
and sleep."

"We
could."

"Then
again," she said, stopping her finger strategically short of his navel,
"maybe we could find something better to do."

"I
think we'd be talking about one of those miracles you're so fond of believing
in. A man has his limits. An old man has even greater limits." He was
aware, however, of wanting her even as he spoke of the biological practicality
of the male body.

"Ah,
yes, you're so old," she said, a spark of teasing lighting her eyes.
"You know, I'd be glad to help you put your teeth in a glass or tune your
pacemaker."

A
grin nipped one corner of his mouth. "Smart aleck."

"No,
really. I could push your wheelchair or adjust your hearing aid. I could even
rub your bad knee."

"How
did you know I had a bad knee?" Walker asked.

"You
told me when you were trying to discourage my asking you to dance. But I knew
about it, anyway. I know everything about you." She reached down and began
to rub his knee. "The game with the Redskins, right? Some defensive back
with a bad attitude creamed you on the thirty-sixth yard."

The
feel of her hand on his knee was beginning to push all thoughts of football
from his mind. In fact, her hand was making him believe in miracles. "I
have no idea what yard it was," he said, his voice growing husky.

"It
was the thirty-sixth. At least that's what an old newspaper article Mother has
said."

"You
looked?" he asked, feeling incredibly warm, both by her personal knowledge
of him and of the way her fingers were kneading his skin.

"Mmm,"
she admitted, adding, "How does that feel?"

"Good,"
he said, his voice having gone from husky to downright thick. "However,
it's the wrong knee." His grin was back. "Guess the newspaper didn't
mention which knee."