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“You think you know me?”
“I do know you.” There was no sign of the nerves now, only confidence. “I love how creative you are, whether it’s with a pencil or a paintbrush, or the clothes you wear.”
“You like my clothes?”
“You dress as if every day is a party, and I love that.”
Flora thought about the white dress lying unworn in her suitcase.
She wasn’t Becca, but he wasn’t expecting her to be like Becca. He didn’t want that. He liked who she was. The white dress was going back.
He knew her. He loved her.
The rush of happiness was so intense it made her dizzy. And he was still talking.
“I love that you care so much about making people happy and yes, some of that comes from wanting to please people, and that isn’t always a good thing, but some of it is simply because you’re so damned caring and thoughtful. I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”
“Beautiful? Which part of me do you find beautiful?”
“All of y
ou. Your smile, your great legs—did I mention your legs?—but most of all your heart. You have the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.” He lowered his head and kissed her. It was gentle, but she could feel the passion simmering beneath the surface. And she kissed him back, eyes closed, head dreaming.
He finally lifted his head, but just enough to allow him to speak. “I know this is complicated—that’s what I meant when I mentioned timing—I know it hasn’t been easy, particularly with Izzy. But we’ll figure it out. We’ll work through it. In time she will see this is the right thing, I’m sure of it.”
Flora thought about the flicker of connection she’d felt the night before. “I haven’t handled it well, either. She was right that I’ve been trying too hard. I need to be more myself.” No more games, she thought. Just honesty.
“Well at least then you’ll be less likely to rupture an Achilles tendon running in Brooklyn.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “I think you might be the bravest person I know. Not just because I invited you to stay near a lake, but because it meant spending time with my friends even though you don’t know them and in your mind you’re an outsider, which is your worst nightmare.”
“Jack—”
“Last night I should have stayed closer to you. I was so busy catching up with Todd, I didn’t think. You must have been so stressed.”
“I don’t need a minder, Jack.”
“How about someone who loves you? Do you need that?”
Yes, she needed that. She needed that more than anything. Her heart was full. Racing, and her mind along with it. No one had ever said these things to her, and the words were as seductive as the skilled brush of his mouth against hers and the knowing stroke of his hands.
This time neither of them pulled back. They’d waited so long. Too long.
She wrapped her arms round his neck and pulled his head to hers. She paused, her mouth a breath away from his, wanting to drag every least drop of pleasure from the delicious moment. She’d always been the same, thoughtful, patient, careful. She savored food. She savored flowers. Good things were never to be rushed in her opinion, and Jack was definitely a good thing.
But Jack approached things differently, and he crushed his mouth to hers, making the decision for them. She moaned, kissing him back, her mouth as urgent as his. They’d been patient, held back, kept their needs in check but now desire was like a wild beast released and it clawed at them, ripping through restraint and control.
His hands were impatient as they sought skin concealed by clothing, and then she felt the roughness of his palms against bare flesh and gasped as he stroked and explored. And she explored, too, her fingers lingering on the swell and flex of muscle, savoring their differences. Usually she was controlled and careful, but now she felt reckless.
He loved her, he loved her.
She tugged at his shirt, then moved lower, fumbling with buttons—who invented buttons?—and then, yes, a rush of delicious anticipation as she felt him hard and heavy against her fingers. He yanked her dress, hauling it up, lifting her. Mouths locked they kissed, barely coming up for air as they fed on the desire that roared through them. She was deaf to everything except the sounds they made together, the rasp of breathing, the rustle of clothing. And then she felt the smooth, silken length of him against her. Everything was edged in desperation. She wanted to give, but she also wanted to take something for herself. He surged into her and she felt her body yield, slick and ready for him, welcoming the thickness and heat and drawing him in. With every skilled thrust the pleasure grew, building in intensity until she was consumed by sensation. Dizzy with it, she held on and rode out the storm, matching his demands with her own.
In that moment her whole world was him, and his was her. There was nothing but the passion. And finally the throbbing of her body eased, her head cleared a little, allowing the outside world in. She heard the distant sound of a woodpecker. The rustle of leaves. The harshness of his breathing, rapid and unsteady.
He lowered her to the ground. “Flora—”
She covered his lips with her fingers, not wanting him to talk. She didn’t want anything to end this perfect moment. Real life would eventually intrude as it always did and she couldn’t stop that, but she would keep it at a distance for as long as possible.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, flesh against heated flesh, prolonging the moment as long as possible, and then she felt his hand on her head, cradling her, possessive and protective.
