*
* *
Though Gram had wanted everyone at the house for Mick's
first dinner at home, Abby had opted out. She wasn't ready for another run-in
with Jess.
Mick gave her a hard look when he heard her plans. "Did you and your
sister have a talk this afternoon?"
"No, why?"
He muttered a curse under his breath. "She promised me she'd see you and
straighten things out."
Abby gave him a startled look. "You know about the fight we had?"
"I spotted her driving along Shore Road like a bat out of hell. I made a
U-turn back toward town and went after her. Sat her down at Sally's and had a
little heart-to-heart with her."
"And she actually listened to you?" Abby asked incredulously.
"I thought she had."
"Well, apparently she had a change of heart," Abby replied wearily.
"And I'm not up for another discussion about why she can't have the
outrageously expensive range she wants. I'm going into town, so you all can
enjoy your dinner. I'll take the girls with me."
He looked as if he might argue about her going, but eventually he sighed.
"Go, if that's what you need to do, but leave the girls here. I'll see
that they get to bed on time."
The thought of an evening out, on her own, was so alluring, she couldn't bring
herself to refuse his offer. "Thanks, Dad."
"Enjoy yourself. Maybe you ought to think about calling Trace and asking
him to join you. I can't imagine you two have had much time alone."
"It might be better if we didn't have any," she commented.
His gaze narrowed. "Why is that?"
"A significant difference of opinion about the future," she said,
summarizing it.
"Do you want to explain that?"
She shrugged. "Not really."
"Another male perspective might help."
She grinned at the thought of her father giving her relationship advice.
"I think maybe you should concentrate on figuring out how you're going to
handle Mom being back in town."
He frowned immediately. "Don't start on that."
"Not starting," she said, holding up her hands in surrender.
"Not meddling." To prove it, she leaned down and gave him a kiss on
his cheek. "Night, Dad. Thanks again for looking after the girls tonight
and for trying to talk to Jess."
"Night, angel girl. Enjoy yourself."
Her eyes misted at the endearment. It had been years since Mick had called her
that. He'd had special nicknames for all of them, but they'd fallen by the
wayside as they'd become adolescents and then adults. Hearing it again reminded
her of just how close they'd once been, how she'd flown into his arms when he'd
come home at the end of the day. She walked back across the room and gave him a
fierce hug.
"I love you," she whispered, her voice hitching.
"Love you, too," Mick said, his voice thick.
As she left the house, she reminded herself that there had always been a
handful of men who, unlike Wes, had loved her unconditionally. Her dad was one
of them. Her brothers were on that list. And as she drove, she picked up her
cell phone and called the fourth. Trace answered on the second ring.
"Hey, there. I wasn't expecting to hear from you tonight. I heard Mick was
back in town, so I figured you all would be having some big O'Brien family
dinner."
"Everyone else is at the house," Abby told him. "But I'm
footloose and looking for company. You available?"
"I can be. I'm finishing up a design right now. I can shower and shave and
be ready in a half hour. You want to meet somewhere?"
Abby thought about that, then thought about the sparks that had been dancing
between them ever since she'd returned to Chesapeake Shores. It might be
idiotic to want to see where they led, given what she knew about his intentions
for the future, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from saying, "Why
don't I just come by your place? I'd like to see what you're working on."
There was a long hesitation, as if he knew that there was more on her mind than
peeking at a couple of designs. "You sure about that? You and me alone
could be dangerous."
"And I'm in a reckless mood," she told him. "Shower fast. I'll
be there in ten minutes."
He laughed then. "Should I bother with clothes?"
"Well, of course," she said, amusement threading through her voice at
the eagerness she heard in his. "Let's at least preserve the illusion that
this is an innocent visit."
"Abby, Abby," he murmured. "What's gotten into you
tonight?"
"I think Gram would say the devil, but I prefer to think that for once in
a long time I'm just going after what I want."
"And what you want is me?"
"Tonight, yes," she said, her tone sobering. "Can you accept
that?"
"I can as long as you swear to me there'll be no regrets."
She thought about that, thought about what it had been like years ago being
with him. As difficult and sad as it'd been when she'd walked away after
discovering what it was like to make love with Trace, she had never regretted
sharing that experience with him.
"No regrets," she promised him now. "Can you say the same?"
"If there are any, I'll find a way to live with them," he said.
"I want you, Abby O'Brien Winters. Always have. Always will."
She smiled. That was all she needed to hear.
20
T
race
opened the door to his apartment wearing jeans undone at the waist and nothing
else. No shirt. No shoes. His hair was still damp and tousled and he smelled of
soap and maybe a faint hint of refreshing aftershave. Abby swallowed hard at
the sight of him and had to restrain herself from jumping into his arms before
the door closed.
"You look good," she murmured, her gaze locked on his chest and a
sculpted set of six-pack abs. How did a man who worked at a drafting table and
computer—or in a bank—all day stay so fit? However he did it, someone should
pay him a fortune to go on billboards to advertise his regimen. She was pretty
sure he could deliver a ton of profits to some company in the fitness industry.
Heat in his eyes, Trace closed the door behind her, then backed her against it.
"You look pretty amazing yourself," he murmured, brushing her hair
aside to kiss her neck. "Smell good, too." His tongue flicked across
her skin. Her temperature shot so high, she was surprised she didn't singe him.
"Taste even better," he said in a low voice that sent shivers dancing
through her.
Abby was having difficulty standing. She placed her hands on his shoulders,
then jerked them away. His skin was too warm, too smooth, and way too tempting.
All of this was moving way too fast…yet not nearly fast enough. After the day
she'd had, after being basically accused of being stuffy and rigid, she wanted
nothing more than to mindlessly go with the flow, to be ruled by passion for once.
She caught the immediate glint of amusement in Trace's eyes as she pulled back.
Of course, with the door at her back, she didn't have a lot of wiggle room.
With his eyes locked with hers, he reached for one of her hands and lifted it
back to rest on his shoulder, then placed the other one on his chest.
"Stay," he whispered. "I like having you touch me. It stirs up
all sorts of indecent thoughts."
Abby frowned at him. "We're pretty much tossing out the whole
innocent-visit thing, aren't we?"
He held himself perfectly still, his gaze steady on hers. "Up to
you."
With his heat flowing through her, and his faintly masculine aroma surrounding
her, Abby knew she couldn't walk away, knew there was no point at all in
pretense. As a girl she might have been awkward and undecided in a situation
like this, but she was a woman now, a woman who knew her own mind, at least
when it came to this. At least for tonight.
Instead of answering, she stood on tiptoe and sealed her mouth over his. With
her hands linked behind his neck, her body was pressed into his. She could feel
every hard plane, every rippling muscle, to say nothing of the very dramatic
evidence of his arousal.
The kiss ended eventually with both of them breathless, their eyes glazed over
with desire. At least his were, and she knew hers had to be the same.
"Where's the bedroom in this place?" she asked boldly. "Or do
you have some macho thing about ripping our clothes off right here in the
foyer?"
He grinned. "It is an intriguing thought, but I think this occasion calls
for a little more romance and finesse. Wine?"
She shook her head, her gaze on his steady.
"Something to eat?"
She declined again.
"Candlelight?" he offered.
"Just you," she told him, giving him a gentle shove.
"Well, you can't turn me down if I do this," he said, scooping her
into his arms and cradling her against his chest.
Abby immediately snuggled into all that amazing heat and relished the comfort
of knowing that same strength would always be used to protect her.
In his bedroom, which had little in the way of decoration, the king-size bed
stood out in sensual invitation. He set her down in the middle of it, then
followed her.
For what seemed like an eternity they simply lay there, face-to-face, gazing
into each other's eyes, absorbing the moment that had been inevitable, but
forever in coming…ten impossibly long years, in fact.
It was Trace who finally broke the spellbinding moment. "I've missed you,
Abby. For all these years, I've felt as if a part of myself was missing."
She started to speak, but he touched a finger to her lips. "Don't,"
he said. "I know you had another life during that time. I don't expect you
to feel the same way."
"But I do," she protested. "I don't think I realized how much I
missed this, missed
us
until right this second. Now I can't imagine how
I went so long without you."
A slow, soft smile of satisfaction spread across his lips. "Let's see if I
can remember what you like," he said, his gaze intense.
His mouth found the spot at the base of her neck that made her head fall back.
Pushing aside her blouse and un-hooking her bra, he nuzzled each breast, his
tongue flicking over the nipples until they hardened. With sure, tantalizing
strokes, he caressed her stomach, his fingers dipping low until they found her
moist, hot core. Abby would have moved away to shed her slacks, but he kept her
in place, tormenting her until she was gasping for air and for the finish he
was carefully, deliberately denying her.
"You're a tease," she accused when she could find sufficient breath
to speak.
He grinned. "And you love it."
"I could turn the tables on you," she said. "I've learned a few
moves over the years."
He stilled at that and she thought at first she'd made a terrible mistake,
inadvertently dragging Wes into bed with them without even mentioning his name.
Then Trace regarded her with an intrigued expression and flopped over onto his
back.
"Show me your stuff," he teased, whatever emotion he'd felt before
nowhere in sight now.
Responding to his good-natured taunt, she rose on her knees and bent over him,
peppering his face, his bare chest and even lower with kisses, all the while
slowly sliding down the zipper of his jeans. When she reached inside, his
sharp, indrawn breath told her he hadn't expected that, hadn't anticipated the
bold touch and clever, wicked way her fingers were dancing over his hard shaft.
His eyes alight with amusement and barely banked desire, he flipped her on her
back and went to work stripping her of her clothes. Then with a few clever,
wicked touches of his own, he brought her right to the peak of satisfaction,
but wouldn't let her tumble off that beckoning cliff.
"Not without me," he said quietly, his gaze locked with hers as he
knelt over her. He slowly slid deep within her, never once looking away, as if
to be sure she knew it was him, experienced this moment with him.
No, she realized, it was more than that. It was as if he needed to, was
determined to see right into her heart.
Their bodies fell at once into a natural rhythm. Like waves on the shore, the
sensations rose and fell, gathering intensity, stealing breath,
demanding…everything. Passion peaked with an explosion of fireworks brighter
than anything she'd seen in ten years of New York's most spectacular Fourth of
July celebrations.
As the sparks died down and the colors faded, she snuggled into Trace's
embrace. At home. Again.
*
* *
Trace awoke slowly to moonlight streaming in his windows and
the sound of distant thunder rumbling in the air. Waves were crashing on the shore
as an early-summer storm approached. He relished the wildness of it, a wildness
that could only be lackluster in comparison to having Abby back in his bed. In
astonishment, he realized this was the first time she'd actually been in his
bed and not wherever they'd been able to steal a few hours alone, most often a
blanket on the beach.
He rolled toward her, then realized she was gone. For a moment, he felt an
almost incomparable letdown, but then he heard her stirring around in his
kitchen.
Pulling his jeans back on, he went in search of the woman he would never again
deny loving.
He found her setting his table with the mismatched plates and silverware that
had come with the apartment, items culled from Mrs. Finch's attic. She'd lit
two candles, maybe for the ambience, maybe in anticipation of a likely power
outage if the storm hit hard. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, which came
to midthigh and outlined the shape of her breasts and hips in a provocative way
he doubted she'd realized.
For the moment, she was oblivious to his arrival, so he stood perfectly still,
watching her work. She was cutting and dicing with surprisingly sure strokes
given that the knife probably hadn't seen a sharpener in fifteen years. There
was a little mound of onion and another of green pepper on the cutting board.
To that, she added some tomato when she'd finished.
She tossed a dollop of butter into a large skillet, then waited until it
started to sizzle before adding all the vegetables. After giving them a chance
to cook for just a moment, she poured in a bowlful of eggs she'd whipped into a
froth.
Every movement, each time she stretched, hitched the T-shirt a bit to give him
a brief and intriguing glimpse of her bare bottom. As starved as he was, it was
a toss-up whether he wanted the meal she was making or her the most. To his
delight, he realized he could have both.
He walked up behind her, lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck.
"You're bothering the cook," she said, though it sounded as if that
pleased rather than annoyed her.
"I'd be interested in bothering her a lot more, if she's willing."
She faced him with a grin. "Before we eat?" she asked in disbelief.
He drew in the aroma of the frittata she was apparently creating. "Maybe
after."
"Nice to know what your priorities are," she commented, as she
sprinkled grated cheddar cheese over the top of her creation, then slid it into
the oven to set the eggs and melt the cheese.
"What time is it?" he asked, trying to focus on the mundane since
looking at Abby was getting him hot and bothered all over again.
"Not quite ten," she said. "There's a storm brewing. Is that
what woke you?"
He shook his head. "I think I woke up because I knew instinctively that
you'd left my bed."
She slid an arm around him and tucked her hand just inside the waistband of his
jeans at the small of his back. The comfortable intimacy of that touch suddenly
made him think about having nights like this for the rest of their lives.
That's what he wanted. He was pretty sure she did, too. Coming here tonight was
an admission of that, in its own way. She wouldn't have come, if on some level
she wasn't ready for a shared future with him. How long, though, would it take
for her to admit that to herself? And when the time came could they find a
compromise about their living arrangements?
A few minutes later they were seated at the table just inside his balcony doors
where they could feel the cooling air as the storm got closer. At first they
both ate as if they were starving, but then Trace leaned back and studied her.
Despite the rumpled sensuality of her appearance, the slightly swollen lips and
rosy cheeks, there was an unmistakable hint of sadness in her eyes.
"Okay, spill it," he said to her.
"Spill what?"
"I know you came over here tonight for my body," he began, drawing an
annoyed look from her. "But what drove you to my doorstep, when all the
other O'Briens are at your place? You usually love those family
occasions."
"Not tonight. I didn't want to spend the evening with them," she said
stiffly.
He studied her with a narrowed gaze. "You and your grandmother have a
fight?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You and Mick?"
"Mick and I are fine."
"Then unless those little girls of yours have found a new way to get under
your skin, the problem has to be Jess."
Her instantaneous frown told him he'd nailed it. "What'd she do now?"
"Do you really want to spoil this evening by talking about my
sister?"
"I don't want to spoil anything and I could care less about Jess. I do
care about anything that upsets you."
She set her glass down on the table with a thump, her eyes flashing with fire.
"We had an argument," she said tightly. "We'll both get over it.
Now drop it, okay?"
He persisted. "About something at the inn, I assume," he said,
assailed by guilt once again. "Dammit, I never should have used my
position at the bank to put you in this position. What was I thinking?"
"You were thinking that somebody has to make Jess understand
reality," she countered, then added with an air of resignation, "It might
as well be me."
"No," he said forcefully. "It shouldn't be you. You're sisters
and I've driven a wedge between you. That's insane. Tomorrow I'll talk to Laila
about taking over. You'll be free to head back to New York, if you want
to."
She stared at him in astonishment. "You want me to go home now? After
this?" She waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture that he assumed
was meant to include him and what had happened here tonight.
"I never said I wanted you to go. I said you'd be free to go if that was
what you wanted."
"No," she said at once, her chin jutting defiantly. "I'm seeing
this through."
Despite his willingness to let her go, relief flooded through him at her
refusal. He could only hope that her determination to stay was not only about
Jess, but maybe about him and their future, as well.