Chapter 15
The picnic had
been Mitch’s idea. He’d even prepared the pimento cheese sandwiches
and carrot sticks himself. The apple juice and Vivaldi had been
Emily’s suggestions. They’d spread an old quilt out on the beach in
the late afternoon, positioning Emily’s huge beach umbrella to
protect them from the warm June sunshine.
Mitch had thrown on a pair of cutoff
jeans and cotton T-shirt, while Emily had dressed in baggy red
shorts and a matching red-and-white striped top. They’d both opted
to go barefoot, loving the feel of the damp, coarse sand under
their feet.
Mitch lifted the juice bottle to his
lips, sipping the cool liquid as he watched Emily working away
busily on the charcoal sketch she had begun before they’d eaten.
The blaring of trumpets and the forceful rush of violins blended
with the call of seagulls and the song of the bay
waters.
Lowering the juice bottle from his
mouth, Mitch nodded toward the tape player beside the picnic
basket. “What’s that playing now? I must not have any taste for the
finer things, because I’m afraid it sounds like a lot of racket to
me.”
Glancing over the top of her sketch
pad, Emily smiled at Mitch. “Vivaldi’s Concerto for Two Trumpets in
C—”
“Sorry I asked.” He shook his head. “I
should have brought along one of my tapes.”
Reaching out to the tape player, Emily
switched off the music. “There, is that better? I’m afraid I think
hard rock is a lot of noise, but we can probably compromise on cool
jazz.”
“We were raised in two different
worlds, weren’t we?” Mitch knew their individual tastes in music
weren’t the only differences stemming from their totally opposite
backgrounds.
“What was it like growing up in Sutra,
Mississippi?” Emily watched Mitch carefully, then she looked down
as she continued sketching his handsome face. She didn’t think he’d
realized he was her subject.
“If I hadn’t been the son of a lazy
gambler who tried to make a living farming and a mother burdened
with five kids, I might have enjoyed growing up in Sutra.” Mitch
picked up a carrot stick from a paper plate sitting in front of
him. “We were what folks called white trash. I never owned a new
pair of pants or a decent shirt until I went into the
marines.”
“Is that why getting rich was so
important to you?” Emily studied the proportions of Mitch’s nose
and cheekbones. He had such a strong face, his features undeniably
masculine.
“Being poor is a great incentive to get
rich.” He tapped the end of the carrot against his bottom teeth,
then broke the stick in half. “I was hungry for money, and I
desperately wanted to escape my childhood. I hated taking charity,
and I swore that once I got away from home, I’d never allow anyone
to pity me again.”
“Tell me about Randy Styles and Loni.”
If she and Mitch were ever going to come to terms with the past,
they’d have to face it—all of it.
“You don’t want to know about them.”
The last thing on earth he wanted to discuss with Emily was his
former partner and his ex-fiancée.
Emily shaded in the hollows of Mitch’s
face and neck, then closed her eight-by-six-inch sketchbook and
laid her charcoal pencil on top. “Yes, I do. It will help me
understand the person you were then, and the person you are
now.”
Mitch jumped up from the quilt,
knocking over his empty juice bottle. Stretching, he gazed up at
the clear blue sky. “Hey, I thought we came on this picnic to relax
and enjoy ourselves, to get away from our problems.”
“That’s the reason you said we should
have a picnic.” Emily stood up beside Mitch and reached out to
touch his back. “Did you love Loni a great deal?”
Mitch looked out at the bay, the
blue-gray waters, the soft, rippling tide. “I thought I was in love
with her. I was twentyseven when we met. I wasn’t a kid. I’d known
a few women before her. But I wasn’t mature enough to see through
her act.”
“How do you feel about her now?”
Dropping her hand from Mitch’s back, Emily stepped away from him,
her gaze riveted to the bay.
“I don’t feel much of anything. Regret
that I didn’t realize she was using me, and that’s about it.” He
kicked the sand with the tips of his toes.
Relief spread through Emily, starting
slowly in her chest and extending outward, upward and downward. She
hadn’t wanted to be jealous of Mitch’s past relationship with Loni,
but she had been.
“How do you feel about your husband?
About Stuart?” Mitch asked, keeping his gaze focused on the
bay.
An involuntary shiver rippled over her.
How did she feel about Stuart? She had loved him. She had married
him. And she had carried his child. “I loved Stuart dearly. He was
a wonderful man. But Stuart’s gone. He hasn’t been a part of my
life, except in my memories, for over five years.”
“If I could change things...” Mitch
left the sentence unfinished. He’d already said all there was to
say.
Emily turned to him then, nodding,
telling him silently that she knew what he meant, that she
understood his regrets.
“Why don’t we take a walk?” Emily held
out her hand.
Mitch accepted, clasping her hand in
his. They walked together up the beach, past Mitch’s rental
cottage, then turned around and walked in the opposite direction
until they returned to where their quilt and picnic leftovers lay.
They didn’t talk during their walk, only held hands and
occasionally exchanged a smile or a knowing glance.
“Come on. Sit back down.” Emily dropped
to her knees. “I want to finish my sketch while there’s still some
light.”
“There’s plenty of time for that.”
Mitch grabbed her arms, pulling her onto her feet. He had to do
something to change the somber mood, to bring a smile to Emily’s
face. The past stood between them. Maybe it always would. But
discussing it didn’t do anything but make them both sad. And they’d
both had enough sadness to last a lifetime. “Let’s go for a
swim.”
“No!” Emily squealed as she tried to
escape from Mitch, but when she did, he lifted her into his arms.
Disregarding her giggling protests and flapping limbs, he carried
her into the water.
The soft waves washed over them as
Mitch lowered her to her feet, the water reaching her at hip
level.
Emily struck a light, playful blow to
Mitch’s chest. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”
“What’s the matter? Didn’t you want to
play in the water with me?”
“I wanted to finish my sketch before
the sun sets.”
She started to place her hands on her
hips for emphasis, but when a wave almost toppled her, she caught
Mitch by the shoulders, then slipped her arms around his neck. His
big body supported her as he gripped her waist, pulling her close
enough to feel his erection.
Nuzzling her wet neck with his nose,
Mitch nipped her earlobe. “What are you drawing that’s so
important?”
“Come back to the quilt and I’ll show
you.”
“Later.” He ran his hands downward,
cupping her buttocks as his lips covered hers in a devouring
kiss.
She clung to him as he deepened the
kiss. The waves beat against them, until a fairly large one finally
toppled them over and into the water.
Still holding Emily, Mitch brought them
to the surface quickly. Gulping in air and then coughing, she hit
the water with her hand, sending a shower up into Mitch’s face. He
lifted her, then tossed her into the surf. Swimming beneath the
water, Emily caught Mitch by the ankles and pulled him
under.
They played together like a couple of
kids until they were both tired and breathless. Dragging themselves
out of the ocean, they fell onto the quilt, drenching it as the
water dripped off their wet bodies.
Laughing and panting from their
exertion, they lay down, side by side, staring at each other,
smiling.
The sun rested low on the western
horizon, like a flaming red ball, shooting out orange and purple
sparks across the slate-blue sky of approaching
twilight.
Raising himself on his elbow, Mitch
looked down into Emily’s damp face. Her hair lay plastered to her
neck and shoulders. Thick dark strands of coffee-brown silk. When
he lowered his head to kiss her, she rolled over onto her stomach.
He kissed the top of her head, relishing the sound of her giggling
laughter.
“Behave yourself,” she told him. “I
might be able to finish my sketch if you’ll cooperate.” Emily dried
her hands and arms off on the quilt.
“What do you want me to
do?”
“Just lie still and be
quiet.”
Sitting up, Emily crossed her legs,
then lifted her sketch pad and pencil. She studied Mitch for a
couple of minutes, then began drawing furiously.
“You promised to show me what you’re
drawing,” he said.
“I promised to show you if you’d come
out of the water and back to the quilt with me.”
“We’re out of the water and back on the
quilt.”
“Now we are. But you didn’t come back
when I asked you to.”
Mitch snatched the pad out of her
hands. She gasped, then swatted at his hands. When he held up the
sketch in the fading evening light, she tried to grab it away from
him. Reaching out, he pulled her down and into his arms, her back
to his chest, her hips resting in the vee between his legs. He held
the pad in front of their bodies.
“It’s me. You’re sketching me.” He
stared at the picture, noting the way Emily had drawn him, his face
strong, yet smiling and filled with warmth. Was this the way she
saw him? Dear God, he hoped so. He looked like a happy man, a man
not eaten alive with guilt and regret.
“Is this the way you see me?” he
asked.
“It’s just a rough
sketch.”
She grabbed the pad. He released it.
She turned the pages over and laid the pad on the sand beside the
damp quilt. She still sat in the curve of his legs, her buttocks
positioned against him intimately. He took her shoulders in his
big, strong hands, his grasp infinitely gentle.
“I don’t have the right to love you,
Emily.”
His voice was low, the words almost
lost on the wind, on the warm bay breeze that chilled her moist
body. What was he saying? What was he trying to tell her? That he
loved her? Or that he could never love her?
She tensed beneath his touch, every
muscle in her body tightening, preparing her, protecting her. How
did she respond to his statement? What did he want her to
say?
Mitch felt the heavy tension between
them and heard Emily breathing, deep and labored as if she were
trying to calm herself. He squeezed her shoulders, then lowered his
head to hers, brushing the side of his face against hers, resting
his chin in the curve of her neck and shoulder.
“Since the first day we met, I’ve
wanted you.” He eased his hands downward, caressing her arms. “I
knew that you were too good for the likes of me, but I wanted you
all the same.”
“Mitch?” She tried to turn to face him,
but he slipped his arms around her, trapping her back against his
chest, her hips against his groin.
He kissed her damp hair that clung to
the side of her face. “You’re everything a man could want. But I
don’t deserve you.”
She trembled in his arms, tears forming
a knot in her throat, a heavy weight in her chest. Didn’t he know
how much she loved him? That he was the only man in the world she
wanted, needed?
“Mitch, the past is behind us,” she
said, her voice a strained whisper as she tried valiantly not to
cry. “Neither of us will ever forget what happened, but you’re
going to have to forgive yourself for getting involved with Randy
Styles and for not discovering the truth about him
sooner.”
“I’m working on that. On forgiving
myself. It may take the rest of my life. But having your
forgiveness makes it easier.” Clasping his hands at her waist, he
lifted her slightly, turning her so that he could look into her
eyes, those warm, cinnamonbrown eyes that told him how much she
loved him.
“You know how I feel about you.” She
leaned into him, her expression begging him for a
kiss.
“Do you know how I feel about you?” he
asked.
His question took her by surprise. She
hadn’t expected him to be so blunt, to come right out and ask her
if she understood his feelings for her. The pity. The
guilt.
“I think so. You’ve admitted that you
feel guilty, feel partially responsible for what happened to my
life five years ago. And I know you feel a certain amount of
sympathy, even pity.” Emily glanced down, unable to bear another
moment of his heated stare. “You care about me, too,
but—”
“That’s my problem. Our problem. You
don’t know how I feel about you, and I’m afraid you’d never believe
me if I told you, would you, Emily?”
She pulled away from him. He didn’t try
to stop her when she scooted off the quilt and stood, her back to
him. “You’re confusing love with guilt and pity. You think that
it’s your duty to make me happy, to give me back my life. I don’t
want you out of a sense of obligation. I couldn’t bear it. I
couldn’t....”
She broke into a run, the sand flying
about her feet as she raced down the beach. If he told her he loved
her, would she believe him? Did she dare? How could she ever be
certain?
Mitch jumped to his feet. “Emily!” When
she didn’t reply, didn’t turn, didn’t slow down, he followed her,
running to catch up with her.
She felt him behind her, knew he would
overtake her, but she couldn’t stop. She had to get away—away from
Mitch and the possibility he’d tell her he loved her, away from
herself and the way he made her feel every time he touched
her.
Mitch caught her by the shoulders. She
fought him as if he were an attacker. Placing his leg between her
knees, he toppled her to the ground, their bodies plummeting onto
the sand She struggled against his superior strength until he
finally grabbed her hands, manacling her wrists and planting them
firmly on the ground above her head.
“It won’t work, honey. You can’t escape
this.” His mouth came down on hers with a wild fury, more
aggressive and commanding than he had intended. But dammit all, she
was his. It was time she admitted the truth. No matter what had
come before, no matter how many doubts she had about the sincerity
of his feelings, nothing could change their hunger, their passion,
their desperate need for each other.
Emily tried not to respond, but knew it
was hopeless. Whether Mitch loved her or not, he wanted her. And
heaven help her, she wanted him.
This was what she’d feared. This was
what she’d run from—this uncontrollable desire.
The evening breeze stirred around them,
creating chills and shivers at the same time their kiss ignited a
blazing fire inside them. Tongues danced, teeth nipped, lips mated.
Emily tore at Mitch’s shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed
it on the beach, then hastily unbuttoned Emily’s blouse, baring her
damp, satin bra.
His hands skimmed over her body,
halting briefly to unsnap the front hook of her bra, then delving
between her thighs to cup her intimately. Emily moaned. Her body
tightened around his hand and she lifted herself up to meet the
sensation.
Mitch rose above Emily, lifted her in
his arms and carried her back to the damp quilt. Knocking aside the
tape player and the picnic basket, he laid her on the quilt and
came down over her, covering her body with his own.
After fumbling with the snap and zipper
on her shorts, Mitch managed to take off her shorts and panties at
the same time. He undid his shorts and rearranged his briefs,
freeing himself from their confinement.
Emily clung to him, stringing kisses
across his shoulder, over his chest, teasing his tiny male nipples.
Rising above her, resting on his knees, Mitch looked down at Emily,
then took her breasts in his hands. He surrounded one tight nipple
with his mouth, suckling her fiercely while his fingers delved into
the waiting warmth of her body.
Her breathing quickened. He attacked
her with hot passion, positioning himself between her legs and
taking her in one swift, hard thrust. Lifting her hips off the
quilt, she rose to meet him, clamping her legs about his buttocks,
bringing their bodies closer, intensifying the friction. Her nails
bit into his muscled back as he deepened his lunges.
Everything blended into one timeless
moment of ecstasy. The smell of Gulf waters and sand. The heady,
womanly scent of Emily. The sound of the surf lapping against the
shore. The cry of seagulls overhead. The beating of two hearts in
unison.
Emily closed her eyes, giving herself
over to pure sensation, to the feel of completion rocketing through
her. Capturing her and then releasing her. Flinging her into a
vortex of pleasure that went on and on and on.
Mitch cried out, a male animal in the
throes of fulfillment.
They clung to each other, their bodies
quivering with the aftershocks of release, their fingertips seeking
and finding contact with each other’s bodies. She petted his hairy
chest, fingering the curls. He stroked her hip, cupping her buttock
in his hand.
He pulled her into his arms. They lay
together on the private stretch of beach as the evening sun made a
glorious exit, leaving only colorful fragments of light. With Emily
naked and Mitch partially unclothed, they soon felt the chill of
approaching night.
Together they rose from the quilt and
dressed hurriedly; then gathered up their belongings and, hand in
hand, walked back to Mitch’s cottage. Without saying a word, they
deposited the quilt, tape player, sketch pad and picnic basket on
the kitchen floor, and Mitch led Emily into the shower. She didn’t
hesitate for one second, never giving the scars on her back a
thought.
When daybreak came, Emily lay in
Mitch’s arms, somewhere between sleeping and awakening, Mitch’s
lips at her breast, arousing her senses, beckoning her to respond.
Her eyelids fluttered open and then shut again as she lifted one
hand to touch his face. Releasing her nipple, Mitch looked down at
her, smiling when she opened her eyes.
“Good morning, pretty lady.” He kissed
her on the mouth, quickly, passionately.
Emily stretched, shoving back the light
sheet and blanket that covered her lower body. Closing her eyes,
she sighed as Mitch’s tongue painted a damp trail from her lips to
her breast.
“I’d like every morning for the rest of
my life to begin this way,” he said, then took her nipple between
his teeth, playing with it, teasing her.
Emily squirmed against him, feeling his
arousal against the side of her hip. “You’re insatiable.” She
gasped when he flung his leg over her, mounting her.
“Are you complaining?” he
asked.
Circling his neck with her arms, she
brought his mouth down to hers and whispered against his lips, “I
have no complaints.”
They made love slowly, as if they had
all the time in the world, exploring each other’s bodies at
leisure, tossing and turning on the bed, exchanging the dominant
position again and again.
When Emily climaxed, she cried out her
pleasure, clinging to Mitch as her body shuddered convulsively.
Mitch’s fulfillment followed, his body jerking with release as he
groaned out his satisfaction.
Endless moments later, Mitch braced
himself on one elbow and leaned over Emily. She gazed up into the
face of the man she loved, his ice-blue eyes telling her that he
adored her. But the smile faded from her lips when she noticed his
solemn expression.
“What’s wrong?” She stroked his cheek
with her fingertips.
He grasped her hand, taking it to his
mouth, nibbling on her fingers. “We need to talk. We have to face
what you weren’t ready or willing to face last night.”
She shook her head. “Not now. Not when
everything is so perfect.”
“Everything isn’t perfect, Emily. Not
as long as your distrust stands in our way.”
“My distrust?” Drawing away from him,
she sat up in bed, resting her back against the headboard as she
pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness. “I trust you, Mitch. My
Lord, I love you. I’ve forgiven you for the past. I’ve begged you
to forgive yourself. I’d put my life in your hands.”
Sitting up beside her, Mitch lifted a
lock of dark hair away from her face, draping it behind her ear.
His fingers lingered on her neck, caressing her tenderly. “We have
to talk about it. The problem is not going to go
away.”
“Not now, Mitch. Later, after we know
who’s been harassing me and he’s behind bars. I can’t deal with so
much all at once.”
“Yes now. Not later. We can’t put off
facing the truth. We’re going to discuss it now, while we’re alone
with nothing separating us, not even our clothes. Now, right after
we’ve just made love, when we’re both vulnerable and all our
defenses are lowered.”
“Please—”
“I love you, Emily. I love you and I
want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know that I don’t
have a lot to offer. Not right now. But I can give you all my
love.”
No, don’t say it!
Please, don’t tell me that you love me! She wanted to scream
at him, but it was too late. He’d already spoken the words, made
the declaration—and she didn’t dare let herself believe
him.
The desire to run away overcame her,
but she knew it would be useless. Mitch was right. Sooner or later
they’d have to deal with her doubts. She only wished it could be
later.
“Emily?”
Nodding, she clutched the sheet in her
hand, wadding it into a knot at her throat “You know...” She gulped
in air, her breath catching on a sob. “You understand why I... How
can I ever be certain that you really love me?”
“If you trusted me, you’d believe me.”
He let his hand drift down her neck to her shoulder, to rest there
in a gentle grasp.
“I do trust you. It’s just
that...that...”
“You don’t trust me. You think I’d lie
to you. After what we’ve been through, you think I’d sacrifice
myself to make you happy. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t
it?”
“I know you care about me, that you’d
do anything to make me happy, to atone for the past.” Emily bit
back the tears. She wouldn’t cry, dammit! Not now! “Tell me how I
could ever be sure you truly loved me.”
“There’s only one way.” He pulled her
into his arms. The sheet separating them dropped away, leaving
their naked bodies touching, her breasts against his chest. “You
have to take me on faith. You have to believe what I say is true,
believe that I’d never lie to you.”
Tears burned her throat, the pain in
her chest threatening to cut off her breath. Take
him on faith. Believe that he’d never lie to
you.
Mitch sprang out of bed and hurried
around the room until he found his jeans. Delving inside the back
pocket, he dug out his wallet and held it up in the air like a
trophy.
“I want to show you something,” he
said.
Emily stared at him, her heart racing,
her mind a jumble of wild, confusing thoughts.
He flipped open his wallet, reached
inside and pulled out a dingy piece of pink material. Emily gazed
at the dirty scrap of silk he held between his thumb and
forefinger. He walked back to the bed and sat down beside her, his
hip bumping hers.
He grabbed her wrist. She balled her
hand into a tight fist. Forcing her palm open, Mitch laid the tiny,
grungy fragment in the middle of her hand. “See this?” he asked
her. She nodded. “I’ve been carrying this little piece of pink
satin gown around with me for over five years.”
Every nerve in Emily’s body zinged with
anxious anticipation. Her breath lodged in her chest.
“When I heard what had happened at the
Ocean Breeze Apartments that morning, I rushed over.” Mitch’s hands
trembled.
Emily stared down at the scrap of pink
lying in her palm, and knew on some instinctive level exactly what
he was going to say.
“I was too late, of course, to do
anything but watch,” he said. “Moments after I arrived, a fireman
brought out a woman wearing a pink nightgown. I didn’t get a good
look at her face, but I’ll never forget her dark, singed hair
hanging over the fireman’s shoulder. And the memory of that pink
gown seared into her back has haunted my dreams all these
years.”
Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes. Oh,
dear Lord in heaven, she didn’t think she could bear for him to
tell her more.
“I picked up a piece of her nightgown
off the sidewalk.” He bent her fingers, closing them over the
tattered silk square she held in her hand. “Do I feel guilty? Do I
blame myself? Would I do anything to make it up to you if I
could?”
“Mitch, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t admit that I owe
you, that the collapse of a building my construction firm erected
took your life away from you and now I want to give you a new life
to replace the old?”
“Out of guilt and regret, not out of
love.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. That’s
where you’re going to have to take me on faith. That—” he nodded at
her clutched fist “—is the last secret between us. Now you know
everything, have all the evidence against me.”
Pressing her fist against her cheek,
Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m going to throw
this away. It’s part of the past. You don’t need it
anymore.”
Mitch grabbed her. Her eyelids flew
open. She stared at him. trembling, tears trickling down her
face.
“I love you, Emily. More than I ever
thought it was possible to love anyone. But I can’t make you
believe me.”
“I want to believe you.” She tried to
smile through her tears. Her lips trembled with the useless effort.
“Please believe me.”
“I do, honey. My believing you isn’t
our problem.”
“Will you give me time,
Mitch?”
“If I thought time would change the way
you feel, I’d give you all the time in the world. But if you can’t
take me on faith now, do you honestly think a week or a month or
even a year will make a difference?”
Tell him you believe
him! Take him on faith. You know you want to. He’s offering you
your heart’s desire.
“Are you...I mean, do you want to marry
me?” she asked.
“Hell, yes, I want to marry you. What
do you think I’m talking about here? I want to be your husband. I
want to give you those children you’ve always wanted. Be my wife,
Emily, and I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to
make you happy.”
“Please, Mitch. Right now isn’t the
right time to make such a monumental decision. I can’t think
clearly with you so close to me, so soon after...after...I need
some time away from you to think.”
“All right. Take some time. But please,
pretty lady, don’t break both our hearts.” He kissed her. Softly.
Sweetly. Pleadingly. “Don’t you think that we’ve both suffered
enough?”