A january chill, p.19
A January Chill, page 19
And since he couldn't guarantee anything, he would be wisest to keep his mouth shut.
He really wished he could make things better for her somehow, but without a magic wand tucked in his boot, he figured there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do except listen. And maybe nudge her a little.
"You can talk to your mom," he reminded her. "She's probably sick at heart at the way you cut her off."
Joni hunched one shoulder, a childish gesture, but he ignored it and waited for her to say something.
"Maybe," she said finally. "But what's the point? I'm not going to forgive her. She cheated on my father. With his brother."
"That is a big pill to swallow. But ... didn't you tell me that he had cheated on her?"
"He cheated on her constantly. Maybe because he found out she cheated on him. How would I know? And what difference does it make, anyway?
Two wrongs don't make a right."
"I guess not." He could sense the dead end coming, but he didn't put on the brakes just yet. "But it was a long time ago, Joni. A long time ago. You need to forgive her."
She turned and looked at him from red-rimmed eyes. "A long time ago?
You forget. I just learned about it, Hardy. For me it's right now."
He couldn't deny that. He supposed he wasn't keeping his sights on that fact well enough. It was too easy to slip into a "Witt has always been this way" mode of thinking, because to him Witt had always been this way. But he hadn't always been this way to Joni, and Joni's mother's indiscretion might be more than a quarter century old, but it was new to Joni. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head and returned her attention to the snow outside.
"Don't be sorry. You're being reasonable and I'm not. I hurt too much to be reasonable right now."
"Fair enough." Didn't mean he didn't still want to find some way to ease her pain or make her feel more optimistic about the whole mess.
"You know," she said, "part of me just wants to walk out into that blizzard and disappear."
His heart nearly stopped. "No."
"Oh, I won't. I won't give them the satisfaction." She sighed, and another tear trickled down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Hardy. I wanted to have fun this evening instead of being such a drag. That's all I am anymore, a big drag."
"That's not true. You're having a rough time is all."
"So? Doesn't mean I can't still try to be pleasant. Doesn't mean I have to spend all my time moaning about what's happened."
But even as she spoke the last word, her voice broke, and her tears began to roll with a vengeance. She put her hands to her face. "Oh, God, it hurts so bad. I feel like I've lost everything that matters in life. Witt. My mom... Even the memory of my dad."
Well, it was just too damn bad that she was Witt's daughter, and too damn bad that touching her was dangerous. Rising, he rounded the table and drew her up into his arms, hugging her snugly and letting her cry into his shoulder.
She felt, so good against him that for a few minutes all he could do was swallow and hang on to his selfcontrol. And feel like a beast that it was even a problem when she was so distraught.
It seemed so wrong to be aware of her curves pressed firmly against him, of the fullness of her breasts and the tininess of her waist, when she was weeping. But the desire he was feeling had been thwarted for years by circumstances out of his control By his feelings of guilt.
But now, in these moments, it was a raging monster that refused to be tamed.
But he tamed it finally and found a few words to offer in comfort.
"You haven't lost your dad," he said gently. "No way. Whether he was your biological father or not, he loved you and raised you. He was your dad in every way that counts, and no one can take that away. No one."
That seemed to make her cry harder, and he started to feel truly helpless. Maybe he should just shut his damn yap. Maybe it would be best to just let her cry it out and work her own way through her problems. What the hell did he know, anyway? His life was hardly a sterling example of having it all together.
But holding her felt too good to let go, so he stood there, stroking her hair and feeling her hot tears soak his shirt.
It didn't last all that long. Maybe fifteen minutes. Then she was drying her puffy eyes and mumbling apologies for being a baby.
"Hey," he said, catching her chin in his hand and making her look at him. "It's okay to cry. Always."
She gave a raspy, short laugh. "But not all the time. I feel like I'm drowning in self-pity."
"Maybe you are. So what? You're entitled."
"But you're not required to listen to it."
He shrugged. "I don't mind."
Her eyes met his then. Such a bright, clear, strong blue, like the Colorado sky. Red from crying, so puffy they couldn't open all the way, yet still the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, bar none.
In an instant, the planets halted, the earth stopped revolving around the sun, and the last bit of air was sucked out of the room.
Oh, God, he thought, I knew it was a mistake.
But it was too late now.
Hardy was going to kiss her. There was a look in his eyes right now that was stealing her breath away. Locking her in a web of longing and aching that drove nearly everything else from her mind.
She didn't deserve this. She wasn't entitled to this. Guilt from years past slipped into her mind and slithered along nerve endings, reminding her that Hardy had belonged to Karen.
But it wasn't enough to make her pull away. Not enough to yank her out of the longing that was weighting her limbs with need. Then and now seemed to be merging, fusing her long-ago fantasy with the reality of these moments with Hardy.
She was pressed so closely to him that she could feel his hard angles and firm muscles, could feel his heat . and his growing desire. So close that she felt it when he stiffened infinitesimally, as if he was having second thoughts.
He was going to pull away. Her heart sounded a sad note and began to sink, but she had enough control not to grip his shirt and hold him.
This couldn 't be . this couldn't be. The reminder whispered in her mind, a background chorus to all the needs and yearnings that filled her.
It would be wrong for so many reasons, and he must know it as well as she did. Wisdom told her to step back. Hunger kept her rooted.
A soft breath escaped his lips. His eyes narrowed, then, almost reluctantly, his head lowered.
Their lips touched. Light as the kiss of a snowflake, but hot as the tropical sun. His breath was scented faintly of chips and cola, or maybe it was hers; she didn't know. She only knew that her soul hushed, as if it had been waiting aeons for this moment. This touch.
This kiss.
His lips were like velvet, so soft and warm, and they caressed hers lightly, enthralling her the way no deep, hard kiss could have done.
It was a coaxing, questing kiss, seeking her response but never demanding it. It was like riding a gentle river while knowing all the while that rapids lay ahead.
Her heart began to thud heavily, pumping liquid desire through her, bringing every nerve ending to life, making her sparkle and glow. Oh, she had never imagined that such a light touch could make her feel so much. Or maybe she was wrapped up in a fantasy from long ago, swept away on imaginings rather than reality.
She didn't know, and soon she didn't care, because his arms tightened around her, drawing her closer still in a way that told her how much he wanted her. His kiss deepened, grew firmer, while his tongue tasted her lips, almost tickling, but undeniably sending rockets to her very center.
She wanted him. And suddenly it didn't seem important anymore that this could only bring grief and disappointment. Could only bring anger and make things worse for both of them with Witt.
Why was she even thinking of Witt? He'd disowned her, and what he thought didn't matter anymore at all.
There would be a price for this. She knew it with every cell in her being. There would be a terrible price. But right then she couldn't care about that. This was something she'd been dreaming of for so many long years, and while it could never be more than these moments and this night, she couldn't pass it by.
Her arms lifted, signaling her decision, and wrapped around his waist, feeling muscle and sinew and strength. Hardy was a rock, both physically and emotionally, she thought dreamily. He was a man you could depend on.
His kiss teased her, tormented her, teaching her how to duel with her tongue in a way that drew her mind inexorably to the delights that lay ahead. Yes! The thought was unequivocal.
He shifted against her, and for an instant she feared he was going to leave her, but then his hand closed over her breast, squeezing and cupping gently, causing her head to reel in delight. Through layers of tricot and wool, that touch seemed as intimate as if he had cradled her very soul in his hand.
Unnoticed by either of them, a tear squeezed beneath her eyelid and trickled slowly down her cheek. It was a tear of joy and release, of fulfillment and escape. For a little while the shadows were gone.
Each touch of his hand stoked her desire even more. When she at last felt him tugging her shirt up, she thought she couldn't stand the anticipation. Why was he moving so slowly?
But then, with a twist, he released the clasp of her bra, and his hand, slightly chilly, closed over her warm, bare skin, claiming her breast.
Delighted shivers ran through her, filling her with a heady sense of glee, hunger, joy and need. Emotions tumbled through her as wildly as water through rapids and mingled with physical sensations that were as close as a body could ever come to physically feeling a pure emotion.
His mouth left hers, and both of them gasped for breath. He muttered,
"You don't know..."
Yes, she did know. She remembered all the lonely nights she had filled with dreams of him. Dreams of doing exactly what they were doing now.
Dreams of feeling his skin on hers, hearing his voice husky in her ear, of curling up with him and feeling safe, so safe. In all her life she had never felt quite as safe as she did right this instant, tumbling over a precipice of desire. It was suddenly the easiest thing in the world to fall.
She fell, light as feather down. He tugged the curtains closed with an impatient hand, though no one at all would venture out in the midst of this storm. Then he tugged at her clothes impatiently, and she was glad of his impatience, because at that moment, if he had hesitated or drawn it out too long, she might have had a thought, a qualm, an unwelcome remembrance.
He spared her that. Her clothes fell away, landing somewhere across the room. Even her socks were tugged away, at last leaving her naked for him. Naked and shivering with desire more than cold.
He looked at her, his eyes hot and hungry, his gaze painting her with fire.
"You're beautiful," he said hoarsely. "So beautiful..."
Then, before she could try to respond, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, tucking her beneath the warm covers.
Standing over her, he stripped. He showed no modesty or fear, as if he, like she, was well past such thoughts. His nudity filled her with wonder, seeming as perfect as a statue. And he was offering it all to her.
Her hands reached for him eagerly, drawing him down to her, and when he slipped beneath the covers beside her, she felt such an incredible sense of satisfaction that a long, joyous sigh escaped her.
This was meant. This had to be. And nothing else at all mattered.
Nothing.
Bodies, lips, hands met and melded, striving to learn, to know, to capture, to possess. Untutored though she was, Joni felt as comfortable as if she had been here a million times. Nothing had ever seemed so right.
He kissed her breast, sucking gently, his mouth hot but leaving behind patches that grew shivery cold in moments. She loved the contrast, loved the sensations, loved the intimacy. She loved being with Hardy.
Because not for one minute did she think this was merely a matter of physical sensations. The sensations with other men had never been enough to carry her to this point.
This was all about Hardy, and her hands tried to tell him so as they caressed him and learned how to please him.
His nipples proved to be as sensitive as hers, and she reVeled in playing with them, drawing deep groans from him. When his hand slipped between her legs, touching the aching petals of her flesh, answering her need while fueling it even more, she responded in kind, delighting in his delight.
But all of those things, wondrous though they were, were merely a backdrop for the earthquake taking place in her heart.
This was Hardy. She was with him at last, and she didn't know if she could ever bear to let him go.
Her body accepted him, drawing him in with only the merest twinge of discomfort. He filled her as she had dreamed of being filled, and her soul overflowed. This had always been meant to be. She had been created just for him.
Higher they rose, reaching for the elusive peak, bodies straining together to create the physical replica of all that was in their hearts.
When they crested, they did so together. Then they tumbled down the other side.
Into the abyss.
Reality didn't leave them alone for long. When had it ever? Reality crept back on the tendrils of cold air that whispered through the room, on the tick-tick of the snowy claws that scratched at the window. It came back and slipped into the bed with them.
Between them.
"Joni, I..." Hardy trailed off. His eyes were still closed. His hands on her back seemed to be saying how much he enjoyed her. But his words never said so.
Before he could say what she assumed he was about to, she said it for him, because she didn't want to feel stupid. "We never should have done this."
His eyes opened then, and there was no mistaking the pain in them. It never occurred to her that she had caused that pain.
Instead, she climbed out of the bed and grabbed up her clothes, too wounded now to even feel tears. Moments ago, or so it seemed, he had been deep within her, and nothing had ever felt so right.
At this moment, however, nothing had ever felt so wrong.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her clothes bundled awkwardly in her arms. Then she closed the adjoining door between them.
And locked it.
Karen, she thought bitterly as she threw her clothes into a heap on the bed. Karen. Always Karen. She and her cousin--sister! --had looked somewhat alike. Maybe enough alike that Hardy had thought he was making love to Karen. Maybe he'd slipped into that fantasy, while she'd slipped into hers.
Or maybe he was just feeling guilty. Why the hell not? Because Joni suddenly felt that she had done something truly awful to Karen's memory.
She tried to tell herself that was stupid as she took a hot shower to wash the last of Hardy off her, to erase even his scent. Karen had been dead for so long now. She no longer mattered. Anything Joni did now couldn't hurt Karen. People died, and normal people moved on and forged new relationships. Hardy was entitled to that, and so was she.
But she feared Hardy wasn't doing that. And she feared what Witt would think, too. Because even though he'd disowned her, he wasn't above giving her a piece of his mind.
And the truth was, she really had no desire to wound Witt. None whatever. She loved him.
Even if he didn't love her.
Slowly she sank to the floor of the shower, and as the hot water beat on her head, she cried soundlessly.
Oh, God, what had she done?
Hardy felt as if he'd been hit by a Mack truck. He stared at the closed door between the rooms and heard the snick of the lock turning like a death knell in his heart.
Christ, what had happened? He'd been lying there feeling the most incredible afterglow and had opened his mouth to tell her how wonderful he was feeling when she'd turned on him.
He should have kept his mouth shut. Until the instant that his speech had shattered the silence, she had seemed as content and comfortable as he. He must have surprised her.
But that was still no excuse. No excuse to hop out of bed saying, "We never should have done this."
What had he done wrong? Had he hurt her? Moment by moment he reviewed their lovemaking in his mind, trying to penetrate the hazy glow that lay over it to get to the kernel of what had really been going on.
No, he hadn't hurt her, of that he was sure. Nor did he believe her orgasm had been faked. So what the hell had gotten into her?
He knew they shouldn't have done this. He didn't need her to tell him that it would have been wiser not to take a bite of the apple. God, he knew that. He knew that. There were too many problems, too many memories, too much guilt.
