eorgeanne had a choice between riding a sand bike, driving bumper cars, or inline skating along the Promenade in Seaside. None of the choices thrilled her—in fact, they all sounded like her idea of hell— but since she had to choose or go along with Lexie’s choice of bumper cars, she picked Rollerblading. She hadn’t chosen it because of her ability. The last time she’d tried it, she’d fallen so hard she’d had to blink back the tears stinging her eyes. She’d sat there while little kids zipped past, lights flashing, and her tailbone throbbing so bad it had taken all her strength not to grab her behind with both hands.

Her experience with Rollerblades was so vivid, she’d almost chosen bumper cars and taken her chances with whiplash, but then she’d seen the Promenade. The Prom was a nice expanse of sidewalk stretching along the beach and was bordered on the ocean side with a stone wall about two to three feet high. The benches built into the stone caught her eye immediately, and she’d made her choice.

Now as the ocean breeze picked up the ends of her ponytail, Georgeanne sighed happily. She stretched one arm along the top of the stone bench and crossed one knee over the other; the Rollerblade on her left foot swayed to and fro like the tide of the ocean several hundred feet in the distance. She thought she probably looked a little strange sitting there in her sleeveless white silk blouse that laced up the front, her white and purple gauzy skirt, and her rented Ultra Wheels. But she figured it was better to look weird than get up and fall on her behind.

She was more than content just to sit right where she was and watch John teach Lexie to Rollerblade. At home, Lexie buzzed the neighborhood on her Barbie roller skates, but learning to balance on a row of rubber wheels took practice, and Georgeanne was relieved that there was someone more athletic than herself to help Lexie. She was also a little surprised to discover that instead of feeling deserted, she felt as if she’d been released from hazardous duty.

At first, Lexie’s ankles had wobbled a little, but John positioned her in front of him, took her arms in his hands, and placed both of his Rollerblades on the outsides of hers. Then he pushed off and the two of them began to move. Georgeanne couldn’t hear what he said to Lexie, but she watched her daughter nod and move her feet at the same time as John.

With the added height of the wheels, John looked huge. The back of Lexie’s head barely reached the waistband of his jean shorts where he’d tucked in his “Bad Dog” T-shirt. Lexie, with her neon pink bicycle shorts and pink kitty shirt, looked very small and very dainty skating between her father’s large feet.

Georgeanne watched them skate away, then she turned her gaze to the tourists who walked the Promenade. A young couple strode past, pushing a two-seated stroller, and Georgeanne wondered, as she often did, what it would be like to have a husband, to have a typical family, and even though she did well on her own, to have a man to share half the worry.

She thought of Charles and felt guilty. She’d told him of her and Lexie’s plans to vacation at Cannon Beach, but she’d left out one important detail. She’d left out John. Charles had even called the night before she’d left to wish her a safe trip. She could have told him then, but she hadn’t. She’d have to tell him sometime. He wouldn’t like it, and she couldn’t blame him.

A flock of seagulls squawked above her, drawing her attention from her problems with Charles to several children tossing bread crusts over the Promenade wall toward the beach. Georgeanne watched the birds and the people for a while before she spotted John and Lexie. John skated backward toward her, and she let her gaze slowly slip up his muscular calves, over the backs of his knees and hard thighs, to the wallet making a bulge in his back pocket. Then he crossed one foot behind the other and was suddenly skating forward, beside Lexie. Georgeanne looked at her daughter and laughed. Lexie’s brows were lowered and her face pinched as she concentrated on what John was telling her. The two of them slowly wheeled past and John glanced at Georgeanne. His brows lowered when he saw her, and Georgeanne was struck by how much he and Lexie resembled each other. She’d always thought Lexie looked more like John than herself, but with both of them scowling, the similarities were striking.

“I thought you were going to practice around here,” he reminded her.

That’s what she’d told him, and he’d believed her. “Oh, I did,” she lied.

“Then come on.” He motioned with his head.

“I need to practice a little more. Y’all go on without me.”

Lexie raised her gaze from her feet. “Look, Mommy, I’m good now.”

“Yes, I see that.” As soon as they wheeled past, Georgeanne resumed her people watching once more. She hoped when John and Lexie returned next time, they would have grown tired of skating and the three of them could retire their Rollerblades and get serious in the gift shops lining Broadway.

But her hopes were dashed when Lexie boldly rolled past as if she’d been born with wheels on her feet.

“Don’t go too far now,” John called after Lexie, and took a seat by Georgeanne on the stone bench. “She’s pretty good for a kid her age,” he said, then he smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

“She has always picked things up quickly. She walked a week before she turned nine months old.”

He looked down at his feet. “I think I did, too.”

“Really? I worried that she’d become bowlegged from walking so early, but there was no way, short of hog-tying, that I could stop her. Besides, Mae said all that bowlegged stuff is an old wives’ tale anyway.”

They were silent for a moment while both of them watched their daughter. She fell onto her behind, picked herself up, and was off again.

“Wow, that’s a first,” she said, surprised that Lexie didn’t skate toward her with big fat tears in her eyes.

“What?”

“She isn’t howling and demanding Band-Aids.”

“She told me she was going to be a big girl today.”

“Hmm.” Georgeanne’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. Perhaps Mae was right. Perhaps Lexie was more drama queen than Georgeanne realized.

John nudged her bare arm with his elbow. “You ready?”

“For what?” she asked, although she had a real bad feeling she knew the answer.

“To skate.”

She uncrossed her legs and turned toward him on the bench. Through the thin fabric of her skirt, her knee brushed his. “John, I’ll be real honest with you. I hate skating.”

“Then why did you pick it?”

“Because of this bench. I thought I could just sit here and watch.”

He stood and held out his hand. “Come on.”

Her gaze traveled from his open palm and up his arm. She looked into his face and shook her head.

He responded by making chicken sounds.

“That’s so juvenile.” Georgeanne rolled her eyes. “You can coat me with secret herbs and spices and serve me in a bucket, but I’m not skating.”

John laughed and creases appeared in the corners of his blue eyes. “Since I promised to be on my best behavior, I won’t comment on how I’d like to see you served.”

“Thank you.”

“Come on, Georgie, I’ll help you.”

“I need more help than you can provide.”

“Five minutes. In five minutes you’ll be skating like a pro.”

“No, thanks.”

“You can’t just sit here, Georgie.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll get bored.” Then he shrugged and said, “And because Lexie will worry about you.”

“Lexie won’t worry about me.”

“Sure she will. She told me she didn’t want you to sit here all by yourself.”

He was lying. Like any six-year-old, Lexie was basically self-centered and took her mother for granted. “After five minutes you’ll leave and let me hold down the bench?” she asked, compromising so he’d leave her alone.

“I promise, and I promise that I won’t let you fall either.”

Georgeanne sighed with resignation, placing one hand in his palm and the other on the stone wall. “I’m not very athletic,” she warned him as she carefully stood.

“Well, your other talents make up for it.”

She was about to ask him what he meant, but he moved behind her and placed his strong hands on her hips.

“Outside of a good pair of skates,” he said close to her left ear, “the most important thing is balance.”

Georgeanne felt his breath on the side of her neck and became so flustered her skin tingled. “Where do I put my hands?” she asked.

He took so long to answer she didn’t think he was going to. Then just when she opened her mouth to repeat her question, he said, “Wherever you want.”

She balled her fingers into fists and held them down at her sides.

“You need to relax,” he said as they slowly rolled down the Prom. “You’re like a totem pole on wheels.”

“I can’t help it.” Her back collided with his chest, and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Sure you can. First off, you need to bend your knees a little bit and balance your weight over your feet. Then push out with your right foot.”

“Isn’t the five minutes up yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll fall.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

Georgeanne took one quick glance down the Promenade, spotted Lexie a short distance away, then looked down at her skates. “Are you sure?” she asked one last time.

“Of course. I do this for a living. Remember?”

“Okay.” Carefully she bent her knees slightly.

“Good. Now give a little push,” he instructed, but when she did, her feet began to slide out from under her. John wrapped one forearm around her middle and his other hand grabbed her and kept her from falling. She found herself pressed tightly against his chest, her breath frozen in her lungs. She wondered if he knew what he’d grabbed.

There wasn’t a doubt that John knew. If he’d been blind, he would have known he’d grabbed one of Georgeanne’s big, soft breasts. In a split second his battered control shattered completely. Up until now, he’d done reasonably well at governing his body’s reaction to her. Now, for the first time since he’d seen her standing on his deck yesterday morning, his control completely deserted him.

“Are you all right?” he managed, and carefully slid his hand from her breast.

“Yes.”

He’d told himself that being around Georgeanne would not pose a problem. That he could handle having her stay with him for five days. He’d been wrong. He should have left her sitting on the bench. “I didn’t mean to grab you by your... your, ahh...” Her behind was pressed into his groin, and for one unguarded moment, lust rolled through him like a ball of fire. He lowered his face to the side of her head. Holy shit, he thought, wondering if the side of her neck would taste as good as it looked. John closed his eyes and indulged a fantasy. He inhaled the scent of her hair.

“I think the five minutes are up now.”

Sanity returned and he moved his hands to her waist and put several inches between them. He tried to ignore the desire twisting his gut. He told himself that getting sexually involved with Georgeanne was not a good idea. Too bad his body wasn’t listening.

Since he’d seen her on the beach yesterday in that little halter top and shorts, he’d had to remind himself several times to ignore her long legs and deep cleavage. Even though he’d never thought he would have to, he’d had to remind himself of who she was and what she’d done. But after last night, it didn’t seem to matter any longer.

Last night he’d seen behind the beautiful face and the centerfold body. He’d seen the pain she’d tried to hide with her laughter and smiles. She’d told him of table settings and silver patterns and dyslexia and of growing up thinking she was retarded and feeling lost. She’d said it all as if it didn’t matter. But it did. To her and to him.

Last night he’d looked past the gorgeous eyes and the big breasts, and he’d seen a woman who deserved his respect. She was the mother of his child. She was also the star of his wild fantasies and erotic dreams.

“I’ll help you back to the bench,” he said, and moved them toward the stone wall. He told himself to think of her as his best friend’s little sister, but thinking of her as his best friend’s little sister didn’t work. He decided to think of her as his sister, but a few hours later, after hitting gift shops and arcades, he gave up thinking of her as anyone’s sister. It just didn’t work.

Instead, he concentrated on his daughter. Lexie and her constant chatter provided the distraction he needed. She was like a little bucket of cold water, and all of her questions gave him the respite he needed from his thoughts of Georgeanne draped across his bed.

When he looked into Lexie’s eyes, he saw her excitement and innocence, and he was amazed that he’d helped create such a perfect little person. When he picked her up and put her on his shoulders, or held her hand, his heart thumped hard in his chest. And when she laughed, he knew that everything was worth it. Having her with him was well worth the hell of wanting her mother.

During the ride back to his house, he kept himself distracted with the sound of Lexie’s little voice raised in fervent song. He patiently listened to the same silly jokes she’d told him two weeks ago, and when they got back home, she repaid him by jumping in the bathtub. He’d listened to her singing, laughed at the jokes, and his little distraction deserted him for a tub full of water and a Skipper doll.

John grabbed a copy of The Hockey News and sat down at the dining room table. His eyes scanned Mike Brophy’s column, but he didn’t give it his full attention. Georgeanne stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables. Her hair was down and her feet were bare. He turned to a three-page article featuring Mario Lemieux. He liked Mario. He respected him, but at the moment he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the chop-chop-chop of Georgeanne’s knife.

Finally he gave up and raised his gaze from the picture of Lemieux getting drilled into the nickel seats. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, laid down the knife, then turned. “I thought I’d make us a nice salad to go with our lobster tails.”

He closed the magazine and stood. “I don’t want a nice salad.”

“Oh, then what do you want?”

He looked from her green eyes to her mouth. Something real dirty, he thought. She’d put some pink glossy stuff on her lips and outlined them in a darker shade. He dropped his gaze to her throat, her breasts, and then down to her feet. John had never considered feet sexy. He’d never really thought of them much, but the thin gold ring she wore around her third toe did things to his insides. She reminded him of a harem girl.

“John?”

He walked toward her and looked back up into her face. A harem girl with tilty green eyes and a voluptuous mouth asking him what he wanted. After the day in his houseboat, he knew better than to kiss her.

“What do you want?”

To hell with it, he thought as he stopped directly in front of her. Just one kiss. He could stop. He’d stopped before, and with Lexie a room away in the tub playing with her Barbies, things couldn’t go too far. Georgeanne wasn’t his buddy’s sister, or his sister, or Sister Mary Theresa either.

John slid his knuckles along her jaw. “I’ll show you what I want,” he said, and watched her eyes widen as he slowly lowered his head. His mouth brushed against hers, giving her time to pull away. “I want this.”

Her lips parted on a deep, shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered closed. She was soft and sweet and her lipstick tasted like cherries. He wanted her. He wanted to burn. Plowing his fingers into the side of her hair, he tilted her head and dove into a soul-deep kiss. The kiss was reckless and wild. He fed off her mouth, off her desire and his. He felt her hands on him, on his shoulder, his neck, and the back of his head, holding him to her as she lightly sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth. His craving for her churned deep in the pit of his stomach. He ached for more and reached for the bow holding her blouse closed. He yanked and pulled the material wide across her chest, then he drew back, away from her moist, hot mouth. Her beautiful eyes were going all sleepy with passion and her lips were wet and puffy from their kiss. He slid his gaze down her throat to her breasts. Her blouse lay open, the white lacing crisscrossing her deep cleavage. He knew he was dangerously close to the point of no return. Close, but not quite there yet. He had a little more maneuvering room before he was over the edge.

He cupped her big breasts in his palms and lowered his face to her cleavage. Her skin was warm and smelled powdery, and he felt her swift intake of breath as he kissed the scalloped border of her satin bra. He sucked air into his lungs and closed his eyes, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her. Hot, sweaty things. Things he remembered doing to her before. He slid the tip of his tongue across her soft flesh and promised himself that he’d stop when he came up for air.

“John, we have to stop now,” she gasped, but she didn’t move away, nor did she move her hands from the sides of his head.

He knew she was right; even if it weren’t for their child in the next room, continuing any further was asinine. And while in his lifetime John had occasionally been an ass, he’d never been a stupid ass. Not for the past several years anyway.

He kissed the slope of her right breast, then with his body aching to continue, urging him to push her to the floor and give her nine inches of good wood, he drew back. When he gazed into her face, he came very close to giving in to his physical hunger. She looked a little stunned, but mostly she looked like a woman who wanted to spend the rest of the evening naked.

“Cryin‘ all night,” she whispered, and reached for the edges of her blouse, pulling them together.

With that honey-sweet accent spilling from her mouth, she reminded him of the girl he’d picked up seven years ago. He was reminded of how she’d looked wrapped up in his sheets. “I guess you like me more than a bad hair day,” he said.

She looked down and tied the bow. “I have to check on Lexie,” she said, and practically ran from the kitchen.

He watched her go. His skin felt tight, and he was hard enough to pound nails. Sexual frustration clawed at his gut and he figured he had three choices. He could hunt her down and wrestle her out of her clothes, he could take care of it himself, or he could work out his frustration in the weight room. He chose the third and healthiest option.

It took him thirty minutes on the treadmill before he’d cleared his head of her, the taste of her skin and the feel of her breasts in his palms. He did another thirty minutes on the stationary bike, then stopped to work on his strength training.

At the age of thirty-five, John figured he only had a couple more years before he retired from hockey. He wanted to make those remaining years his best, and he had to work harder than ever.

By hockey standards, he was old. He was a veteran, which meant he had to play better than he had at twenty-five or face speculation that he was too old and too slow for the game. Sportswriters and front-office management wondered about all veterans. They wondered about Gretzky, Messier, and Hull. And they wondered about Kowalsky, too. If he had a bad night, if his hits were too soft, if his shots too wide, sports-writers would openly question if he was worth his big contract. They hadn’t wondered when he’d been in his twenties, but they did now.

Perhaps some of the things they said about him were true. Maybe he was a few seconds slower, but he more than made up for it in pure physical strength. He’d understood years ago that if he wanted to survive, he would have to adapt and adjust. He still played a fairly physical game, but he played smarter now, using his other skills as well.

He’d survived last season with only minor injuries. Now, with only a few weeks before training camp, he was in the best physical condition of his life. He was healthy and fit and ready to shake out the rink rust.

He was ready for the Stanley Cup.

John worked on his legs until his muscles burned, then he did two hundred fifty stomach crunches and jumped in the shower. He changed into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt before returning upstairs.

When he walked out onto the deck, he found Georgeanne and Lexie sitting together on the same chaise, watching the tide. Neither John nor Georgeanne spoke as he lit the grill, both obviously willing to let Lexie fill the strained silence. During dinner, Georgeanne hardly looked in his direction, and afterward, she jumped up to do the dishes. Since she seemed so eager to get away from him, he let her.

“Do you gots any games, John?” Lexie asked, holding her chin in her hands. Her hair had been braided down the back, and she wore a little purple nightgown. “Like Candy Land or somethin‘?”

“No.”

“Cards?”

“I might.”

“Do you want to play slapjack?”

Slapjack sounded like a good diversion. “Sure.” He stood and went in search of a deck of cards, but he couldn’t find any. “I guess I don’t have any cards,” he told a disappointed Lexie.

“Oh. Do you want to play Barbies then?”

He’d rather sever his left nut.

“Lexie,” Georgeanne said from the doorway of the kitchen where she stood drying her hands with a towel. “I don’t think John wants to play Barbies.”

“Please,” Lexie begged him. “I’ll let you pick out the best clothes.”

He looked into her little face with her big blue eyes and pink cheeks and he heard himself say, “Okay, but I get to be Ken.”

Lexie jumped off her chair and ran from the room. “Don’t got no Ken ‘cause his legs broke off,” she said over her shoulder.

He glanced at Georgeanne, who stood there with a pitying look in her eyes while shaking her head. At least she wasn’t avoiding him anymore.

“Are you going to play?” he asked, figuring that with Georgeanne playing, too, he could quit after a short while.

She laughed silently and walked toward the couch. “No way. You get first pick of all the good clothes.”

“You can have first pick,” he promised.

“Sorry, big boy.” She picked up a magazine and sat down. “You’re on your own.”

Lexie came back into the room loaded down with toys, and John had a bad feeling he was stuck for a while.

“You can be Jewel Hair Barbie,” Lexie said as she tossed him a naked doll, then she opened her arms and pastel plastic furnishings fell to the floor.

He moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, then he picked up the doll and quickly looked her over. As a kid, he would have given just about anything to touch a naked Barbie, but he’d never been lucky enough to get within ogling distance. Now that he was afforded a good look at her, he discovered she had a scrawny ass and her knees made weird crunching sounds.

Resigned to his fate, he sat on the floor and searched through a pile of clothes. He chose a leopard-print leotard with matching leggings. “Do I get a matching handbag?” he asked Lexie, who was busy setting up the beauty parlor.

“No, but you gots some boots.” She dug through her stuff, then handed them to him.

He looked them over. “Just what every well-dressed woman needs, a pair of hooker boots.”

“What’s hooker boots?”

“Never mind,” Georgeanne said from her position behind the magazine.

Playing with dolls was a new experience for John. He didn’t have a sister or any close female relations his age. As a kid, he’d played with action figures, but mostly he’d just played hockey. He pulled the leotard up over Barbie’s hard plastic breasts, then reached for the leggings. As he dressed the doll he realized several thing. First, getting a pair of leggings up rubber legs was a real bitch, and second, if Barbie were real, she wouldn’t be the type of woman he’d want to help dress or undress. She was skinny and hard and her feet were pointed. He realized something else, too. “Ahh, Georgeanne?”

“Hmm?”

He turned to look at her. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

She lowered the magazine a fraction and her big green eyes peered at him over the top. “What?”

“This,” he said, and pointed to the beauty parlor. “Something like this could seriously jeopardize my reputation as a badass. Oh, sorry,” he corrected himself before either of the two females had a chance. “Something like this could make my life hell.”

Her devious laughter filled the space between them and he couldn’t help but laugh, too. He imagined that he looked real stupid sitting there trying to shove boots on a Barbie doll. Then abruptly Georgeanne’s laughter died and she tossed the magazine on the end table. “I’m taking a shower,” she said as she stood.

“Do you want your perm now?” Lexie asked.

John watched the sway of Georgeanne’s hips as she walked from the room. “Do I have to get a perm?” he asked, turning his attention to his daughter.

“Yep.”

John hopped his hooker-booted Barbie over to the pink salon chair. He didn’t know much about beauty parlors, but he’d had a girlfriend or two who had spent their time and his money in them. “Could you do my nails while I’m here?” he asked, then ordered a bikini wax and an apricot facial.

Lexie laughed and told him he was funny, and suddenly playing Barbies wasn’t so bad.

* * *

Lexie lasted until ten o’clock. Exhausted, she insisted that John carry her to bed. By subjecting himself to the Barbie Beauty Parlor, he had scored serious points with his daughter.

At any other time, Georgeanne might have felt hurt by Lexie’s defection, but tonight she had other issues on her mind. Other troubles. Big troubles. After that kiss in the kitchen, John had not only moved past bad hair day, but he’d shot past eyebrow tweezing, too. Then if that hadn’t been enough, he’d sat down on the floor and played dolls with a six-year-old girl. At first he’d looked funny. A big, muscular man with big hands worrying about a matching handbag and plastic boots. A macho hockey player worrying about his reputation with the guys. Then suddenly he hadn’t looked funny at all. He’d looked like he belonged on the floor, shoving leggings on a Barbie. He’d looked like a father, and she was the mother, and suddenly they looked like a real family. Only they weren’t. And as they’d looked at each other and laughed, she’d felt a little ache in her heart.

And there was nothing funny about that. Nothing at all, she thought as she walked out onto the deck. She could barely see the ocean waves, but she could hear them. The temperature had dropped and she was glad she’d changed into a blue waffle-knit sweater and a denim skirt. Her toes were a little cold, and she wished she’d remembered her shoes. She wrapped her arms around her and looked up at the night sky. She’d never been good at astronomy, but she loved to look at the stars.

She heard the door behind her open and close, then she felt a blanket drape across her shoulders. “Thank you,” she uttered, and wrapped the hand-woven blanket more securely.

“You’re welcome. I think Lexie was out before she hit the sheets,” John said as he came to stand beside her at the rail.

“She usually is. I’ve always considered it a blessing. I love Lexie, but I love it when she’s asleep.” She shook her head. “That sounds bad.”

He chuckled softly. “No, it doesn’t. I can see how she can wear a person out. I have a new respect for parents.”

She glanced up at his profile as he stared out at the ocean. Light from the house illuminated oblong patches of the wooden deck and threw shadows across his face. He wore a navy blue Gore-Tex jacket, and the salty breeze played with the contrasting green stand-up collar.

“What were you like as a child?” she asked, curious. Lexie and she were not as much alike as everyone believed.

“Fairly hyper. I think I must have subtracted ten or so years from my grandfather’s life.”

She turned toward him. “Last night you mentioned Ernie and your mother. What about your father?”

John shrugged. “I don’t remember him. He died in a car accident when I was five. My mother worked two jobs, so mostly I was raised by my grandmother and grandfather. My grandma Dorothy died when I was about twenty-three.”

“Then I guess we have something in common. Both of us were brought up by grandmothers.”

He looked across his shoulder at her; the light from the house illuminated his profile. “What about your mother?”

Years ago she’d lied about her past, built it up, made it seem pretty. He obviously didn’t remember. Now she was comfortable with who she was and didn’t feel she needed to lie. “My mother didn’t want me.”

“Not want you?” His brows lowered. “Why?”

She shrugged and turned to look out at the black night and the even blacker silhouette of Haystack Rock. “She wasn’t married and I guess...” She paused, then said, “The truth is, I don’t really know. I found out only last year from my aunt that she tried to have an abortion, but my grandmother stopped her. When I was born, my grandmother took me home from the hospital. I don’t think my mother even looked at me before she left town.”

“Are you serious?” He sounded incredulous.

“Of course.” Georgeanne hugged herself tighter. “I was always so sure she’d come back, and I used to try to be such a good little girl so she would want me. But she never came back. She never even called.” She shrugged again and rubbed her arms. “My grandmother tried to make up for it, though. Clarissa June loved me and took as good a care of me as she could. That meant getting me properly prepared to become someone’s wife. She wanted to see me married before she died, and toward the end of her life, she became very diligent about finding me a husband. It got so bad that I wouldn’t even go to the Piggly Wiggly with her.” Georgeanne smiled at the memory. “She used to try to set me up with everyone from the checkers to the produce manager. But she secretly had her heart set on the butcher, Cletus J. Krebs. Clarissa had been raised on a pig farm and was naturally partial to a good cut of pork. When she found out he was married, she was understandably crushed.” She expected a laugh out of him but didn’t even get a chuckle.

“What about your father?”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“No one ever told you?”

“No one besides my mother ever knew, and she wouldn’t say. When I was a little girl, sometimes I thought...” She stopped and shook her head, embarrassed. “Never mind,” she said, and buried her nose in the blanket.

“What did you think?” he asked.

She looked up at him and responded to the gentle tone in his voice. “It’s silly, but I always thought that if he’d known, he would have loved me because I always tried to be so good.”

“That’s not silly. I’m sure if he’d known about you, he would have loved you very much.”

“I don’t think so.” In her experience, the men she wanted most to love her couldn’t. John was an excellent example of that. She turned her head and gazed out at the ocean. “He wouldn’t have cared, but it’s very nice of you to say so.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sure it’s the truth.”

She was just as sure it wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. She’d given up on fantasies years ago.

The breeze ruffled their hair and silence stretched between them as they looked out at black and silver waves. Then John spoke, barely above the wind. “You break my heart, you know.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and turned to face her. “We need to talk about what happened in the kitchen earlier.”

Georgeanne was stunned by his admission, and she didn’t particularly want to talk about their kiss. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her, or why she’d responded as if he’d sucked out her will to say no. Her feet were cold now, and she thought it was a good time to retreat and get her thoughts together.

“I’m obviously very attracted to you.”

She decided she could stay a bit longer and hear him out.

“I know I’ve told you that I was immune to you, and that I find you completely resistible. Well, I lied about that. You’re beautiful and soft and if things between us were different, I’d give up a lung to make love to you. But they’re not, so if you catch me looking at you like I’m about to pounce, I want you to know that I won’t. I’m thirty-five and I can control myself. I don’t want you to worry that I’ll try anything again.”

No one had ever offered to give up a body organ to be with her.

“I want to assure you that I won’t kiss you or touch you or try to jump your bones. I think we can both agree that sex between us would be a mistake.”

Even though she agreed, she felt a little disappointed that he could control himself. “You’re right, of course.”

“It would ruin what progress we’ve made toward a workable relationship.”

“True.”

He turned and looked at her. “If we ignore it, it will go away.” His gaze traveled to her hair, then across her face.

“Do you think so?”

A frown settled between his brows and he slowly shook his head. “No, I’m totally full of shit,” he said as he pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped her cheeks in his warm palms. His thumb brushed her chilled skin and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers. “I’m a fairly selfish guy and I want you,” he said, his voice lowered. “I want to kiss you and touch you and”—he paused and she saw the smile in his eyes— “jump your gorgeous bones. Even though I’m thirty-five, I find it impossible to control myself with you. Wanting you has taken over, and I think about making love to you all the time. Did you know that?”

He surrounded her, took all of her air, and sucked out her depleted resistance. Unable to speak, she shook her head.

“I had a real smutty dream about you last night. It was wild. I did things to you that we won’t even talk about, because if I told you, it would get me in trouble.”

He dreamed about me? She tried to think of something clever and provocative but couldn’t. Her remaining capacity for rational thought deserted her about the time he mentioned jumping her gorgeous bones. She’d always thought her bones were clumsy and unattractive.

“So I’m counting on you to be sensible. I’m counting on you to tell me no.” He brushed his mouth against hers and said, “Tell me no and I’ll leave you alone.”

He was too close, and too handsome, and she wanted him too much to be sensible. She wanted to crawl inside his skin, and she didn’t even consider saying no. Her hands released the blanket and it fell from her shoulders to pool at her feet. She grasped the open lapels of his jacket and held on. The tip of her tongue lightly touched the seam of his lips and he opened his mouth to her. The kiss they’d shared earlier had started out slow but had reached the flash point within seconds. This kiss lingered on their lips. Their mouths opened and their tongues lightly touched. They had all night and neither was in a hurry.

Years ago, she’d known how to please a man. The skills she’d perfected to an art form lay buried somewhere deep within her. She didn’t know if she still knew how to tease, how to drive a man crazy. She moved her hands to the waistband of his pants and slowly slid her palms beneath his jacket and up his warm abdomen to his chest. Beneath her touch, his hard muscles tightened, and his mouth pressed deeper into hers, creating a soft suction. Her tongue teased him, and she felt the heavy beating of his heart. He moved one of his hands to her hips and pulled her closer against him.

Against her lower stomach, she felt him swell. He was long and hard. Passion and feminine satisfaction mingled and shot threw her, settling in the apex of her thighs. She lightly brushed against him and her passion twisted into a hot coil. His grasp on her hip tightened, then he pulled away from her lips.

“You were good seven years ago,” he said as the night breeze stirred the short hair on the side of his head. “I have a feeling you’ve gotten better.”

Georgeanne could have told him that it wasn’t because of practice. In fact, she was so out of practice that she didn’t have a proper sultry response. Without the distraction of his sensual mouth, and the sound of his shameless words filling her head, she felt the crisp wind slicing through her sweater and she shivered.

“Let’s go,” he said, and reached for her hand. He pulled her against his side, and together they walked into the house, shutting the door behind them. John kissed her softly on the lips, then he shrugged out of his jacket. “Are you still cold?” he asked as he threw the jacket on the couch.

The hairs on Georgeanne’s arms tingled, but not from the cold. “I’m okay,” she said as she rubbed her arms through her sweater.

“How about a fire anyway?”

She didn’t want to wait that long to feel his lips against hers, but she didn’t want to appear love-starved either. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “Oh, I think I can manage,” he said, walked over to the blue and white tile mantel, and flipped a switch. Orange flame shot from the gas jets and lapped at the fake logs.

Georgeanne’s smile matched his. “I think that’s cheating.”

“Only if I’d been a Boy Scout, and I wasn’t.”

“I should have guessed.” She turned to look out the wall of windows but couldn’t see past her own reflection. She felt a moment of panic as she hurriedly tried to remember if she wore satin underwear or if she’d changed into ordinary white cotton.

“What?” he asked as he came to stand behind her. “That I wasn’t a Boy Scout?” He reached for her and pulled her back against his chest. “Or that I have a fake fire?”

Georgeanne looked at his wavy reflection. She stared into his gorgeous face, and she no longer cared if her panties were Hanes or Victoria’s Secret. She arched her back a little and pressed her bottom into his groin. “Is your fire fake, John?”

He sucked in his breath and his chuckle was a little strained when he said, “If you’re a good girl, I’ll show it to you later.” He kissed the crown of her head, then grasped the bottom of her sweater. “But for now, you show me.” He pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Her first instinct was to raise her hands to shield her breasts from his view. Instead, she kept them at her sides and stood before him in her denim skirt and her blue stretch satin bra. His fingers skimmed across her stomach, then he cupped both heavy breasts in his strong hands.

“You’re beautiful,” he said as his thumbs brushed across the satin covering her nipples. “So beautiful I can hardly breathe.”

Georgeanne knew the feeling. She felt as if the breath were pulled from her lungs as she watched his hands lift her breasts. She was unable to look away as he unhooked her bra and slowly pushed the straps from her shoulders. The blue satin slid down the slopes of her breasts, shimmered across her nipples, then fell down her arms to the floor. Suddenly embarrassed, Georgeanne tried to turn to face him, to press herself into his chest and shield herself from his hot gaze. But he moved his hands to her waist and held her‘ where she was.

“Someone might see us,” she said.

“No one is out there.” He lightly brushed the tips of his fingers across the tips of her breasts.

Her breathing became shallow. “There might be.”

“We’re not beach level. We’re up too high.” She watched as he softly pinched her puckered nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and suddenly she didn’t care anymore. A busload of Shriners could have paraded across the deck, and she wouldn’t have cared. She arched her back and raised her arms. Her hands cupped the back of his head and she brought his lips down to hers. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and gave him a hot, greedy kiss. He groaned deep within his chest as he played with her breasts. He lifted and squeezed, then moved his hands to the button at her waist. Her skirt and blue satiny underwear were pushed down her hips and thighs and fell to her feet. She stepped out of them and kicked them aside, then she was naked, her bare bottom pressed against the zipper of his jeans. He was completely dressed while she was completely naked, and the feel of worn denim against her skin was extremely erotic. He tilted his hips and pressed his erection into her behind as his mouth trailed hot little kisses down the side of her throat. He lightly bit her shoulder, then sucked her skin into his mouth.

Georgeanne turned her gaze to the window, and through the blurred glass she watched his big hands slip across her body. He caressed her breasts, her stomach, and her hips. He placed one of his feet between hers and pushed them farther apart. Then he slid his hand to her parted thighs, and he fondled her gently. She was slick where his fingers stroked, and a sharp ache radiated from his touch. Her insides melted, pooling deep and low in her pelvis. His hands, his mouth, his hot gaze. She looked into the reflection of her own face and did not recognize the woman staring back at her. The woman in the window looked drugged. She heard herself moan, and she feared that if she didn’t stop him, she’d reach her peak alone. She didn’t want that. She wanted him with her.

She let herself savor the pleasure of his hands for a few more wonderful seconds, then she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him hungrily as she slid her bare knee up the outside of his thigh. His fingers traced a sensual path down her spine, then he grabbed her behind and lifted her onto her toes, grinding his pelvis into hers. She moved her mouth to the side of his throat and tasted his skin. He groaned and she slid back down his body to stand in front of him. Her hands drifted down his stomach to the end of his T-shirt, and she pulled the stretchy cotton from the waistband of his pants.

John raised one arm over his head, reached behind his back, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Georgeanne lowered her gaze from his passion-filled blue eyes to the short, dark curls covering his big, muscular chest. The tips of her breasts touched him a few inches below his flat brown nipples. A trail of fine hair ran down his chest, between her plump cleavage, to his waistband.

“Look at you,” he said barely above a whisper. His voice had gone all husky with lust. “You’re like the best present I’ve ever had, like every Christmas all wrapped up in one amazing package.”

Georgeanne pulled at his button fly until it lay open. “Have you been a good boy?” she asked as she slipped her hands inside his jeans.

He sucked in a quick breath. “God, yes.”

She snagged the elastic waistband of his briefs and pulled them out and away from his flat belly. “In that case,” she cooed, and ran one finger up his long, thick shaft, “how do you want to play? Naughty or nice?”

His breath whooshed from his lungs as he stepped on the heels of his cross-trainers and kicked them away. “I don’t know how to play nice, and I’ve spent too many years in the sin bin to change now.”

“Naughty then?” She pushed down his jeans and briefs, then ran her hands up his bare thighs. His muscles turned hard beneath her touch, and she delighted in her effect on him.

“Oh, yeah.” His voice was strained as he stepped out of his clothes. He retrieved his wallet out of his pants and tossed it on a table at the end of the couch. Then he stood completely naked in front of her, a tall, solid athlete, perfectly toned from years of training. There was nothing soft about him; his physical profession showed on his powerful body.

She inched close to him, and the voluptuous head of his hot penis touched her navel. Her hands slid up his abdomen, and when she looked up into his hooded gaze, she realized that she hadn’t forgotten how to please a man. She hadn’t forgotten how to please this man. Seven years ago he’d shown her how to drive him crazy, and she hadn’t forgotten. She leaned forward and touched the tip of her tongue to his flat nipple. Beneath her lips it puckered and turned as hard as leather. His hands moved to the back of her head, and he knotted his fingers in her hair.

“You’re killing me. I’m dying.”

Georgeanne rose onto the balls of her feet, letting the tips of her breasts graze his chest. “Then may God have mercy on your soul,” she whispered as she sucked his earlobe and rubbed against his warm body. She delivered little nibbling bites to his neck and shoulder, then trailed a string of kisses down the column of fine hair trailing to his stomach and lower abdomen. She knelt in front of him and kissed and caressed and fondled until he was breathing hard.

“Time out,” he gasped, and reached for her. He wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her to her feet.

“No time out,” she said as she planted her palms on his chest and pushed. He took a step backward and she followed. “This isn’t a hockey game.” She continued pushing until his heels hit the couch. “And I’m not one of the boys.” He sat and she stepped between his thighs.

“Georgie, honey, no one would ever mistake you for a boy.” One hand caressed her bottom and he pulled her closer. He sucked a nipple into his hot mouth and moved his other hand to stoke the fire with his fingers. As she watched him kiss her breast, raw emotion pumped through her veins. This was John, the man who could make her feel beautiful and desired. The man who’d ripped out her heart, then given it back nine months later. She closed her eyes and held him close. She held him while he touched her with his hands and mouth, and she told herself this was enough. When she felt herself close to the edge, she stepped back.

Without a word, he reached for his wallet on the end table and pulled out a foil-wrapped condom. He opened the package with his teeth, but before he could sheath himself, Georgeanne took the condom from him. “Never send a man to do a woman’s job,” she said, and stretched the thin latex down the length of him. She felt him pulse in her hand, ready and straining for release. Then she straddled his lap and looked into his blue eyes. Slowly she lowered herself onto his erection.

He was big and hard and after several attempts, he filled her completely. She sat still for a moment with him deep inside of her, feeling herself stretch to accommodate him. He felt hot, and she felt satisfied yet restless all at the same time. The muscles in his neck were ridged and she dug her fingers into his steely shoulders. His eyes were glazed and his jaw taut. She kissed his lips, then began to move. Whether from arousal or inexperience, her movements were awkward. Her knees sank into the couch, and as he thrust, she rose.

“Relax,” he said, his hands cupping her behind. “Take your time.”

Georgeanne crushed her mouth against his and groaned her frustration. She couldn’t relax and was too far gone to take her time.

John tore his mouth from hers, then wrapped an arm around her back and bottom and turned with her so that she lay on the couch looking up at him. He was still buried deep inside her. He had one knee on the couch while his opposite foot was planted on the floor. “Never send a woman to do a man’s job,” he said, and withdrew. A distressed moan escaped her throat until he thrust deep inside her again. She clung to him as he drove into her over and over, pushing her toward the precipice. She uttered incoherent words of encouragement, words that would probably embarrass her later, but for now she couldn’t control them, nor did she care.

“That’s right, honey,” he whispered as he plunged deep. “Tell me what you want.”

And she did, in exact detail. His chest heaved and he placed his hands on the sides of her face. He told her she was beautiful, and he told her how good she felt to him. With each stroke, he burned her alive, and when she climaxed, she cried his name. Her body milked him hard, and just when she felt her peak subside, it started again.

John’s eyes drifted shut, and his breath hissed between his teeth. He answered her cries with his groans of satisfaction. He drove into her one last time, and when he came, his muscles turned to stone and he swore like a hockey player.