Never Trust A Lady

was probably clumsy-tenderness didn’t exactly come naturally to him-but in any case, she gave a funny little sniffle, sort of a half laugh, and finally looked up. Her eyes were open, and gazing straight into his.

And once again he thought of the sea, and of dolphins, and of rain, and sunshine breaking through clouds, and rainbows over gray water. But now, for some reason, there was a poignancy in her gaze that touched him deep inside. The towel he was holding brushed the tear-filled creases at the corner of her eye and then was still. And he lowered his head and kissed her.

At first he thought it was going to be all right. He felt her breath sigh through her body, and her lips begin to soften as he touched them. It felt to him as though he were kissing her for the very first time. So sweet, so sweet, he thought, although it was salt he tasted, and he wondered why he suddenly ached so much inside.

Until he realized he was remembering the first time he’d ever kissed Jenny…

He thought it must have been autumn, following the spring he’d turned sixteen. Grief-stricken and rebellious, he’d fled his house, heading straight and true across the backyard to Jen’s house, as usual. Meeting at the boundary between their two properties, they’d gone for a walk in the woods nearby. He’d been hurrying, furious. He remembered the swish and crunch of leaves underfoot, and the squirrels that fled, scolding, before them. Don’t cry, Jen had said, reaching for his hand. And she’d leaned over-he’d had several more years of growing to do, and she’d been as tall as he was then-and she’d kissed him. He’d stopped and faced her, daring her to run away. But she’d just looked solemnly back at him, never blinking, never wavering. He’d never kissed anyone before. He’d thought his heart might punch a hole in his chest. He’d tasted salt then, too, he remembered. Only then, the tears had been his…

He felt her lips-Jane’s lips-quiver, and almost groaned aloud when she turned her face aside. He held himself still, except for his jackhammer heart, and whispered, “What’s the matter?”

He could feel her trembling. She said in a cracked and testy voice, “Please don’t do this.”

He felt as if he were balanced precariously on the edge of a chasm, afraid even to breathe. “Why not?” She shook her head desperately. He gave a short huff of puzzled laughter. “We’ve done it before.”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was…” Phenomenal was the word that came immediately to mind, but he settled instead for “good.”

She gave a little gulp that was more like a whimper than a laugh. “Oh, yes.”

“Well, then…”

She drew away enough so that she could look at him, and he was left tensely stroking her shoulders, simply to keep himself from pulling her against him. She whispered, “But it’s different now.”

“Yeah, it is.” God, he wished his heart wouldn’t beat so hard. His lips quirked wryly. “We’re not in a truck anymore. Looks to me like we’ve got all the time, space and privacy we need for what comes-” He stopped suddenly, thinking he understood. That unaccustomed tenderness assailed him.

Thoroughly ashamed of himself, he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, drawing her cold hands into his and cradling them both against his chest. “Hey,” he said gruffly, “is that what’s bothering you? The ‘what comes after’? Look, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Far as I’m concerned, ‘what comes after’ is always a mutual decision. Hell, I’m no Neanderthal.”

Her eyes stabbed at him like darts when he said that, and she muttered almost angrily, “Don’t be ridiculous-I know that.” Then her lashes dropped like curtains, and she gave a small, helpless sigh. “It isn’t that.”

“Then…”

She shook her head, drew breath for another sigh, and he could see her struggling with it, working toward a decision of some sort. Part of him-the heated and lusty, eternally adolescent part-waited, panting and confident, for the moment when he could pull her back into his embrace, knowing that it would be only one endless kiss from there to her bedroom. The other, the wounded and wary adult part of him, knew that nothing would ever be so simple for him again.

“It’s different,” she said, so carefully he wondered what it must have cost her to keep her voice steady. “Because I care about you.”

A chuckle rattled around inside his chest. “I care about you, too.” But it was the kind of thing he’d said many times before. It was too glib and came too easily, and he could tell by the bottomless look she gave him as she pulled her hands from his that she knew it.

She shook her head and turned away, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he said, reaching for her again, still half laughing, “That’s supposed to make things better, not worse.”

He was completely unprepared when she rounded on him, flinching angrily from his outstretched hand. “I care about you…too much,” she said as her eyes leaked liquid fire. “Too much. Do you understand?” He waited, dumbstruck and scarcely breathing, for her to finish. “And you’re still grieving for your wife!”

Chapter 14

It was the last thing she’d ever wanted to say to him. She regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth, but of course there was nothing she could do about it then. She knew all too well that words once spoken can never be taken back.

With a furious, choked-off sob, she turned her back on Tom’s stricken face and tried her best to erase from her heart and soul the memory of the pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes. And she waited, breath held and trembling, the way one waits after the lightning flash for the thunder.

What she heard instead in that tense and breathless silence was the faint rustle and crackle of paper. The click of a cigarette lighter. The softest of exhalations. And then at last she heard his footsteps scuff the vinyl-tile floor, moving away from her, toward the breakfast nook. Away, not closer. As of course she wanted him to do. Had all but asked him to do.

And still she felt a vast sense of loneliness and loss.

“Yeah, I still grieve for my wife and my son.” His voice was harsh in her friendly kitchen, so warm and fragrant with the homey smell of steaming soup. “I probably always will. I loved Jenny for twenty-two years, dammit-that’s almost half my life. Jason was my child-my only child. You don’t stop loving somebody just because they happen to die.”

“Of course not,” Jane whispered. She opened a drawer, took out an ashtray and stood for a moment holding it, keeping her back to him as she drew a courage-building breath. Why not? she thought. Why not? I have nothing else to lose. “But,” she said, her voice shaking, “does it mean you can’t love anyone else, ever again?”

He didn’t answer, and when she turned with the ashtray in her hands, she saw that he’d moved around the table so that it stood between them, like a barrier.

“I don’t know,” he said, and for a moment his eyes blazed at her with the brightness of pain. Then he shook his head and looked away, reaching blindly for the ashtray she’d placed on the table. “I know I loved my wife. I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone else that way again. I know, well, hell, I haven’t exactly been a monk in the seven years since she died, but there hasn’t been anyone that even came close.” He pulled his gaze back to her then, as if it was a hard thing to do, and there was no escaping the anguish in his face, and the confusion, the longing, and… fear.

He’s afraid, she thought, suddenly understanding. Afraid of letting go.

“And where,” she softly asked, “does that leave me?”

She saw his jaw clench, and he punched the words through them. “Damned if I know!” He brought his fist down gently on the tabletop, but his knuckles were white and his voice rose, rocky with anger. “I don’t know what’s going on with me right now, if you want to know the truth. I know I like you, dammit. I like your company. I know I want you, and not just to have sex with, either, though God knows-and I think you do, too-that I do want that. I mean I want you around-to talk to, be with-and that’s not something I’ve said to anyone in seven years, let me tell you!” He glared at her as if both blaming and daring her to dispute him.

She stared back at him, eyes burning, her whole face aching with the need to relieve the tension with tears.