closer as her hand slipped “-absolutely useless vase. It won’t even hold water. Not the point, though, sweet. The point is just getting the chance to work with a piece of catalpa, not exactly a common wood. I could tell you why a woodworker loves it in terms of its physical properties, but much more to the point-” he nudged her hand a second time “-is that catalpa is that big old kind of tree that bursts out with clusters of flower in the spring. They call them bridal bouquets…”
“Kyle!” she said a few minutes later. She was entranced as he took the vase off the lathe and held it up to the light. It was perfect, all thin, delicate fluted edges and intricately swirling grain. Well. Almost perfect, except where her hand had slipped twice.
“This is art,” she informed him impishly. “And you only get partial credit, Mr. McCrery.”
His eyes were dancing at her obvious pride. “Now don’t get all disappointed if it sits lopsided on a table.”
“It wouldn’t dare.” In a flash, she darted out the back door, and returned a few moments later with a handful of dandelions. “Just stop that,” she scolded Kyle, who had started laughing.
“Stop what? I always thought dandelions were classier than roses.”
She arched one intimidating eyebrow. “This vase is too classy for a rose.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Erica?” He turned away to do a quick cleanup around the lathe, and then switched out the light. “I’m glad you came home,” he said quietly.
She smiled curiously. “Of course I came home.”
They walked to the door. For a moment, Erica thought he was going to swing an arm around her shoulder, something he would automatically have done before they had started tearing each other apart with their arguments. He didn’t, but their eyes met that instant in the darkness, evocative somehow of the tension they both felt, a tension neither wanted to feel with the other. Yet for that short time working together, she had so easily forgotten…
“Of course you came home,” he echoed lightly, “and can I take it as an ‘of course’ that you still want to go away for a few days, Erica?”
She’d put the proposed vacation completely out of her mind. No, she didn’t want to go. She knew exactly how it would be, an idyll like their afternoon in the wheat field, destroyed hours later when he turned cold. Like the laughter when they’d climbed the tree at Martha’s, like the fun they’d just had in the shop. The smallest incidents recycled massive feelings of love for him, and then she was stuck on the downward swing of the yo-yo. No. Insanity would be kinder. “Convince me to go,” were the words that came from her mouth, which was obviously on another wavelength entirely.
“That may not be easy,” he said wryly. “I’m afraid Roman ruins and lush Corfu beaches aren’t exactly an option, Mrs. McCrery…” He talked on as they walked the leafy path back to the house and inside. When they were in the kitchen, he got out two wineglasses and poured the Pinot Noir she liked, leaning back against the counter. “Thursday’s the earliest we could take off, after the roof’s done. I had the Upper Peninsula in mind, Erica. If we rented a little two-seater Cessna, we could be in Newberry in four hours, where we could rent a Jeep. The kind of fancy entertainment I had in mind would start there.”
“In Newberry,” she said blankly, already starting to smile.
“In Newberry,” he echoed. “At the town dump.” He waved away her giggles with a mock scowl. “You think I’m not serious. Now most people think it’s only a little town with an airport, an unusually boring little country town. Not so. The bears all come down from the woods at night to raid their dump, you see, and the whole town brings popcorn and tries for ringside seats… Now that
She laughed again, taking a sip of wine. “Now wait just a minute-”
“Close by is Tahquamenon Falls. Deep forest country, the falls cascading down from sheer rock cliffs. You’d like that, Erica,” he coaxed gently, his voice a very soft, low baritone. “That’s Hiawatha land, where he supposedly built his birchbark canoe. Then up to Whitefish Point. You’ve heard Morgan and me talk a thousand times about ships that were lost on the Great Lakes. In college, we planned to become millionaires by retrieving some of the treasures that were sunk and never found there. We spent part of one summer scuba diving for treasures, practically living on the forty-foot sailboat that Morgan managed to talk his parents out of…”
He took a sip of wine, talking of ships. The Great Lakes were full of them, carrying the rich resources of the neighboring shores-iron ore and copper, lumber, furs and later, passengers and steel. The viciousness of sudden storms was legend on the lakes…so many lost and never heard of again. “If I had a map, you could see Whitefish Point. You could see how easily a ship might desperately try to hug the shore on a stormy night, be misled and end up smashed…but still, that’s not exactly where I want to take you, Erica. No, the destination I have in mind is Vermilion.”
“Vermilion.” She rolled the word on her tongue. “Now I know I haven’t seen that one on a map.”
“Because it isn’t there,” Kyle agreed. “There isn’t even a paved road for miles. It’s just a deserted beach in the middle of nowhere…but once it was a Coast Guard station with a lighthouse and life-saving boats ready to aid a foundering ship. I swear you can imagine it when you’re there, Erica…”
She could picture it now. A dozen times, without consciously listening, she’d heard the men talk on the subject, yet now the image caught-the history, the ships, the deserted beach, the ghosts of storms past in a lonely place, sunsets and silence… She looked at Kyle. “Let’s pack,” she suggested teasingly.
“You really want to go, Erica? I’m talking about camping out, not a luxury vacation…” He put down his glass and strode forward to lace his arms around her neck, to nudge his forehead against hers. “Let’s see how it is with us there. Alone, Erica…”
In principle, she wanted to stiffen when he touched her. Passion would only cloud the unresolved issues between them, and she hadn’t forgotten how he’d rejected her love and loyalty. In the back of her rational mind, she knew Kyle still felt attraction…but she doubted his love. She’d had too many ups and downs; Kyle had too much power to hurt her. She’d meant what she told him a few nights before, that if he no longer felt love, she just wanted to be left alone.
That was in principle. Reality was the mood he’d spun with the image of the two of them alone on a deserted beach. Another reality was the fruity taste of the wine that lingered on his lips as they touched hers. Once. Twice. Like an alcoholic, she wanted more of that taste, denying its effect as an intoxicant. She could always pull back in a moment. She was thirsty, that was all.
They were both thirsty. It seemed like a year since she’d felt the touch of his fingers in her hair, roughly brushing back the red-gold strands, cradling her head. A century. His lips rubbed on hers, then his teeth grazed her lower lips. She seemed to have caught a fever. Her breasts were suddenly swollen and too warm, aching against his sinewy chest. Everything ached. Her knees felt too shaky to support her. Her throat arched as his kiss deepened. “Kyle…”
“Don’t tell me we don’t have this,” he whispered roughly. “You make your damn choices, Erica, but don’t ever forget what we do have. I told myself I would give you all the space you needed, but that just won’t work, sweet. I’ll be damned if I’ll ever spend another night like this one. Waiting, thinking…”
The pressure of his mouth hurt her. It was the most delicious hurt. Her limbs tightened in familiar anticipation and her heart slowed down to savor it. Her head registered his strange choice of words, striking a single swift, painful chord of fear; for that instant, she thought he meant waiting for her because of Morgan, because he guessed…but he couldn’t possibly have guessed what Morgan had done. It didn’t make sense.
The feel of his springy hair beneath her fingers made sense. She felt sad and frightened and a little angry that he could pull her in so helplessly…but his holding her made sense. He was the cause of trouble…and its solution. Her heart found that perfectly rational; her heart had responded exactly that way from the moment she met him. They were standing in the kitchen; it didn’t matter. Moonlight touched the hollows of his face through the open window; his eyes were indigo and soft and deep, hovering over hers as he pulled her closer. The more he touched, the more she felt like liquid inside, like a stream that wanted to flow in, through, all around him, drown forever the problems they could not seem to solve between them.
Before she could think, they were on their way upstairs. She was standing by the bed; his knuckles were grazing the sides of her breasts as he unbuttoned her blouse. The material fell away; before she could breathe, he had slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders, loosened the clasp. Moonlight cast a warm glow on her bare breasts…and then his hands covered them as he lowered her to the quilted bed.
In seconds, he had taken off his clothes, then he finished that job for her as he pulled off her jeans. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his body sliding down next to hers, feeling a little more of her sanity slip away. Soft
