The Lake

She’d ached for him, wanted him inside her. She’d do almost anything, but, Christ, that… that hadn’t been the most sensitive way of making love tonight.

She choked back a sob. How could he treat her like this? After all she’d been through today…

Shivering, she struggled to her feet, brought up her arms, wrapped them tight around her body. She swayed slightly, still hugging herself.

God. The disappointment. The tension.

It was all too much.

She felt cold. Utterly exhausted.

A smile played around Mace’s lips. Raising his brows, he held out his arms. “Come to Mace, then. There, there… don’t take it so hard. But don’t tell me you aren’t into a little violence now and then? Thought you were a gal who’d appreciate some rough and tumble—but seems I was wrong. Sorry about that, Leigh.”

His eyes glinted in the darkness and the smile, vaguely mocking a moment ago, suddenly softened to one of concern.

Her arms fell to her sides. She relaxed, moved in against him, feeling his warmth, his strong, hard body…

“Come now, honey,” he murmured. “How about opening that bottle of champagne I brought us? A coupla drinks and we’ll start over. Huh?”

“Sure.” She smiled up at him. They walked through the patio door and entered the dark living room. Maybe she had been a fool, she told herself. Making a stupid fuss over nothing.

Just that I’m feeling vulnerable tonight, is all.

“I’ll go get us some towels,” she said quietly.

Moving away from him, she turned on the coffee-table lamp and went to the bathroom.

Legs astride, hands on hips, Mace watched her go. Her buttocks swaying, her long shapely legs moving leisurely, one before the other, she looked like a catwalk mannequin.

Hell, he thought, she’d give most movie stars a run for their money.

She had glamor. Something he liked in a woman.

She returned to the living room, wearing a soft bulky robe, the sash tied tight around her waist. Mace thought how young and vulnerable she looked.

Too young to have an eighteen-year-old daughter…

She carried a couple of towels under her arm. Tossing one over, she said, “Here, don’t want you catching your death. Take off those wet things, too. I’ll dry them for you.”

He caught the towel. He wrapped it around his waist.

Leigh began rubbing her hair with the second towel.

“Very sexy,” he murmured, watching her through half-closed eyes as he made for the bathroom.

She quit rubbing and shook her head. Her golden hair fluffed out like a halo. Her legs were shaky. She was still feeling a little awkward about her earlier outburst.

Time to relax, she told herself.

She went to the kitchen and reappeared, moments later, with the champagne in an ice bucket. Ice chinked around as she placed it on the coffee table.

Mace emerged from the bathroom, holding his wet T-shirt and shorts. He wore a white towel robe, one that Leigh’s dad used on the rare occasions he and Mom stayed over.

His tanned body showed up in sharp contrast to the white robe. Eyeing him with reluctant admiration, Leigh felt a flicker of excitement. For a long time, their eyes met. Then, smiling, she dropped her gaze. Took his wet clothes and stepped into the kitchen.

Arranging them in the dryer, she tried to convince herself she could still enjoy the remains of the night.

THIRTY-FOUR

“Let the orgy commence!”

Leigh winced as Mace grabbed the champagne. Catching her expression, he gave a wry smile, tore off the foil top, and twisted up the wire.

The cork flew out with a loud pop.

They giggled, searching around for it on their hands and knees, their earlier tension all but gone.

“Over here,” he called. “Under the TV table.”

He paused, looking at the photographs placed either side of the TV. Family shots; memorable Kodak moments showing Leigh and Deana laughing into the camera, arms around each other. Two older people—Leigh’s parents, he guessed.

And Deana standing alone. In a white bikini. On a seashore…

“I want to keep it,” Leigh was saying. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think it’s kinda romantic to save corks from champagne bottles. Write dates on them, names, that kinda thing. Folks do it all the time in the restaurant…”

“Women!”

He laughed, tossing the cork to her.

“That’s what I love about you, Leigh West. You’re all woman. Beneath that cool exterior, I swear there’s a soft, sensual seductress just crying to be let out.”

He poured the fizz into two flutes, already set by the ice bucket. Waited till the bubbles settled before filling up the glasses.

“Here’s to… to what?” His eyes twinkled. He paused, brows lifted inquiringly.

“To the future, Mace. A future without Nelson.”

“To us, Leigh.” He looked into her eyes. She flinched slightly at their intensity.

Relax, Leigh, she told herself. It’s party time. Go with the flow. Let it all happen.

She smiled at him. “To us,” she said, chinking her glass against his.

Then:

“Mace…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Mace, about what happened back there. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? My fault, Leigh. Shouldn’t have pressured you like that. A guy gets a little carried away sometimes. So let’s say no more about it. I’m sorry. Didn’t spoil our night, I hope?”

“No, of course not.” Leigh gave a hesitant smile, wishing that were true.

It’s been too long between men, she reasoned. I’ve almost forgotten how it was with them.

Her mind slipped back.

To Charlie. Her introduction to oral sex. Comparing Mace’s macho display with Charlie’s tender, boyish passion.

So long ago now.

Christ. Eighteen years, and she still remembered…

Her face had been sore for days afterward.

Before that, Larry Bills—her first-ever lover.

Ugghh.

She cringed inwardly, embarrassed at the memory.

After Larry, there’d been Tad Bronski, then Jake Hartmann from high school. Nice guys, both of them. Each