He let his arm drop from her shoulder but grasped her hand as they kept walking. She could feel the callouses from so much time spent with a bat in his hand, and the tingles that went with the contact of skin to skin.
He was scanning the shoreline, and with help from the moonlight, she could see a look of contentment on his face.
“We were linked to the sea, as well, sheltered by a huge harbor. The bay was sighted by Columbus on one of his journeys, and the pirates used to raid the shore before finding refuge there. The city of Camagüey used to sit on the coast but moved inland to escape the privateers. Today it is a shipping port for the export of sugar, with a rail terminus. The feel of my village has changed over the years, as well. It is coincidence that we both come from fishing villages, and our families who still live there go back generations, is it not?”
She nodded, adding this one to the growing list of coincidences that had occurred since she met him. It could boggle the mind.
They walked in perfect harmony, their bodies as one. When he stopped to look out over the water, he placed her in front of him, his arms tight around her waist, his chin leaning on her shoulder.
“It is very different after all.”
“How?”
“The houses are well-cared for, there is abundance here that you don’t find where I was born. There, there are shoddy buildings, deteriorating more each year. It is a country crumbling away from its own neglect and way of life. It has been that way since I was born, around the time that the Soviet Union fell apart. They supplied all things sold in our marketplace and supported the communistic way of life. Then it was gone, and we were left with nothing. No food, no money. Here is a living, breathing city. I think this is what my town could be but never will.”
He hugged her closer.
“I like it here. Thank you for bringing me.”
She felt his sadness. It was in his tone, his embrace. Not wanting to make light of it, she said, “I like it here, too. I forget just how much until I pull into the drive-way.”
“I would live here if I could.”
“I guess that’s a possibility. You have the money to buy whatever you want, and it might make a smart investment.”
“In October we can look?”
“Sure. It might be closer to November if you play post-season, but the timing would be perfect. People tend to wait until spring to think about summer living.”
“The houses would be reasonably priced?”
“It’s not as affluent as you think. It’s all in perspective. It used to be the busiest fishing port in the country, but with all the new rules and regulations, fishing doesn’t provide the same kind of livelihood as it used to. Now it’s more an artist colony and tourist destination. What it’s retained is its authenticity.”
“Is that where your mother creates her pottery?”
“There’s a small stone cottage to the side of the house where she has her wheel, kiln, and all her supplies. It was one of the reasons they bought the property after they got married. With my father on the road so much, my mother insisted they live here, where her family is. The house holds a lot of memories for her.”
“You have a big family?”
“My grandparents are gone, but I have aunts and uncles and cousins by the dozen here.”
Her mother was one of five children and the Longs had been here as far back as the eighteen hundreds, when Gloucester was in its heyday.
“Hopefully, I won’t get to meet all of them at one time.”
She swallowed hard. He wouldn’t get to meet anyone, else. If she continued to bring him here, her mother, who had a sixth sense about things, would never stop badgering her about what was between them. And there was nothing. When she felt the stirrings of emotion rise up in her chest, she amended, there could be nothing. He was not the kind of man she could trust. He’d be on the road over a very long season, and he had yet to truly understand what his living here might entail. He’d never had the kind of freedom he’d have here, couldn’t possibly understand what the adoring fans would do to get him into bed. And that was purely the physical part of it. If he was as good as they all anticipated, he’d have them clamoring for his charm and talent, as well. He was the whole package. At least it looked that way. But how could she ever really know what was in his heart? She didn’t know him well enough for that. And she wasn’t risking hers to find out.
While she was busy contemplating his assets, he’d come around to face her, his hands still wrapped around her waist. When he touched his lips to hers, she was startled back to reality. It was a light, teasing kiss, just enough to stifle her resistance, but so heady at the same time she felt a burst of desire that she couldn’t fight.
She could feel his breath light on her face when he admitted, “After you kissed me at the altar, I knew I’d need to taste you again.”
Without giving her the time to argue, he dipped his head and took her lips for another, deeper one,
