“It certainly was an adventure. You were always into them. This is the first one I’ve taken part in.”
“I think I’m getting too old for this. I’m getting too old for lots of things. I should be up in Vermont. It’s quieter there.”
“Why aren’t you? I thought you went up every weekend.”
He opened one eye and looked at her. “I wanted to be with you. I didn’t think you’d go up there with me.” When she said nothing, he closed his eye and returned his head to its original position. “Anyway, I often wait till Saturday morning to drive up. If there’s something doing here on a Friday night.”
“You can’t drive tomorrow! Well, you can, I suppose, but your hand will be sore—”
“Forget my hand.” He made a guttural sound. “The way I feel now, I don’t think I’m going to be able to drag myself out of bed before noon, and by then it’d be pretty late to get going.”
“You’ll go next weekend. It’ll still be there.”
“Mmmm.” He lay still for several minutes, then drained his drink in a single swallow.
Marni set her own glass firmly on the coffee table. She took his empty one, put it beside hers, then gently slid her hand under his neck. “Come on, Web,” she urged softly. “Let me get you to bed.”
Very slowly and with some effort he pushed himself up, then stood. His hand was hurting, his whole arm was hurting. For that matter, his entire body felt sore. The aftermath of tension, he told himself. Hewasgetting old.
Marni led him directly to the bed. The king-sized mattress sat on a platform of dark wood that matched a modern highboy and a second, lower chest of drawers. A plush navy carpet covered the floor. Two chairs of the same contemporary style as those in the living room sat kitty-cornered on one side of the room, between them a low table covered with magazines. Large silk-screen prints hung on the walls, contemporary, almost abstract in style, carrying through the navy, brown and white scheme of the room.
Clear-cut and masculine, like Web, Marni mused as she unbuttoned his shirt and eased it from his shoulders. As soon as it was gone, he turned and whipped the quilt back with his good arm, then stretched out full-length on the bed and threw that same arm across his eyes.
Marni stood where she was with his shirt clutched in her hands and her eyes glued to his bare chest. He was every bit as beautiful as he’d been fourteen years ago, though different in a way that made her heart beat faster than it ever had then. His shoulders were fuller, his skin more weathered. The hair that covered his chest was thicker, more pervasive, even more virile, if that were possible.
Anything was possible, she thought, including the fact that she was as physically attracted to him now as she’d been fourteen years before. Biological magnetism was an amazing thing. Web had been her first, but there’d been others. None of them had turned her on in quite the same way, with quite the intensity Web did.
None of them had stirred feelings of tenderness and caring that Web did either, and he was hurting now, she reminded herself with a jolt. Pushing all other thought aside, she dropped his shirt onto the foot of the bed and came to sit beside him. She unsnapped his jeans and was about to lower the zipper when his arm left his eyes and his hand stilled hers.
“I was … just trying to make you more comfortable,” she explained, feeling the sudden flare of those blue eyes on her. “Wouldn’t it be better without the jeans?”
“No. I’m fine as I am.” Most importantly, he didn’t want her to see his leg. She’d had as rough a night as he had, and he didn’t feel she was ready to view those particular scars. They were old and well-faded, true, but the memories they’d evoke would be harsh.
Trusting that she wouldn’t undress him further, he returned his arm to his eyes and gave a rueful laugh. “Y’know, since I saw you last Tuesday morning, I’ve been dreaming of having you again. Making love to you … here in my bed. Now here you are and I feel so awful that I don’t think I could do a thing even if you were willing.”
His words hung in the air, unresolved. Marni couldn’t get herself to give the answer she knew Web wanted to hear. There was no doubt in her mind that on the physical level she was willing. Emotionally, well, that was another story. Much as she’d opened up to him since their reunion, much as she’d been able to talk of Ethan more easily than she had in the past, there were still thoughts that she couldn’t ignore, raw feelings going back to that summer. Illogical perhaps, but logical ones as well. She knew from experience that one time with Web wouldn’t be enough. He’d been an addiction that summer in Maine. She wasn’t sure that if she gave in to him, to herself, it would be any different now. And the question would be where they went from there.
“I don’t think the time’s right for either of us,” she said in a near-whisper. “You’re right. You’re feeling awful. And I feel a little like I’ve been flattened by a steamroller.” She reached for the second pillow and carefully worked it under his bandaged hand. Then she rose from the bed. “I’ll just sit over here—”
He raised his arm and looked at her. “You won’t leave, will you?”
“No, I won’t leave.”
“Then why don’t you lie down, too. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”
She wasn’t sure she trusted herself that far. “In a little bit,” she said, but paused before she sank into the chair. “Can I get you anything?”
Eyes closed, he shook his head.“Ithink I’ll just rest …”
When his voice trailed off, she settled into the chair, studying him for a long time until a reflexive twitch of his good hand told her he was asleep. Soon after, her own eyelids drooped, then shut.
Ninety minutes later she came to feeling disoriented and stiff. The first problem was solved when she blinked, looked around the room, then saw Web lying exactly as he had been. The second was solved when she switched off the light, stretched out on the empty half of the bed, drew the quilt over them both and promptly fell asleep.
She awoke several times during the night when Web shifted and groaned. Once she felt his head and found it cool, and when he didn’t wake up she lay down again. Her deepest sleep came just before dawn. When next she opened her eyes, the skylit room was bright. The same disorientation possessed her for a minute, but it vanished the minute she turned her head and saw Web.
He was still sleeping. His hair was mussed, and his beard was a dark shadow on his face. But it was his brow, corrugated even in sleep, that drew her gaze. He’d had an uncomfortable night. Silently, she slipped from beneath the sheet and padded to the bathroom for aspirin and water.
He was stirring when she returned, so she sat close by his side, raised him enough to push the aspirin into his mouth and give him a drink, then very gently set his head back down.
