Hadhespoken, or hadsheimagined it? His words expressed the urgency that his leisurely dance belied. It was as though he knew something she did not … and it frightened her. Had she let herself in for more than she could handle?No,she decided with conviction. For the first time in her life she had found something worth the risk of entanglement, something powerful enough to merit splurging on. But her eyes were open. She knew what to expect. And she wanted more than anything to spend the weekend with Sloane Harper at his new home in West-port.
Chapter 5
As she had promised, Justine left work early on Friday, a simple matter considering her lack both of pressing appointments and of powers of concentration. As he had promised, Sloane picked her up at five. She was waiting eagerly.
“It may take us a little longer at this hour,” he warned, stowing her small overnight bag in the back of his Mazda, “but I’d better discover justhowlong before it becomes a regular thing.”
“Are you planning to give up your place in the city and live full time in Westport?”
He shook his head as he stowedhersafely in the passenger’s seat, then trotted around to slide behind the wheel. “I’ll keep the apartment for use when I need to stay in the city. If I have either very early or very late meetings, it might come in handy. Or, I may want to loan it to a visiting client.”
Justine nodded her understanding and agreement, though her thoughts had already begun to wander. “You look great … in jeans,” she blurted out on impulse. “I’ve only seen you wearing a suit.”
Greatwas an understatement. When Sloane paused to grin at her before starting the car, she realized to what extent. He was masculinity personified, from the corded stretch of broad shoulders beneath the khaki cotton twill of his shirt to the leanness of his denim-hugged hips. In motion, his lines were fluid; at rest, as they were now, he exuded strength and assurance.
“You don’t look bad yourself,” he countered, underscoring his words with a thorough perusal of her slender length. She also had worn jeans, topped by a light blue turtleneck of a loose cotton knit, with a change of more seasonal clothes in her bag. Despite the thorough covering of her every curve, she felt suddenly naked. Flags of pink waved softly on her cheeks, blending with the free fall of her strawberry-blond curls. Sloane took pity on her.
“Ah …” he cleared his throat of its huskiness, “we’d better get going if we intend to get anywhere.” His smirk was boyish and endearing, filling her with warm anticipation. A weekend alone with Sloane—nothing could sound more heavenly!
Justine relaxed back in her seat, reassured to know that her appearance pleased him … and disturbed him accordingly. The undercurrent of sexual excitement had always been strong between them, but never more so than at this moment. Once again the confines of the car conspired to heighten sensations that already ran high.
For better than an hour Sloane drove steadily, suffering as did she through the periodically stifling traffic. When at last they cleared the worst and left the parkway to negotiate the more private streets of Westport, the relief was tangible.
“Oh, it’s lovely, Sloane,” she exclaimed in response to the greenery which had gradually thickened with their approach. The land undulated gently in lushly alternating waves of maples, birches, beeches, oaks, and evergreens. “It’s hard to believe that this country is less than fifty miles from Manhattan!”
“You’ve never been in Westport before?” The sidelong glance he gave her carried his surprise.
“No! I’ve been on Long Island many times, and I must have skirted this area during drives toward New England, but I’ve never had cause to stop. I can see what I’ve been missing!”
Enthusiasm lit her features as she took it all in—the richness of the landscape, the wealth of the homes as they bobbed up at intervals from one another, the cultured state of the streets themselves, and, at last, the Sound.
Sloane had turned in at a hidden drive and now followed the curving pavement through archway after archway of leafy green splendor until they reached the house. At first glance through the windshield it was beautiful. At second glance, when Justine stepped from the car and smiled in delight, it was magnificent.
“What do you think?” The deep voice came from immediately behind, drawing her head around in token recognition of his presence before she turned to study the house again.
“I think it’s absolutely fantastic! I love it!” And she did! A distinctly contemporary structure, it was built of glass and fieldstone, with a shingled roof, large brown oak door and shutters, and a flagstone walk which beckoned irresistibly. Succumbing to its lead, she approached, breathlessly admiring the shrubbery with its patterned greens, whites, pinks, and purples, all flourishing under the skies of spring. “How did you ever manage to find this place?”
Sloane was close beside her, more intent on her reaction than on the sights she so admired. “It belonged to an author—he just wrote a best seller I’m sure you’ve heard about….” He laughed mischievously. “At any rate, he’s off to Hollywood to do screenwriting for television. His loss—our gain.”
Justine’s eyes shone brilliant emerald when she looked up at him.Ourgain, he had said—how natural it sounded! Had it been merely a slip of the tongue … or a figure of speech?
“Come on, let’s go inside,” he murmured softly, unlocking the door, then taking her hand firmly in his. For Justine it was as though she were in a dream—being led by a silver-crowned vision of a man through the house of her fondest imaginings.
The foyer they entered was circular and open, giving access to a dining room and kitchen in one quadrant, a living room in another, the bedroom area in a third. Every room was spacious and modern, miraculously clean and freshly painted white. There were neither furnishings nor carpets; as they wandered slowly from room to room, their footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
“The best is yet to come,” Sloane spoke warmly by her ear. “Those stairs”—he pointed to a stairway leading down—“why don’t you go take a look while I start unloading the car. I’ll meet you down there.”
How anything could be better than what she had already seen she wasn’t quite sure. Skeptically she followed his suggestion, however, slowly descending into the first floor of the house. Wordlessly she stopped, mouth agape, as she understood. Before her was a large, open room with a wall of solid glass which looked out upon the medley of early evening color that was Long Island Sound. Yellows and oranges skittered over the waves in long, rippling shards of light, blending with the gray of the water, the amber-hued stone and sand of the beach, and the darkening blue of the sky. It was a breathtakingly private moment for Justine, made even more precious by Sloane’s silent arrival.
His arms slid around her gently as he joined her survey of the peaceful panorama. “Like it?” he murmured.
“Mmmmm.” Words seemed inadequate. Her hand moved up to cover his, holding it against her waist.
“I’m glad.”
For an eternity of silent appreciation they stood watching and absorbing the glory of the seascape. Justine felt a sense of serenity flow through her, a sense of contentment she had never known. If preservation of the moment in all its heartfelt beauty had been in any way or form possible, she would have fought for it. But serenity was fleeting—as it would always be. Contentment was relative—as it too would always be.
Only the present was a fact. And the fact was the need she had to be totally one with Sloane. If she’d deprived herself in the past, she’d had good reason. Now that reason eluded her as her body strained toward fulfillment. Silent yearnings sparked then flamed, fed by the solid mass of lean and muscled masculinity which braced her back, her hips, her thighs.
