The air was quiet between them. Justine lowered her gaze to the floor. But there was more to her confession, words that could be held in no longer. “Tony said many of the same things you did, Sloane—that I’ve allowed my life to be shaped by misconceptions and misbeliefs—ideas thatI’dchosen to accept as gospel. I’ve always prided myself on being right. Clear sighted. It’s difficult to face the fact that I’ve been blinded all these years.” She hung her head in humiliation, suddenly drained of spirit. It was Sloane’s turn. If there was any future for them, he would have to help her now. Slowly, she turned and looked up at him. “I was wrong, Sloane. So wrong.”
Above her was a face filled with similar sorrow and regret. Misinterpreting it, she began to tremble. But he raised his hands tentatively to her shoulders. His hold was light; its unsureness frightened her further.
“Yourbrother?” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.“Damn!I’ve been sick with jealousy! I thought you had lied to me—about other men in your life, about our love. I even thought …”—he faltered, his words tinged with self-reproach—“… that the D and C was … that you … that you had wanted to …”
As the gist of his accusation hit home, Justine’s tenuous composure snapped. Tears filled her eyes as she pulled away from him, shaking uncontrollably. “Howcouldyou think that? Iwantedthat baby! More than anything at the time,I wanted that baby!” Her sobs mingled with cries. “Ineededthat child, Sloane. If I couldn’t have you, I neededit!” All sound was choked off as she wept against her hands. Her resistance was down when Sloane came to hold her, drawing her quivering body against him.
“We’ll have another, sweetheart. We will. I promise you that.”
It took several moments for his promise to reach her consciousness. Was the implication there? Did he still love her? Hands splayed against the firm warmth of his chest, she raised her tear-streaked face toward his. “Do you—can you—forgive me for my stupidity? For my stubbornness?”
The glow of love in his eyes, a sight she had seen before —in Westport, in Alaska—and cherished, surged into her with its heart-talk. “Love forgives all, Justine. And I love you. Never forget that.” His lips lowered to touch hers, gently and sweetly, in slow reaquaintance. It was short but potent, a harbinger of all the fire to come. He was fully serious when he studied her face once more, searching and probing for the final solution.
“Once you believed that love, alone, was not enough,” he reminded her. “What has made you change your mind?”
Unbidden, her hands crept up the sturdiness of his chest to his neck, then into the sterling shock of hair above and behind either ear. The surging joy within gave her strength, even as it brought tears of remembered agony to her eyes. She cried openly and without shame, knowing now that she could be her true self with Sloane. All was shared; there were no more secrets.
“I can’t … livewithout… you, Sloane! I tried … but I can’t. I need you … I’ll always need you.”
With a deep moan at the back of his throat, Sloane crushed her to him, embracing her with a fierceness totally removed from the earlier tentative hold. She was his, wholly and forever; as he hugged her, her love escaped its bounds and exploded into full glory. His words, spoken tenderly by her ear, thrilled her.
“I never thought to hear you say that. It took you so long, so terribly long to discover what I knew from that day we first made love. God, I love you, Justine! I love you!”
For long, quiet moments, they stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, savoring the ecstasy that was now theirs. Kisses, touches, caresses were all secondary to the need to simply be close, to hold one another. It was Justine who finally broke the silence. Her eye held a ghost of humor, her lips the start of a smile.
“Did you really know it … way back then? You barely knew me then.”
“I knew enough. And I’ve seen enough in life to know when I’ve finally found the real thing.”
“You’re just older and wiser,” she ribbed him, fast growing high on his nearness.
Beneath her arms and hands, she felt the gradual relaxation of his body. He, too, was playful, almost giddy. “Not quite over the hill, my vixen,” he growled, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her in the opposite direction toward what she assumed to be his bedroom.
“Put me down, Sloane,” she giggled, offering token protest to his abduction.
“Never! You’re mine, now. All mine.”
She was given no time to examine the room he brought her to, for, no sooner had her back hit the yielding bedcovers, than he came down on top of her, blocking out all but the virile strength, the breathtaking beauty of his manhood, His kisses were more fevered, his touch more demanding. Waves of excitement broke within her, as his fingers fondled her, making short shrift of her silk blouse, then possessing the creamy fullness of her upthrust breasts. His tongue teased a rosy peak, coaxing it with little effort to hardness. In the riot of sensation which surged within her, she fought at the buttons of his shirt, finally laying his own chest open for her play. Her fingers caught in the fine dark hair, courting his flat nipple in passing, then delighting in his sharp intake of breath.
“Fair is fair,” she chuckled softly, then gasped as his hand searched further, releasing her slacks and finding the warm, sweet core which craved his fullness. As though on mutual nod, each tore at his and her own clothes, satisfied temporarily to be flesh against flesh—until even that satisfaction vanished into a far greater need.
At that point, the telephone rang.
“I don’t believe it!” Sloane exclaimed huskily. “I don’t believe it!” Undaunted by the interruption, Justine continued her joy-play while her lover reached for the phone.
“Hello!” he barked darkly into the receiver. “What is it, Chad? …” Her hand traced the line of dark hair across his chest, then down with tapered directness to the point of no return. Sloane’s breathing quickened. “He wants … to meet … with us … now?” His eyes were on Justine, savoring the pleasure she received at the sight and feel of his body.
“You can’t go now!” she cried, as he quickly muffled the phone.
His retort was hoarse. “Why not?”
Her hand had found what it sought and now caressed and fondled with devastating effect on Sloane. “I need you,” she whispered seductively, moving closer to welcome him back.
His words were silent, only mouthed, and she caught every one. “Show me.”
Her lips found the most sensitive places on his lean man’s body and did just that, while Sloane struggled to cope with the telephone in his hand. “Sorry, Chad”—he cleared his throat futilely—“but eitheryoumeet with him …”—he tensed, then moaned, covering the phone to pant a hoarse-whispered “God, Justine!” before coughing a pretense of calm into his voice—“… or … he’ll have to wait … until tomorrow … What? … Yes”—he looked pointedly at her, eyes growing more devilish by the minute—“I’m fine. Handle it … for me, Chad … will you? … Thanks.”
The phone was no sooner hung up than he lunged, pinning her beneath him on her back. “That was quite some trick! How cruel can you be?”
