“I’ll be in in a minute, John.”
She turned away from the house, toward the road wherethe willow was beginning to sway in time to the fresheningbreeze. Behind her, the door slammed and the voices of sleepy teenagers drifted down from open windows. Lightsblinked on in the house, and then the television. Claire waswatching the clouds and thinking of how much had changedin her life since she’d last faced a storm.
She heard him approaching, that rolling gait that she’dcome to anticipate so much. She was already smiling beforehe spoke, and only the darkness knew how tentative thatsmile was.
“You okay?”
Claire looked away from the coming rain. “Just thinking about how nice the day’s been.”
She earned the kind of smile that took a woman’s heart.“I’m glad,” he said simply, standing close.
The wind tugged at his hair, and the light limned his eyes,making them look almost phosphorescent. Claire couldn’tpull her gaze away. She thought of the scars this man carried, the nightmares he’d walked through on his way to find her. She thought of how, when any other person would havethe right to simply rest, he’d offered to help her.
A quiet man. A persevering man. A man who was teaching her that courage was a quiet thing. Claire couldn’t stopherself from reaching up to touch that angular, well-usedface. She couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you,” she said, and then before he could react,she lifted up on her toes and kissed him.
That quickly, she was in his arms. Wrapped tight andsafe, pulled so close she couldn’t tell his heart from hers.Stirred by the gusting wind and the feel of his hands in herhair.
He tasted like fresh water and dark night. He smelled likethe ocean. His mustache tickled and his mouth enticed.Claire heard a whimper and knew it was hers. She felt theshudder of lightning and wondered if he saw it, too. It skittered through her like quick-fire, startled her and spun her around, stole her strength and stunned her with its magic.
Ah, God, his lips were soft. His stubble chafed, and hishands seduced. Claire tasted urgency and wound her fingers through his hair, his sweet, silky hair that fanned in the wind. She arched against his chest, suddenly starving for thefeel of him.
Joy. She wanted his joy. She wanted his life, his quiet,certain strength. She wanted his faith that she was what heremembered her to be.
She wanted, just for once, just for a little while, to be freeand open and urgent. She wanted to be sung to in a voice that couldn’t keep a tune. She wanted to be praised withwork-roughened hands and delighted with the surprise ofdiscovery, and she wanted to give all that back withoutthought.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered in a trembling voice.
“I’m afraid,” she admitted against his throat.
“Don’t ever be afraid of me, Claire,” he promised, andbent to gather her even closer. “Don’t ever be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” she admitted, her own voice suddenly as faintas the breeze as she battled the rush of anxiety in her chest,the sudden, seething delight. “I’m afraid of me. And it’s allyour fault.”
“My fault?” he asked, running a finger along her cheek,his face as close as a whisper. “Why?”
Claire refused to retreat. She met his gaze and gave himthe truth, no matter what it cost. “Because I want you tomake love to me.”
