Sand Castle

SAND CASTLE

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Malcolm said from behind her. “Claire, believe me, I didn’t.” Her voice came out harsher than she meant it to. “No. You never mean it, do you? Is that supposed to make it any better?” She glared at him over her shoulder. He scrubbed at his face, then ran his hand through his hair. His accent thickened, and Claire remembered how the way he’d pronounced his words had once made her stomach tumble. “Maybe…no. But it’s all I can give you.” Fury ignited in her. She’d spent years being pleasant to this man, when the very sight of him had made her want to scream. She’d taken pride in never allowing him to get under her skin, in being the better person, in not succumbing to the waves of anger and grief that could have ruined every summer. Now, with nothing more than a few words, he’d broken her. She hated him for that, and hated herself for allowing him to do it…

PRAISE FOR SAND CASTLE

“Megan Hart has now delved into another sub-genre of romance. Sand Castle is a very erotic, haunting paranormal story. We have the opportunity of learning why everything feels so strange to Claire, along with just how important true love is and just what Malcolm gave up to be with her, right up to the chilling conclusion of the story. Once again, Megan Hart’s talent shines through in her first story of this type.” —Chere Gruver Sensual Romance

ALSO BY MEGAN HART After Class The Clear Cold Light Of Morning Convicted Dream Upon Waking Driven Friendly Fire Lonesome Bride Love Match Opening The Door Passion Model Playing The Game Pot Of Gold Right To Remain Riverboat Bride Trial By Fire With Steps Like Knives

SAND CASTLE BY MEGAN HART

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

SAND CASTLE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2004 by Megan Hart ISBN 1-59279-228-6 Cover Art © 2004 Trace Edward Zaber

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PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Ewan McGregor, the inspiration…grrrowl. For DPF, the reality.

SAND CASTLE

SAND CASTLE Some things change. And some things don’t. The key in Claire Munroe’s fingers slipped into the lock without effort, but though she had no trouble turning it, the door wouldn’t open. She put her shoulder against the weathered, once-white painted wood and pushed. It still wouldn’t budge. “C’mon, you bugger.” Claire Munroe had been coming to Nonesuch for a long time. She’d done her share of cleaning and repairing. She’d given this unassuming beach house her share of sweat and toil, and yes, even her share of blood. She had the scars to prove it—there on the palm of her hand, where the splintered wood of the deck had once gouged her deep enough to leave a mark. Dale and Kevin, two of the eight who’d dubbed themselves “the Fellowship” during their college years, had found the door at a junkyard and brought it to Nonesuch because of its beautiful and amazingly still-intact stained glass window. Claire had never had difficulty with it before, but like everything else about the house, the 1

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door was worn and sometimes cranky. She shaded her eyes and peered through the squares of blue and red to the cozy, familiar kitchen inside. Had someone arrived before her and padlocked the door? She looked over the splintered balcony again. No car, and besides, it was her turn this year to open up the house. Clouds blew across the sun, which should have been bright with the promise of summer, but instead was a pale, lifeless disc against a gray and unhappy looking sky. Some weather for June, she thought with a shudder that wracked her from her head to her toes. It was cold and looked like rain. They’d be lucky if they got any time at the beach at all. She removed the key, rubbed it on the sleeve of her cardigan, then slipped it back into the lock. “C’mon.” The door opened with a creak and groan that made Claire smile and shake her head. “Sand in your joints? I know how you feel.” Once inside, she hung her keys on the hook below her name and the laminated photo of her from ten years before. In all this time, they’d never changed the pictures. Claire paused in front of the purple-painted piece of molding one of them had hung so many years ago. Eight hooks. Eight photos. One for each of us. She touched them all in turn. “The Fellowship.” The name had begun as a joke in the dorm in which they’d all lived, but it had lasted through four years of college and ten years of friendship since. They’d been together through final exams, frat parties, panty raids, job interviews, marriages and births. Dale, Tracey, Kevin, Lisa, Joe, Alisha, Claire…and finally, the last face…Malcolm. The smile left her lips and Claire turned away from that last picture. She didn’t want to think about Malcolm. If he even bothered to show up this year, she’d do what she always did. Let her eyes slide past him. Pass him the salt at the dinner table and make certain their fingers never touched. She’d had years of experience ignoring Malcolm McGregor. She’d get by. She always did. 2

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The thought sent another chill skittering down her spine, and she rubbed her hands briskly along her arms. It was too cold for June. Claire rubbed her hands together to warm them, too. She realized she was gritting her teeth at the memory of his face, and she forced herself to relax. Stop thinking about him. He’s not worth this. She looked around the kitchen where she’d spent most of her vacations for the past ten years. Nonesuch wasn’t one of the big fancy beach houses tourists shelled out exorbitant amounts of money to rent during the summer. If it had been, not even the Fellowship teaming up together financially could have afforded to buy it. The house had been, and always would be, slightly ramshackle, no matter how much time and money they put into it. It was two stories, set on stilts, with multiple decks and balconies, a screened porch and a modest, cozy kitchen. They’d turned the top floor, originally only an attic space, into a sleeping area. They’d also redone the dining room and an old laundry room as well to give Nonesuch five bedrooms. The single, narrow bathroom boasted a leaky shower and a toilet with a pull-chain. There was rarely enough hot water for everyone to shower with, and the only air conditioning came from the open windows, while an ancient, cranky gas stove provided a modicum of warmth in the rare winter months they visited. Claire loved it. Not to live in all the time, of course, since she did like her creature comforts. But for the week every year they all came together, and for occasional weekends, Nonesuch was perfect. Sleeping space was awarded on a first-come, first-serve basis, and there was never a question about which room Claire chose. She climbed the steep, narrow stairs, which opened directly into the attic space. The sloping roof made walking a hazard, unless you kept to the middle of the room. A double bed and matching dresser took up most of the space, while a smaller single bed had been tucked away beneath the eaves. A rag rug Claire had found in town gave a splash of color to the bare wooden floor. 3

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There was nothing extravagant about this room, just as there was nothing luxurious about the rest of the house, but it was Claire’s favorite for one reason. The view. Two windows, one on each end, let in bright light and gave a view of the sea from one and the small stand of evergreen trees on the other. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the ocean, she went to the bed and knelt on it to peer out the window. Claire frowned, then ran her finger along the glass. It came away black with dust. She wrinkled her nose. No wonder the room had seemed so dim. She looked down at the bed’s comforter. She remembered it as being a wildly colored patchwork quilt of vivid reds and blues. Now the red looked more like pink, and the blue had faded so much it was nearly white. She blinked, then looked again. Had someone changed the cover? The pattern looked the same, but the colors…the colors just didn’t seem right. Claire got up and looked down at the rug. She had bought it in a local artisan’s shop four years ago, loving the splashes of color and texture, but not quite willing to have such a crazy piece in her apartment. It had been perfect for the attic room. Now, the colors she recalled as being so vibrant and clashing looked muted. Pale. She bent and touched the twists of rag. It was the same rug…wasn’t it? Disturbed, she got to her feet and looked around. The sea air destroyed everything, slowly but inexorably. Things faded. The constant grit of sand underfoot had worn the linoleum in the kitchen downstairs to the wood beneath. Maybe it had worn the rug, too. With a shrug, she put the rug and the coverlet out of her mind. She’d clean the windows and put fresh linens on the bed. Maybe she’d buy a new rug again this year. Feeling better, Claire went back downstairs to the kitchen. A dark shape stood silhouetted in the doorway and she let out a cry. Her heart flew into her throat and she stumbled back. The man stepped toward her. Instant recognition swept over her, and embarrassment flooded her. “You scared the life out of me!” 4

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“Hello, Claire. I wasn’t certain you’d be here.” He pronounced it “sair-tin,” in the faint lilt of a Scottish burr that hadn’t faded though he’d spent nearly twenty years in the United States. “The list goes around in December.” Tracey, the most organized of them, had been in charge of the duty roster since the Fellowship had bought the house. Every year, she sent around a list of whose turn it was to open the house and make it ready for their shared week. Whose responsibility it was to shut it up at the end of the season. Who was in charge of contacting the local realty company that handled the rentals during the times none of them were using the house. The list changed from year to year, so everyone had a turn. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You knew it was my turn to open up. I just…I just didn’t realize it was yours…” His hair was tousled and damp. His white T-shirt clung to him, and his jeans were dark with wet. The sudden flash of lightning and the patter of rain told her why. He bent and pulled a brightly colored beach towel out of a mesh bag and used it to scrub his hair toward dryness. “It’s not. Dale had to work this weekend and couldn’t get off until later in the week. So I came in his place. I wanted to get in a swim before dark. The storm caught me Claire and Malcolm hadn’t shared house-opening duties since…before. She chewed on her lip for a moment. Surrounded by their friends, with laughter and companionship to cushion the distance between them, she’d always been able to ignore him. Now, without anyone else around… Claire lifted her chin. She’d be fine. In a few days, the others would be here. Surely she could stand to be alone with Malcolm for two days. Three at the most. What’s the worst that could happen in three days? “I know you’re surprised to see me. And not pleasantly.” He finished with his towel and hung it on the back of a chair, then stepped 5

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closer to her. Claire caught a whiff of salt and sand. The scent filled her head and made it spin. She took a deep breath and kept her expression carefully blank. He moved closer still until he stood directly in front of her. His feet were bare. He’d cuffed his jeans. Her eyes traveled the height of a body she’d once known as well as her own, and she finally looked at his face. He’d changed the least of them over the years. He still had the same rounded, boyish features and thin-lipped mouth that could quirk into a playboy’s smile in an instant. His hair was still the color of wet sand. His eyes remained the color of the sea, sometimes green or gray or blue…or a mixture of all three. Malcolm tilted his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d see me.” How could she have ever thought she’d be able to ignore him? Claire backed away until she hit the edge of the counter. “Of course I see you. This is the only place we ever see each other.” Anymore. It hadn’t always been that way… He nodded. “I always see you here. But, Claire, you never see me.” Claire’s jaw clenched, and she forced herself to relax. “Don’t be silly.” He came closer and lifted a hand, as though unable to help himself. He touched the length of her hair, which had come loose from its ponytail and now draped over her shoulder. His fingers caught in the strands, tangled, tugged. Claire jerked away from his touch, then stalked past him toward the tiny living room. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she thought it was going to leap right out of her skin. Her head spun. Chills ran up and down her spine, rapidly, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. She took in a breath, then another, but couldn’t seem to fill her lungs. She was going to faint. What was wrong with her? She shook her head furiously, like a dog shaking off water, and bit 6

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her tongue. Sharp pain gave her focus. Her knees still shook, a little, but she straightened them along with her back. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Malcolm said from behind her. “Claire, believe me, I didn’t.” Her voice came out harsher than she meant it to. “No. You never mean it, do you? Is that supposed to make it any better?” She glared at him over her shoulder. He scrubbed at his face, then ran his hand through his hair. His accent thickened, and Claire remembered how the way he’d pronounced his words had once made her stomach tumble. “Maybe…no. But it’s all I can give you.” Fury ignited in her. She’d spent years being pleasant to this man, when the very sight of him had made her want to scream. She’d taken pride in never allowing him to get under her skin, in being the better person, in not succumbing to the waves of anger and grief that could have ruined every summer. Now, with nothing more than a few words, he’d broken her. She hated him for that, and hated herself for allowing him to do it. “It’s not enough!” The words dropped from her lips like toads, and she regretted them instantly for again having given away too much of herself. He shrugged, then held up his hands. Silent in the face of her fury. Claire shivered. Her feet and fingers were numb, icy despite the anger that should have brought heat to her cheeks. “It’s been eight years. In all that time, I haven’t ever raised my voice to you. I’ve never made it hard for us all to get together here—” “You’ve never raised your voice because you don’t talk to me!” He moved toward her again, but this time, Claire stood her ground. “I’d take your anger if it meant you spoke to me, not around me! But you don’t even look at me, Claire. You don’t see me, and you haven’t in eight years!” “It’s easier that way!” Her throat threatened to close on the words, 7

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but she forced them out. “Damn it, how do you think it is for me to spend a week every summer in this house with you? Sure, I could stomp and scream and gnash my teeth, but to what purpose? There are six other people who come to this house. Six other people I consider my very dearest friends. People I love, and who love me—” “And who love me, too,” he put in quietly. “And who love you, too,” Claire replied. “And because they love you, and they love me, I never wanted to make it hard for them. I never wanted to let what happened between us turn everything sour. I didn’t want to ruin Nonesuch for everyone just because…just because it had been ruined for me.” Then, to her horror, tears slid in burning lines down her cheeks. A sob tore from her throat. Claire’s hands flew to her mouth, startled, to hold back the cry, but only managed to muffle it. “Damn you!” she croaked. “Damn you to hell and back again!” “Believe me,” Malcolm told her. “I swear I’ve been there already.” Nausea swam up from her gut and she coughed. She pushed past him to the kitchen, where she ran the water cold and splashed her face, though she was already freezing. She felt him watching her, but he wasn’t speaking, thank God. She wiped her hands, took a deep breath, and turned to face him. “I should just go.” “No!” The vehemence in his words made her lean back against the counter. He softened and held out his hands as though to placate her. “No, please. Don’t go. I’ve waited a long time for this.” “For what?” Claire gave a derisive laugh. Her damp hair tickled her cheeks, and she swept it away with a fierce hand. Malcolm sighed. “It’s been eight years, Claire. Do you no think…do you no ever think you could possibly forgive me?” She laughed again. For the first time in a while, the hunger for a cigarette picked at her. She swung toward the cupboard and pulled out a box of peanut brittle instead. She’d stashed the box, still sealed in its plastic wrapper, in case of just such a craving. Her fingers worked at 8

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the slippery plastic, which denied and defeated her every effort at tearing it. She tried again to wedge a fingernail beneath the corner, but failed. “Here. Let me.” Gently, he took the box from her and slit open the plastic by running his nail along the box’s opening. He held out the box to her, and Claire took it. She put it on the counter, suddenly having lost her appetite for the candy. “It’s been eight years,” she said at last. “Why don’t you just let it go?” “Me?” His face transformed when he laughed. How could she have forgotten that? The way his mouth curled and his eyes crinkled? “Me let it go? I’d have let it go years ago, Claire. You’re the one who’s been hanging on.” “Yes, you would’ve let it go, wouldn’t you? It was easy for you to do that.” She sniffed and turned her head, not willing to look again at his easy, charming smile. “No. It wasn’t easy for me to do it. It was never easy.” She replied in a voice pitched deliberately low, wanting to make him work to hear her. “Fine. You want me to forgive you? Forget about it? Fine. I’m over it. I’m over you.” “I’m sorry!” His anguished cry made her look up from her study of the worn linoleum. “If I could take it all back, I would! I swear to God I would! I was just a stupid kid, Claire! I didn’t know—” “Then take it all back!” Now she advanced on him, her fists clenched at her sides. More chills ran over her. Her teeth snapped together, and she had to force the words through their clatter. “Make it all go away! Make it so you never kissed me that first time. Take back the first time we made love. Take back the way you told me you loved me! Take it all back! “And while you’re at it—” Now she spat the words that had lain in her heart for so long, festering, spat them like they tasted bad, because 9

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they did. They tasted like bile. “Take back the night you came here, to our place, and fucked that slut on the beach then lied to my face about it not even two hours later. When I could still smell her on you, you lying, cheating bastard.” She breathed deep, took in the scent of sea and sand, and of him. The smells washed over her. Relentless. Claire struggled for control of her tears…and lost. She closed her eyes and they still slipped out. “But you can’t! Don’t you know there’s no such thing as a second chance? You can’t take it back.” “I wish I could.” Her eyes flew open. “So do I.” The house rocked as though a giant fist had thumped it. Claire staggered. Malcolm’s hands held her upright. Kept her safe. “What the hell?” he cried, just as another thump came. This one was louder and stronger. It rattled the windows and the glasses in the cupboard. A third rumble rocked the old house on its stilt foundation. The key holder fell off the wall and split apart on the floor. Claire realized she was in Malcolm’s arms after a moment of silence. “What was that?” He bent and lifted the broken key holder. “Look.” Six of the eight pictures had scattered in the fall. Only two remained, face up, side by side, untouched. Claire and Malcolm. Malcolm picked up their photos and put them on the table. His eyes, gray-green at the moment and open wide, met hers. He reached for her hands and she let him take them. “Not an earthquake.” Airth-quake. Her stomach tumbled the way it used to. “No.” “Something else.” She nodded then looked to the kitchen ceiling, where the overhead light still swung to and fro. “Something…odd.” He didn’t seem as frightened by the strange occurrence as she might have guessed he would. But then, strangely enough, neither did she. The noise and the vibration had been fierce and unexpected. Definitely 10

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out of the ordinary. A sensation, not quite pain, throbbed in her temple. Claire rubbed the spot. Something was different. Something had changed. She looked again at the man who had broken her heart so long ago, and this time, the sight of him did not make her want to scream. She’d kept her anger and grief close to her for a long time, but now she felt it slipping away from her like a handful of dry sand. He pulled her close. His breath fluttered on her cheeks. She turned her head, but could not find the desire to push him away. Oh, it had been too long. Too many years without him. Why had she run away? Once, what had happened that day had seemed so important. It had seemed like the end, a tragedy from which there could be no return. And now, with his hands making her warm at last, Claire discovered she could barely remember that day at all. “Maybe,” Claire said slowly, “I do believe in second chances after all.” *

*

*

She took him by the hand and led him up the narrow stairs to the room she’d always loved best. They didn’t bother with words, which would have only ruined the moment. Instead, Claire let her actions speak for her. Malcolm was only a few inches taller than her five feet, six inches, but he ducked instinctively as he followed her toward the double bed. Claire laughed, aware she felt unreasonably giddy, but not caring. She rubbed at her temple again, with the hand not holding tightly onto Malcolm’s, but she didn’t think too hard about what had changed between them. It seemed she couldn’t, actually. She was aware something had changed, but when she tried to focus on it, the thoughts skittered away from her like mice across a kitchen floor. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Claire wasn’t angry anymore. 11

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When they reached the bed, she turned and faced him. They stood nearly eye-to-eye until she kicked off her thick-soled sandals. Then her nose came neatly to his chin. Face to face, she met his gaze without hesitation. His eyes were blue now in the shaft of light streaming in through the stripes she’d made on the window’s dusty glass. Liquid blue. She pushed up on her toes, just a little, and kissed him. Salt, like the taste of the sea, filled her mouth and she closed her eyes as her lips parted. He opened beneath her. She waited for the inquisitive touch of his tongue, and when it didn’t come soon enough, she gave him hers. He gave a sigh that was nearly a moan and his arms went around her. Suddenly, she was warm. Her body stopped its mild but constant shivering. She sank into the warmth as she sank into the kiss, and it was like being enfolded in a placid, comforting sea. She pulled him down with her onto the bed and expected to smell dust as their bodies hit the cover. Only the scent of salt and sand— Malcolm’s scent—washed over her, and Claire breathed deeply as though she hadn’t breathed in an eternity. She had not forgotten the feeling of his weight on her. She parted her legs to allow him to settle between them. The bulge of his erection pressed against her clit, urging it to swell with arousal. Malcolm pulled away to look into her eyes again. His hand came up to stroke away the tangled tendrils of her hair from her forehead. He looked as though he was about to speak, but Claire pressed a finger to his lips to keep him silent. “Shh. It’s better this way.” Always before, she’d been the one to talk. To tell him what she felt, or thought, or dreamed. She’d been the one to share her words of love while he avoided them. Malcolm had been the taciturn one, easy with his laughter, but not forthcoming with much else. “Kiss me,” she said, and he did. He rolled to her side and left her mouth to kiss along her cheek, the 12

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curve of her jaw, and down the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat. There he paused, his lips soft on her skin. “It’s been forever since I tasted you.” She laughed, low and throaty, a sexy, sensual sound that made her nipples and clit throb in time with her beating heart. “Then what are you waiting for?” He replied by capturing her mouth again. Hard enough this time to make her gasp and press her hips upward. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth for a moment before he once again delved to her throat and nibbled her skin. Claire pushed herself further up on the bed, until her head rested on the pillows. “Make love to me.” The smile she loved so well spread across his mouth and made her heart leap. Malcolm knelt beside her and reached for the buttons on her sweater and the shirt beneath. One by one, he slid them open and kissed the flesh he exposed. Her skin grew warmer under the path of his lips. He sat up, his face surprised. “You still wear this?” Her hand went to her chest, where a small charm nestled between her breasts. She tugged it and felt the chain from which it hung pull against her neck. The seashell pendant. “You gave this to me.” She sounded as surprised as he looked. “I thought I—” She stopped, an image rising in her mind. Sand. The sea. Waves slapping the shore. A twinkle of gold in the air as she flung his gift into the ocean. She’d been about to say, “I thought I threw it away,” but amended her words. “I thought I lost it.” She didn’t have time to think about it again because he’d bent to kiss her breasts through the lace of her bra. Claire’s nipples thrust against the thin material, and Malcolm’s mouth found the twin buds. He suckled first one, then the other, while his hands cupped her rounded flesh. 13

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She arched her back. He unhooked the front of her bra and it fell open. She waited, breathless, eyes closed, for his lips on her bare skin. When she felt them, she moaned and tossed her head from side to side. She had never had another lover after him, and now she was glad of it. She had been waiting for the right man to bring her again to ecstasy. To discover that man was Malcolm, her greatest love, felt right. Like slipping into a pair of soft slippers after a day spent in toe-pinching high heels. Perfect pleasure. His mouth closed around one of her nipples and he tugged gently with his lips while his tongue flicked the sensitive flesh. Her clit pulsed. She moved her thighs and felt the slickness of her arousal. Malcolm left her breasts and moved down her belly. His kisses tickled and aroused her, and she squirmed. His hands gripped her hips to keep her still. His breath puffed on her belly button as he untied the drawstring of her loose linen trousers. The waistband loosened, he pushed the pants over her hips, down past her ankles, and off. Without his heat to warm her, the air seemed cold again. Claire shivered, but in a moment, he was back between her legs. His mouth unerringly found her plump clit, even through the soft cotton of her panties. His tongue pressed on her firmly. She was already so wet for him. He kissed her clit, over and over, until her panties were soaked from his mouth and her juices. Claire lifted her hips and urged him to take away the barrier between them. She was so ready, all it would take was another puff of breath and she’d go over the edge. He didn’t give in to her silent request. Malcolm pressed his finger to the swollen bump and circled it slowly. Gently. He found the rhythm she liked, the pattern of pressure and release that made her clit swell and throb and her thighs begin to tremble. He eased off, then put his mouth to her again. The time, he didn’t move his lips or tongue against her. He only kept his lips pressed to her clit, tight, while he slipped a 14

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finger under the elastic of her panties and stroked her slick opening. She was already open to him, but now Claire tilted her hips a fraction higher. The angle changed. Malcolm slid his finger inside her and pressed upward as his mouth continued to press without moving on her clitoris. For a second, he didn’t move at all. Claire heard the roaring of the ocean in her ears and realized she’d been holding her breath. She let out the air in her lungs and gasped. Her body moved, even if he didn’t, and the first slow waves of orgasm rippled through her. Almost there… Malcolm nibbled her clit through her panties while he slid his finger in and out of her slick tunnel. He twisted it inside her as his mouth kept up the relentless pressure. She was going to come. She wound her fingers in his hair. He lifted his head and her clit thrummed from the new sensation. Before she knew it, Malcolm had pulled down her panties. The warmth of his breath caressed her bare flesh. His finger slid and twisted inside her. Claire waited as the roar of the ocean grew louder, and she forced herself to take another breath. He touched his tongue to her and she splintered. He licked her and she broke. Waves of pleasure crashed over her. Claire’s entire body tensed with the power of her climax. There was nothing but ecstasy. Nothing but the mindless pleasure of his tongue swirling on her throbbing clit. She cried out once, and then again, when a second wave of contractions rippled through her. Her pussy bore down on his finger, and she wished desperately it were his penis filling her. Malcolm pressed a gentle kiss to her still twitching bud, then rested his head on her belly. His hand cupped her love-swollen flesh. Some things change. And some things don’t. The spasms faded, and Claire no longer had to force herself to try and breathe. *

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She must have slept because, when she opened her eyes, the room had faded into darkness. Claire stretched and scissored her legs beneath the blankets. He’d taken the time to cover her. Why then did she still feel so cold? She reached up and turned on the small lamp clipped to the headboard. The circle of light woke her enough to get out of bed. She found her suitcase, set on top of the dresser, but not yet opened, and pulled out a flowing sundress. She’d packed for a week at the beach, not a ski-slope, but now she wished for the warmth of a roaring fire and a cup of cocoa. She settled for her battered college sweatshirt instead. Once it had been the most expensive shirt she owned, and the thought that a fortydollar sweatshirt had once stretched her wallet to breaking made her shake her head with a rueful laugh. Some things change. And some things don’t. The words echoed in her mind and stole the grin from her lips. Another chill skittered down her spine, despite the thick sweatshirt’s protection. Claire shrugged off the feeling of unease with an effort and went downstairs. “Hello?” She called, though it was plain the house was empty. It had that empty-house feeling. Her footsteps sounded too loud. The darkness was too black. The silence too all-encompassing. Abandoned. That’s how the house felt. Damn, she thought morosely. That’s how she felt. Where could he have gone? Thin and impotent anger burned her like a cord drawn too quickly across a palm. He’d left her. Taken her to bed, then left her again! And he expected forgiveness? The bastard! Claire went to the kitchen, slammed open the door and went to the deck outside. She looked down to the sandy driveway, but saw only one dark hump. One car—hers. He’d really gone. “Shite!” she cried, but shite was Malcolm’s word. “Fuck!” 16

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That was his word, too. She’d often teased him about the way he let the word Americans often viewed as the worst slip off his tongue without regard for the ears of those around him. Except in Malcolm’s voice, the word was “fook.” He even made swearing sound charming. “Damn son of a bitch,” she muttered, but got no satisfaction from the epithet. She slammed open the door and stalked into the kitchen. She went to the cupboard and grabbed a glass, then went to the sink to draw some water. Not to quench her thirst, for she had none, but because she needed something to focus on to take away her anger. “Claire?” At the sound of her name, she jumped. The glass slipped from her fingers and hit the porcelain sink, where it shattered. Water splashed her shirt. She whirled, her heart pounding so fast and hard it made bright sparks bloom in front of her eyes. He wore different clothes. Khaki pants and a tight-fitting white Tshirt. No shoes. His sand-colored hair was tousled and damp, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. Claire slapped him. “You scared the life out of me!” He reached for the hand that had left its imprint on his cheek and held it. “I’m sorry.” “Where were you?” He shrugged and pointed over his shoulder. “In the bathroom.” “Your car is gone.” She sounded accusing, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was accusing him of. “It’s parked around the other side of the house, that’s all.” They stared at each other until she felt foolish. Her emotions swam too close to the surface, like her skin was too thin. She hadn’t always been that way. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I woke up, and you were gone. I didn’t know where you were.” She turned back to the sink and sighed at the mess she’d made. She 17

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reached for the dustpan and brush hanging on the wall and began to clean the glittering shards of glass. “I thought you’d left me again.” He came close behind her. His whisper brushed her neck. “I didn’t leave you.” She turned her head. His lips nuzzled her chin. He turned her in the circle of his arms and kissed her. Then he put his forehead to hers. “I didn’t leave you.” She sighed. “I overreacted.” His smile took her breath away. “You did.” She put her hands on his chest and tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder. They stayed that way for a while, content in their silence. Gradually, she realized they were moving. Dancing to an unheard melody. In another moment, she heard first his soft hum, then the words as he sang to her. “Oh, the summer time is coming, and the leaves are swift returning. And the wild mountain thyme grows along the blooming heather…” Slowly, they danced, Claire safe and warm in the circle of Malcolm’s arms. He kissed her again, with a hunger she matched immediately. She walked him backwards toward the living room, then turned to go through the arched doorway beyond. Heavy draperies provided privacy for the room, which had been originally been a dining room. She pushed him through the thick fall of fabric and it slid across them like hands welcoming them in. Claire pushed Malcolm backward to the house’s only queen-sized bed. She stopped when his knees hit the mattress. The kisses had become fiercer, more desperate, with tongues meeting and twisting, dancing in a mirror of how they had danced a few moments before. Claire put her hands to the hem of Malcolm’s T-shirt and pulled the cloth free of his waistband. It was over his head in a second, tossed to the floor in another, and in one more she had her palms pressed flat to the smooth skin of his chest. His nipples pebbled tightly beneath her palms. His skin was hot. She twisted her wrists to point her fingers 18

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downward and slid her hands to the tautness of his belly. The line of hair, darker than on his head, tickled her fingers. Her hands found his snap and zipper. She opened them and pushed his pants over his hips. She stepped between his knees and pushed the pants all the way to the floor. She was urgent, yet everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, like a dream. If this was a dream, it was one she didn’t want to wake from. Claire pressed herself against his lean body. His cock rose between them, hotter than his chest even through the layers of material from his boxer briefs and her sundress. All at once, it became unbearable to have anything between them. Without leaving his mouth, Claire got rid of the briefs the way she had the pants. Then she pushed him back. Together, they fell onto the bed. Before she straddled him on her knees, she struggled out of her panties. His hand pulled her dress into accordion folds at her waist, and she seated herself on his penis, their mouths still joined as intimately as their bodies. For a moment, neither of them moved. Her clit pressed against the ridges of his belly, while his cock stretched her so deliciously, Claire thought she might come from that pleasure alone. Malcolm’s hands slid down to cup her ass, but he didn’t urge her to move. He stroked her skin, which drove her wild. Their mouths still locked, Claire rolled her hips. She rocked gently and pressed her clit further against him. Up and down, barely moving, then in a small, tight circle that had him pulsing inside her while her clitoris throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Claire left the bliss of his mouth for the greater ecstasy of freedom of movement. She sat up. Her hair fell down, across her back and shoulders, but her dress and sweatshirt blocked the sensual touch. She fisted the material at her hips and pulled dress and sweatshirt off together, then threw them to the floor. Now the tickling of her hair on her skin felt like fingers touching and caressing her, and Claire let her 19

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head loll back. “You’re beautiful.” His voice, the softly lilting brogue, brought her back to herself. Claire opened her eyes to stare down at him. She touched his cheek. “I’ve waited a long time to hear you say that.” “Not as long as I’ve waited to say it.” He put his hands on her hips and slid them upward to the sheer nylon of her bra. Malcolm thumbed her nipples until they stood out like buttons. Claire undid the hooks, then shrugged out of the filmy material. She took Malcolm’s hands and put them back on her breasts. Cupping them, he tweaked her nipples again in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. Claire began to move. She lifted herself with the strength of her thighs along the length of his shaft. She rolled her hips to take him as deep inside her as she could. They fit perfectly. Hand in glove, cock in cunt, the last two pieces of a puzzle that had taken too long to put together. Malcolm thrust beneath her. Though she could move better this way, she did miss the direct pressure on her clit. As though he’d read her mind, Malcolm slid his hand between them so his thumb could press against her. She came at once, a rippling tremor that made her belly and thigh muscles jump as her vagina contracted around his penis. He circled her bud with his thumb and sent another shock wave through her. She ground herself on his cock, helpless to do anything but follow the urgency between her legs. Again she came, a milder burst of sensation that nevertheless made her cry out loud. In the aftermath her clit was too sensitive, and she grabbed his hand to move it away. Malcolm twined his fingers through hers, so their hands were palm to palm. Claire looked down at him, then at their hands. Yes. This is right. He closed his eyes as she rocked on him. His jaw clenched as 20

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though he were in pain, but she knew better. The sight of his arousal stoked her own, until an incredible fourth climax built inside her and burst at the same moment she felt his entire body tense beneath her. His cock shuddered inside her, and Malcolm let out a low, gutteral moan. “Claire!” His hand bore down on hers so hard it would have hurt had the ecstasy racing through her not blocked out everything else. His other hand held bruising-tight to her hip as he guided her through one more stroke, two, three…and then he slammed his hips upward until his penis hit the entrance to her womb and his seed filled her. Claire fell forward, her hair a curtain around both of them. She kissed him. Tasted more salt, this time sweat. She slid off him and moved to his side, where she curled against him and gathered the warmth of his body around her like a blanket. *

*

*

This time, Claire was the one to slip out of the bed first. The sun had already found the sky when she left him sleeping, the soft, gentle snoring still as familiar to her as the sound of her own voice. She went to the long but narrow bathroom and ran the shower as hot as it would run. Steam quickly clouded the mirror, but that was all right. She didn’t need to see her face to know she wore what Dale had always called the FFG. “Freshly Fucked Glow.” I’ve been well and thoroughly fucked, not just freshly, Claire thought with a grin as she stepped into the curtained enclosure. The hot water helped to chase away the chill she’d felt since leaving Malcolm’s side. She reached for the bottle of scented body wash settled into the wire basket hanging from the ceiling. It smelled like ginseng and orange and was supposed to “make your body come alive,” according to the blurb on the back of the bottle. She didn’t know about that, but it did smell good. She squirted a generous amount onto her net sponge and began to 21

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cover all the places that were still glowing. Her body ached pleasantly in a dozen places, and between her legs she was downright sore. She touched herself there and thought of Malcolm’s hands on her, and the soreness dissipated at the memory of his tongue against her clit. She washed her hair with shampoo that matched the body wash, and reveled for a moment in the delicious scented soap. She loved the smell of citrus. A thought tickled the back of her mind, but slipped away when she tried to grab it. Something about the soap, something about the shampoo? Something about the smell reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. “Good morning, sunshine!” She jumped a little and the almost-memory fled. She peeked out around the shower curtain at Malcolm, bare as birth and just as unashamed. He used the toilet, and she admired the taut curve of his buttocks and thighs. He turned and caught her staring. “Like what you see?” He waggled his eyebrows, then his hips and she started to laugh. Whatever had been troubling her thoughts disappeared as neatly as if she’d stuffed them in a trashcan. She laughed even harder when he whipped open the shower curtain and got in with her. “There’s not enough room in here for two,” she mock-scolded. “No?” He looked around in pretend surprise, then took her into his arms and pulled her against him. “What about if we stand verra, verra close together?” She tilted her head so he could kiss her. “Mmm. That might work.” His tongue made a slow, leisurely exploration of her mouth before he nibbled on her lips and nuzzled her neck. “You’re all slippery.” He moved his hand from her back to between her legs. “Especially here.” She drew in her breath with a hiss as his fingers grazed her clit, then slid along her folds. “I wonder why?” Malcolm’s eyes looked green now, like an emerald covered in dust. 22

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“Let’s think about that, shall we?” His kissed her again while the spray poured down over both of them. His fingers tweaked her already swollen clit and she gasped inside his mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders. He lifted her leg to pull her even closer against him. His cock took the place of his hand, and she rubbed her clit on his erection. The shower really wasn’t large enough for both of them. Malcolm’s elbow rapped the tile wall when he turned her, and he muttered a hearty, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” as Claire laughed and made him kiss her again. “Ignore it,” she told him. “The hot water won’t last forever, you know.” “Think we can be quick enough about our business?” His grin made her knees weak. Looking at that smile, Claire thought their business could be very quick indeed. Already she felt the first pulses of climax building in her nipples and clit. “I don’t know, lover. How fast can I make you come?” His pupils grew large and dark at her words and he licked his lips. Before he had time to answer, she went to her knees in front of him. She cupped his testicles in her hand. She tilted her head to take the length of him down her throat. She closed her eyes against the wash of water as it sluiced over her. He filled her. She sucked him, down to the base then out to the tip, where she swirled her tongue along the rim of his penis. His cock thickened in her mouth, and beat a tattoo on her tongue and the insides of her cheeks. Malcolm put his hands on Claire’s head. He pulled the sopping hair away from her face off her cheeks and away from her lips. She put her hands on his hips to help guide the pace. His thighs bunched against her breasts in evidence of the strain he was taking not to thrust into her too deeply. Not to choke her. She was grateful for the small courtesies, a reminder of how much she had once loved him and the reasons why. 23

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She let one hand creep down between her legs to slip and slide across the top of her clitoris. It thrummed under her touch. It had grown impossibly huge, turgid, like a small cock of her own. She stroked it between her fingers like it was a cock. Up and down, the same rhythm she was using on Malcolm. The pace quickened. His hips began to move, and she no longer tried to stop him from thrusting so deeply into her. Claire fucked herself with her fingers, close to coming, ready to explode. She toppled over the edge just as Malcolm’s hand twisted painfully in her hair. He let out a low cry. His body shuddered against her. The sound of his climax made a second, smaller orgasm ripple through her. He tasted like the ocean.After that, it took only a moment to realize two things. Her knees hurt badly and the water was turning cold. It seemed impossible to her that she could ever be cold in Malcolm’s embrace, but Claire knew if they didn’t get out soon, they’d be frozen in minutes. He helped her to her feet and kissed her while the water rinsed the taste of him from her mouth. “You didn’t wash yourself,” she said. “Here. Use my—” Her fingers twitched on the bottle. “Claire?” She tilted her head to look at the hanging basket and the bottles inside it. Something about the scent…not of ginger and orange. Something else. “Claire, love, are you all right?” She reached for the bottle of body wash, but her fingers curved on air instead of plastic. She couldn’t recall bringing any soap with her. Or anything at all, for that matter. She drew back her hand without grabbing the bottle. “Fine.” She got out of the shower and toweled off quickly. She dressed in a pair of fleecy sweatpants and her college sweatshirt, added socks, then padded from the bathroom while combing her hair. The pervasive chill that had been briefly vanquished by the hot 24

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shower and Malcolm’s kisses crept back. Claire went to the large bay window in the living room and looked out to the gray sky above. It wasn’t raining. Just gray. Like her sudden mood. “Won’t it ever get warm?” she cried grumpily. “Ah, don’t complain.” Malcolm, clad only in a towel, sauntered to the window and looked over her shoulder. He slipped his arms around her waist. “Gives us an excuse to stay inside and make out on the couch while we watch old movies.” His words didn’t do much to cheer her. Claire turned and pressed her face to his bare chest, still damp from the shower. He nuzzled her neck. Some things change. And some things don’t. Again, the words echoed in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn’t figure out what they meant. *

*

*

Claire slid the omelet and toast onto a plate and called over her shoulder. “Breakfast!” She turned to put the plate on the table and jumped, hand over her heart. “You scared the life out of me!” She put the plate in front of him and bent closer to peer into Malcolm’s eyes. “You don’t look good. Are you all right?” “I’m fine.” Concerned, she put her hand to his forehead. “You’re on fire! You must have a fever. You should go—” He reached up and arrested her hand with his, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. Today his eyes were gray with matching shadows beneath. “I’ve no fever, Claire. Don’t worry about it.” Claire took the seat across from him, her hand still captured in his. “Then what’s wrong? You look sick.” He shook his head in reply. “Every day…” 25

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“Every day what?” Claire asked when he didn’t go further. “What’s wrong? Can’t you tell me?” His look was naked in its sincerity. “Do you love me, Claire?” She sat back in her chair. “Of course I do. You know I do. Haven’t I always?” Malcolm’s face dropped into his hands and he sobbed. Alarmed because she had no idea what she’d done to so upset him, Claire got up and put her arms around him. His shoulders heaved. His tears wet the thin cotton of her T-shirt. His face worked against her throat. She held him as tightly as she could, not knowing what had caused his pain, but wanting to take it away. “Tell me what’s wrong? Please?” He only gripped her more fiercely. Claire smoothed his hair and pressed her cheek to the top of his head. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.” That made him lift his head. His gray eyes were now rimmed with red. He looked haggard. The scruff of his beard showed glints of silver, and Claire had to blink to be certain her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Surely those stray strands must be blond? “I love you.” She touched her finger to his lips. “It’ll be all right.” Then, because she didn’t know what else to do, she kissed him. He met her lips with an urgency that unnerved her at first, but as his tongue quested inside her mouth, Claire’s anxiety vanished. Malcolm’s mouth on hers felt too delicious. She was swept up again in her love for him. In her lust for him. She’d never loved anyone more in her life, or wanted another man so much. His smile, his touch, the sound of his voice was enough to have her wet and ready. Now she discovered his tears could have the same affect. Claire moved around in front of him until she could sit on his lap. She put her hands on either side of his head as she kissed him. Her fingers played in his soft, sand-colored curls. Delicately, she traced the rims of his ears, down to the soft lobes and the cool metal of the tiny gold hoop he wore in one of them. She passed her fingers down his jaw 26

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to his chin, beneath their kisses, then further down the smooth passage of his throat to his collarbone. She slipped her hands inside the open collar of his shirt then up again, to the back of his neck. All the while, kissing. She was lost inside his kisses. She had always been lost there. No one in her life had ever made her as happy or as furious as Malcolm had, but no matter how angry she had ever been, his kisses took it all away. Angry? How could she ever have been angry with him? What could he have done that was so bad? The thoughts moved through her mind like lazy clouds drifting in a summer sky. She wasn’t angry with him. She had never been angry with him. His cock grew against the front of his trousers. Claire pressed herself against the bulge, the heat. Sparkles of desire built in her. Malcolm’s hands came around to cup her ass and pull her closer against him. The chair creaked and wobbled as they ground against each other, dry humping. She left his mouth to allow him access to her throat, where he nibbled and suckled and licked until she thought she might go insane with wanting him. “Put your mouth on me.” She stripped off her shirt with one quick motion and lifted her bare breasts to him. Malcolm mouthed her nipples and suckled gently on one of them. Claire moaned. His breath was hot on her skin. She rocked her pelvis forward and back against his erection while he flicked her tender nipples with his tongue. She wore no panties beneath her sleep pants. The soft flannel tugged and rubbed on her aching bud, adding to the already torturous pleasure she was giving herself from Malcolm’s pants-enclosed cock. The pressure was good, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted his tongue there instead. Claire lifted herself from his lap and sat up on the table. Malcolm’s 27

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tears had stopped. Now his eyes had grown bright with desire. She wanted very badly to see his smile. He stood and helped her tug off the sleep pants and, without being asked, went back between her legs to lick and suck her button. The kitchen table was hard and cold under her back. Malcolm was hard and hot on her front. Claire lifted her hips to his probing tongue. He rolled his tongue on her clit, then slipped a finger inside her and pressed upward. Her body jerked in response. Orgasmic contractions rippled through her, but she didn’t come. Not quite. “Make love to me,” she told him and watched through love-glazed eyes as he stripped off his shirt and pants. Unfettered by the trousers, his penis sprang free. She sat up and scooted to the table’s edge. Malcolm took his cock in his hand and nudged the tip inside her. He wet himself with her fluid and eased in an inch. Out. Back in, just a bit further. Then out again, his clock glistening with her juices, before he seated himself to the hilt. They both moaned at the same time. Claire’s head dropped to his chest for a moment as she struggled to control the waves of pleasure washing over her. She hooked her ankles around the backs of his thighs as Malcolm began to move. His first thrusts were slow and easy, like the man himself. His cock stretched her. Claire looked down to where their bodies joined. Her dark curls meshed with his lighter ones. Her rose colored lips enfolded his similarly shaded penis. The pink pearl of her clit stood at attention. Every thrust moved the small button back and forth. The pink turned darker as her clit engorged. Claire put a fingertip to her clit and pressed gently. It throbbed beneath her touch and her vagina contracted around Malcolm’s cock. She rubbed the smooth flesh in a small, tight circle. It was enough to finish her off. The sea rushed over her. Ecstasy engulfed her. She couldn’t see or 28

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hear or think. She could only feel. It was over too soon. Good sex always was.Malcolm helped her off the table, then looked ruefully at the plate of eggs which had been smashed to the floor without either of them noticing. “I’ll get the broom.” She touched his arm until he turned to face her. “Are you all right?” He kissed her. “You love me?” “You know I do.” His sigh was heavy but his grin light when he replied, “Then I’m all right.” Still, his eyes were shadowed. His answer didn’t satisfy. Claire left him to clean up the mess and make more breakfast while she showered. What could have made him cry? Was he sick? Was it something with his job? Or his family? The questions wouldn’t leave her as she fiddled with the faucet to set the water temperature just right. Claire and Malcolm had known each other since their freshman year of college. They’d lived in the same dormitory. They’d had the same friends. But it wasn’t until the Fellowship had all chipped in to buy this dilapidated beach house, Nonesuch, that they’d fallen in love. Still, in the time they’d been together, she’d never seen him upset enough to weep. Claire stepped into the shower and tipped her face to the spray. Warm water cascaded over her closed eyes. She turned to let it pound on her back while she pondered. If anything, she would have said Malcolm was too lackadaisical to grieve for anything. He could be brooding, even taciturn at times, but mostly he took life with all the seriousness of the grasshopper who played. Too often she felt like the ant in that fable. Working. Planning for the future. They hadn’t spoken of marriage, but she’d thought about it plenty. He’d told her often enough he wasn’t ready to settle down. Once, he’d told her he wasn’t even ready to be tied down… Claire frowned and turned again to let the water wash over her face. 29

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Malcolm didn’t want to be tied down? When had he said that? She could hear his voice saying those very words inside her head, clear as daylight…but when had he said them? Despite the hot water, her skin humped into gooseflesh. Something was wrong here. Something was not right. Some things change. And some things don’t. Now she heard her own voice, echoing, but she hadn’t spoken aloud. Her eyes flew open and the water stung them. Her hands flew up to wipe them and her elbow knocked the bottle of shampoo over. It fell and splattered on the shower floor. The scent of berries stung her nose. Nausea filled her throat. The smell. It wasn’t right either. It should be citrus, not berries. Claire opened her mouth to cry out and the water filled it. Choked her. She gasped and the water entered her lungs. She tried to cough, but couldn’t breathe. Strong hands pulled her from the shower. She spat and spat again to clear the water and the smell of berries from her lungs. Malcolm wrapped her in a towel and held her close as she shivered and shuddered. He cradled her on the bathroom floor. His hands smoothed away the tangled hair from her face, and he whispered soothing words until her body ceased its twitching. “Claire, look at me.” She did. It was as though a film of plastic wrap had been laid over her. She could see. She could hear. She could even smell. But there seemed to be a barrier between her and all of that. A wall she couldn’t see. “Claire!” Malcolm’s voice came from far away. Claire’s teeth chattered hard enough to bring blood to her tongue. It was bitter. It tasted like darkness. And then darkness was all she saw. 30

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*

*

*

“Wow, what a glorious day!” Claire stretched and peered out the window to the glimpse of beach and ocean. “The sun is shining. The sky is blue. Looks like there are some nice waves out there today.” Malcolm scrubbed his face with his hands and tugged at the hem of her T-shirt until she left the window and lay back down beside him. “It’s too early to be talking about riding waves.” “It’s too airrrly to be talking aboot riding waves,” she teased and snuggled closer. “Say it again.” “Early.” She giggled and ran her hand down his chest to his belly. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you talk.” “No?” He tilted his head to look at her. “Are you sure about that?” Her brow wrinkled. “Why? Do you want me to be tired of you?” “No. No,” he repeated and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t want that.” Claire toyed with the drawstring of his pants. “Is it too ‘airly’ for riding something else?” At her suggestion, she felt his penis twitch. “Ah, no. I don’t think so.” “I love you.” Claire sat up and looked at him seriously. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but I had to say it.” Malcolm’s eyes looked as blue as the sky outside. He bit his lip and took her hands. “Don’t think that. I want to hear you say it. Every day.” “Since when?” Claire sat back and pretended to scoff, but his admission sent a thrill of pleasure through her. “It doesn’t matter since when,” he said so seriously her smile faded. “It only matters that I do now.” “All right.” She hesitated. “I love you.” “I love you, too, Claire. You don’t even know how much.” That was a bit too much for her, and she moved back from him so far she almost fell off the bed. “Okay, who abducted you and replaced 31

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your brain with someone else’s?” “No one.” “You’re serious.” “You act like you’re not happy to hear it.” Malcolm sat up against the headboard. His sand-brown hair stuck up in wild spikes all over his head, and Claire restrained herself from reaching out to smooth it. Instead, she put her hands in her lap. “I’m just a little surprised to hear it, that’s all. I mean, c’mon. We both know you—” “That I know nothing,” he interrupted firmly. “Whatever happened before…I was a fool. An idiot. A clabber-head.” “Clabber-head?” That earned a chuckle. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” “I love you, Claire.” He leaned forward to kiss her breathless. When she could breathe, she said, “I love you, too, Malcolm.” “You said my name.” He closed his eyes as though he were all at once thoroughly relieved of a great pain. “God, it’s good to hear.” “Are you all right?” She feigned checking him for fever. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “Say it again.” “You act like I’ve never said your name before.” She shook her head at his foolishness. “Please.” The tables had turned. Feeling foolish, she obliged. “Malcolm. Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm.” “Claire, what if I told you I’d dreamed I lost you, and that I hadn’t heard you say my name in a verra long time.” “I’d say don’t eat hot peppers before bed again.” She stroked his cheek. “Because that could never happen.” For a moment, so brief she was uncertain it happened at all, his eyes looked haunted. “I wish you were right.” Uneasiness settled in her gut like a spoiled meal. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” He shook his head. “Like to? No.” 32

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Suddenly, Claire didn’t want to hear whatever it was Malcolm had to say. She crawled over the bed and up his body until she could rest her forehead on his. She lost herself in the endless blue depths of his eyes. “Let’s not talk,” she said. “Fair enough.” His voice had gone husky in the way she recognized. It sent an answering thrill down her spine. “No talking.” She brushed her lips on his, feather-soft. His hands came up to toy with the ends of her hair. Claire nudged Malcolm’s chin with hers and deepened the kiss. She straddled his waist. His hardening penis bumped her butt, and she wiggled until it slipped toward her front. Malcolm rolled them both over until he’d settled between her legs. His mouth found her throat, her neck, and the edges of her collarbone. He lifted her T-shirt over her head and paused to gaze at her. His palms came up and covered her bare breasts. Her nipples stiffened. He put his mouth to the left one while his fingers tweaked the right and then switched places. Claire arched under this touch. “Malcolm…” “Yes, Claire.” But there was no more to be said, just to say his name, as he’d asked her to. Claire said it again, his name, like a charm, a password, a talisman, to keep her safe from some distant threat she sensed but could not see. In the movies, clothes always seemed to simply melt away, as though by magic. In real life, it was usually more complicated. The tie of Malcolm’s pants knotted and they couldn’t undo it. Claire’s pants got hooked around her ankle and refused to budge. Malcolm’s T-shirt tore when Claire tugged it over his head, and that final snafu in their attempts at getting naked sent them both into peals of laughter. “Ah, it’s good to hear your laugh, Claire.” He made it sound like she hadn’t laughed in a long time. “No talking, remember?” 33

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He laughed again, a little less heartily. “All right.” He slipped inside her with a sigh, then closed his eyes and rested on his arms for a moment before he began to move. She loved seeing him this way, lost in the pleasure her body gave him. She loved being able to look at his body as they made love. The muscles of his arms bunched and relaxed as he moved. Claire put her hands on his biceps to enjoy the flexing beneath her fingers. When he lowered himself, his smooth chest teased her erect nipples. His back was smooth and muscled like his chest, and his ass, too. She cupped the firm globes of his buttocks as he thrust inside her. Her calves caressed his furred thighs and she used her ankles to push him deeper into her. “Claire.” She could tell he needed no answer, as she had needed none before, but she answered him anyway. “Yes.” Then again, when the twist of his hips put delicious pressure on her clitoris, “Yes!” Her orgasm built slowly and burst over her as slowly. Not fierce. Not harsh. It rippled through her in waves of pure desire, each one building before the last one faded away, until she was coming. Just coming, over and over while Malcolm whispered her name and she answered with his. *

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Claire wrung out the cloth into the pail and grimaced at the filthy water. “I can’t figure out why everything is so dirty.” “There’s always sand all over the place. You know that.” Malcolm leaned his elbows on the table while he watched her. “This isn’t sand. It’s dirt and dust. When the others get here, we’re going to have to talk about hiring a different cleaning agency.” She went outside to throw the dirty water over the edge of the deck. It hit the driveway and darkened the sand. She looked to the sky without needing to shade her eyes. The sun had gone behind a cloud. 34

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The day was almost as black as the water. “No beach today,” she told Malcolm as she came back inside. She paused before filling the bucket with more water. They hadn’t actually been to the beach at all yet. And they’d been here how many days? “Mal?” “Yes, love?” He ought to have been reading a book or maybe working a crossword puzzle. Making a grocery list. Something, anything, other than merely sitting and watching her work. “Nothing.” It was her choice to clean, not his. He didn’t have to help. But…she shook her head at her own odd thoughts. He usually would have pitched in or found someplace else to be. He wouldn’t just…watch. She set the pail in the sink and began to fill it again with clean water. In the next moment, she felt his lips against the back of her neck. His kiss sent a pleasant chill down her spine and she shivered. “That tickles.” “I’ve got something else that would like to tickle you, too.” She felt it against the small of her back and she pressed herself harder against him. “Oh, really? Now his hands came around to cup her breasts. The nipples sprang instantly erect under the attention of his thumbs. He nuzzled the back of her neck some more, and she felt the wet heat of his tongue. It was answered instantly by a wet heat between her legs. His hand went there next. He lifted her dress and his forefinger stroked the outline of her cleft, then slipped beneath the waistband of her panties to circle her clit. He dipped a little lower to smooth his way with her slickness and up again to rub her button. He pushed her panties off her hips and she stepped out of them. She heard the sound of his zipper as he pulled it down. She gripped the edge of the ancient porcelain sink as Malcolm pulled her hips toward him. He pushed her legs apart with his thigh. Claire tensed, 35

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waiting. “Ahh.” The wordless sound burbled from her throat as he entered her. She couldn’t have formed words if she’d tried. She stood on her tiptoes to ease his way. How many times had they made love? She would never get enough of him. Claire moaned as Malcolm slid his fingers over her clit. His cock pumped in and out of her. His soft pubic hair brushed her ass and she smiled. He was tickling her, all right. His teeth nipped the curve of her shoulder and neck exposed by the collar of her sundress. The tiny pain only intensified her pleasure. Her clit pulsed. “I can feel you getting bigger down there. I can feel you open to me.” Now he tickled her ear with his breath. “You take me in all the way.” He stroked her again. “Come with me, Claire.” She did, with a long shudder that made her legs tremble. Wetness splashed her. For a moment, she thought it came from her, and her eyes flew open, startled. “The sink!” “Leave it,” he growled, his passion evident by the way he thrust inside her. The sink was overflowing. The pail had blocked the drain, and once it was full the water had begun to fill the sink. Now it ran over the sides, onto Claire, the counter and the floor. She climaxed again, anyway, even as she reached for the faucet but turned it the wrong way. More water flowed and faster. Malcolm thrust into her one more time and cried her name. Claire forgot about the water as the pleasure swept her away. Water poured onto the floor with a noise that sounded as loud as the crashing of the ocean waves. The noise filled her head and made it ache. Malcolm kissed her neck once before he pulled out of her. Her dress fell down to her thighs again. “Oh, what a mess!” Claire looked around the kitchen in dismay. 36

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There was so much water. Water everywhere. Her entire front was soaked. She turned the faucet off with a vicious twist that hurt her wrist. “Damn it.” “It’s all right.” She faced him as he pulled up his pants and zipped them. “You’re going to help me clean this up, I hope.” He rolled his eyes but nodded. “I’ll help.” “I knew there was a reason I love you.” She kicked a little water in his direction, but he didn’t smile. “You do love me still?” “You know I do. How could you think I don’t?” He sounded almost desperate, but she didn’t know why. “And you’ll no stop?” “I don’t plan to.” She wiped fruitlessly at the front of her dress, then gave up. “Claire, I want you to know I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m desperately sorry. I never want to hurt you again.” She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Hurt me?” “I have to tell you something, love.” Claire gave him her back and fussed with draining the sink. The gurgle of the water made her headache worsen. “Let’s get this cleaned up first.” “No, Claire. I think you need to know this now.” She took a deep breath and clutched at the porcelain only moments ago she’d been gripping in passion. She forced her fingers to loosen their grip. “I don’t think I want to hear.” “You have to.” She whirled to face him. “Who says? Who says I have to? It’s something awful, Malcolm. I know it is! What could be so awful that would make me feel this way? I don’t want to know!” He spoke softly. “How do you feel?” “Cold!” she cried, and realized it was true. “I feel cold all the time. 37

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The only time I feel warm is when we’re making love.” His gray-green eyes filled with tears. “I know, love.” She took a breath and put on a brave face. “I hope you’re not going to tell me you’ve been unfaithful. Because…because you know I could not forgive you.” “I know.” Her voice faltered and she forced it to be strong. “I would never speak to you again probably.” “God, how I know that, too.” She had to concentrate on her breathing, in and out, to fend off the faintness and nausea threatening to overwhelm her. “I wouldn’t make a scene, you know. I wouldn’t want to ruin everyone’s time. I wouldn’t make it hard for anyone else.” “Just for me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and she saw his hands were trembling. She sloshed toward the drawer that held the kitchen towels and grabbed up the entire pile. “Here. Help me clean this up before the others get here.” He shook his head and made no move to take the towels. She dropped them to floor, where they instantly began to soak up the water. She moved them around with her foot, but it wasn’t enough. Everything was still wet. “The others aren’t coming, Claire.” “The hell you say!” She put her hand on her hips and glared. His voice broke as he spoke, and he moved toward her palms up. “Do you no remember, Claire?” “Remember what?” She spat the words like they burned her throat. “No. I don’t.” “I didn’t want to tell you. Not when you loved me again.” “Again? What do you mean…again?” Shudders made her body jerk. She took a step and the water splashed around her ankles. Water. 38

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Everywhere. Water, and the scent of berries, a smell that should have been pleasant, but instead, made sickness lurch to her throat with an acid sting. “I do remember.” She turned to face him. Her eyes felt wide and staring, her mouth stretched tight in a grimace she couldn’t seem to force away. “I remember. We were all coming to Nonesuch for our week. Our week. The Fellowship. Like always, like every year. But you came a day early, didn’t you? And you weren’t alone.” He had the decency to meet her eyes without hanging his head. “No, Claire. I wasna alone.” More chills spread through her body. “You brought her here. To our place. And you fucked her out there, on the beach. You didn’t know I had planned to get here early, too.” She swallowed the burning in her throat. The more she talked, the easier it got. “You came in here, to the kitchen. We…we fought. I asked you if you’d been with someone else, and you lied. But I could smell her on you. Not my perfume. The smell of raspberries.” He groaned, but she continued, her voice rising as the memories washed over her. “And then I ran out to the beach. She was gone, but that didn’t matter.The ocean was there, and I ran to it. I wanted to swim, to get away from the anger and the pain. A storm came up. I swam out too far. I couldn’t get back. I was drowning…” Now she turned to stare at him, her wet dress clutched in her fists. “And you swam out after me.” “I did.” Malcolm shivered. “I swam out after you, Claire.” “But the waves were too high.” Her voice was calm, low. The sickness had passed. “You caught me by the hair. I remember that.” “Your lovely hair.” “And you pulled me above the water. I could breathe again.” He nodded, slowly. She saw the hems of his trousers had gone dark with wetness. He sighed. “But then you left me!” she cried, stricken with the memories. “You 39

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left me anyway, didn’t you? But I did what I said. I didn’t ruin it for everyone else. I didn’t speak to you, no. And I didn’t forgive. But I didn’t make it hard for the others to be around us. I wasn’t like Joe when he broke up with Candace, and it was so awkward to be around both of them. I tried so hard to pretend, for everyone else, that I was okay. But it didn’t matter, did it? After a while you stopped coming.” A sob burst from her. Tears slid in burning trails down her cheeks. “I tried so hard!” she cried, and swung at him. He didn’t even move away. Her palm cracked against his cheek with a sound like deadwood cracking. “I tried!” He enfolded her in his arms, though she struggled and fought against him. “I know you did, Claire.” “But you left me anyway, you son of a bitch!” She sobbed and pounded his chest over and over. The blows hurt her hand, but he didn’t even move. “You left me!” “No, Claire,” he said softly in her ear. “Don’t you understand, love? You left me.” *

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Warm and dry beneath the covers of the bed in the upstairs room, Claire snuggled close to Malcolm. She felt burned out from crying, an empty husk, but better for it. The memories had been poisoning her for too long, even when she didn’t remember them. “I pulled you out of the water,” Malcolm said. “But you were already gone.” She didn’t remember that. She remembered years of this place. Dinners with her friends and nights spent alone in this room, this very bed. She did not remember lying in the ground. But she did remember being cold. “We all came back here for a while. For years. And at first, nobody wanted to tell anyone else the things they’d seen. By unspoken agreement, we all avoided this room because we knew how you’d 40

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loved it best. We didn’t want to sound foolish for saying we’d seen you at the table, or heard you laughing with us when we joked. Eventually, they began making excuses for why they couldn’t make the trip. First one year, then another. The place spent more time as a rental than it did as ours.” “But you kept coming back.” She listened to the sound of his heartbeat through the softness of his shirt. “I came back. But you never saw me. I kept coming back, hoping. But you never did.” “Until today? Yesterday? Last week?” She still wasn’t sure how long they’d been here. She let out deep sigh. She would have wept, but had no more tears. “I wanted so badly to make sure nothing was ruined for the Fellowship. And it was. I ruined it.” “Hush.” He squeezed her closer to him. “You didna ruin it for them on purpose.” “But it was ruined anyway.” Grief for the pain she had caused her friends stabbed her. “If I could take it back—” All at once, another memory flooded through her. “You said that same thing to me. Here. When I finally saw you.” “And you told me I couldn’t take it back.” He gave a soft laugh. “But then you changed your mind. You decided to give me a second chance. And every day, I watched you forget more and more of what had happened. I didn’t want you to remember, not if it meant I’d lose you again, but Claire, I love you too much to lie to you any more.” “I’m not sad I remember now.” He sighed then kissed her hair. “It had been so long, and so many years of me watching you while your eyes slid by me like I didn’t exist for you. I didn’t realize what it would take to get you to see me again.” “You told me you’d gone swimming.” “I did. The water was high. I swam verra hard. But I got tired in the end.” The implication of what had happened during that swim hung 41

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between them. Claire waited for something. A bright light, a tunnel, a spectral voice telling her it was time to let go. All she heard was the beat of Malcolm’s heart and the sound of his voice. “The past is gone, Claire. It’s like a sand castle washed away by the waves. We can remember what it looked like, but even if we build it again, it won’t be the exactly the same.” “I’m glad you came back to me,” she whispered. “I’m glad you gave me a second chance,” he whispered back. Malcolm’s arms around her were strong. He held her tightly. As he kissed her, Claire realized something bright and important and wonderful. She wasn’t cold any longer. Some things change. And some things don’t.

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MEGAN HART Megan Hart began her writing career in grammar school when she plagiarized a short story by Ray Bradbury. She soon realized that making up her own stories was better than copying other people’s, and she's been writing ever since. Megan’s award-winning short fiction has appeared in such diverse publications as Hustler, On Our Backs and The Reaper. Her novels include every genre of romance, from historical to steamy futuristic SF. In addition to her short erotic fiction for the Amber Kisses imprint, look for her other Amber Quill novels: Riverboat Bride, Lonesome Bride, Convicted! and Love Match. Megan’s current projects include a fantasy series, a futuristic trilogy and a dramatic suspense novel. Her dream is to have a movie made of every one of her novels, starring herself as the heroine and Keanu Reeves as the hero. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods of Pennsylvania with her husband and two monsters…er…children. Learn more about Megan by visiting her website: http://www.meganhart.com *

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Don’t miss With Steps Like Knives, by Megan Hart, available Summer, 2004, from Amber Quill Press, LLC Helena fled New York after finding her fiancé in the arms of another woman. Now she’s settled into her small beach house, content to be by

herself. She likes the ocean, the waves, the sand. She likes being alone. But she’s not alone. Someone has been watching her from beneath the very ocean she adores. Someone who wants her, and is determined to do whatever he must to be by her side…

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