The Lucky Ones(25)

“Brien doesn’t scratch anybody,” Roland said. “He’s a pacifist. See?” He lifted Brien’s paw and it hung in the air before he dropped it down to his furry belly again. “Pathetic. Grow a spine, man.”

“He’s sweet,” she said, grinning as she petted the old boy, happily sinking her hands into his soft warm fur. “And old. How old is he now?”

“Dad got him for Deacon for his tenth birthday, I think,” Roland said. “He was a kitten so...about eighteen. But the vet says he’s healthy.”

“Hi, Brien,” Allison said. The poor cat blinked sleepily. “You remember me? I remember you.”

“I remember you,” Roland said.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, trying to hide her smile.

As she petted and scratched Brien, Roland looked at her.

“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“You look really young without any makeup on,” he said.

“Well, you look almost sixteen again now that you shaved off your scruff.”

“Don’t take this wrong way, but this all feels really weird to me,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “What about you?”

“I was kind of thinking the same thing. One second you’re like a total stranger to me,” she said. “The next, it’s like I never left.”

“Exactly. One second you’re this sophisticated twenty-five-year-old woman in diamond earrings and fancy suede boots. The next, you’re an obnoxious ten-year-old driving me up the wall again.”

“Who do you like better?” she asked.

“I missed the obnoxious kid. I’m enjoying getting to know the lady in suede. You sure you can’t stay longer?”

Allison propped herself up on her pillow and looked at him.

“I’m staying tonight, for old times’ sake. See Dr. Capello tomorrow. But after that, I think I should move on. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Roland. I want you to know that.” He’d been so kind to her, so brotherly, so honest with her since she’d arrived, she hated to tell him this had to be it.

“I won’t take it personally when you leave.” Roland set Brien down on the floor and the cat sashayed out of the room, tail in the air, off no doubt to find his favorite sleeping spot.

“Never occurred to me Brien would still be around. That makes me happy,” she said, smiling contentedly.

“I saw your light on. Thought I should check on you. But you’re good so... I’ll go and let you sleep.”

“Wasn’t sleeping.” She spun her finger by her ear. “The hamster on the wheel in my brain is refusing to stop running,” she said. “I’m reading to him in the hopes he’ll conk out.” She held up her book, A Wrinkle in Time.

“I remember when we read that together,” he said.

“First night I spent here.” She held the book out to him and waved it. He took the bait.

He jerked his thumb, indicating she should move over to make room. He lay down next to her and propped himself up on the pillow. Unlike her, he hadn’t showered, and she smelled the sea air on his skin, salt and sweat. She wanted to press her nose to his neck and inhale but managed to control herself.

Roland opened the page and read the first sentence.

“‘It was a dark and stormy night,’” he read. After that one sentence, he stopped. He closed the book, sat up and turned around to face her.

“Roland?”

“I lied to you about something,” he said.

“What?” She rolled up. They were knee to knee on the bed, like they were kids again, telling stories and secrets. What had he lied about? Did he know who’d tried to get rid of her thirteen years ago? Did he lie about being a monk? Had he lied about his father’s medical condition? What was it that made his eyes so clouded and his face so solemn?

“I lied when I said I wasn’t glad you got dumped. I am,” he said.

“You are? Why?”

Roland kissed her.





Chapter 9

The kiss was quick, but so was lightning. And it struck Allison the way lightning strikes the beach, rendering sand into glass in an instant of natural alchemy. She counted one breath between the first kiss and the second. The first kiss was his. The breath was hers. The second kiss was hers, as well.

She wound her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Before she knew it, he’d lifted her into his arms, into his lap. She wrapped her legs around his lower back and he wrapped his arms around her waist without breaking the kiss. She couldn’t break it. If she broke it, then one of them might come to their senses. Roland kissed her like he’d spent the last thirteen years waiting to have the chance again.

It was a powerful kiss, possessive and consuming. Tongues met and mingled over and over. His large hands dug into her hips, dragging her flush against him. This wasn’t a kiss anymore. She knew kisses. This was foreplay.

In an instant, she was that twelve-year-old girl again, feeling these strange, terrifying desires all for the first time. Her heart raced, her blood pumped; she ached between her legs and moved against him to ease the aching. It didn’t work. Thirteen years ago Roland had pushed her off him when she’d moved on him like that. Not this time. This time he rolled her back onto the bed. She’d been waiting for it from the moment their lips had met. With one arm around her waist, he lifted her and shifted her so that she lay directly underneath him. He bent his head and kissed her again, slowly lowering himself on top of her. She felt how hard he was against her and it was the shock she needed to snap out of the fog of lust that surrounded them.