The Last of the Moon Girls(93)
He stood and came around to the front of the drafting table wearing a lopsided smile. “Glad it did the trick. Next time I’ll try to have something a little more interesting on hand.”
“I didn’t mean for the magazine. I meant for tonight. And the day before yesterday, at your office.” She glanced down at her toes, peeking out from under the borrowed pajamas. “And for the night at the fountain. I never said it, and I should have.”
“I meant what I said on the steps last night, Lizzy. About being here for you. You never have to say thank you to me.”
“But I want to.” She looked away, speaking quickly, before she lost her nerve. “The other night in the barn, you said you’d waited twenty years. Did you mean it, or were you just flirting?”
“You told me I wasn’t allowed to flirt with you.”
“So . . .”
“Yes. I meant it. I have been waiting, and I’ll keep waiting, because I can’t seem to help myself.”
Lizzy held up a hand, afraid of what else he might say, and even more afraid of what she might say. How had it happened? She’d been so careful, so determined to keep him at arm’s length. But it had happened. Somehow, while she wasn’t looking, she’d dropped her guard and let him in.
“Talk to me, Lizzy.”
Her eyes skittered away from his. What was there to say that she hadn’t said already? And yet none of it had mattered, because here she was—here they both were. She shook her head, trying to comprehend what was happening. “It feels like I’ve been pushing you away for half my life. You’d come over with your dad and I’d disappear until I knew you were gone. The night at the fountain, when you pulled me away from the crowd, and I said all those terrible things. The time at homecoming assembly when you came and sat next to me, and I bolted like you had the plague.” She shook her head again, cheeks warming at the memory. “You were always trying to rescue me.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to rescue you. I was trying to pluck up the courage to ask you out. Never got around to it, though. You had a real knack for shutting me down.”
“You scared me to death. I guess you still do. The idea of you—of us. I don’t think I knew that until tonight. But I know it now, and . . .” Her eyes shifted back to his, mere inches from her own. “What if it turns out to be a mistake, Andrew? What if we turn out to be a mistake?”
“We might. But I think it’s worth finding out, don’t you? If I’m not what you want, I’ll walk away, and that’s that. But not because it’s scary.” He paused, reaching for her hand. “We’re all scared, Lizzy. And we all make mistakes. That’s how it works. We just keep trying until we get it right.”
“What about you?” She searched his face, not sure what she was looking for. “Have you ever . . . gotten it right?”
He glanced down at the carpet, then back up again. “Almost.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “What does almost look like?”
“Like a girl I met in college. Dianna. She was smart, pretty, fun. Perfect, really.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “She wasn’t you.”
Lizzy stared at him, too startled to reply. He’d said it without batting an eye.
“It’s always been you, Lizzy. Since the day I saw you coming out of the woods with your hair full of leaves, like something from a fairy tale. You didn’t say a word. You just stood there staring at me. And that was it. I was in love with the girl next door.”
“Andrew, I can’t . . .”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m not asking you to. But stay with me. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
Lizzy looked down at their hands, his fingers and hers warmly woven. It would be so easy to let this happen, to simply disappear into him for the night. “Just for tonight,” she whispered. “That would be enough for you?”
“No. But it’s more of you than I ever thought I’d have.” He touched her face, his palm warm against her cheek. “Stay with me.”
He kissed her then, with bone-melting slowness, laying waste to the last of her resistance. Something in her let go, like the snick of a lock springing open, the moment of decision suddenly behind her. It was happening. This reckless, glorious, disastrous thing was happening.
His hands were in her hair, his breath a ragged half moan as his mouth blazed a slow, sweet trail down the slope of her neck, the soft, pulsing hollow of her throat. She reached for his shirt, dragging it up over his head, then let her hands roam his chest, the hard, flat planes of his belly. He smelled of soap and shampoo, but there was no missing the earthy musk of sandalwood and warm amber radiating from his skin. She breathed him in as he undressed her, pausing to kiss her between buttons, until the pajamas he’d lent her an hour before lay puddled on the carpet. There was only desire between them now, a searing hunger that left no room for words.
They eased down onto the bed, a tangle of need and clinging limbs. His eyes never left hers as he laid her back, palms, smooth and warm, skimming the hollow of her belly, the curve of her hip, the smooth, soft slope of her inner thigh, as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her. She closed her eyes, wanting to pretend none of it meant anything, but it would be a lie. This wasn’t Luc. Or any other man she’d ever been with.