Finger Prints (22 page)

Given the urgency of his tone, Carly half believed him. “I wouldn’t have been, but thank you for saying that,” she whispered.

He squeezed her. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t have been? Was my body the only reason you came up here with me?”

She rubbed her flushed cheek against his chest. Her laugh was warm and soft against his skin. “Of course not. But I knew what to expect. I knew it was inevitable. I wanted it.” Facing him again, she was suddenly serious. “I’ve never been this way with anyone, Ryan. I mean, there haven’t been many men,
any
men other than my husband, and even with him I wasn’t this way.”

His heart soared. “What way?” he asked softly, needing to hear it from her.

She averted her eyes, shy in the face of his soul-searching gaze. “Forward. Aggressive. I’ve never undressed a man.”

A ripple of fire surged through him, and he hugged her. “God, you’re amazing!” he growled. “And there I was thinking you were reticent!”

She had nothing to say to that. The fact was that Ryan brought out things in her she hadn’t known existed. Already she was tingling inside again. She slid her foot down his calf, sandwiching her leg between his two. Her hand moved gently across his chest. She savored the sensation of his firm skin, his soft pelt of hair beneath her fingertips. He was everything she could have asked for in a man, and her body sang. She touched him slowly, wonderingly, her fingers shaping his hipbone, slipping over the smooth valley beyond. Opening her eyes, she relished what she saw, a terrain of uncompromising maleness that was even now responding to her touch.

A low sound came from the back of his throat, followed by her name in hoarse question. Spreading her palm flat over his breast, she raised her head to find the light she’d rekindled shining bright in his eyes.

Ryan deftly shifted her body over his, moving it sensuously until she lay comfortably astride him. With a hand beneath each of her arms, he held her higher.

“Kiss me,” he ordered thickly and met her lips with his open mouth, drinking her sweetness with a thirst that belied his recent quenching. There had been women in the past; he couldn’t make claims to the same innocence as Carly. And, for his experience, his appreciation of her was all the greater. Here was one woman he knew he’d never, never tire of.

Stroking her slender length, he deepened the kiss, sucking her tongue, plunging his beyond it to the darkest hollows of her mouth as he couldn’t do to her mind. If he’d had his wildest wish, she’d have returned his vow of love. But he knew she wouldn’t lie about something like that. And he also knew she wasn’t ready. So he meant what he’d told her; for the present, it was enough that she knew what he felt.

“Oh, babe,” he muttered, his body on fire once more. The touch of her breasts on his chest, her belly on his, her most feminine parts on his most masculine—he suddenly ached as deeply as though he’d been celibate for years. “I want you again. Lord, Carly, I want you again.”

She smiled softly, with a trace of smugness totally new to her, and inched her pelvis in a slow rotation. “I know.” Then she slid her knees against the rug and, framing his hips, raised herself to take him in.

This time was the slow and easy Ryan had sought before. It was a more leisurely exploration of muscle and flesh, a more conscious mutual seduction, a taunting to the brink, then withholding and rising again, until they scaled a heart-stopping peak together.

Long after, when Ryan could finally muster the strength to move, he hauled himself from her side.

“Where are you going?” she whispered, unable to bear the thought of his warmth leaving her.

He knelt over her and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Not far, sweet. Just to build up the fire and make us more comfortable.”

Curling up on the rug, she watched him add another log to the fire. When he disappeared into an adjacent room, she realized that the only things she knew of the cottage were what she could see from where she lay—the few furnishings nearby, a small desk by the wall, the rug and the fireplace. Her cheeks grew all the more pink at the thought of the rush they’d been in, and she felt a moment’s irrational modesty when Ryan returned. His arms were laden with pillows and a quilt, yet he couldn’t resist pausing to look down at her delicate form.

Expelling a slow breath, he shook his head in amazement, then was on his knees, punching the pillows into a comfortable mass, spreading the quilt over her legs. If Carly was abundantly aware of her own nakedness, he was not of his. She marveled at his ease of movement, finding pleasure in the fluidity of his leanly solid lines.

The crackling of the fire accompanied a loud pop as he uncorked the champagne. When he came down to sit cross-legged before her, he held two filled glasses. Clasping the quilt to her breasts, she shyly sat up and took the glass he offered.

“What, uh, what time is it?”

His grin was filled with mischief. “Ten after midnight. I’m afraid we missed the moment.”

A rich rosy hue glossed her cheeks and she looked down. “Maybe we didn’t….”

He chuckled, suspecting as she did that the New Year had arrived as they’d hit that last climactic peak. “What a way to go!” he decided. “I don’t believe I’ve ever done it quite that way.”

She laughed softly, self-consciously. “Me either.”

Ryan tucked a finger beneath her chin and brought her face up. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Happy New Year, babe.” He held out his glass.

Eyes dewy with tears of happiness, Carly brought her glass up. “Happy New Year, Ryan. May it be a good year.”

“A special year,” he added, holding her gaze as their glasses touched with a single soft, sweet ring. He held his glass to her lips and she sipped; she held her glass to his lips and he sipped. Then, as though to seal their wishes, each sipped from his own glass, putting his lips where the other’s had been.

Tearing his gaze from hers at last, Ryan inhaled deeply. “Not bad.” He swirled the bubbly liquid in his glass. “Not bad at all.” Then he looked back at Carly. His eyes caressed her every feature, skimming the slender line of her neck, falling to her hand that clutched the quilt. Very gently he reached out and pried her fingers open, letting the quilt fall to her hips. “Your body’s beautiful. I don’t want you to hide it from me.”

Smiling amid another rush of color, she let her gaze drop. “I guess…I’m not used to…it’s been so long.”

“I know. But I love everything about you. Please believe that.”

Her gaze met his. “I do,” she whispered.

Putting first his glass then hers on the rug, he stretched out by her side, drew her into the crook of his shoulder and pulled the quilt over them both. With his free hand, he gathered both of hers to his lips and softly kissed her fingers, then placed them against his heart.

“You took your wedding band off,” he murmured. He held his breath as he waited for her response. It came quietly.

“Before you picked me up tonight.”

“Was it hard?”

She thought for a minute, frowning slightly. “No. Strangely. I thought it would be, but I just…did it. I guess the time was right.”

“Does it bother you now?”

“No. I loved Ma—my husband.” Somehow she couldn’t get herself to say a name that wasn’t the right one. Not to Ryan, who deserved so much more than a fabrication. “Nothing can change what we had.” She looked up at Ryan. “I think he’d know that.”

“I’m sure he would,” Ryan answered, proud of her conviction.

“Does it bother you when I talk about him?”

“Of course not. Why should it?”

She tried to find the proper words. “Some men would be jealous.”

“Of a man who’s dead?” When she flinched, he held her tighter. “How can I be jealous, Carly? He was your husband. I’d feel worse if you said you didn’t love him. And you’re right. Nothing can change what you had. Nothing
should
change it.” He lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “I don’t want to replace him. I want my
own
place in your heart. There’s room, I know there is, for him
and
for me. But I can wait,” he whispered, taking her face in his palms, threading his fingers into a riot of auburn waves. “As long as I know that you’re here for me now, that you’ll be with me back in Cambridge, that I can look forward to seeing you at night, waking up beside you in the morning—” When she would have protested, he put a thumb to her lips. “Whenever you can. That’s all. Whenever you can.” He took a breath. “I love you, Carly. I love you so.”

Carly’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Ryan.”

“Shh.” His thumbs smoothed the tears away. “Just be with me now, okay?”

Knowing her heart would have it no other way, she forced a tremulous smile and nodded.

n
EW YEAR’S DAY DAWNED BRIGHT AND CRISP,
though Carly and Ryan didn’t see much of it. Having made love on and off for most of the night, they slept until well past noon, when Ryan put in a call to the main house for a hearty brunch, which they ate in bed.

“This is positively decadent,” Carly commented. Ryan had just removed the large tray from the sheets and was climbing back beneath the covers with her.

“Decadent is fun. Besides, we owe it to ourselves. When was the last time you spent the day in bed?”

“Two years ago. I had the flu. My bones were aching then too.” The last was drawled with such meaning that Ryan rose deftly to the occasion.

“Is that a complaint? I’ll have you know that it takes two to tango.” His eyes took on a lascivious gleam. “I seem to recall
your
waking me a couple of times there.”

“Shh.” She drew the sheet to her nose. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“No need to be embarrassed. You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

The sheet fell back. “Mmm. And you?”

He grinned. “What do you think?” Tucking her into his arms, he lay back more thoughtfully, speaking again only after a long silence. “Carly?”

“Mmm?”

He paused, debated, then went ahead. It needed to be said. “You hadn’t been with a man for a very long time. You couldn’t have been protected.”

Tipping her head back, she studied the look of concern on his face.

“I didn’t do anything, babe. I should have, but—”

She touched a finger to his lips, and left it there to stroke the thickness of his mustache. “It’s all right. It’s as safe a time for me as it’ll ever be.” Her period had ended two days before.

“You’re sure?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Would it upset you if you did become pregnant?”

“Now?” She felt a sudden stab of pain, knowing that to carry Ryan’s child would be glorious yet dumb, really dumb. She might have set aside Matthew’s wedding band and in that sense released a part of the past, but much as she’d denied its intrusion on her time with Ryan, the past was still a future threat. “I think it would, for now. I’m not ready, Ryan.”

“You do want to have children some day, though.”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Very much.”

His features slowly relaxed. “Then we’ll talk about it another time.”

As he’d done before, he was implying quite a future for them. And as she’d done before, Carly wasn’t ready to accede. She knew how much he wanted a family; they had talked about it more than once. Then she’d passed it off more easily; now, though, having shared all they had in the past hours, she found it harder to ignore. Ryan loved her. He wanted her to bear his children. She wondered just how long he was prepared to wait.

“Hey.” He squeezed her arm. “Wanna go for a run?”

“A run? Now?”

“Sure. Beats decadence, doesn’t it?”

“But we haven’t got any running things.”

He pondered that for a minute, then smirked. “Hmm. You’re right. That was the one thing I forgot when I went shopping.” He paused. “Oops.”

“What is it?”

“Jackets. I didn’t think about jackets either. I bought sweaters and jeans.”

She sent him a speculative grin. “And shoes?”

In answer, he offered a slightly sheepish grimace.

“I’ll look cute prancing around in freezing temperatures with a sweater and jeans and high heels.”

He tossed the problem easily aside. “No sweat. We can buy what we need when the stores reopen tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Her grin faded. “Ryan, I wasn’t planning on
today
, let alone tomorrow.”

“Come on, Carly. What’s back there? It’s a holiday weekend. No work, no school. Why not spend one more day with me?” His lips thinned and he murmured beneath his breath, “God only knows when I’ll get you back here!”

His sudden fierceness made a point that Carly couldn’t ignore. When she returned to Cambridge, there would be other things to face. Given her druthers, she’d stay in this lovely dreamworld forever. But since forever was out of the question, she compromised.

“Just till tomorrow,” she cautioned.

“If you say.”

She sighed and spoke with heartfelt reluctance. “I do. I’ll have to spend most of Sunday getting ready for school.”

He stared at her long and hard, then gave a single nod. “As long as you won’t mind my hanging around while you work.”

Once before she had refused him on the grounds that she would never get any work done. Now she yielded. Not that working would be any easier with the constant temptation of his presence, but she had refused him so much and he had been so good about it.

She forced a scowl and feigned annoyance. “As long as you
let
me work. Agreed?”

He grinned. “Agreed. See what a good fellow I am?” Reaching behind him, he dragged out a pillow and batted her over the head before making his escape to the bathroom.

Carly yelped, then sat up, closing one eye as a piece of lint vied for space with her contact lens. Head down, she tried to remove the lint. It was the contact that came out first. She was still working on the lint when Ryan returned.

“Hey, is something wrong?” he asked, sinking back down on the bed. He thought she was crying and was instantly contrite. He’d only been playing; he wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

When she looked up he was perplexed. Though there was no sign of tears, her face was decidedly lopsided with one eye squeezed tightly shut.

“It’s okay. Just my contact.”

Amazed, he looked down at her forefinger, the pale pad of which held a small gray disk. “Your contact! I didn’t know you wore them.”

“All the time,” she murmured, slithering past him off the bed. She wasn’t sure if she was more worried about dropping the small lens or opening her bright blue eye. “Give me a minute.” She closed the bathroom door behind her.

It took only a minute for her to clear her eye of its irritant and restore a balance of gray. Her taut fingers grasped the edge of the sink while she scrutinized her mirror image. “Close,” she whispered, muttered an oath, then recomposed herself to return to Ryan.

Mercifully, it was to be the closest call she would have in Vermont. The rest of the day, and the next, were unqualifiedly wonderful. With Cambridge, and so much of the real world, at a distance, Carly relaxed and enjoyed everything about Ryan. They talked and made love and slept, shared the local paper and its crossword puzzle, dressed up for dinner at the inn and, after buying a few necessities on Saturday morning, took a long walk in the woods.

Even without the snow craved so desperately by every innkeeper in the county, Vermont was beautiful. The forests, shorn of all but their evergreen finery, presented winter at its most striking. Endless clusters of pines and firs undulated across the landscape, stretching their graceful spikes heavenward as though in communion with their creator. Underfoot, dried leaves crackled in reminder of what had been and would be again in time. And through it all wafted the spicy, sprucy scent of fresh air.

Sitting with Ryan on a high boulder not far from the cottage, Carly marveled at the utter serenity of the vista. Its palette was a blend of grays, blues and greens. She had only to squint to soften the lines of the scene, and then she was reminded of the canvas she’d so recently bought. When she told Ryan about it, his response was immediate. It was the opening he’d sought.

“I want it.”

“You what?”

“I want it. For my place.”

“You’re kidding. Surely you want something bolder—”

“No. How big is it?”

It was quite large; she indicated the vague dimensions with her hands.

“See! It’d go perfectly in my bedroom. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she teased. “I’ve never seen your bedroom.”

He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a playful hug. “You will, babe. You will.”

It was late Saturday afternoon when they finally headed back to Cambridge. The ride home was nearly as quiet as the one up had been, though a kind of peaceful satisfaction replaced the simmering expectation of that first night.

Ryan’s thoughts were filled with the wonder of Carly. Driving distractedly, he reviewed everything they’d shared and done during their two-day spree. Casting the occasional glance her way, experiencing the now-familiar tugging at his heart that the simple sight of her brought, he knew that he loved her more than he’d ever loved another being. It had been the best New Year’s ever; he felt more positive than he had in years.

Carly, too, felt positive. New year. New woman. Robyn Hart might have had so very much along the way, but Carly Quinn had Ryan. She wondered if she’d known, when she had removed her wedding band Thursday afternoon, just how different she would be without it. At the time she had been cued by propriety; somehow it hadn’t seemed right to party with Ryan wearing another man’s ring. If there had been deeper motivations, she hadn’t recognized them at the time. Now she did. Though she wouldn’t allow herself to envision a long-range commitment to Ryan, or any man for that matter, she felt for the first time that she was truly forging a new life. The events of the past two days spoke loud and clear. She had cast a vote for Carly Quinn in the most elemental way possible.

The winter sun had long since sunk below the horizon when they reached Cambridge. Ryan found a space around the corner from their building, shouldered his overnight bag, in which Carly had stowed her dressy things, tossed the hanger bearing his suit over the same shoulder, and threw his free arm around her. Slowly they walked toward home.

Carly wasn’t sure when she grew uneasy. At first she thought it was simply her reluctance to see the two-days’ idyll come to an end. As sure as she was that Ryan’s feelings toward her wouldn’t change, she knew that the time they’d shared in Vermont, totally free of work and worry, had been unique.

Then they passed a parked car whose driver, a man, was sitting quietly, staring in his rearview mirror. By habit she looked twice. It was unusual in an area such as this, where people seemed always on the go, to see one as idle. Perhaps he was waiting for someone. Forcing aside suspicion, she concentrated on the security of Ryan’s arm around her shoulder.

Then they passed another car, the occupants of which—two men wearing suits and trench coats—lounged against its door.

She looked straight ahead, but the image of the men remained. It was odd; though they didn’t look sinister, they seemed distinctly out of place in the neighborhood. There was something about the way they waited, something deliberately casual, deceptively alert…

Uneasy, she looked at Ryan in time to see him shoot a quick look behind as they progressed up the courtyard walk.

“Who do you think they are?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as best she could.

“Beats me.” He seemed to ponder the matter for another instant, then dismiss it, for by the time they entered the front foyer his frown was gone.

Not so Carly’s. She cast a cautious glance inside while Ryan stopped to pick up his mail, then she raised apprehensive eyes to the third floor as soon as they entered the atrium. If Ryan noticed her hesitation when he gently nudged her on, he interpreted it as an extension of the reluctance he felt himself. His smile was gentle and reassuring.

“Come on, babe. Let’s get these things unpacked.”

He led the way, passing the second-floor landing to go straight to her place. Several stairs short of the third floor he slowed, then came to a halt. Slightly behind, Carly stopped as well, instinctively reaching for his arm in support.

“Someone broke in!” she cried. The front door of her apartment stood ajar. She stared at it as she tried to deal with the sudden avalanche of possibilities. One seemed worst than the next, and she began to tremble. “Oh, God….”

Ryan took the few remaining steps at a clip, dropping his things by the railing without once taking his eyes from her door and moved forward. In his mind any violation of Carly was a violation of him; while she felt fear, he experienced a surge of raw anger.

Carly, meanwhile, had a split second’s mind-flash of a gunman behind that door waiting to blast whoever stepped through. Terrified, she opened her mouth to yell to Ryan when, to her astonishment, the door opened and a very agitated Sam Loomis emerged.

Ryan stopped short. Sam’s gaze shifted from Carly to Ryan and back. It took him a minute to speak.

“Are you all right?” he asked, tension evident in his voice.

Carly ran up the stairs. “
I’m
all right, but
what happened
?” Her eyes were wide and filled with fear. “Who…?” She darted an anxious glance at her door. “Did someone break in?”

Sam took a deep breath, let it out in a whoosh. “No one broke in.”

“How did
you
get in?” Ryan demanded sharply. Digging into his pocket, Sam held up a single key, which hardly pleased Ryan. “How did you get that?”

Sam and Carly exchanged a glance. It was Carly who spoke, eyes glued to Sam’s, heart pounding. “I gave it to him. It’s a spare. What happened, Sam?” She imagined a world of things, one more bleak than the next.

“I was worried.”

“You were
worried
?” Ryan barked, barely restraining his fury. It was bad enough that when it came to Sam and Carly
he
felt excluded. It angered him to find that Sam had invaded the space that should have been theirs alone.

Sam lowered his head and spread a hand across his brow to rub both temples with a thumb and finger. When he looked up, he’d schooled his expression to one of deference. He addressed himself to Ryan. “I tried to call Carly yesterday afternoon, then again last night and all day today.” He shifted his gaze to Carly. “You said you were planning to spend New Year’s Day here.” She hadn’t quite said that, but he knew she wouldn’t disagree. They were in this together. “When I couldn’t reach you, I guess I panicked.”

“I’ll say,” Ryan muttered.