Future Perfect (13 page)

He glanced at Juliana. Even in the darkness, her hair shone and her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. God almighty, forget the air. The reason that he liked it here so damn much had nothing to do with the wide open spaces of the farms or the fresh air. It had to do with Juliana.

He was in love with her.

He could still feel his body go into partial shock whenever he thought about it. But there was no denying what he felt. It was love.

At first he thought maybe it was a crush, but he’d had crushes on beautiful women before. And those crushes had never lasted more than a week, and certainly not as long as he’d been living at the bed and breakfast. His relationships with those women had also been shallow.
He’d been content to know almost nothing about them, content merely to look at them, make love to them.

And as much as he was dying to make love to Juliana, he was also dying to get inside her head, find out what she thought, what she felt.

Last night they’d sat in front of the fire for hours. He didn’t pressure her. He didn’t try to sweet talk her into coming upstairs with him. Hell, he didn’t even try to get to second base. And he didn’t do those things because he was happy simply to sit and talk to her.

And as cynical as he was, as jaded as he was, he was forced to admit that what he felt for this woman was love. He even looked the word
love
up in his dictionary to double check.

“You’re so quiet tonight,” Juliana said, her soft, clear voice cutting into his thoughts. “Are you thinking about your book?”

“No,” he said. The sound of their footsteps on the road matched the sudden drumming of his heart. He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know, but he wasn’t sure he could actually say the words.

Webster touched her arm. “Juliana …”

They both stopped walking. He pulled her to him, and she came willingly into his arms.

There was a sliver of moon that appeared now and then from behind the thick clouds that were rolling in from the west. The silvery light lit Juliana’s face as she looked up at him, making her look ethereal, like a wood sprite or a fairy. Her smile was enchanting, and unable to speak, he kissed her.

I love you
. That’s all he had to say. Three little words. Simple, right?

Wrong. He couldn’t do it.

“Juliana,” he murmured into her soft curls. “I wish you could read my mind.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright in the darkness. “Sometimes I think I almost can,” she said.

They walked the rest of the way to the Beckwiths’ holding hands.

Liz grinned at Juliana. “So where is he?”

Juliana smiled back. “He’s out in the garage, where the band’s setting up. After we ate dinner, I made the mistake of introducing him to Marty and Hal, and between the three of them, they have a mutual-admiration society going. I excused myself when the conversation started turning into a debate about literature versus lyrics. I had to leave before they began a line-by-line critique of ‘Achy Breaky Heart.’ ”

The tiny blond woman laughed. “Well, don’t you dare skip out before I meet him. You’re going to marry this guy, Jule. I feel it in my bones.”

Juliana crossed her arms. “You know, Liz, not everybody needs to get married to live happily ever after. Take me, for example. I don’t want to get married. I have no intention of getting married, not now, not ever. How many times have I told you this?”

Liz thought for a moment. “Two million?”

“At least.”

“So what about Webster Donovan?”

“Webster Donovan is due to leave in a little less than three and a half weeks,” Juliana said. “He’ll probably come back from time to time, and I’ve got to confess I’ll
look forward to his visits. But it’s not going to be permanent, Liz. So don’t set yourself up for a disappointment, okay?”

“You’ve already disappointed me, but I’ll get over it,” Liz said.

Juliana looked at her friend closely. Liz looked tired, and she shifted in her seat as if she were uncomfortable. “How are you feeling?” Juliana asked. “Lousy, huh?”

“Now the doctor’s saying three more weeks,” Liz said, rolling her eyes. “I may not make it. I hate to complain, but every time I try to sleep, this baby stomps on my sciatic nerve.”

“Let’s go into the pool,” Juliana said. “You can float for a while.”

“You don’t mind?”

Juliana smiled. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll put on my bathing suit.”

Webster wandered around the Beckwiths’ big house, searching for Juliana. There were so many famous faces around he felt as if he were in the heart of Nashville instead of a small New England town.

But it was Sam Beckwith’s thirty-fifth birthday, and since Liz was too pregnant to travel south for a party, Nashville had traveled to Sam and Liz. They had many, many good friends; that much was very clear.

Webster ran into Sam in the kitchen. The country singer was restocking a cooler with beer from the refrigerator. He wiped his right hand on his jeans before holding it out. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m Webster Donovan,” Web said, giving Sam’s hand a firm shake.

“I know who you are,” Sam drawled, a twinkle in his
eyes. “You’re Jule’s friend. Liz told me you were tall. She’s so tiny, she thinks anyone over five eleven’s a giant, but for once, she’s actually right. Wanna beer?”

“Thanks.” Webster took the bottle Sam held out. “You don’t happen to know where Juliana is, do you?”

Sam laughed. “Have you noticed that all the single men’ve disappeared?” he said. “That’s ’cause that lady of yours is in the swimming pool. If I were you, son, I’d get my ass down there double-time.”

Juliana. In a bathing suit …

“Which way?” Webster said.

“West wing,” Sam said, pointing. “Just follow this hall down past the greenhouse and through a set of double doors. Follow your nose after that.”

“Thanks—and happy birthday.”

Sam looked up to thank him, but Webster was already gone.

The pool was beautiful. The room was all muted southwestern colors—pinks and beiges and soft oranges. The pool itself was sparkling turquoise blue. Plants were everywhere. Webster was reminded of Juliana’s apartment.

He scanned the crowd quickly, looking for her, pulling off his shirt and boots, and stepping out of his pants. He tossed his clothes on a nearby chair.

There was a bar set up in the corner, along with tubs of beer on ice. Webster put his empty bottle in a barrel marked Recyclables, and grabbed another beer.

There was a CD player in another corner, and a man in a bright-orange bathing suit stood sifting through a pile of CDs. He looked vaguely familiar, and as he put
on a song and turned away from the table, Webster got a clear look at his face, but still didn’t recognize him.

It wasn’t until the man started dancing the jitterbug that Web realized who he was. He was the handsome sheriff, the one who’d danced with Juliana at Red’s—the one who was dancing with her right now.

But Webster forgot all about being jealous as he looked at Juliana. She was wearing a bikini. It was brightly patterned with pink and blue and yellow streaks of color. The top was little more than two triangles of fabric tied on with string around her neck and around her back. Her skin was smooth and fair, and Webster felt his chest tightening. God, he wanted to touch her.

She had a beach towel tied around her waist, and as the Sheriff spun her around and around, it flared open, revealing the long, slender legs he’d dreamed about so often.

How on earth was he going to be able to have an intelligent conversation with this woman? How was he going to be able to stand next to her without pulling her into his arms and running his hands up and down her body?

Webster wondered if anyone around him realized the sweat on his upper lip wasn’t from the heat and humidity of the room. He swiped at it with the back of his hand and took another swig of his beer. She was going to come over here and expect him to be able to actually put words together into sentences. He was going to have to stand here and not touch her.

The song ended far too quickly. He was totally unprepared. And Juliana came toward him, a beautiful smile on her beautiful face, her eyes lit with pleasure, her chest still heaving from exertion. He could see the hard buds
of her nipples pressing out against the fabric of her bathing suit.

“Can I have a sip of your beer?” she asked, and silently he handed her the bottle.

Web watched her drink, watched her lick her lips as she handed the bottle back to him. Her hair was still slightly damp from the pool. He wanted to touch her so badly, he was going to have to—

Juliana put her arms around his neck.

He was still holding the bottle of beer in his right hand, but his left hand snaked out around her waist so fast it was as if it had a mind of its own. His fingers traveled up and down her back, exploring her smooth, silky skin. He could feel her stomach pressing against his, her barely clad breasts against his chest. And suddenly touching her wasn’t enough. He wanted to kiss her. He
had
to kiss her.

“You want to dance or swim?” she asked him, smiling up into his face.

Make love
, he thought. He wanted to make love.

The music playing was soft and slow. “Dance,” he managed to say.

Juliana stepped back, taking the bottle from him and putting it on a nearby table. He had that look in his eyes, she realized, that soft look that meant he wanted to kiss her. So she took his hand and led him onto the crowded area of the room reserved for dancing. Then she was in his arms again, and she pulled his head down and kissed his lips. She could feel his surprise—surprise which turned quickly to pleasure. She could also feel his restraint. He was carefully holding back.

Good thing, she thought, stifling a laugh, remembering
the way he’d kissed her out in the pasture, when he
hadn’t
held back.

“You
can
read my mind,” Webster said softly, smiling down at her as they moved slowly to the music. “You knew I wanted to kiss you.”

Juliana felt the heat of his skin, the hard, smoothness of his muscular shoulders under her fingers. She let her hands slip down to his bare chest, and heard him take a deep, steadying breath. She smiled to herself. It was time for him to start realizing he should leave his restraint behind when they went home tonight.

“Can you read
my
mind?” she asked, looking into his deep-blue eyes. She pulled her hands back up around his neck, pulling her body a little bit closer to his. She moved her hips slightly, letting herself brush against him. Sweet heavens, he was already aroused.

His hands pulled her hard toward him, and she felt him like a rock against her. His eyes burned with a fire that was almost savage.

“God, I hope so,” he breathed, before his mouth came down on hers.

His tongue swept into her mouth with a passion that left her breathless.

She was aware that they were standing in the middle of a makeshift dance floor, but she didn’t stop him. He was all that she wanted. For right now, she had to remind herself. This was perfect.
They
were perfect together—for right now.

“Juliana, let me come to your room tonight,” Webster said when he could finally speak, still holding her tight, no longer even pretending to dance.

But she shook her head. “No.”

Oh damn
, he thought. He’d done it again—pushed
too far, too fast. Now what? Should he apologize, or just let it go?

“I’ll come to your room,” she said, looking up at him, her greenish eyes filled with desire. Pulling his head down again, she kissed him. The passion he tasted in that kiss was searing, igniting him with a need he couldn’t believe would ever be fulfilled.

“Do you want to go?” Juliana murmured, resting her head against his chest, listening to the wild pounding of his heart.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t get a chance to swim yet,” she said, looking up at him, trying to hide a smile.

He laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “I don’t want to swim,” he said. He kissed her again, as if to prove his point.

By the time they’d thrown their clothes back on over their bathing suits and dug their jackets out of the pile on one of the guest rooms’ beds, it had started to rain. And as Juliana and Webster stepped out onto the porch, the gentle rain became a deluge.

Juliana started to laugh.

“I guess we should wait ’til it lets up,” Webster said. “What do you think?”

She slipped her arms around his waist, twisting one of her jean-clad legs around his. “I think that you’re not wearing your leather jacket,” she said, smiling. “And I think that rain can’t hurt denim. What do
you
think?”

A slow smile spread across Web’s face. “I think I’ve never wanted to get home faster in my entire life—rain or no rain.”

Juliana held out her hand, Webster took it, and together they plunged off the porch into the pouring rain.

They were both soaked almost instantly. By the time they reached the wide front porch of the bed and breakfast, there was a river of icy water streaming down Juliana’s back. Her boots, and Web’s, too, were covered with wet sticky leaves.

She pushed Webster back onto the bench by the front door and pulled his boots off. Sitting on the wooden floor of the porch, she gave him first one of her own booted feet, then the other, letting him return the favor.

“Let’s leave our wet clothes out here,” she said, unfastening the buttons of his jacket with her icy fingers. “I’d rather not take the time right now to mop up the mess these wet things would make on the foyer floor.”

“Good idea,” he said, huskily, trapping her between his long legs and kissing her. His face was cold from the rain, but his mouth was warm and sweet. As he kissed her, he pushed her jacket off her shoulders and fumbled for the button at the waist of her jeans.

Her own fingers unbuttoned it quickly, and she pushed the wet pants off her legs. Webster pulled his shirt over his head, then gasped as her cold fingers unfastened his pants. She smiled as she pulled the jeans off his legs.

And then, wearing only their bathing suits, they were inside the house.