Never Too Late (24 page)

“
That
wasn't an answer, Sam,” she said.

He ducked his head a little, as if shy. “I wonder if you could help me out. I'm shopping for Molly's Christmas and I heard you say she liked art. Maybe you could pick out something I could give her? A painting set? Markers? I don't know….”

“I know exactly what to do. I can make up a kit for her—the right kind of paints and brushes, charcoals and paper, stuff that matches her skill level.”

“Will it take long? I have to get back,” he said, glancing out the door toward the squad car.

“You can come back for it later, or tomorrow. How much do you want to spend?”

“Fifty? Is that enough?”

“That's great. When do you get off work?”

“Not until ten. Maybe I can swing by before then, if there's a break in the Breckenridge action.”

The twinkling of an idea made her smile. “You don't have to. I'll be here till after ten. Come after work…If you can….”

“I thought you closed at six.”

“I do. I go home, have dinner with Dad, and come back here in the evenings. Sometimes I teach a class when the shop is closed, sometimes I just enjoy working without the interruption of customers. I often stay till midnight. Right now, I'm working on a painting. I'll make you up something special. It'll be ready for you tonight.”

For the rest of the day she prayed he wouldn't find time to pick up the kit any earlier. She didn't rush back to the shop after dinner because what she wanted was for him to be finished working when he came in. Tonight, she vowed, she would somehow let him know that it was all right to kiss her, to touch her. To be in his arms for just a moment would be like a dream come true.

She primped and changed into a crisp white blouse and midi-length lightweight skirt, something she hoped looked feminine. As she was leaving, George asked, “You going out, honey?”

“I'm going back to the shop,” she said. “I think I'll be late.”

He wrinkled his brow. “You don't usually shower and change before going back to work.”

“It was a gritty day. I needed a little pick-me-up,” she returned, finding it curious that her dad even noticed.

That night as she painted, she didn't get lost in the work. Instead, she watched the clock and her heart sank as ten came and went, then ten-thirty. At eleven she assumed, in complete disappointment, that he had probably gone home and planned to pick up his daughter's present the next day. Maybe he just isn't interested in me in a romantic way, she thought. It hadn't been hard to coax him into a friendship, but he gave no indication he wanted to go any further.

Just as hope had all but vanished, there was a knock at the shop door. She came out of the studio and saw him standing there, wearing civilian clothes.

“I didn't know if you'd still be here,” he said. “We had a little fender bender right at ten. Tied me up awhile.”

“You're fine. Come in. I think you'll like it.” She bolted the door behind him and he followed her to the back room. There on the counter amidst a lot of supplies was a green metal box that she had painted some sweet little flowers on earlier in the day. She opened it for him and gave him a little inventory. Brushes, pastels, water-colors, charcoals, a booklet on drawing. Under the box, a couple of small stretched canvases and a drawing pad.

“This is great, Sarah. You take plastic?”

“Sure,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment. He was going to pay and dash.

Sam pulled his wallet out of his pocket and, looking over her shoulder at a painting on an easel, he said, “You doing that?”

“Uh-huh.” It sat next to her still life of an empty bottle of wine, two glasses, a white linen napkin, a papiermâché loaf of bread. “Wine, bread and thee,” she said.

He moved closer to the painting. “You're really good. I can't even draw a straight line, much less something you'd recognize.” Without really planning to, she was reaching toward his back, his shoulder. Reaching out to touch him. Aching to touch him. “I admit, I haven't tried to paint anything but a wall, but…” As he turned around to face her, her hand was stretched toward him. “Sarah?” She started to pull back but then, seizing on what little courage she could muster, she put her hand on his chest and looked up into his amazing blue eyes. Then she
took a step toward him, so close she could feel his breath on her face. Another step brought her against him and she thought, if he pushes me away, I will die. She laid her head on his chest near his shoulder. “Sarah?” he asked. She didn't move. Her cheek lay on his shoulder next to her hand. He just stood, his arms at his sides.

Sam put an arm around her waist and she drew in a contented breath. He held her for a long moment, then lowered his head to her hair and deeply inhaled the scent. He moved lower and, lifting her hair away, softly nuzzled her neck, bringing a sigh from her. She felt his lips on her neck, under the collar of her blouse. She felt his tongue there and she trembled. “Sarah,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You're delicious.”

Sarah turned her head and rubbed her cheek against his. His other arm went around her and he held her closer, nibbling at her neck, then burrowing farther, to her bare shoulder beneath her blouse. Her sighs filled the studio and she embraced him, held him to her. He lifted his head and softly touched her parted lips. “Sarah, what are we doing?”

“Mmm,” she murmured, claiming his mouth again.

He pressed his lips harder against hers, pulling her closer.

“You're delicious, too,” she whispered.

“Should we be doing this?” he asked her.

“I think so, yes,” she said, a little breathless, her eyes closed. And his mouth moved, opened, his tongue probed, kissing her deeply. Passionately.

It was exactly as she dreamed it would be, to be in his strong arms. Her emotions soared and the heat of desire filled her. The feel of him, the smell, the texture of his mouth—how could it be so familiar when this was
her first taste? His hands caressed her back while his mouth devoured hers. Then his lips were on her neck again, kissing and teasing her. He moaned with deep pleasure, then took her mouth again. And again, and again. This is what she had lived for. Never in her life had she wanted something so much.

She pulled away from him slightly and looked into his eyes, his hands still on her hips as though to keep her from getting away. He wasn't smiling, for once. “You're full of surprises, Sarah.”

Her fingers, trembling slightly, went to the buttons on her blouse. She undid the first, the second, his hand grasped her wrist as she touched the third. “Do you want to think about this?” he asked, his voice husky.

“No,” she whispered. “I don't want to think.” He let go of her wrist and she undid the third, fourth and fifth.

“Are you sure?” he asked her. “Because I can not think, too. In fact, I'm probably better at it than you.”

Her eyes softly closed. “We'll see,” she whispered.

He didn't hesitate. He put his hands inside the blouse and spread it. Eyes closed, she dropped her head back and let out a long slow breath as she felt his hands on her breasts. Then his lips were there as he kissed, nibbled, then sucked and her knees threatened to give out. He tongued her lips apart again, in a long demanding kiss. “I think we're playing with fire here,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered against his mouth. “Oh, God, I know.” And then she demanded as much of his lips as he had of hers.

He pulled away from her to shrug his jacket from his shoulders to the floor. He ripped his sweater off over his head and held her again. He turned with her in his arms and flipped the light switch so that the large overhead
light was out and the room was lit by only the soft glow of the night-light under the supply cupboard. He pushed the blouse from her shoulders, letting it drop, and crushed her against his bare chest, both of his hands on her buttocks so that she could feel his desire, too, had risen. Then he began to crunch her skirt into little fistfuls of fabric in his hand until he had raised it and beneath he found the warm flesh of her thigh. He explored her, finding nothing more than a thong to get in his way. “God,” he whispered. He pushed it down easily and it rested around her ankles, so she stepped out of it. Then she dared put her hand over his erection and he groaned against her open mouth, pushing against her hand.

They stood, rocking, fondling, their mouths locked together in a hot wet kiss that seemed to go on forever. He dug his hands into her hair, pulling her face hard against his, then under the skirt again, caressing her soft bum and lower, to her delicate insides. Pleasure shot through her as he touched her there. She enjoyed the sensation of the smooth muscles of his chest under her fingertips, his flat, muscled belly. His breathing was labored and excited as she struggled with the snap on his jeans and finally, getting inside, slipped her hand down, closing it around him in a firm caress that caused his breath to catch in his throat. He answered by grinding closer to her as he kissed her.

Sam embraced her again, looking down into her eyes. He lifted her onto the worktable and stood between her spread knees. He lifted her skirt to her thighs, rubbing them. Pulling her to the edge of the table, he kissed her again. “I can still stop, Sarah,” he whispered against her lips.

“If you stop, I will die.”

“Someone should put out this fire,” he said.

“Oh, Sam, please…”

“Are we okay here? Safe?”

“Yes.” She ran her fingers through the hair at his temples, drew him back to her lips.

He freed himself from his pants and slowly, neatly, pulled her onto him. She gasped as he filled her. With his hands under her bottom, he lifted her so that he held her off the table, her legs wrapped around his waist. Kissing her deeply, he lifted her up and down gently. She held his shoulders, feeling the tension of his muscles at work, and rocked with him. Her pleasure was rising and rising until she thought she would scream, and then it exploded inside her, showering her with the greatest bliss she had ever known. In her ecstasy, she bit down on his lip, startling a small noise out of him. While she was gripped in orgasm, she heard him whisper, “Oh…God…” Spent, she began to go limp, but he said, “Hold me, Sarah. Tightly.” He thrust once, twice, and then exploded inside her.

He gently rested her back on the table, but continued to hold her tenderly as his kisses began to come softer, sweeter. She wouldn't let him go, but returned his kisses for a long while, and then he gently slipped out of her.

“My God, Sarah,” he said. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

She shook her head, smiling. “But I'm glad it did.”

He touched her hair. “You're really something.”

“You did all the work. I've never experienced anything like that in my life.” She laid her head on his shoulder and he held her, quiet and close, until she shivered.

Sam fastened his trousers and reached to the floor for her blouse. He held it for her to slip into and then he
slowly buttoned it. “I'll need a minute,” she said. He helped her off the table and into her shoes.

Sarah went into the little bathroom in her studio to freshen up. She heard him rustling around in the studio. He'll go now, she found herself thinking. Then she heard the soft sound of music—the slow melodies of late-night radio. When she opened the door, she found he was still bare chested. He held a hand out to her, pulled her into his arms and danced with her, taking tiny steps in the small space.

Nothing could have prepared her for this. She knew he would be an extraordinary lover, but she hadn't counted on him being so romantic. As she held him, moved with him, kissed him to the strains of soft jazz, it wasn't long before his kisses became deeper, more demanding. His hand went again to her breast, but this time he managed the buttons. His mouth on her was sheer heaven; his hands were magic. And her hands were all over him, caressing his shoulders, down his arms, past his flat belly. Again she was lifted to the worktable. He nibbled at her lips and said, “Try not to bite me this time. Unless you have to.” He brought her onto him again, again bearing all her weight as she enjoyed a thundering climax in his arms, and when she was done, he matched her. The only thing he said when he caught his breath was, “We need a bed.”

It was almost five in the morning when she locked the shop door. “Will your father be worried about you?”

“No. It's not uncommon for me to get caught up in something and stay here all night. How about your mom?”

He shrugged. “I work overtime sometimes,” he said. He kissed her and said, “I'll follow you home, make sure you're in safely.”

The next afternoon, a floral bouquet arrived at the shop. There was one word on the card. “Wow.”

Sam called Sarah once that week, asked how she was, but when the weekend came she didn't hear from him. The following Monday afternoon when she found him on the slopes, she passed him an envelope. Inside was a key to a room in the small motel at Lander's Pass near the pub they had frequented. When he opened the door she was already there, in the bed. Beside her was a bottle of wine and two glasses. The sheet was pulled up to cover her naked breasts.