Take Me All the Way (17 page)

Once more, he stopped and looked back. This time the expression on his face was a skeptical one. But she
wanted to fix that. She wanted to be brave, too. And she prayed she wouldn't regret it.

“I . . . don't want to be afraid anymore. Of anything.”

“You don't have to be, baby,” he told her deeply.

“Make me . . . not afraid,” she said.

And their gazes locked as he came toward her.

Oh! The things which happened in that garden!

Frances Hodgson Burnett,
The Secret Garden

J
EREMY SQUEEZED
her hand gently, trying to put her at ease. Something about her honesty tugged at his heart, and left him feeling that knowing her fears made this easier. Because there was no reason to be nervous now—for either of them. If anything awkward happened, it wouldn't feel so awkward. He suspected he probably had more sexual experience than Tamra, but it
had
been a while, and now that didn't matter as much.

He met her gaze and hoped she could read his thoughts.
We're in this together.

“I want you to forget,” he said, “anything except how much I want you right now.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and it came out sounding tentative, but he still felt her trust and that made everything better.

When he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, a ribbon of heat rippled up his arm. Damn, they had some wicked chemistry for sure.

And now . . . now there was no stopping it.

Stepping closer to her, he lifted his free hand to gently push the curls back from her cheek so he could see her face. Moonlight, along with the strings of tiny white bulbs she'd draped through the trees, allowed him to take in the innocence in her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the blush of anticipation coloring her cheeks. Tamra was not a woman he'd ever thought of as innocent before tonight, but that was what he saw in her now. It was an innocent faith that what was about to happen would make her happy and leave no room for regret.

“You really are beautiful,” he said. “I need you to know that. I hate that you've ever thought otherwise.”

She lowered her chin slightly, peered at him through soft eyes. “When did you become so sweet?”

He just shook his head. “It's not being sweet. It's telling the truth. That's what we're both doing right now, right? Telling the truth. And the truth is—there are a lot of different kinds of beauty in this world besides looking like a Barbie doll. And you have plenty of them.”

And he meant every word. It had never crossed his mind that she wasn't tiny and slim. It
had
crossed his mind that he liked the fullness of her curves. It had never crossed his mind that she didn't look like a supermodel. It
had
crossed his mind that her smile—when she let it out—made her whole face shine and that her eyes were the deep, warm green of the woods surrounding Whisper Falls.

“Tell me something true,” he said to her. He liked this truth business between them. It made her more open with him, made them go places they wouldn't otherwise.

He watched as she drew in her breath, devising a reply. “I like that you're letting me see you,” she said. “Both inside and out. I like that you cut your hair and trimmed your beard. I like the way your eyes sparkle. I like that I can see so much more of your face now. I like seeing . . . who you used to be, because . . . from what I hear, he was pretty great.”

Jeremy managed a half smile. But it was bittersweet to be reminded of that other him, and that he'd lost so much of himself somewhere along the way.

And he'd thought she was done, so it surprised him when she went on. “I like . . . that a guy like you . . . wants to be with a woman like me.”

He needed more on this one, though. “What do you mean? A guy like me, a woman like you?”

“I've heard what you were like once. Football hero, war hero, general heartthrob. And a guy who can have any girl he wants usually goes after . . . well, the Barbie dolls.”

“I'm not really that guy anymore, though. Even if I'm getting my shit together, I'll never really be that guy again. That guy was . . . so fucking obvious. He was . . . predictable.” He thought about when he'd come home from war. For a while he'd worked damn hard trying to be that perfect guy, live up to the hype. He'd even briefly pursued Lucky's sister in Destiny, the beautiful Anna Romo. And then the bottom had dropped out. It made him realize, “I never thought I'd say this, but maybe there's actually some good in the ways I've changed. Maybe I . . . look a little deeper now, see a little clearer. I don't want or need a Barbie doll to have a good time.”

A rare but lovely flirtatious smile unfurled on Tamra's face before she said, “That's convenient for me tonight.”

And he felt more in sync with her than he ever had, enough that he wanted to quit talking now and get to doing.

When Jeremy kissed her this time, Tamra . . . surrendered.

Something had changed here, something big. Maybe it was the things he'd said to her; maybe it was the honesty she'd shared. But she knew already that she wouldn't run away or pull back this time. The ghosts of lovers past that had haunted her ever since he'd entered her world were no longer hovering nearby. As he moved his mouth over hers in her secret garden hideaway, they were the only two people who existed.

When his arms closed warmly around her waist to settle on her hips, she didn't hesitate to embrace him just as fully. And finally, finally, she let herself begin to get lost in it all—in a whole new way. Lost in the kissing, lost in the touching, lost in Jeremy himself. And she'd never have imagined something like this happening here, in her garden—and yet it made all the sense in the world. It was the perfect place to finally let go, finally be as real with someone else as she was inside, by herself.

This time, when Jeremy's palm eased onto her breast she didn't panic—she tensed slightly, but then . . . then . . . she just let it feel good. As he molded her flesh in his hand, she followed the instinct to kiss him harder. And when pleasure flowed south, into the region between her legs, she let herself drown in the sensation.

“I want this so much,” she heard herself breathe between kisses, unplanned. And the confession was the ultimate final surrender—because words that bared
so much of her soul couldn't have spilled from her an hour earlier.

“Come here—come with me,” he rasped, and led her deeper into her own garden as if he belonged there—until they came upon the big netted hammock where she sometimes napped strung between two palm trees. His seductive grin lured her. “I've never made love in a hammock.”

“Me neither.” And she couldn't deny that it sounded like a nice idea.

“Hop in,” he said playfully, and as she lay back in it, he joined her, stretching out alongside, wasting no time leaning in to kiss her again.

As his body connected and intertwined with hers from shoulder to toe, his hands drifted from her face to her waist to her breast—and his kisses drifted as well. Mmm, she found herself stretching like a cat, eyes fallen shut in pleasure, as kisses to her neck vibrated through her whole being.

Soon enough those wonderful kisses migrated down onto her breasts, through her dress. And as her fingers threaded through his freshly trimmed hair, his hands grazed their way up her thighs, and under her dress.

And now that she was in this, fully committed and trusting in the moment, in the night, in Jeremy—it was easy. To part her legs when his fingers dipped skillfully between. To let passionate moans escape her throat and waft upward through the palm fronds overhead. To give herself over to sensations she hadn't experienced since she was a much younger woman in a much different place and time.

She pushed his shirt up over his stomach, wanting to feel him, too, and he withdrew his touches just long
enough to yank his shirt open and off. She didn't hesitate to let her fingers play over the muscles in his chest and below, getting to know his body as he returned to exploring hers.

As she touched him, taking in the hard arcs and planes of his stomach with her eyes as well, his gaze dropped to where she touched him, too. And she hurried to voice the thought that rushed to her mind. “I'm sorry my hands are so rough.”

He blinked, peering down on her. “Huh?”

She drew in her breath. More honesty. Funny how quickly she'd gotten so comfortable with that. “It's from the work I do, the pottery and glass work. It's . . . rough on my hands and nails. They're not, you know, soft.”
Now
she felt embarrassed because she'd started sounding a little self-deprecating again.

His eyes moved back to where her fingers had gone still on his skin, but just as quickly returned to her face. “I hadn't noticed,” he said deeply. “I was mainly just thinking it feels good for you to touch me.”

“Oh.” She pulled in her breath, his words making her surge with moisture below.

And then Jeremy wrapped one hand around her fingers, warmly enclosing them in his fist, then drawing them up closer to his eyes. He studied her fingertips silently. And then he kissed them. One by one, he lowered kisses gentle as falling raindrops to the work-roughened tip of each finger on her hand.

He said nothing more in response to her self-conscious concerns, and he didn't have to. The kisses had said it all. They said her fingers were as lovely as the rest of her. They said to stop worrying and just let them enjoy each other, flaws and all.

More kisses fell on her breasts over the fabric of her dress as he drew her panties down and off, along with her shoes. She let out a hot breath of anticipation as the undies left her, feeling at once exposed and in truth still a little nervous, but she forced that away and remembered she wanted this and was oh-so-ready for it.

When his fingers dipped between her thighs, a harsh moan erupted from her throat. Oh Lord, she'd thought she'd never feel this again. And yet, here it was, like a sweet, hot dream. And she was so, so thankful she'd finally let down her walls and welcomed him in.

And . . . ohhh, did it somehow feel even better than it ever had in the past? As his fingers stroked through her most sensitive flesh, she bit her lip, wondering if it was possible to die from pleasure.

When he pushed first one finger, and then two, up inside her, a low groan left her. Oh God, that feeling—another one she'd thought she'd never experience again. She found herself clutching at him, digging her fingernails into the soft flesh of his shoulders and neck, pulling him down to her, kissing him with every shred of desperate need inside her that she'd been trying to ignore. None of it had gone away—it was all still there, and now, finally, it was being fed.

“You're so wet, honey,” he murmured near her ear in between kisses.

“Yes,” she breathed—it was all she could manage.

And then his thumb pressed onto the most sensitive part of her body of all—and began to rub sensual circles over it.

Sensation expanded inside her as she shut her eyes tight, her mouth falling open.

She bit her lip, wanting to move against his hot touch, wanting to let her whole body go.

But . . . she couldn't. She just couldn't.
Oh no, what the hell is wrong with me?

Now she clenched her teeth in frustration, her body beginning to freeze up. She wished it were darker, wished the moon weren't so bright tonight—along with the nearby fire and the lights in the trees.

“What's wrong, Mary?” he whispered.

Honest. Just be honest.
It seemed to fix everything between them, seemed to take all the confusion and hardness away from their interactions.
So just trust it again now.

And Tamra looked inside her beaten-up heart and said, “I feel you watching me. And that makes it harder for me to . . . really let myself go completely. I guess . . . I'm one of those people who finds it easier with the lights out.”

She bit her lip, back to feeling self-conscious. Until he said, “Why? I mean, you've . . . seen me at my worst. Or damn close to it.” He let his gaze wander the length of her body before bringing it back to her eyes. “Let me see you at your best.”

She blinked, taken aback. “You think this is my best?”

Above her, Jeremy tilted his head slightly in the hammock. “I'm not sure—I haven't spent enough time with you to know your best. But I just meant . . . you're beautiful, and seeing you enjoy connecting with me . . . that's beautiful, too. Not a thing to be shy about or hide. Let me take you there, Tamra. Let me take you all the way.”

And like before, his words, his truth, changed everything. Somehow, he made it okay. Okay for her to
close her eyes and just feel. Okay to sink back into the moment, and into the pleasure, and into the feel of his thumb caressing that now-swollen spot between her thighs. Okay to softly, gently, begin to move against his touch. Just a little. And then . . . more.

It was okay to let out the sighs and moans that the sweet, hot, consuming sensations elicited. It was okay to let her pleasure show.

She wasn't sure how much time passed—she'd ceased thinking in terms of time; she'd ceased thinking at all. She wasn't sure anything had ever carried her away as completely as his touch did just now. And it was without much warning that she toppled into pure ecstasy.

The orgasm washed over her in waves as rough and consuming as any ever driven to shore by the ocean—it vibrated through her, rocking her senses, taking hold of her soul.

Tamra wasn't a woman given to frivolities. Maybe that was why she'd been so resistant to her own body's sexual needs—in comparison to lasting things like relationships and work and art, it was easy to see something like an orgasm as fleeting, trivial. But in the moment when she'd traveled all the way to heaven and back . . . well, it didn't seem trivial or frivolous at all. It seemed . . . like she'd reached a destination. One she hadn't quite known she wanted to arrive at so badly, but getting there had surpassed all her expectations.

She lay there for a few seconds after, recovering, absorbing all the emotions it brought, with her eyes shut. But then she opened them, surprisingly comfortable to find herself peering directly into Jeremy's. If any in
securities were going to rear their ugly heads, surely right now, after all, would be the time.