Take Me All the Way (25 page)

But soon she was ready to stop talking. She wanted more sex. And it was more than just a physical thing—it was about . . . closeness. All the different kinds of closeness. As their warm, naked bodies mingled together under the sheets, she eased her hand down between his thighs and whispered, “I want you again.”

“God, woman, you're an animal tonight,” he told her with a playful smile.

“I kinda am,” she agreed—then leaned in to begin kissing his bare chest.

“Mmm, I like it,” he growled.

And she liked pleasing him. Almost as much as she liked
being
pleased. When she'd been young, her older lovers had often been pushy, at times demanding. But Jeremy never pushed her. He playfully suggested sex on the golf course, sure; and he could be . . . commanding during sex, yes. But commanding and
de
manding were two different things. Commanding was knowing
what would please them both.
De
manding was selfish. And Jeremy was never a selfish lover.

And that was probably what compelled Tamra to follow the instinct to kiss her way down onto his well-muscled stomach—and then lower. She'd never done this with him before. He'd never asked. But she wanted to give him something new, something wholly selfless. He'd taken her to places she'd never thought she'd go—she wanted to take him someplace amazing, too. And the low groans that began to echo from his throat told her she was on the right track.

She held his solid erection in her hand, stroking firmly, as she studied it in the moonlight seeping in her window. Another way of getting to know him, of growing closer to him. And he'd pleasured her this way so many times without ever asking her to do it in return. She gingerly kissed the tip and he let out a deep sigh that fueled her. Then she began to run her tongue down his hard length and back up again, experimenting, getting used to the feeling.

“Aw.” Another hot groan from him. “Aw baby. That feels so good.”

Now she licked, holding onto him as if he were an ice cream cone, still tentatively finding her way. “You . . . you've never asked me to,” she observed. Although her experience was limited, every guy she'd been with in her youth had asked her to, indeed pushed her.

“I wouldn't want you to do it because I asked you,” he told her deeply. “I only want you to do it if you really want to.”

“Well, I really want to, Jeremy,” she said. And then she parted her lips and sank her mouth over the shaft in her hand.

“Aw—aw God, that's good.”

Her chest expanded with an unexpected pleasure of her own as she began to move her lips up and down on him. God, she hadn't anticipated the satisfaction it would bring her—that it would feel like more than just giving—but it truly pleasured her as well. And being this intimate with him, this real and raw, made her feel more connected to him than ever before.

Though eventually she needed him inside her. And told him so. He rasped, “Anything you want, honey—I want to make you feel so damn good.” And he did. She straddled his body, he pulled her down onto him, filling her, and soon she was screaming her orgasm, thankful it was cold enough to have the windows closed.

“Aw, Tamra honey—I'm gonna come, too,” he murmured deeply, and exploded inside her in three hard thrusts that nearly lifted her from the bed.

When it was done, she let her body fold over onto him, exhausted, ready to settle warmly against him and fall asleep.

Though she'd been thinking a lot about her feelings for him—and she knew she'd fallen in love with him. She'd avoided saying it, even to herself, because it was a big place to go emotionally. But now it seemed silly to deny it. And like if that was the feeling flowing through her veins as thick as blood, she should just say it. Things were that easy between them now—it wasn't even scary. It was just being real with him, same as always.

“I love you, Jeremy,” she breathed in his ear. Then snuggled tighter against him.

And his body stiffened beneath her. So much that
the tension shot through her like the shock from an electric prod.

Then she went tense, too. Because she knew already, before either of them even said another word, that she'd just ruined everything.

. . . the immense, tender, terrible, heartbreaking beauty . . .

Frances Hodgson Burnett,
The Secret Garden

H
ER FIRST
impulse: damage control. “You—you don't have to say it back. I . . . wasn't trying to make some huge statement or anything.” She rose up, peered down on him, wanting to make eye contact, put him at ease.

But he didn't
look
at ease—even in the dark she could see that. “Well, it feels kind of huge.”

And obviously not in a good way.
Her heart was breaking inside her chest, but she girded herself, still following the instinct to try and save it, try to fix what she'd obviously messed up. “I didn't mean it to be. I just . . . said what I felt in the moment.”

She still looked down at him, but he'd broken eye contact. “Tamra, I like things the way they are, the way they've been.”

“Well, that's good, because nothing has changed. I mean . . . it's not like I suddenly woke up feeling this way. It's grown. Developed. Over time.” But oh God,
she was saying too much. Even though she meant her words to relax him, she could see the fear in his eyes actually increasing.
Shut up already.

A heavy sigh left him, and her heart dropped a little more even before he said, “I just . . . thought we were on the same page.”

Tamra began to feel smaller inside somehow than she had a mere moment before. She instinctively drew her body slightly away from his, disentangling their limbs, as she lay down next to him.
She
didn't want to be looking into
his
eyes anymore either now. “What page is that?” she asked.

“That we're just . . . having fun. That it's the same as it's been up to now—casual.”

Huh. Wow. “What we've been isn't casual, Jeremy,” she informed him.

And sensed him going a little more rigid beside her. “We never made any promises,” he nearly snapped. “And I don't want anything serious. I thought you
got
that. I mean, I'm just now getting my life together. I'm not into being all bogged down by a relationship. I've got too much other stuff to worry about first.”

Tamra took all that in, let it settle inside her.

Everything had just changed. And it was her fault, for trusting in what they had so much, for feeling so unguarded with him that she'd expressed her love assuming it would be gratefully received. She'd wanted nothing back—she'd simply followed the urge to let this man know he was loved. And she'd thought—mistakenly—that maybe mature adults could do that, that they could acknowledge their feelings, give and take true affection from each other, without it redefining the relationship.

But she'd been naïve. As naïve as she'd been as a teenager. Nothing much had advanced, she now realized, between the way relationships had worked then and the way they worked with adults. When you put your emotions out there, it changed things. For better or worse.

And it hurt to find out Jeremy didn't feel the same way about her as she did for him. Or that even if he did, the idea of “being casual” was more important to him. Whichever answer was the truest didn't much matter—either way, it hurt like hell.

Because she'd given so much of herself to him. And she'd trusted that he'd valued all those personal pieces of herself she'd shared—the physical intimacy, the secrets told and confessions given, every moment she'd spent with him that was out of choice and not obligation. She'd thought they'd truly connected.

But now that he was claiming they hadn't . . . well, that changed things for her, too.

And it changed them even more when he added, “Love's the last thing on my mind here. I'm not interested in love, Tamra, and I doubt I ever will be.”

In fact, that . . .
killed
things.

“Oh,” she said, stunned, even insulted.

And it left only one horrible option for her, the only saving grace being that she felt absolutely certain about it. She forced back her emotions and attempted to be stoic as she delivered it. “Okay then, I understand. But . . . I don't think I can see you anymore, Jeremy.”

Next to her in the bed, he flinched, bolted a sharp look her way. “What do you mean?”

“What I just said.”

He blinked. “Why can't things stay like they've been?”

“Because you're right—what I said was huge. I didn't realize it when I said it, and it wouldn't have been a big deal if you'd been okay with me feeling that way. But you're not. You're still in casual mode.” She stopped, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Don't ask me how, mind you, given some of the stuff we've talked about.” Then she spoke louder again. “But that doesn't matter. What matters is . . .
I
don't feel casual anymore. And if you already know you can never return my feelings, there's really no point in going on. I'd always just feel . . . embarrassed with you now. Weak or something.” She shook her head.

Jeremy just looked at her. And she looked back. Into eyes of blue fraught with pain and beauty. She'd seen less pain there recently—and a lot more joy and laughter—but right now, all she saw was sadness trapping a beautiful man inside.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He sounded taken aback, as shocked as
she
had a few minutes ago when he'd called them casual. “Sure you don't want to try to work this out, see if we can meet in the middle?”

Something in his voice nearly made her feel compassion for him—but maybe she'd shown him enough compassion. Maybe it was time to get back to taking care of herself. “Be careful,” she cautioned. “You almost sound like you care.”

“Well, of course I care.” His tone implied that she was acting ridiculous. “Just because I don't want something big and serious here doesn't mean I don't care.”

“Not enough,” she said quietly, firmly.

And sure, it would be easy to sell herself short here,
take what she could get from him. Many women in her position would. They'd keep hanging on and trying to figure out how to make him love them back. They'd clamber and cling and hope and pray—they'd dig themselves deeper and deeper into love with him, become more and more invested in trying to make him feel the same way. They'd lose themselves there. All for nothing. Because if love wasn't freely given, what was it worth? If love wasn't freely given, it wasn't real.

He still looked confused, a little broken, in a way that tugged at her heart even now as it crumbled inside her. But at the same time, she felt so shockingly sure she was doing the right thing that it kept her strong. Her resolution never wavered, even as she explained, “I don't want anything from you that you don't want to give me, Jeremy. But I know what I'm worth, and I don't want to settle for less than that.
Now
, if we went on seeing each other, I'd
feel
that every single time I saw you, that I was getting less than I'm worth.”

“Why do women always have to make such a big deal out of everything?” he muttered on a heavy sigh.

But she gently said, “Well, it's a big deal to
me
. My mistake.”

“Look, I don't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm just being honest.” He gave a shake of his head. “I feel like I can't win here, like nothing I say will be the right thing to fix it.”

“That's probably true. Some things can't be fixed.”

And as they stared at each other in stark silence, she knew they were both feeling the enormity of her words. She and Jeremy had both fixed a lot in each other in recent weeks—proving that some things
could
be repaired. But some things couldn't. There were
some things you could only try to heal from. What had happened to his friend, Chuck. The loss of her deluded parents' love. And . . . this. This would take some healing, at least for her.

“I'll be fine,” she promised him. In case he was worried about her feelings at all. The truth was, she didn't know. She suddenly didn't know how much he cared or
didn't
care; maybe all he was experiencing the loss of right now was something he'd grown accustomed to because it took his mind off the cost of war.

After a long moment, Jeremy sat up in bed and reached for the clothes he'd brought inside after their garden romp. Only after he was almost completely dressed did he quietly say, “This doesn't make sense to me, Mary. One minute we're fine and the next . . .”

“And the next, I tell you I love you and you freak out and—”

“I didn't freak out,” he argued.

“You did, a little. Quietly,” she insisted, still calm, stalwart. “And it told me all I need to know. I think we started out on the same page, but we're not there anymore. My page turned and yours didn't—that's all. No harm, no foul.”

He still wore that same shell-shocked look, but she forced herself to become more inured against it. She was the wounded party here, not him. And it wasn't as if he'd suddenly started saying all the right things.

As Jeremy stood up, peering down at her as if still waiting for her to change her mind, she felt sad—brokenhearted if she was honest—to discover he didn't love her back. She wasn't sure when it had turned into love, but she could have sworn they felt the same way. And yet . . . another part of her felt even sadder
for him
.
For not loving her. Or for not letting himself. Either way, he was missing out on the amazing person she was. And he was closing the door on all the good things they'd given to each other.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” she asked, remembering she'd brought him here.

He shook his head. “I'll walk the beach back.”

She nodded.

And he let out one last sigh, then turned to go.

“Jeremy,” she called, realizing there was one more thing to say.

He looked back. And she tried not to see hope in his eyes, because what she had to say wasn't about that.

“Thank you,” she told him. “For bringing me back to life inside. I'll always appreciate the time we've had together. It'll always mean something to me.”

Jeremy knew he should be saying something in reply, saying the same kinds of things—but he didn't. He was still too stunned. And he kind of just wanted to shut down.

So he simply nodded, then ducked out of the bedroom. He was ready to be gone, out of this situation.

He exited through the back, just because it was how he'd come in. But he walked briskly—through the garden, out the gate—purposely not taking any of it in. He wouldn't be back here, after all. He was leaving for the last time.

He gave his head another quick shake as he hit the path that led to the driveway. This felt unreal. He hadn't felt anything unreal since . . . Afghanistan. There, unreal shit had happened all the time—unreal shit had become a way of life. But back here, even mired in depression, not a lot had thrown him. Even
since coming to Coral Cove, life had been mostly . . . predictable, steady. And the only surprises had been mostly good ones. Mostly related to Tamra. So walking out of her house in the middle of the night, suddenly knowing it would be the last time, was a little jarring.

As he'd told her, he headed for the beach. He'd grabbed his shoes on the way out, but hadn't bothered putting them on, and it felt good, after descending the worn steps at the end of Sea Shell Lane, to sink his toes into cool sand and to let the sound of the ocean wash over him.

He headed toward the water, walked along the edge of where it met the shore, purposely keeping his feet in that soft, dry sand. Maybe there was something . . . grounding in that. He just wanted to keep feeling it as he put one foot in front of the other.

Parts of their conversation blipped in his brain. She loved him. But if he didn't love her back, she didn't want to see him anymore. She didn't want anything from him he didn't want to give. But apparently she didn't want the things he
did
want to give, either.

Though maybe this was best. Because he just wasn't into tossing the L-word around—it made things serious, no two ways about it. He just didn't know how somebody said it without realizing that.

Everything in his life right now was new, and he was doing the best he could. He'd already committed to a job, and to moving here permanently. And he seemed to have committed to that damn cat, who would probably be weaving figure-eights around his ankles the second he walked in the door. And hell—that was enough.
More
than enough.

So he had a perfectly full life without Tamra in it, and he just didn't need the kind of drama that L-word brought.

And the truth was, being alone wasn't always so bad. There was no guesswork in being alone, no curveballs. There were no bombs being dropped—figurative or literal.

And with that thought, he closed the door on the topic. He turned his brain back to the rush of the surf and the sand beneath his feet. And sleep. Because it was late and he was tired. He banished all other thoughts from his mind.