Читать книгу Return To Me - Shannon McKenna - Страница 8

Simon stared down at his half-eaten steak. It was tender and flavorful, but it didn’t tempt him. He was being about as entertaining as a bump on a log for his old friend Cora. He’d run into her today while washing his clothes at her laundromat, and had mistakenly thought that having company tonight might cheer him up. Big mistake.

He took a swallow of his beer. “Sorry, Cor. I’m not very good company tonight.”

Cora rested her chin on her cupped hands. “That’s OK,” she said gently. “You’re hung up on Ellen, aren’t you?”

“Nah, she’s just an old friend. It’s not like that.”

The people at the next table were staring at him. He recognized Willard Blair, and his wife Mae Ann. They were giving him a fishy look.

A vague memory took form in Simon’s mind. An illicit tractor race on Willard’s property that had ended badly. Considerable property damage had been involved. The devil in him gave them a big, cheeky grin. He toasted them, lifting his beer mug high.

Willard and his wife broke eye contact quickly.

“Just a friend, huh?” Cora’s voice was ironic. “So it’s no big deal to you, then, that she’s engaged to Brad Mitchell?”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered. “She deserves better.”

“Right.” Cora stole one of his French fries and dipped it into his ketchup. “And the fact that she’s got tons of curly blonde hair, big, brown eyes, perfect tits, legs to die for? All that’s irrelevant to you?”

“Come on, Cora,” he said sourly. “There’s more to it than that.”

Her dimples flashed. “Then you’re not like most men I know.”

“That’s probably true,” he said. “Unfortunately.”

Cora’s sharp eyes made him uncomfortable. He gazed out into the restaurant at the other diners. His breath froze in his lungs as he recognized Eddie Webber, his best friend from high school.

Eddie had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’d been willing to hang out with Simon when not many others would, and Simon had been grateful for his friendship. At least he had been until that fateful night seventeen years ago.

It was Eddie who had been the source of all those firecrackers the group of guys had shot off at the Mitchell Stables. Before they all ran off and left him alone to take the blame for a fire he didn’t start.

Eddie was eating barbecued ribs. He’d gained a lot of weight, and his red hair was thinning on top. He stopped chewing as he recognized Simon. His eyes slid away.

Simon looked down into his plate, feeling even bleaker. “It makes me sick that she’s engaged to Brad Mitchell. Ruins my appetite.”

Cora had been reaching out for another French fry. Her hand stopped in midair. “Yeah,” she said heavily. “That Brad. He’s a pisser.”

Her strained tone made him take notice. “Sorry, Cor. I forgot. Didn’t you used to be his girlfriend? I questioned your taste even then.”

“Yeah, I was crazy for him for a while. It ended badly.” She took a sip of her frozen margarita and tried to smile. “I’ve put it behind me, but you know what’s funny? My bad judgment in men has endured the test of time. That’s why I’m still single.”

“You’re better off without Brad Mitchell,” he told her.

“I suppose,” she murmured. “You know, Simon, you’re made of stern stuff if you have the guts to be seen in public with me. Even your reputation might suffer, bozo, and that’s really saying something.”

He stared at her blankly. “Come again?”

“Didn’t you know?” Cora’s grin was impish. “I’m the scarlet woman of LaRue. It started the summer you ran off. The first rumor was that you and slutty gold-digger me had a hot, nasty affair while I was trying to trap Brad into a white trash marriage—”

“No way!” He was aghast.

“Uh huh. No joke. Then the word was that you’d gotten me pregnant, and that I sneaked off and aborted our secret love child. Since then, man, anything goes. You would not believe the shit some people say I’ll do for fifty bucks, or a line of coke.”

“But that’s such bullshit! What idiot would have believed that?”

Cora tried to laugh, but the effort was hollow. “Brad believed it.”

“So that was why he started pounding me that summer,” Simon said. “He thought that we—”

“Yup.” Cora took a gulp of her margarita. “Let’s let it go, though. If I think about it, I’m liable to drink too much.”

“OK,” he agreed readily. “If it’s so bad, why are you still here?”

“I did leave for a while. I lived up in Seattle for a few years, but big cities aren’t my thing. I felt rootless. Then Grandma died and left me her double-wide. So I held my nose, came back, and opened up the Wash-n-Shop. It’s a good business. Not what I dreamed of, and I work like a bastard, but it’s mine. Nobody can yell at me or order me around.”

“Amen,” Simon said. “I try to run my life like that, too. Except when I pull an idiot stunt like coming back to LaRue. It’s like begging to get bashed in the head. Ellen and Brad? Jesus. The ultimate insult.”

Cora nodded. “Ellen’s a sweet girl. That’s why it’s a bad match. He’s going to shove her around, and she’ll try to please him and accommodate his flaming bitch of a mother, and end up getting squished like a bug. It’s gonna be ugly.”

Simon covered his face with his hands. “Gee, thanks, Cor, for making that picture so vivid in my mind—”

“Brad should marry a woman who can kick his arrogant ass on an hourly basis,” Cora said grimly. “But I’m not good enough friends with Ellen to tell her that. Maybe you could.”

“I already tried,” he said. “She doesn’t want to hear it from me.”

Cora’s hand jerked, sloshing her margarita over the tablecloth. “Oh, crap. Speak of the devil. Too late to run for the ladies’ room.”

Simon turned his head. Sure enough. Brad peered through the restaurant window. His gaze locked with Simon’s, glittering with rage.

“Oh, crap, crap, crap,” Cora moaned, as the restaurant door swung open. “This is going to seriously screw with my digestion.”

He was big. Simon ticked off details with a detached professional eye. Bigger than he’d been in high school, but it was pumped-up gym bulk, not streamlined fighting muscle. Big, clenched fists, muscles twitching in his jaw, neck muscles contracted.

An inconvenience, but not a problem, the well-honed data processor in Simon’s head concluded. Unless he pulled out a gun, which was unlikely. “Hi, Brad,” Simon said. “Been a while.”

Brad’s eyes slid to Cora. “Well, well. Look at this. Didn’t waste any time, did you, Cor?”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Oh, I never, ever do, Brad. You know me. Seize the moment, that’s my motto.”

His eyes flicked back to Simon. “I heard about you slinking around town today.”

“What constitutes slinking?” Simon asked.

“You should have stayed away,” Brad said. “Nobody wants you here, Riley. Burning property makes enemies.”

Simon sawed off a hunk of steak, put it in his mouth, chewed it.

Brad’s face tightened. “Listen to me. Get out of Ellen’s house. Then get out of town. I don’t want you near her. I will go to any lengths necessary to make you leave. Do we understand each other?”

Simon chomped a wedge of garlic bread. The restaurant was silent but for the sound of his bread crunching.

“Answer me when I speak to you!” Brad snarled.

Simon took a leisurely swallow of beer.

Brad’s mouth tightened. “OK, fine.” His voice was menacing. “You brought this on yourself, just like you did back in high school.”

Simon slid out of his chair as Brad grabbed his arm. He seized the flesh between Brad’s thumb and forefinger and flipped his wrist over, torquing it in one sinuous move. He applied pressure to the twisted tendons until Brad doubled over, gasping. “Let’s take this outside.”

“Let go of me, you worthless piece of shit,” Brad hissed.

Simon applied more pressure. Brad sucked air as Simon herded him around the tables of diners. Cora ran ahead, and yanked the door open. Her eyes were big and worried. Simon let Brad pitch forward.

Brad sprawled over the hood of his Porsche and scrambled to his feet. He cradled his wrist. “If you’ve broken my wrist, I’m suing!”

“I didn’t break anything,” Simon assured him. “Put ice on it.”

“Besides, you started it,” Cora said. “I saw you. Big bully.”

Brad’s eyes swept over the skin-tight jeans, the cleavage, the dangling earrings. “Who’s going to believe the town tramp?”

Simon feinted towards him, and Brad stumbled back. “Don’t speak to her that way, or I really will give you something to sue me for.”

“Keep away from Ellen, or I will ruin your life,” Brad snarled.

“I’m shaking,” Simon remarked. “Absolutely terrified.”

Brad shot Cora a final, contemptuous glance and climbed into his car. The tires squealed as he took off.

Simon started to shake with leftover adrenaline. It was no surprise how unwelcome he was in this town, but that didn’t make it easier to bear. He realized that Cora was speaking, and yanked his attention back to her. “Sorry, Cor, what did you say?”

“I said thanks for sticking up for me.”

“Same to you,” he said.

She stuck her hands with some difficulty into the pockets of her tight jeans. “Where’d you learn to do that kind of thing?”

“What kind of thing?”

“The way you handled him. That fighting stuff. Very cool.”

“Oh, here and there. I learned some in the service, and some on my own. Kung fu, aikido and karate, mixed together.” He met Cora’s heavily made-up eyes, and felt a rush of affection for her. Cora was a nice woman, good-humored and honest. She didn’t deserve the grief this place had given her. She deserved it far less than he did.

“I’m sorry Brad was ugly,” he said. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

Her smile was pinched. “I’m used to it. I wish I could say that I don’t care, but it would be a big fat lie.” She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Why couldn’t I have gotten hung up on you instead of Brad? You’re just as good-looking. Maybe even better looking, in a totally different way. And you’re a much sweeter person.”

Her words gave Simon a nervous twinge, but Cora’s eyes were guileless and direct, not flirtatious. “Actually, I’m not,” he said. “Sweet, I mean. I’m not much of a prize. More trouble than I’m worth.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “You’re holding out for a curly haired blonde with long legs and big brown eyes, right? I’m on to you, dude.”

A wave of misery came over him. He looked down at the sidewalk.

Cora put her hand on his shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dig. You know, this is like that Shakespeare play we studied in English, remember? The two couples who get lost in the woods, and the fairy screws up and puts the magic flower juice on the wrong people’s eyelids so everybody falls in love with the wrong person?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” he said. “You’re right.”

“What a godawful mess,” she said. “I should get my head shrunk.”

“He’s the one who needs it, not you, Cor,” Simon protested. “He treats you like—”

“I know, I know. But he was the first guy I ever slept with. He made a big impression. I’ve had nicer guys, but they fizzled. But hey. My dad was a jerk, too. So I’m attracted to men who treat me badly. How kinky is that? I should be on Jerry Springer.”

Her forced attempt at humor was painful to watch. “You deserve better,” he told her. “You deserve the best, Cor.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll work it out.” She smiled at him, a little too brightly. “How about we call it a night? Give me a ride home, OK?”

“OK,” he agreed gratefully.

He paid for their unfinished meals.

Cora slid off the bike when he braked in front of her double-wide at Twin Lakes. She slapped him hard on the back. “Good luck.”

Simon lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Figure it out, Einstein.”

When Ellen finally heard the rumble of the motor, she jumped out of bed so fast she almost tripped over her own feet. Her heart thudded as she shucked the summer nightdress, yanked on her cut-offs and a T-shirt, slipped into her thongs. She had to cross paths with him before he went upstairs. Their last interchange had been awful. This sick feeling in her belly wasn’t going to let her sleep. She was halfway down the stairs when she realized that she’d forgotten her bra.

Oops. It wasn’t as if she had massive bazongas that had to be forcibly restrained. She was smallish-to-medium, but they did tend to bounce and sway enthusiastically when left to their own devices.

She had to make a split-second decision. Either she faced him like this, tits to the wind, or she risked letting him see her scurry up the stairs like a rabbit. Dignity won out over panicked impulse. She shook her hair forward so that it covered her chest just as the door opened.

She ambled down the steps, and smiled at him. Just a woman wandering around her house. Minding her own business. Getting something cold to drink. The picture of casual nonchalance.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re back early.”

“Is it early?” His dark eyes had an inscrutable gleam. He held his helmet under his arm. His black hair was rumpled, straggling out of his thick ponytail and dangling around the chiseled line of his jaw.

“Only eleven-thirty,” she said.

His eyes brushed over her. His gaze was like a physical touch against her skin. “Were you figuring I’d be out all night?”

She shrugged, and regretted it when his eyes flicked to her chest. “I didn’t figure anything,” she said. “Why should I?”

He pushed his hair back off his forehead. “Well, I’m back.”

She descended the stairs as smoothly as she could, trying hard not to bounce. She checked to make sure that her tight, tingling nipples were hidden by her hair and walked by him towards the kitchen. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s none of my business.”

“So you’re not interested?”

The hard note in his voice made her turn. “You know very well that you interest me, Simon,” she said quietly. “You’re my friend.”

“Your friend,” he repeated.

“Yes.” She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

“The perfect hostess, huh?” His voice had a bitter edge.

“Stop being difficult,” she snapped. “I came downstairs for a cold drink. Don’t feel obligated, if you’d rather be alone. It’s not like I—”

“Yeah, I’ll have some of that iced tea.”

She floundered for a moment, and blushed. “Well?” She beckoned to him. “Come on, then.”

He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she pulled a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge. “This is mint-flavored green tea. No caffeine. It won’t keep you awake,” she assured him.

His short, dry laugh annoyed her. She whirled around and glared at him. “What? What’s that about? The mighty Simon Riley isn’t affected by caffeine? Is that it? Am I silly to concern myself?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m just not sleeping lately. Caffeine, no caffeine, it makes no difference. Nice of you to worry, though.”

She dropped a handful of ice into his tumbler, poured the tea and handed it to him. “There you go. It’s good for you. Full of antioxidants.”

They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. Ellen nodded towards the kitchen table. “Do you want to sit down?”

“There’s a full moon tonight,” he said. “Have you seen it?”

“No. I suppose we could sit out on the back porch and look at it, if you prefer.” Something inside her was waving its hands in frantic negation as the words came out of her mouth. Simon plus moonlight equaled incredible danger to her emotional equilibrium. Such as it was.

“Yeah, I prefer,” he said.

It’s just a glass of iced tea, you big sissy, so act like a freaking grown-up. She pushed the screen door open. They took their places on the top of the steps, a decorous couple of feet of space between them.

The moon floated high and brilliant in the sky. Gus’s roof was a square of reflected moonlight lost in a sea of moving leaves. Crickets chirped. The wind rustled and sighed. Ice cubes rattled. The butterflies in her belly fluttered so desperately, she could feel the frantic roar of their wings in her chest, her legs, her face.

Simon gestured towards Gus’s house. “Hank Blakely told me in his letter that you found him after…” He trailed off.

“Yes. I was heading over with a loaf of banana bread,” she said. “I brought him goodies every week or so. I got halfway through the meadow, and…saw him.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “I’m sorry that happened, El.”

“I kept my cool,” she said. “I just turned around, went home and called the police. They told me later he’d been dead for almost a week by then. He was lying in the meadow, about ten feet from the house.”

The wind had picked up, tossing and bending the branches.

“Thanks for doing that,” Simon said.

“For what?” she asked. “For calling the police?”

“For the goodies,” he said. “For being nice to him.”

“I’m surprised that you would feel grateful on his behalf.”

He shrugged. “And I’m surprised that you would bring him banana bread.”

Ellen set her glass down and hugged her knees. “I felt sorry for him. He was so alone. He was always polite, but I wouldn’t say we were friends. I could never be friends with anyone who had ever hit you.”

Simon let out a sharp sigh, and hunched down between his shoulder blades. “Whatever,” he said wearily. “I’m still glad that you were nice to him. I don’t know why.”

“Probably because you loved him,” El said.

Simon made a sharp gesture with his hand. “I don’t feel any need to analyze it.”

His curt tone silenced her for a moment, but curiosity prodded her on. “Were you in touch with him after you left?”

“Not until a couple of months ago. I got this weird e-mail. Out of the blue. He’d sent it care of a news magazine that had run some of my photo spreads. It got forwarded all over the place until it found my inbox.”

“What did it say?” she asked.

Simon stared out into the moonlit night. He took a final swallow of his iced tea, drained the glass and set it down on the step. He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

He fished a slip of folded paper out of it, and handed it to her.

Ellen unfolded it. Simon had torn off the unused half of the page with all the forwarding e-mail addresses. She held it up to catch the light that shone through the window in the kitchen door.

Not a word, not a keystroke wasted. She could hear Gus’s laconic, whiskey-roughened voice in her mind as she read the terse message.

To: whom it may concern:

From: augustus riley

pls forward this private email from a close family member 2 any address u may have in yr files for Mr. Simon Riley, Photojournalist.

Simon

i send u this c/o the mag where i saw yr photos. will be brief.

today i got proof that i am not crazy. now i can tell the truth 2 everyone, including u.

can’t say more as this forum is not private.

pls contact me at above address. will tell u the story if u want 2 hear.

if something happens 2 me, yr mother guards proof.

am sorry i was not a better uncle 2 u.

have seen yr fine work in magazines.

yr mother would be proud.

i am 2.

yr uncle, augustus riley

The letters blurred. She bent forward so her hair would screen her face. Her throat ached for everything the battered scrap of paper revealed about both men. Simon carried it in his wallet, like a precious artifact. The paper was limp, the creases soft from having been unfolded and refolded so often. Where most people would have photographs of family to treasure, Simon had only this cryptic note from a dead man.

Nothing and no one else in the world.

The knot in her throat swelled. Simon’s stoic loneliness and Gus’s tragic solitude spoke to her own. She ached with it, amplified it like a resonating chamber. The wind in the trees was mournful. The crickets’ song said too late, all gone, never again. It broke her heart that Gus had condemned himself to loneliness when love was there for the taking. But he had found no way past his anger and fear. He had lost himself.

It made her sick and sad. Even the moon sailing across the sky looked solitary and remote. And she was working herself into a state. She had to cut it out this second, or she would start blubbering. Simon would not appreciate that. God forbid he think that she pitied him.

She blotted her runny eyes on a hank of her hair and sniffled very quietly. She refolded the piece of paper and handed it back to him. She didn’t trust herself to speak for several minutes.

Simon was in no hurry, either. He tucked the piece of paper back into his wallet and stared up at the moon.

When she could count on her voice not to shake, she tried again. “Do you have any idea what he was talking about in the e-mail?”

Simon shook his head. The wind ruffled the hair that dangled around his jaw. “Not a clue,” he said. “No idea what story he wanted to tell me. No idea what the proof might be, or how my mother could possibly guard it, being as how she’s been dead for twenty-eight years. The timing is so strange. Why send me that, after all these years, and then stick a gun in his mouth? It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed.

“I’m so damn curious, you know?” He laughed softly. “It’s like a kind of torture. Gus used to love to tease me like that. Dangle the bait, make me beg for the punch line. But as contrary as he was, he wouldn’t kill himself without telling me the story just to spite me.”

“Good Lord,” she murmured. “I should think not!”

“I’ve racked my brains about what the damn story could be about. There was him getting shot up in Vietnam, but I don’t know the details. And something bad happened to him when I was small. I remember my mother being upset. Then she died, and I stopped noticing anything. There’s a big blank spot in my memory right about then.”

Ellen had been only six, but she remembered the day Simon’s mother had died in that fire. Sparks from her wood-burning stove, it was said. Every kid’s worst nightmare, and for Simon, it had come true.

From then on, he’d been set apart from the rest of them. He knew a terrible secret that none of them wanted to know.

“I learned not to ask questions about certain things after I went to live with Gus,” Simon said. “I asked once to see the pictures he took in Vietnam. He freaked. I never asked again. Same thing happened whenever I talked about my mother, so I learned not to mention her.”

“Is there anyone else who might know?”

He shook his head. “There’s no family left to ask. He had no friends that I knew of. Sometimes, when he was drunk, he would harangue an imaginary enemy. Stuff like, ‘you’re going to burn, I’ll see you writhe in the flames of hell,’ yada yada. I figured it was memories from ’Nam plus what happened to my mother. Plus bourbon.”

“I see.” She wanted so badly to scoot close to him, take his hand, or put her arm over his shoulder. She didn’t dare give in to the impulse.

“When Gus started to talk to the burning guy, that was my cue to get the hell out of there and sleep in the woods.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Or in your room,” he added. “That was even better. Warm and soft, and it smelled good. You were so sweet to me. All those cookies and chocolate milk and leftovers. My Tupperware angel.”

The caressing tone in his voice made her shiver. “Don’t make fun of me,” she whispered. “I had to make sure you ate something. You never ate anything at Gus’s house.”

“Oh, that’s not strictly true. I did OK in the mornings,” Simon said. “It was the evenings that were rough. By then he was drunk, and he never wanted to eat when he was drunk. It spoiled his buzz. Besides, evenings were when he started in on ‘what evil lurks in the hearts of men,’ which was a huge downer. I tried to avoid that particular rant.”

His casual, ironic tone made the lump swell up in her throat again. Even now, he pretended it was no big deal.

“Maybe the e-mail was just paranoid alcoholic rambling.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “Guess I’ll never know.”

“Did you ever try to reply to his e-mail?” she asked.

“God, yes. Over and over, but he never got back to me. Then I got Hank’s letter, and finally understood why.” He buried his face in his hands. “I was deep into this intense project in Afghanistan. If I’d known…but it wouldn’t have made any difference. His e-mail is dated the estimated day of his death. I just wish…ah, fuck it. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. My mother used to say that.”

Crickets sang, wind rustled and sighed. Ellen pressed her fists against her shaking mouth and silently ached for him.

“Did you know that some of Gus’s Vietnam pictures won journalism prizes?” he asked.

“No,” she replied softly. “I didn’t know that.”

“He was talented. Before he got wounded, anyhow. That’s when his troubles began. But he was really, really good. One of the best.”

“Like you,” she said. “He was proud of you.”

Simon lifted his shoulders, let them drop. “Hmph.”

“So am I,” she insisted.

“You’ve never even seen my work.” He sounded quietly amused. “How would you know?”

“I just know.”

They stared at each other. The shadows of the night wrapped them in hushed secrecy. The butterflies in her belly dipped and whirled.

Simon reached out and gently pushed her hair back over her shoulders. “Don’t hide behind your hair. That’s a bad habit. A sixteen-year-old can get away with it. A gorgeous woman has no excuse.”

She was intensely conscious of her nipples pressing against the thin cloth. “And you, embarrassing me and putting me on the spot? That’s a bad habit of yours. And you have even less excuse than me.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He brushed the tip of his forefinger across her cheek. Her breath caught at the sweet, tingling shock of contact. “How’d you get to be so fucking beautiful, El?” he asked. “How could you do that to me?”

“Simon.” She forced the word out in a shaky whisper. “Don’t.”

His hand dropped.

She turned away, wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. “So…where did you go for dinner?”

“Claire’s,” he said. “I went with Cora.”

She stared at him. “Oh. Good steaks,” she said finally.

“The best,” he agreed. “Cora seems to be doing well.”

“So did you guys, um, catch up on old times, then?”

He laid his warm hand on her knee. She jerked, and he lifted it quickly away. “Cora’s great, but you’re the one I want to catch up with.”

Ellen twisted her fingers together. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? So, um, what did you eat?”

“I had the fries, she had the salad. I had a beer, she had a frozen margarita.” Amusement softened his low voice. “We talked. Afterwards, I took her home. Then I went for a ride up on Horsehead Bluff to watch the moon rise. Otherwise, I would’ve been back before nine.”

“Oh.” She was ridiculously pleased. “Must be beautiful up there.”

“The moon’s so bright, it puts out almost all the stars in the sky. The valley is filled with moonlight.” His voice was spellbinding. “A single star is dangling under the moon like a diamond earring. Look.”

She looked at it. His soft words vibrated through her body.

“Want to go up on the ridge and see it?” he offered. “I’ll show you.”

She was taken aback. “Uh…”

“Do you have a helmet?” he demanded.

“Hell, no. I’ve never been on a motorcycle in my life.”

Simon’s head whipped around. “Never?” He sounded shocked. “Holy shit, El, and you’re what, thirty-two years old?”

“Don’t scold me,” she snapped. “I’m a wuss about stuff like that. And I didn’t have the right kind of boyfriends.”

He reached for her hand and plucked his helmet off the steps. “Let’s go, El. You’ve got to try it. I want to break the spell.”

“But I—” She gasped as he pulled her onto her feet.

“Put this on.” He stuck his helmet on her head.

“But what about you? Don’t you need a—”

“Don’t worry. We won’t go fast,” he assured her. “No one will see us. I’ll take you up the back way to the lookout on Horsehead Bluff. Never rode a motorcycle, my ass. Jesus! It’s just not right!”

He sounded so outraged that she had to laugh, but her laughter broke off abruptly when he grabbed her hand and pulled her across the lawn. His hand was so big and warm, rough calluses scraping her soft skin. It sent a delicious rush of energy and quivering heat through her body. “Simon, I don’t know if this is such a good—”

“Shh,” he soothed. “Just a ride on my bike. It’s so minor, El.”

He swung his leg over the bike and waited for her. His patient stillness was a challenge in itself. Just like old times. Simon twiddling his thumbs while scaredy-cat El gathered her nerve.

But if she thought a glass of iced tea on her porch was dangerous, how much more perilous might a moonlit motorcycle ride be?

It occurred to her that motorcycle rides by moonlight would not be part of her future as Brad Mitchell’s wife. It was now or never.

She shoved the thought away. She couldn’t handle the concept of never tonight. Never was just too sad, too final. Too awful.

This was just a secret little side trip to nowhere. It meant nothing, changed nothing, and Brad would never know. She climbed on.

Simon reached back, grasped her hands, and wrapped them around his waist, pulling until she was flush against him, her breasts pressed against his back, her nose buried in his satiny hair.

He uncurled her cold, clenched fingers and splayed them against his hard belly. He gave them a reassuring pat. Oh, he felt good. Hot and firm and vibrant. His big body practically thrummed under her hands.

A gorgeous male animal.

“Hang on,” he advised her. The motorcycle surged forward.