Consequence (7 page)

Bridget pulled a thick quilt off the sofa and
spread it on the floor in front of the fireplace, then piled
pillows around the edges. She plunked down, leaning back on the
pillows and reaching towards the flames with slippered feet.

“Your mama is the best cook. I’m stuffed,”
she said, rubbing her stomach.

Boone picked up the tray of coffee and set it
on the floor. He sat on the quilt, one hand braced on a bent knee,
the mug cupped in his other hand. Thoughtful, he sipped and stared
into the fire.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Bridget said.

Boone caught his breath. He hadn’t realized
how tense he was until she spoke. “Nothing’s wrong. Didn’t you have
a good time tonight?”

“Boone, something’s wrong. It has been ever
since I came back from Boston. Is there something the matter with
me? With us?”

“No. Nothing’s the matter with you.”

“Then it is us.”

“Bridget, there is no ‘us.’“

“You know what I mean. Our friendship.” She
reached out and stroked the side his face, her hand curling under
his chin. “Boone, I know when you’re upset about something.
Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“God, Bridget, what do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Why are you angry?
What’s wrong?”

“You want to know what’s wrong with me?”
Boone stared into the fire. “You touch me and you tease me and you
think nothing of it.”

“That’s not true,” she cried, stretching her
hands toward him in despair. “I ... I ... Oh, what have I done?”
She covered her eyes with trembling palms.

Boone pulled them from her face. He tilted
his head and brushed his lips against hers.

She froze, her eyes closed. It was a dream.
It wasn’t real until she heard him speak again, his mouth trailing
down her throat, nuzzling gently. “You drive me crazy,
Bridget.”

Bridget bent her neck, granting him access,
and his hot, wet mouth sent shivers down her arms. He slid a hand
beneath her pajama top, caressing the silky skin of her back. “I
want you.”

The world spun out of control as he pressed
her into the pillows, his mouth fused to hers. His drugging kiss
invited her to open her mouth and she whimpered at the sensation of
his tongue stroking hers.

Boone unfastened her pajama top, then spread
the fabric open. He cupped her breasts and Bridget arched against
him as he rained soft, feathery kisses on her heated skin. She
pulled his head to her breast and moaned when his mouth finally
enclosed a nipple and he feverishly suckled.

She needed to touch him, her hips wiggling
involuntarily. She reached inside his shirt, spreading hands across
his chest, touching his nipples and rubbing their erect tips with
her fingers. She tugged at buttons of the old flannel shirt until
they gave way and the material slid down his shoulders. Soon he was
bare from the waist up. His borrowed pants were on the large side,
and Bridget slid her hands under the waistband and cradled his
tight butt.

Boone slid a hand into her pajamas and
between her thighs. At his touch, Bridget moaned and moved against
his fingers as they parted her. Friction built up as his thumb
rubbed from side to side.

She was too excited. Panting a terse, “No,
don’t do that,” she grabbed his wrist, forcing him to pause.

He sat back on his knees and appraised her
with smoky eyes. Bridget beckoned with a finger, inviting him back
down on the blanket. “I didn’t mean stop,” she whispered. “Just
slow down.”

When he stood, she sighed in disappointment
and turned her head to the wall. She looked back at the sound of
his zipper sliding down, and watched as he stepped out of the
jeans. He stood, naked and erect, silhouetted by the firelight, and
Bridget adored him. Her eyes caressed his long, muscled legs, his
slim hips, his flat belly and his broad chest. He sank to his knees
and pulled Bridget to hers. He removed her pajamas then, whipping
away the final barrier. Rosy nipples beckoned and full hips
invited.

He lay beside Bridget and stroked her belly,
moving upward to cup her breast. It was like velvet in his hand.
Her long tawny hair lay in ringlets, which he twisted between his
fingers. He took one of her hands and placed it on his chest,
drawing it downward until she was holding him, teasing and
squeezing him.

“Bridget,” he whispered, “I need you.” His
eyes closed and he grimaced, growling deep in his throat as she
stroked firmly with both hands.

Her eyes glowed and a smile curved her full
lips. “I need you, too,” she admitted.

He moved between her thighs, his mouth pinned
to hers. When he pressed against her, he found her wet and ready.
He paused, exhaling at the sensation. Then her hands were on his
hips and she pulled him closer, forcing his entry. She raised her
hips to his, biting her lip at the fullness. After a few moments,
he was firmly within her and once again he growled into her neck.
He waited as she adjusted to the size and feel of him, pacing his
breath with hers. Then he moved, slowly withdrawing, then surging
in, his rhythm steady. She gasped as his mouth found her breasts
again and suckled, tugging on her nipples with increasing
demand.

His broad hands lifted her, and he buried
himself with each stroke. She matched his movements as his slow,
deep thrusts brought her closer to madness.

Boone fought for control and tried to pace
himself. He wanted to give Bridget the same pleasure he felt, but
he was delirious. Her smell, her taste, her soft skin invaded his
senses.

Her head moved from side to side as she gave
herself in sweet surrender. Her glorious abandon sent Boone to the
edge and his eyes locked on hers. His movements came quicker,
deeper until she bucked and moaned beneath him. Bridget tried to
keep pace but all reason fled.

Boone felt her tighten around him, heard her
whimper and knew her release was near. He caught her sobs with his
mouth as wave after wave swept through her.

He groaned and thrust, spurred on by her
orgasm, then closed his eyes and sank into the delicious abyss.

Several silent minutes passed until Boone
stirred. He shifted his weight, not wanting to crush her. Bridget
refused to release him, rolling with him instead. She laid atop
him, nestled under his chin, hands stroking his chest. She took one
of his hands and sensuously moved it over her body, letting it go
only when it rested between her legs. She did the same with his
body, stopping her caresses when she had him firm in her grasp. She
felt the blood racing back, felt him harden once in her hand.

“Again?” he whispered against her neck.
Bridget answered with a deep kiss. She straddled him, rubbing
against him until he was more than ready. She held his hands
against her, first sliding them to her hips then cupping her
breasts. Her strokes quickened, her back arching in excitement, her
hair whipping her shoulders. Boone craned upwards to suckle,
controlling his excitement and bringing Bridget to climax again
before allowing himself release.

Exhausted, she collapsed on his chest. This
time he refused to let her move.

Hours later, red embers glowed in the
fireplace. Through the windows, the day was dawning, pink and
orange. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning Bridget
thought. She shivered and Boone’s arm tightened around her, pulling
her close.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” she
whispered, curling deeper into his embrace.

“Just a little awhile,” he replied.

The night ran through her thoughts, scrambled
and chaotic. The world had turned upside down; she and Boone had
lost their minds. Is it what she wanted?

Being naked and warm in his arms was heaven.
Her body was bruised, yet she ached to be touched again. She raised
her hand to her lips. They were numb and swollen. Then her mind
began race. What had she done? Last night, Boone had been angry
with her, blaming her for coming on to him. “I need this,” he said.
Guilt flooded her and her body reacted, tensing and moving away
from Boone.

“No, don’t go,” he said. Sensing her
withdrawal, and guessing the reason why, Boone held Bridget close,
lifted her chin and kissed her.

Awkward and unsure, Bridget closed her eyes
and turned her head aside.

“Boone,” she murmured. “I don’t know what to
say. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Say anything you want,” he said gently. “Do
what you want.”

He rolled onto his side. Spooning against her
bottom, he wrapped his arms around her, placing one hand between
her legs and the other on her breast. He bit the back of her neck
as he slipped inside. Her fingers sought and caged him as he slid
in and out. Soon she was crying his name, begging for release.
Hands entwined, Boone rubbed her with his thumb while his free hand
squeezed her breasts. Wave after wave racked Bridget while Boone
continued, driving deeper until her softness overtook him and he
filled her with warmth.

Bridget had no energy to spare. “I don’t know
who you are,” she mumbled. “What have you done with Boone?”

She rolled over and pulled his smiling face
to hers for a kiss. “Never mind; I’d rather have you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bridget took a shower and while she soaped
her body and sudsed her long hair, she replayed the events of the
past twelve hours. Boone seduced her in front of the fire, making
love like a wild man. The second time, he’d been sweet, considerate
and long lasting. Then, this morning, he was demanding and
exciting, titillating her to abandon.

But where did their friendship fit in with
this relationship? Could they still be friends? Did she even want
to be friends? Long ago, when their summer romance ended, Boone
stayed in Eaton and went to college, and Bridget enrolled in a
university in the South. They talked by telephone, wrote letters,
but by Thanksgiving, both had moved on.

Bridget made new friends and worked hard to
impress her English professors. Meanwhile, Boone took a part-time
job with the Chance Police Department and majored in criminal
justice. When she didn’t come home for Thanksgiving, she promised
Boone she would see him Christmas. Then, her dorm roommate invited
her to the Bahamas for the holidays. Once again she stayed away. In
March of their freshmen year, Boone wrote explaining he met someone
new and was dating a girl named Daphne.

Bridget was crushed, or at least she thought
she was. Two months later, she accepted a summer job with a
publisher in New York.

She dated and acquired new boyfriends. As a
sophomore, she dated Hank, the brawny son of a fisherman from Long
Island. As a junior, she had a new crush: an endearing and gentle
musician from Oregon who relieved her of her virginity. They dated
for months, until she began spending most of her time as a
work-study student at a local newspaper. He joined an emo band and
dropped out of school, touring the Pacific Northwest. Bridget
hadn’t minded much. What they shared was sweet, but not
serious.

She didn’t see Boone again until the winter
of their senior year. He lay in a hospital bed, a respirator
forcing air into his collapsed lungs. He’d been in a coma for more
than a week by the time Bridget learned about the accident.

She caught a bus to Eaton, arriving at the
hospital after midnight. Boone’s silent, sad mother sat by his bed.
Nico and Carlo camped out in the waiting room, reading magazines
and watching late night television. Pastor Boone was in the chapel,
praying for his youngest son.

When Carlina saw Bridget, tears filled her
eyes and she hugged the young girl. “My poor son, my bambino. He
may never wake up, Bridget. And when he does, ah mio Dio, he will
learn that poor Daphne has died. My poor boy.”

Bridget comforted Mama Carlina as best she
could, walking with her into the waiting room where her other sons
waited. Then Bridget returned to Boone’s room and sat by his bed.
She asked the nurse changing his IV if she could touch him, and
given permission, she held his hand. She squeezed it and whispered
in his ear, “Boone, come back to me.”

A week later, Boone awoke and his slow
recovery began. He lived in a rehabilitation clinic for several
months before allowed home. Then, therapists scheduled visits and
Boone learned how to walk again.

At first, his speech was slow and slurred,
but he made steady improvement. He never remembered the accident,
or Daphne dying in his arms, but the loss devastated him. He became
withdrawn and sad, turning all of his energy into his work and his
physical regimen.

Bridget moved home following graduation and
within two months, her own father died. Boone, still walking on
crutches, went to the funeral. United in sadness, the two became
close again. Eventually, they became best friends.

And now, things had changed again. As his
lover, Bridget wasn’t sure what to think or how she should react
with Boone. She spent the past eight years trying not to think of
him romantically. Trying not to remember hot, passionate summer
nights spent entangled at the drive-in movies, or parked along
quiet dirt roads, or in the den while her parents slept
upstairs.

For a few months, Bridget was crazy in love
with Boone and more than anything, wanted for him to make love to
her. He always stopped, though, before their dates went too
far.

He hadn’t stopped this time, though, she
thought, recalling the heady rush of lust and anxiety the night
before. He was a different man, carnal and uncaged.

Bridget snapped back to reality as Boone
tugged open the shower curtain. She’d been rinsing her hair, her
head tossed back and the spray running behind her. Still clad in
jeans, he stepped into the shower and pulled Bridget into an
embrace. The shower pelted his face, ran in rivulets down his cheek
and soaked his pants. Bridget broke the kiss, laughing and backing
up.