Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) (15 page)

But she'd decided to stay focused on the present. And the
present meant Ted and her and a tranquil summer evening, with crickets singing and a light breeze stirring the air and stars just
beginning to poke through the darkening sky.

She gave Five Star a final pat, and she and Ted left the barn and
climbed back into the Jeep. Live in the now, she told herself, then
smiled at him. His face was so beautiful to her, his eyes so seductive, his sweet smile a thin veil barely concealing determination
and desire-and he smelled so good, nothing at all like axle grease.

Tomorrow didn't exist yet. Colorado was far away in time as
well as miles. Now was Ted and her and a night full of possibilities.

You have dreamed of this moment for weeks. For years. Probably
for your entire life. You have visualized it in lines, in angles and loops,
in vivid color. In blind shadows and blinding light. You have imagined it. You have lived it in your mind, in your soul.

Erika Fredell is the girl of your heart, and you want her so much.

She is the perfect girl for you, and you want this to be as perfect
as she is.

You're scared that it won't be. You're scared shitless.

They wound up back at his house on Pleasant Hill Road, in the
backseat of the Wagoneer, where so many of their nights ended.
This time he was under her. She straddled him, her knees digging
gently into his sides. He had his hands molded to the sweet, tight
curves of her butt, massaging her through the thin fabric of her
shorts.

He was as hard as granite beneath her. He knew she had to feel
his arousal, given where she was sitting, but she'd felt it plenty of
other nights when they'd been tangled up on the tan leather seat.
A few times she'd really felt it, slipping her hand inside his shorts
and making him absolutely crazy.

Tonight her hands were on his shoulders. She lowered herself
to kiss him and then lifted her head, then sank onto him again,
kissing him again.

Yeah. He was absolutely crazy, thanks to her.

"Ted?" she whispered.

"Mmm." Crazy enough that grunting was about all he could
manage.

"Ted," she said again, straightening her elbows and lifting herself up.

Hell of a time to want to start a conversation. "What?"

"I want you."

"I want you, too." He gave her ass a gentle squeeze, guiding her
so she could feel just how much he wanted her. Not that he'd
push, not that he'd pressure. He wouldn't, and she knew it. She
knew she could drive him to the raw edge, and he'd stagger into
his parents' dark, sleeping house and work it all out in the bathroom. If that was what she wanted, that was what he'd do. Even
if you didn't love a girl, you couldn't force more on her than she
could handle. It just wasn't right.

And if you did love her, not forcing her was about more than
right and wrong. It was about love. About letting her know she
was safe with you. About letting her know that no matter what,
she could trust you.

"I mean it," she said, then kissed him again, warm and wet.
"Tonight. Now."

His brain was so fuzzy with lust, it took him a minute to understand what she was actually saying. She wanted him. Tonight.
Now.

"Are you sure?"

"Do you have a condom?"

He laughed. He wasn't exactly a boy scout but he believed in
being prepared. Damn straight he had a condom.

She wasn't laughing. She was smiling, though, a mysterious
smile that added a shimmer to her eyes. A question. Maybe a hint
of doubt.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, this time dead serious.

She answered by sitting higher, gripping the bottom edge of
her shirt and tugging it up, over her head and off.

He had seen her breasts before-they'd done a lot of makingout this summer-but their beauty never failed to move him.
Her half-Latina blood enabled her to tan easily, but her breasts
were pale, the color of the moon and just as round. He reached
up to caress them and she closed her eyes and sighed. And gave
her hips a little hitch that took his arousal to an entirely new
level.

She lowered herself against him and kissed his neck. He sighed
and slid his hands down her back and inside the waistband of her
shorts. She shoved at his shirt, trying to push it up. But since she
was lying on top of him, her body pressed to him, she couldn't
remove it.

Some rearranging was necessary. He hated easing her off him,
but he'd never be able to get naked as long as she had him pinned
to the seat.

Pinned. Oh, God, she had him pinned. No referee necessary.
No three-count required. He was lost, and defeat had never felt
so good.

He shifted against the seat, wriggling out from under her and
sitting up. He practically tore his shirt pulling it off, but he
wanted her touching his chest. He wanted her touching every
inch of him.

She fell back on her knees. In the stillness of the car, he heard her respiration and his own, a little ragged. He resisted the urge
to press her back and bury his face in the hollow between her
breasts, and instead studied her face, searching one last time for
hesitation, for fear.

What he saw was trust. Passion. Transparent faith.

Earlier that evening, when she'd been talking about how much
she would miss her horse, he'd felt-all right, it was stupid, but
he'd felt jealous. He'd been certain, as they'd stood by Five Star's
stall, that she really would miss the damned horse more than she
missed him. But now, reading the yearning in her face, he knew it
was no contest. She loved Five Star, but she loved Ted. Loved him
enough to give him all of herself, this incredible gift, this essential
proof of her love.

A strand of her hair was stuck to her cheek and he stroked it
away. "Erika," he murmured. It was easier to talk when she wasn't
on top of him. Easier to think.

She nodded.

"This is-I mean, this is your first time."

She nodded again.

"I don't want to hurt you. But it might hurt."

She grinned. "I'll be fine."

He smiled, too. This was really happening. She wasn't backing
down. She was, if anything, more enthusiastic than he was. Not
that she loved him more than he loved her right at that instant.
That would be impossible.

He dug into the pocket of his shorts, pulled out his wallet, and
removed the little foil packet he had stashed there. Then he
stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and shimmied out of his
shorts and boxers. Erika's gaze dropped briefly, then rose to his
face again.

Still no hesitation. No doubt. Still that cute, wicked smile.

She rose higher on her knees and slid her shorts down, nothing more than to give in to the impatient demands of his body,
but he had to close his eyes for a moment, just to regain control.
She was so unbearably beautiful, he could lose it just from looking at her.

Deep breaths. Frantic mental messages to his body to maintain
some semblance of control, to last long enough to make this good
for her.

Her clothes heaped on the floor of the Wagoneer, she leaned
back, straightened her legs as much as the seat would allow,
and welcomed him into her embrace. He lowered himself into
her waiting arms, between her waiting thighs. Colors swirled
within his head, Erika's colors. The honey-brown of her hair,
the honey-gold of her skin except for those creamy places
where the sun never touched her. The tawny pink of her lips.
Shadows the color of night between her breasts, along the
edges of her collarbones, her hip bones. The white of her teeth,
the red of her tongue as she opened her mouth to his kisses.
The endless, depthless dark of her body as he felt her tense
slightly, her eyes squeezing shut and her legs flexing around
him.

He wanted nothing more than to obey the impatient demand
of instinct, but he did his best to hold back. He kissed her forehead, twirled his fingers through her hair, struggled to remain
still, to keep breathing until he knew she was with him. After a
moment, she opened her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible
nod.

"I love you, Erika," he whispered. Nothing he'd ever said was
as true as that. "I love you."

She circled her arms around his shoulders and her legs around
his hips. And then he was moving, rocking, burning up. His existence was reduced to heat and a throbbing, lush pain, it was
all sensation, it was skin and flesh and breath. And love.

I know the perfect girl for you ...

And here she was. Beneath him. Surrounding him. Giving him
everything she had and taking everything he could give her.

In his mind, the night exploded with light. In his heart, the
world exploded with love.

"ARE YOU OKAY?"

His voice reached Erika as if from a distance, passing through
layers of mist. She lay under him, damp with sweat and physically
drained.

And happy. Rapturous. Blissful. "I'm fine," she said, then mustered what little energy she had to raise her head and kiss him.

She loved the way he looked, both sated and worried. She'd
had no idea what she was doing, let alone whether she was doing
it right. But he seemed pretty pleased, all in all. And if they did
this again-when they did it again-he could tell her what to do,
how to make it better for him.

She definitely wanted to do it again. Not tonight, though. It
hadn't exactly hurt, but she was feeling a little sore.

She loved the feel of him cuddled up against her. They kissed
some more, sleepy, easy kisses. She didn't have the strength for
anything more fervent than that, and apparently neither did he.
Sweat had turned his hair into a mess of curls, making him look
boyish and innocent.

He had a gorgeous body. Not that Erika had seen so many
naked guys in her life that she had any basis for comparison, but
she'd seen artwork. Sculptures. She'd seen those professional wrestlers on TV in their skimpy animal-print Speedos. Ted was
less muscle-bound than rippling Greek statues and buffoonish
professional wrestlers. He was lankier, bonier, more natural. And
absolutely gorgeous.

Too gorgeous to sound so dismal about her own ending to
what they had just done. "You didn't...."

"Ted." She brushed her fingertips over his lips, as if she could
rearrange them into a smile.

He shifted slightly, managing to squeeze himself against the
back of the seat without pushing her onto the floor. He wedged
one arm under and around her, holding her close. "Would it be
okay if I just ... I mean, I don't want to hurt you."

She knew instinctively that he could never hurt her. "Would
what be okay?" she asked.

He glided his free hand down her body. Down. "Tell me if this
hurts."

"It doesn't hurt." Far from that, she felt renewed heat rising
inside her, heat and spiraling tension. Her hips twitched, her
abdomen clenched. "Ted," she gasped as her body seized, released
in a luscious cascade of sensation. She gasped and wrapped her
fingers around his hand, which had made her feel so good.

He went still, just holding her, resting his palm against her and
waiting for the pulses to subside. She turned her face against his
shoulder. She wanted to crawl inside his skin, become a part of
him.

He had said he loved her. She knew she loved him.

She couldn't bring herself to speak the words. If she said them,
everything would change. She would have to rethink the entire
path of her life. If she loved him, how could she leave him? How
could she go to Colorado without him? How could she attend college and explore the world and do everything she wanted to do?

If she didn't say the words, if she didn't acknowledge the emotion, maybe it would go away. She could continue to view Ted as
her wonderful, funny, handsome boyfriend until it was time to
leave. And then she would leave.

They were only eighteen. Too young to be in love.

If she told herself that enough times, maybe she could convince herself it was true.

They made love almost every night after that. Ted would work
at the gas station, Erika would spend her day at the stable or
packing more boxes and suitcases for college or visiting with
Laura and Allyson and her other friends, and in the evening she
and Ted would be together. Whatever they did-eat, go to the
movies, watch TV, drive down to the shore for an afternoonthey ended their time together in the backseat of the Wagoneer,
naked, breathless, learning each other's bodies, bringing each
other pleasure.