Miracle in the Mist (13 page)

When they'd finished, Frank lay back on the blanket, his arms folded beneath his head, while Carrie cleared away the remnants of their meal. He sighed contentedly and gazed at the treetops above him. Carrie finished up her chore, then sat beside him.

"I don't remember the last time I felt so at peace," she said, then laughed. "Of course, since I don't remember much of anything, that's really not saying much."

Frank turned to her. He frowned.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing. I'm just surprised you can laugh about it. Not being able to remember anything about yourself has to be very frustrating for you."

"It was at first, but it's better now that I've decided to let it come back at its own speed. Besides, it's so lovely in Renaissance; I almost don't want to ever leave." She drew her legs up to her chest and tucked her skirt around her, and then rested her chin on her knees. "And I do remember some things, like that," she pointed to an orange and black butterfly sitting atop a dandelion, its wings gently beating the air, "is a monarch butterfly. And that flower it's sipping the nectar from is a dandelion." She shrugged. "Unfortunately, the things I recall are not the important things. At first I was frustrated and eager to remember everything, but now I am trying not to force the memories to return. I know the dreams have something to do with my past, but right now, I don't know what. I'm content to wait until it all falls back into place."

Frank sighed. "I wish I had your patience. I want this over with so I can get back to my practice. I even tried talking to Alvin about it today, but I just can't." Nor was he ready to tell Carrie about the worst night of his life.

Carrie reached for his hand and pressed it reassuringly. "It'll come. Just give it time."

Pushing himself upright, Frank looped his arms around his bent legs. "How much time? Nothing is happening. Alvin comes and goes and says next to nothing. Emanuel said Tripp was my mentor and was supposed to help me, but he hasn't." He made a sound of exasperation. "Hell, he barely speaks to me at all."

Seeing that this subject was just getting blacker and blacker and that Frank had again scooted around the edge of his problem to avoid talking in specifics, Carrie rose to her feet and held out her hand. "Let's explore the clearing."

Glancing up at her, Frank's expression was very serious, and then the tension drained from his features, and he pulled himself to his feet and took her hand. "Okay. Lead on."

"Bring the napkin, and we'll pick some berries."

***

Over an hour later, Carrie and Frank were back on the blanket with a napkin holding a couple of handfuls of plump blueberries spread out between them. Frank picked up a particularly large berry and held it out to Carrie. She leaned forward and took it with her lips. Her mouth grazed his skin. It tingled where her mouth had touched him. He sucked in a breath.

"Mmm. That's so sweet," she said, and then her tongue darted out to lick away the juice.

Frank's groin tightened. His gaze was glued to her wet lips. Quite suddenly, he had an overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms and see if her lips had retained the flavor of the berries.

Her naїveté was one of the things Frank liked most about her. She had no idea how sexy she looked. Other women strutted and preened to get a man's attention, but without even trying, Carrie exuded sex appeal as unthinkingly as a flower gave off perfume. Not one of the nurses who ogled him and vied for his attention on a daily basis at the hospital could hold a candle to Carrie.

With a toss of her head, she threw her long hair behind her. Very slowly, as she leaned toward him to get another berry, her hair slid forward again. Frank found himself wishing it were his hand that had just caressed her shoulder. He had to fist his fingers to keep from reaching for the long strands, to feel their silky texture and smell their seductive aroma, to have them wrapped around their naked bodies…

His groin grew tighter. The vein in his temple pulsated in time to his increased heartbeat.

He set his jaw.
Forget it, Donovan
.

But as quickly as it had come, he blocked out the warning. He wanted to do more than hold and comfort Carrie. He wanted to make love to her, right there beneath the heavens, surrounded by the untamed beauty of nature. If just for today and only for a few hours, he wanted to make her his.

"Carrie." He said her name so softly she almost didn't hear him.

She lifted her gaze to his face, and the desire in his expression stole her breath from her lungs. Even though a cool breeze caressed her skin, she could feel heat building in her. It started at the very core of who she was and spread until it throbbed in every one of her nerve endings. Even before he spoke the words, she could read the silent question in his eyes.

"I want to kiss you."

Should she let him? God knew, she wanted to kiss him, to have him hold her again. Before she could fully process the pros and cons to becoming involved with Frank, she nodded, her brain having ceased to function on a level competent enough to make rational decisions and verbalize words.

Very slowly he reached for her. Cupping his hands around the back of her head, he held her gaze with his and drew her toward him. Resistance never entered her mind. Soon his lips were so close she could feel his berry-scented breath brushing her mouth. Her lips parted of their own volition.

As he pulled her the last few inches, she gave way completely, and collapsed across his broad chest. The heavy beat of his heart joined hers. Their lips met, and sparks zinged through her. The kiss started out as gentle as a butterfly's caress. Little by little it became hungrier, more demanding, more intoxicating.

Caught in a whirlpool of emotions, her thoughts swirled in a kaleidoscope of sensations. She had no memory of having done any of this with a man before and was surprised when her body took over and responded naturally on its own. Needing to be closer, she slid nearer yet to him and entwined her legs with his.

A hard ridge dug into her lower stomach. Automatically, she moved against it. When he groaned into her mouth, she smiled inwardly. Frank wanted her, and for some reason that brought happiness bubbling up in her like a mountain spring; she wanted him, too.

Frank rolled to the top, freed himself, and knelt in front of her. Gently, he drew her to her knees. As they knelt face to face, mere inches from each other, Frank slipped his hands beneath the hem of her blouse. With excruciating care, he slid the material upward, his hands skimming her sensitive flesh, until his palms cupped each of her straining breasts. With the pad of his thumbs, he circled the tips, stroking and teasing them into hard nubs.

Carrie gasped. Heat radiated out from where he touched. Her head grew light, and she thanked God that she was already on her knees. Had she not been, she would have collapsed in a pile of passionate bliss.

Cool air caressed her skin. Her fever-soaked mind was vaguely aware that Frank was removing her blouse. For a moment, shyness overtook her. She wanted to stop him. Then she looked into his eyes and saw that the perpetual sadness that always lurked there had disappeared and been replaced by desire. Nothing on this earth could make her do anything, even if she wanted to, to bring that back.

That she was the one who had caused that desire in his gaze made her swell with a strange sense of pride. Joy spread through her and mixed with the longing that Frank's touch had stirred to life. Slowly, he pulled the material over her head. He placed the blouse on the blanket beside them, and then turned back to her. Her bra came next, and then there was the caress of the breeze against her bare flesh.

He said nothing. He moved away from her. Then he frowned.

She knew that look. She'd seen it before. She couldn't remember where, but in her gut she knew what it meant.

"You think I'm repulsive," she whispered on a shuddered breath, and then she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her nakedness, to hold on to her hurt.

Before she could struggle to her feet and escape his scrutiny, he grasped her arms and held her in place. "Repulsive? You think you're repulsive?"

"Isn't that what you think? You'd expected someone better, prettier, more—"

"No, absolutely not." He scooped her into his arms and held her close. "You are exactly what I expected and more." He set her at arm's length and stared at her as if something had just become very clear to him. "You have no idea how lovely you are, do you?"

She could feel her cheeks burn. "I am? Really?"

"Really."

"Then why did you frown?"

"This puzzled me." He traced her shoulder with the tip of his finger. "How did you get this scar?"

She twisted her head until she could see what he was talking about. A two-inch-long ridge of ragged, ugly flesh marked her shoulder. "I… I don't know."

"It doesn't matter." He kissed it. "It's as beautiful as the rest of you."

Her cheeks colored, and she averted her gaze.

It amazed Carrie that Frank saw her as beautiful. But why should it? She had eyes in her head. She was not a homely woman. Her figure was a bit thin, but curved in all the right places. Her hair was a vibrant shade of auburn, and her eyes were an unusual shade of green. There had been a time in her life when she'd considered herself attractive…

A memory
. She had retrieved a bit of her memory. But as quickly as it came, it was overshadowed by another half memory.

Someone screaming how ugly she was erupted in her mind, but instead of encouraging it to come out into the open as she'd done so many times before, Carrie pushed it back into the darkness. Later she'd call it forth. Right now, Frank thought she was beautiful, and that's all that mattered.

He cupped her face. "You are the most desirable woman I have ever met. I want you," he whispered.

From somewhere in her annoyingly selective memory came the definition of
want
. Frank was proposing that they make love. Fear rose in her. Could she remember how? Of course, she could. But then, she couldn't remember much of her past life, what made her think she could remember this? But she'd remembered how to paint. Maybe she'd remember how to make love, too. But what if it was as ugly as the first painting?

She couldn't look at him. "What if I don't remember how?" she finally said, her voice a mere whisper.

He tilted her chin up and lowered his mouth to hers. "I'll teach you," he said against her lips.

As he explored her mouth with his tongue, Carrie gave in to the waves of delight washing over her and stopped thinking.

Feel
, she told herself,
just… feel
.

Frank grew impatient with his clothing. He needed to savor Carrie's naked flesh against his own. But that little warning voice of reason kept holding him back. He shook it from his mind. This had nothing to do with reason, nothing at all. It had to do with wanting, aching, needing to be a part of this woman. To taste her charms, to make love to her until her soul believed she was good and beautiful and worthy. And maybe, through her, he could feel worthy again, as well.

He knew when she finally released her inhibitions. Her arms snaked around his neck, and her fingernails dug into his flesh. A whimper escaped her lips.

Frank stood and removed his clothing. The fresh breeze coming off the waterfall did nothing to cool his burning body. When he looked down at Carrie's nakedness spread out before him like a sumptuous, seductive feast, he smiled. Her emerald eyes overflowed with a woman's passion. Her moist, slightly parted lips swelled invitingly from his kisses and silently begged for more.

Carrie raised her arms. "Teach me."

Chapter 11

Frank sank to his knees and then lay down beside Carrie on the blanket and enveloped her in his arms. For a time he just held her, reveling in the feel of a woman in his arms. He'd held only dreams and ghosts for so long he'd forgotten how life-giving holding a flesh-and-blood woman could be.

But this wasn't just any woman. This was Carrie, which made the sensation of life returning to his soul all the more poignant. Was what he was doing right for her, or was it just going to add one more layer of complication to her life? To his own?

He drew away and looked down at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"More than I want to take my next breath." She cupped his cheek and smiled. "Love me, Frank Donovan. Please."

He didn't need a second invitation. He was more than ready to become Carrie's teacher. His body was begging for the pleasure.

Carrie closed her eyes and waited for Frank's touch. When his warm hand closed over her breast, she sucked in her breath. Pleasure cascaded through her. Every part of her came alive. Heat radiated from his hand and engulfed her entire body.

She squirmed, trying to get closer. When it seemed that even the breath of air separating them was too much, Carrie wrapped her legs around him, imprisoning him against her sensitive core. She could feel his arousal, rigid and hot. Sliding her hand between them, she grasped it.

Frank's body stiffened. He sucked in air as though his lungs were starving for it. Then he let out a gust of ragged breath on a deep moan.

"My God." When she began to move her hand, he covered her hand with his. "It's been so long. I don't want it to end too quickly."

Deep inside, Carrie smiled. That she could bring Frank to this height of passion delighted her. Only a desirable woman could do that. She had no idea why, but it was important for her to know that.

Her delight turned to sweet, aching agony when Frank moved his hand over her stomach to the V of her thighs. Carefully he inserted a finger into her heat and began to imitate the age-old movements of love.

Carrie's body arched to meet each thrust. Each time she felt herself quiver on the edge of completion, he stopped, waited, then when the pressure subsided some, he'd begin again. Over and over he brought her to the brink of climax. And over and over he pulled her back from the edge.