Perfect Timing (20 page)

“I’m sure it was as sincere as all the other girls you’ve entertained there.” She hesitated, shrugging. “We both know I’m not the only action the farmhouse sofa has seen. Seriously, I bet you can’t even count the number of girls there before me.” She folded her arms. “Go ahead, give it a guess.”

“Zero,” he replied, and her mouth gaped wider, the idea that she assumed as much causing a searing burn. “I’d never take a girl to the farmhouse. Maybe that’s not what you and I were about then. But that place, it belongs to you and me—no one else.” There was a fast blink, her mouth closing.

Apparently, he ranked even lower than he suspected. There had been other girls, most suggesting they go to the farmhouse. But he’d never disrespect Isabel that way. He wanted to tell her again, prove it, but she was onto other things. “What are you doing?” Aidan watched her flit about, arranging his belongings, as if organizing his life.

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re . . . but you can’t. We just got married.” Everything was moving so fast, Isabel rushing by like a passing comet. Leave him? She couldn’t. She held everything together. “Wait!” he shouted, grabbing her arms. “Just wait a damn minute. You’re not going anywhere.”

She wouldn’t look at him, her head turned hard. “Let go, Aidan. This is ridiculous. Our marriage is ridiculous. Look,” she said, offering him the courtesy of eye contact. Those smoky green eyes, he’d never seen them filled with so much fire. “Everything is going to be fine. Tomorrow you’ll get a brand-new life, everything you’ve ever wanted. You won’t need me to fix your screwups, confirm your gigs, or program your cell phone. I understand they have someone for that. But, Aidan, please . . . I can’t stay married to you!”

“Why the hell not? I need you, Isabel! Don’t you know how much? I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to!”

Her face scrunched to a serious look of indignation, the one she used whenever she was busy holding his life steady. “Grow up, Aidan. Don’t be an idiot. Of course you can.”

If he hadn’t been scared to death, he might have laughed. It was classic Isabel—blunt-force trauma resulting in corrective action. But fear won out, sparking an odd anger. “Goddamn it! Why are you making this so difficult? For the last year it’s been impossible! And somehow, now that we’re married, it’s even harder to say.”

“What . . . what’s harder to—never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Isabel blew past, signaling that she was through with the conversation. Like hell. Aidan grabbed an arm and yanked her back, maybe harder than he meant, his towel slipping to the floor in the process. She gasped, struggling to get away from him and his very naked body.

“Prove it, Isabel. Prove that you don’t want us.” He kissed her hard, his arms clutching tight around her. There was a groan from her throat that he couldn’t place. Under any other circumstance he would have thought it was a hungry growl of desire; now he wasn’t so sure. Then, slowly, the closed fists that pushed against his shoulders eased and opened, her fingertips reaching for him. Her body followed the surrender, curving into tense muscles. Her lips replied, without words, melding into his. Instinct said to just keep going, no pausing for idle chatter. But Aidan knew this would require a more cerebral appeal. “Give me a chance, Isabel. Let me show you how wonderful this can be.” He held on with everything he had. “You did marry me. And I swear, when I married you I meant it . . . all the words.” She didn’t respond, but she wasn’t pushing him away. It was like she couldn’t figure out what to do. No doubt his reputation was to blame. “If I had thought for a second that you wanted . . . well, that you ever would have come to Vegas and married me.” Aidan’s grip eased to caution, the way you might hold an exotic bird. He touched her face, ending any distance, his mouth nuzzling against her hair. “None of those girls meant anything, Isabel. Not one. I’m so . . . so very sorry.”

Her head bowed, breaking from his touch, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I know that, Aidan,” she said as if it was long ago understood. Looking down, he watched tears splash onto her painted toenails. From its somber position, Isabel’s head rose and their gaze met. A soft bob pulsed through her throat. “All right, Aidan. If that’s what you want, take me to bed.”

His brow knotted tighter. Shouldn’t she at least have been smiling when she said it? Then a bit of the old Aidan emerged. A confidence that he was glad he possessed. Clumsiness and virginal hesitation were the last thing he needed. The way Aidan saw it he had one shot to get this right.

He kissed her, his mouth fluttering over her wet cheek, the soft line of her throat. Deftly, he slipped the T-shirt over her head. A small shiver was the solitary response as he unhooked her bra and it fell to the floor. Though she was more beautiful than in the light of dim candles, Aidan reined in the desire he’d lived off, searching for a pace that would suit her timidity. Maneuvering them toward the bed, he tugged at the drawstring on her pants. There was a spark of reassurance as he caught Isabel’s expectant stare, a long drifting gaze taking in his bare body. Stopping to thread some ambiance through the moment, Aidan dimmed all but one light. It cast a golden glow around them. “I promise, Isabel, this will be incredible. You’ll see.”

She was tentative, the same way she’d shied away from his kiss at the altar. And, actually, he loved it. Even if she hadn’t been waiting for him, the idea that she’d waited was enough. Every girl he met threw it away to him or the next guy. And the guys, they were no better. It was what made sex so meaningless. But she was choosing to give him something that she hadn’t shared with anyone else. That alone set her apart from any girl he ever knew. And on her wedding night, how rare was a moment like this—in Las Vegas, no less. Admittedly, he’d never thought about marrying Isabel before they had sex, but the old-fashioned notion seemed appropriate. Maybe fate had seen to it that this was the way it would happen for them. Maybe it was something they’d tell their grandchildren someday. Well, maybe not. But it was incredibly special all the same.

Having eased onto the bed, Aidan tried guiding her hand toward his throbbing erection. She snapped it back, unwilling to be coaxed into participation. It was okay; she’d be more comfortable next time. But at the farmhouse, hadn’t she touched him then—willingly? It was as natural as kissing, which she also seemed to be avoiding, meeting his mouth with a lackluster effort. He kept at it, trying to entice her body, if not her mind, toward the place he desperately wanted to take her.

Flashes of passion would emerge, like a switch with a short in it. She’d almost lose herself to him. He could sense it, an unbridled jerk toward the heat between them and then retreat. If he hadn’t wanted the moment so badly, it might have been frustrating, even disappointing. He hesitated, trying to get his mind around what was in her head, wanting to do the right thing. “Isabel, if . . . if you want to wait until tomorrow, it’s okay. I understand.” He didn’t, not really. But Aidan guessed it was the mature thing to say.

Her eyes met his with fresh determination—intense. He knew that look. Something had set her off. “No,” she insisted. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

It was all he needed to hear. Aidan wasn’t about to let something as negligible as doubt squeeze in between them. Dragging the sweatpants and underwear from her body, it startled him when in return she plunged recklessly into the moment. Her arms entwined around his neck, holding tight. Isabel kissed him with a passion that was unknown to Aidan. He could barely take it in, how this differed from the physical act he associated with locker room banter and girls that he didn’t care to think about again. A shapely leg hooked hard around Aidan’s, almost a staking of territory. He loved her legs, remembering the first time he’d seen Isabel in a dress. It was seared onto his mind. It was at a funeral. A few years before, a teacher from Catswallow High had passed away. Aidan recalled his perplexed embarrassment, the overt physical response as Isabel arrived at the funeral home. He wanted to stand, it was the polite response. But he couldn’t get up. Coming through the doors, unbeknownst to her, a waning sun saw through her dress—as did Aidan. She approached the casket, his thoughts so far from the dead, Aidan was sure he was bound for Hell. He sat, dumbfounded, absorbing Isabel in a much different light. It was the onset of an avalanche of emotions, random things he began to notice without cause. Things about Isabel that accumulated until Aidan could no longer deny the feeling, his dense brain finally putting a label on them.

And now they were married, on their honeymoon, her mouth meeting passionately with his. But it wasn’t a seamless fantasy come to life, Isabel’s slingshot behavior altering the well-worn images. “Wait,” he said breathlessly. “What’s the rush?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, fingers weaving through his hair, anxiously tracing the angles of his face, the line of the snake. “I just need you to do it, right now. Okay?”

He could only assume it was a panicked virgin plea. “Okay.” He kissed her again. Aidan shimmied over the side of the bed, coming up with his wallet. Retrieving a foil wrapper, he tossed the wallet back on the floor. His eyes widened as he opened it. “We’re still on the ten– or fifteen-year plan, right?”

“I—” She stared at the condom as if debating the wisdom. Aidan stared back. Surprise drifted to satisfaction, knowing if that was what Isabel wanted, he would not deny her. It didn’t even need to be a conversation. A late but vehement reply said he was mistaken. “Yes, absolutely,” she said, taking the condom from his hand, tearing open the packet. “That would be the last thing you need right now.”

He was so counting on this moment, ignoring every feeling that was telling him something wasn’t right. Quickly sheathing himself, he positioned himself over her but hesitated. “Isabel, you know the first time . . . it can be, well, kind of uncomfortable.” She only nodded.

It was tense for a moment, Isabel burying her head in his shoulder as he did his damnedest to ease into her with a finesse that he guessed might escape most guys his age. The idea of Isabel having to endure that had invaded more than one thought, Rick Stanton turning into his worst nightmare. After only a few careful thrusts, he realized how ready she was. Even if Isabel wasn’t responding like the fantasy in his head, her body wouldn’t lie. But she was so silent, not hinting at anything as they stumbled into a sweet rhythm that he couldn’t have written.

With an odd urgency she clung tighter to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as her face burrowed into the snake on his neck. He wanted to kiss her, but Isabel wouldn’t relinquish the space. It was as if she couldn’t get close enough, fiery friction sparking between them. It wasn’t what he envisioned, always imagining something lusty and romantic, definitely slower. But he wasn’t going to let the moment slip away. Struggling against the firm lock she had on his body, Aidan inched away, their faces but a breath apart. He’d never used this moment to convey anything so honest. In truth, he’d never used this moment to convey much of anything at all. And an unexpected rush of tender emotions nearly stole his ability to say the words. “I . . . I love you, Isabel. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Since Mr. Renner’s funeral, since the dance floor and the farmhouse . . . since we got married. Since we got on this damn roller-coaster ride. I’ve always loved you.”

He’d never seen her eyes go so wide. There was a whimper from her throat, an aching gasp as if her heart had stopped beating. Isabel’s fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders. He could feel the shudder, reeling, like his words were a massive punch to the gut. It rippled through her body. He knew this because the steady Isabel, the one who was the center of his gravity, trembled violently, as if the earth had quaked under her. Her heart pounded against his. He could feel it. He didn’t know what to make of it. She couldn’t be that surprised. Aidan pulled farther back. “Isabel . . .” She didn’t make eye contact, staring past his shoulder. “Isabel,” he said more forcefully. “Would you look at me?” Her gaze moved onto his. “Did you hear what I said? I love you. I want to be with you as much as I want the whole damn music thing, the career, the money, the fame.” He shook his head. “No. I want you more.”

“Me,” she gulped, a blank expression anchored to her beautiful face. “You want me? You want me more than . . .”

“Without a doubt. The song,
“Mi Todo,”
that’s who you are. That’s what it . . .” He felt as bewildered as she looked. “How can you not know this? You know everything about me.”

She didn’t answer, not replying or matching his heartfelt sentiment with her own. Instead, she asked, “Aidan, would you kiss me?”

He did, hoping the kiss would erase any blur between the lines that separated friends from lovers. It seemed to be working. She kissed him back. Moments later, Aidan could feel the intensity climb to a level he’d never experienced—Isabel clawing at his back with sharp little strokes, their mouths meeting with a heated luster that surpassed his best fantasy. It was as unpredictable as all of her. With her legs gripped tightly around him, the rhythm mounted to a thunderous threshold Aidan couldn’t control. “Jesus, Isabel . . . if we don’t slow down, I’m not . . . you’re gonna make me . . .” She still didn’t speak, grating against him with throaty gasps that he took as a sign of excitement. Passion reached a pinnacle he did not know existed, and he gave in to it. As her body shuddered against his Aidan smiled, believing the moment was the same for her as it was for him. It was a sure sign of a perfect union. But when the writhing didn’t stop Aidan suspected that even he couldn’t induce an orgasm of that magnitude. It was almost like a seizure.

And then Aidan realized this wasn’t anything good. Though Isabel still held firm, he pushed up over her, horrified by the tears she’d been masking. The silent hysterical sobs that she finally let escape. “What the hell? Did I hurt you? God, Isabel, why didn’t you tell me to stop?” He didn’t think such a high could plummet so fast, a free fall from somewhere above Heaven. Aidan couldn’t focus, trying to comprehend how anything so perfect could be replaced with such gut-wrenching fear. Terrified by what he’d done, Aidan bolted from the bed. Isabel darted in the opposite direction, taking the sheet with her. Clawing his hands through his hair, Aidan heaved heavy breaths that he wanted to attribute to their fiery union. But common sense told him otherwise. This had nothing to do with passion or love.
This was the aftermath of what Rick Stanton had intended.
“Isabel, tell me what’s wrong! What’s happening?”