The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (19 page)

He reached out and took her left hand before she had a chance to back away.  And any thought of doing so quickly fled her mind when his thumb began to make circles on her palm, the warmth of his skin and the motion of his touch awakening a long-dormant seed of desire.  His breathing sped up and all at once he lowered his face to hers, their lips meeting with unguarded intensity.  His other hand bracketed her cheek and chin, pulling her face to his again and again.  But when his tongue pushed against hers and a deep-seated groan escaped his throat, he pulled back, severing the moment.

Something in his blue eyes frightened her before he tore his gaze away.  He stared out toward the road, his ragged breath rolling out in a cloud.  “I don’t know what came over me,” he murmured.  “It’s like I don’t have any control of myself
when I’m with you.”

“Blame it on the moonlight?” she suggested.  His hand jumped against hers and he finally removed it. 

“Maybe.”  He smiled anxiously at her.  “Goodnight, Taylor.”  His lips landed so gently on her forehead that she thought for a second it was a product of her imagination. 

“Goodnight,” she said quietly, and watched as he stepped uneasily from the front porch.  He glanced back over his shoulder t
wice before climbing in his truck.  She didn’t watch him drive away.  She unlocked the front door and headed for the living room, where the flicker of the TV made shadows on the walls.

“Mom?”  Alice sat in her usual wingback chair, wearing a robe and cover
ed in a patchwork quilt.  She stirred after a moment, the lines in her face shifting into a smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I fell asleep during a movie.”

Taylor smiled.  “Which movie?”

Alice stifled a small yawn.  “
North by Northwest. 
I’ve seen it a hundred times but I can’t resist when it’s on.”

“No woman should ever fall asleep on Cary Grant.”  Taylor winked at her mother.  “But it’s late.  Do you need any help getting into bed?”

“No,” she replied.  “How was your date?”

Taylor considered the proper
course of action—the date had been wonderful, and her face was still burning from the heat of Chandler’s kiss.  “It was wonderful.  And, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You were right.”

Alice began folding the quilt and asked a question she already knew the answ
er to.  There was a twinkle in her tired eyes.  “About what, dear?”

“Everything.”  Taylor met her mother’s eyes as she spoke the syllables.  “I want Chandler.”
 

Chapter 13

Chandler took a sleep aid, which helped insofar as he didn’t have to deconstruct
his dating mishap until Thursday morning.  Where was the sense, he wondered, in enjoying the hell out of a date and then pretending it had been a disaster?  Taylor’s lips and mouth responded to his at every turn, and if he hadn’t been a coward, he likely would have found her body doing the same.  His palm burned so hot against the back of her hand that he’d been loath to touch her anywhere else, to run his fingers along the curve of her hips, to press himself against the flat plane of her stomach.

Horn dog
,
his conscience intoned.

He’d be remiss if he didn’t at least attempt an apology.  Not that she’d looked upset by what he’d done.  In fact, those green eyes had done everything but beg for it.  He could’ve slipped
an arm around her waist, plaited his fingers through the tempting strands of hair, pressed his mouth to the pulsing skin of her neck…

He headed straight for the fridge, his mouth suddenly dry as parchment.  His heart pounded in his ears like he’d been in bed with her, not simply fantasizing a
bout it.  He drank the water straight down and placed the cold, empty glass against his forehead.  His eyes remained closed while his inner chastising words drifted away.  He was calm again, relaxed, not thinking about sex at all. 

Oops.

“Chandler?”

His e
yes flew open but he didn’t move to turn away from the short row of cabinets.  Taylor had just entered his office and it would take him a few seconds to work up the courage to meet her eyes. 

Or maybe half a minute.

She didn’t wait for him to greet her.  She strode up beside him, floating there like a specter, her footsteps making no sound.  “I wanted to thank you again for last night.  I had a great time with you.  I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun in one evening.”

His eyebrow lifted. 
Neither can I.
  “Sorry that I had to cut and run on you like a wounded deer.”  His voice came out unexpectedly rough and he cleared his throat before the inevitable crack.  “I figure any more kissing, and Miss Alice would flick the porch light on and off for us.”

Th
ere was no trace of reluctance on her part as she raised her right hand and rested it against the tight muscles in his back.  “She was asleep, cowboy, and none the wiser to what we’d been doing out there.”  A small laugh escaped her mouth.  “Besides, I’m an adult.  So are you.  There’s no one to correct us.”

What about self-correction?
  He set the empty glass in the sink and met her gaze for the first time.  She still had those lush, green eyes, a holdover from last night.  A man could get lost in those green pools and never come up for air.  He turned his body slowly, like the mechanism of a clock changing one minute to the next, and was startled when she instantaneously slid against him.  “You’re so beautiful, and you could have any man.  So why did God pick me out of the whole bunch and say, ‘Go after her, boy—make her yours’?”

She pressed her left index finger to his lips and smiled conspiratorially.  “Just lucky, I guess.”  She slid the tip of her finger downward and rested it against his chin.  “Alison
left a note for me to have lunch with her again today.  Would you like to join us?”

He shook his head, the only part of his body that wasn’t immobilized by her touch.  “You two go and have fun.  The boss man has a few phone calls to make.”  His face quirke
d at the bizarre self-description and they laughed together.  The laughter contained threads of passion, seams of gold invisible to the naked eye.  He leaned into her kiss, no hesitance, no fear, no second-guessing.  She chewed on his lower lip long enough that even his scalp began to tingle.  Insane.  She pulled back, took in his satisfied grin and contented eyes.  “Now get to work,” he teased with a wink, “before I have to dock your pay.”

***

Alison held up the fried pickle, examined it for a few seconds before it disappeared into her mouth.  “Those can’t be good for you,” she surmised a minute later.

“Why’s that?”

“Because they taste too good.”  Silly laughter echoed across the table.  “Would it be too forward if I asked about your date?”

Taylor shot her
a shrewd look.  “Would you have invited me to lunch if you
hadn’t
wanted to know?”

“Yes,” Alison answered.  “But this gives us more to discuss.”  She finished eating before resuming her thought.  “And we have a few minutes before the food arrives. 
Chandler was in kind of a mood this morning, which made me think instantly that something bad had happened.  Then that was chased away by the realization that something good did happen.”

“It was nice,” Taylor replied, circumventing the insinuation for a wh
isker of a second.  “He was charming, sweet, considerate—in other words, himself.  Sure, he tripped over his tongue a few times, but that’s normal.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked innocently.

“Were you nervous?”

“Eh…”

“Come on, tell me the tr
uth.”

“Wouldn’t you be?  He’s so good-looking that it takes my breath away.  And, God, those eyes…”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Alison reassured her.  “Somehow those things skipped a generation and my kids have them.”

Taylor frowned.  “Really?  I hadn
’t noticed.”

“I’m serious.  CJ has green eyes like Bryn, and mine are clearly brown.  But somehow my two are as blue-eyed as Chase, Christa, and Chandler.  Matt has them, too.  It’s not a bad trait to inherit.”

She nodded thoughtfully, taking a moment to absorb Alison’s words.  They were skirting the issue, and would continue to do so until one of them bit the bullet.  “Time has changed a lot about all of us.”

“For sure,” Alison agreed.  “We won’t discuss my grey hair.”

Taylor smiled.  “But some things don’t change.  Chandler is still a great kisser.  He’s just kind of shy about wanting to touch me.”

“You scare him,” Alison deduced.  “He’s got the hots for you but he’s still working it out in his brain.  Can I be frank?”

“Aren’t you always?” Taylor rejoined.

“Touché.  Chandler is a man like any other—the first place they fall in love is usually not the heart or the brain.  It’s another organ.”

She nearly spit water across the table in surprise; when Alison said “frank”, she damned well meant it.  “Once we get lust out of the way, everything else should fall into place.”

“Maybe,” Alison quickly responded.  “I think he’s looking for commitment, otherwise he would have gone traveling again.  Are you interested in commitment, or something else?”

Taylor had to admit to herself that she hadn’t fully thought through the varying aspects of this.  For someone who’d already vowed to love another man “till death do us part”, this sudden realization confounded her.  “I want to be happy.”

Alison nodded in understanding.  “I
’m not trying to compare my situation to yours.  I’m sure you get tired of hearing that,” she said apologetically.   

“I’ll take an
y ounce of wisdom I can get,” Taylor replied, “whether I want it or not.”

“Good. 
I don’t know if you remember this or not, but I had another boyfriend prior to CJ.”

“I have a vague recollection of it.  You and Christa were firmly ensconced at college by the time Chandler and I started dating.”

She nodded again.  “The thing is, I really thought we were in love, and had he asked me to marry him, I would have jumped at the chance.  There was a period of time after we split up—or, more accurately, after he dragged my heart out of my chest and stomped on it—that I looked for faults in myself.  It took me a while to get past hating him and feeling lost.  The point I’m making through my ramblings is that I don’t think it’s impossible to be in love twice in one lifetime.  It’s okay to have been in love with your ex-husband, and it’s okay to be in love with Chandler.”

As Taylor mulled o
ver Alison’s words, filled as they were with rationality and catharsis, their food arrived.  Alison didn’t push the issue any further, and they traded in mostly small talk while they ate.  Someone else was on her mind—he was never far from the front of her brain—but she wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, with anyone.

“Alison?”

She wiped her mouth and nodded.  “I’m listening.”

“I start to feel guilty if I’m too happy.”

“Because of your son,” she replied.

“That’s right.”  She lowered her eyes to the
table, then met Alison’s gaze.  “Life goes on, right?”

“Whether it’s a hundred days or a hundred years, you can never have enough time with someone you love.  And the pain of loss never quite goes away, but on the days it doesn’t hurt as much, the sorrow
and hurting subside and you can replace them with something else.  Something better.”

“How did you get so wise?”

Alison shrugged.  “No matter how great your life is, it’ll never be perfect.  Mine is great but there are plenty of days where I have to second-guess myself, or wonder if I’m doing right by my children.  Things like that.”

“They’re great kids.  Seriously.”

“They’re growing up too fast,” she replied with a trace of melancholy.  “It seems like only five minutes ago they were newborns.  Now they can carry on entire conversations without my input.”

Taylor considered her next question carefully.  “Is Little Chase as bossy as his father?”

A slight nod.  “God, yes,” Alison replied with a short laugh. 

Alison paid for her lunch—she wouldn’t hear otherwis
e—and they headed back to their barely-separated work stations.  Chandler said goodbye to her before she went home, kissed every inch of her mouth, but otherwise avoided her.  His actions perplexed all segments of her lucid brain.  Being in his arms was only awkward because he made it that way. 

***

He wasn’t angry.  Mildly perturbed was a better assessment.

After receiving the sale notice, Chandler cataloged the art, same as always, making a note of the date, amount, and buyer in his archives. 
Provenance would become a matter of public record.  Then came the packing.  The crates were prefabricated; he simply had to assemble them into a box and nail the sides together. He was getting reader to fasten the top of the final box when her beautiful head emerged through the door.