Chapter Fifteen
It was shortly after eight when Luke came downstairs from checking on the twins. His parents and in-laws had gone through the Sunday night ritual of tucking in the boys and reading them bedtime stories, and had taken their departure five minutes earlier.
“Sound asleep,” he reported to Miranda as he entered the playroom. She was sitting at one end of the leather couch, her sock-clad feet curled up under her. “Fresh air and exercise are the best way of getting them to bed on time.”
“Works on her, too,” she said with a nod toward Ariana, who’d dozed off during dessert and was now sleeping wrapped in a blanket on the seat of a recliner chair.
Luke held out his hand. “Let’s go to the front room where we can talk without disturbing Ariana.” Miranda let him pull her up, and he kept her hand as they walked down the hall.
In the large front room, he chose a sofa with an ocean view and they seated themselves side by side. He rested his hand on her knee, happy to be touching her even if it was through the cotton of her tan pants, but wanting so much more than that. “The others often stay and talk for another hour or so,” he said. Tonight, though, they’d somehow all had other things they needed to do.
“I chased them off?”
He shook his head. “I think they wanted to give us a chance to be alone.”
This was his perfect opening for discussing the nature of their relationship, but before he could find the right words, she said reflectively, “That was weird, eh?”
“Uh, that they seem to approve?”
“No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. Though”—she gave a soft laugh—“it would be kind of weird if they approved of me, and I’m not sure they do yet. But no, I meant what Annie said about Merlin.”
His brain shifted gears. “I know. Coming from anyone else, I’d say it was pure fantasy. But Annie’s credible. Are you going to talk to Di and Seal?”
“I’m sure they’d like to hear that Starshine seems to be okay. But the Merlin thing . . .” She shook her head. “I think I’ll talk to Eden first. They’re her aunt and uncle. She should decide if she wants to ask them about it.”
“Makes sense.”
“Annie’s interesting, isn’t she?”
“That’s for sure. Can you imagine being married to her?”
“Not so much. But she and Randall seem to have a genuine connection.”
“They’re both creative.”
“Idiot.” She whacked his hand gently with hers, and then left it resting atop his. “I meant emotionally.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Yes, they do. He says she keeps him on his toes.” And the gentle pressure of Miranda’s hand was warming him down to his toes. “She says he keeps her grounded. She also says the sex is hot, which is not something I really needed to know but as you’ve seen, she doesn’t have many filters.”
“She’s big on honesty, that’s for sure.”
And there was another opening. This time, he leaped in before it could close. “On the subject of honesty . . .”
Her hand twitched. “Uh-oh. I noticed you were kind of quiet at dinner. A few times it looked as if you were miles away. It must have been odd for you, having me there.” She dropped her head, studying her hand resting on top of his. “Were you thinking of Candace?”
“Yes. And us. I like being with you, having you in my house, seeing you and the boys getting along. Having Ariana around, too. But I’m not sure what we’re doing.”
“And you need to know?” she asked wryly.
He gave a half-hearted laugh. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page. You know this is a first for me. And you’ve said you’ve never, uh, brought a man home to meet your daughter, so this is a first for you.”
She chuckled at his phrasing. “For what it’s worth, she clearly approves.”
“So what I’m thinking is, can we just date?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “I thought we were. Oh, d’you mean without the kids?” Her frown deepened.
“No. Well, yeah, sometimes, because I like being alone with you. But I also like doing family stuff like going kayaking. No, what I mean is, can we just date and see where it goes? Not put a lot of pressure or expectations on it.”
Her frown had dissolved and now she smiled. “That’s exactly what Glory said.”
He and Candace had gone to school with Glory McKenna, and he’d always liked her. “You talked to Glory about us?” The idea of girl talk fascinated and kind of horrified him. What had Miranda said about him?
“A little. It’s what girlfriends do, and she’s becoming my friend. I even babysat on Friday, so she and her partner, Brent, could go dancing at the community hall.”
Luke was glad she was making friends. Anything that tied her to Destiny Island was good by him. “What advice did she give?”
“She said we should have fun and see where things go.” A mischievous smile curved her lips. “The subject of big hands came up.”
“Big hands?” He glanced down at his. “You’ve lost me.”
“I might have mentioned that you have big hands.”
“O-kay . . .”
“She might have suggested that I find out what those big hands are capable of.”
And now he got it. So suddenly, so intensely, that blood pounded through his veins and he was instantly aroused. He swallowed hard before he could speak. “What do you think of that suggestion?”
Her dark brown lashes slowly fluttered down and then back up. “Watching when you were treating that bunny, your hands fascinated me. They’re so big and masculine but they’re so gentle and . . . deft.” Another blink. “Are they like that when you touch a woman?”
The only woman he’d touched that way was Candace, from their first teen fumblings through to their experimentation with Kama Sutra positions. She’d always seemed satisfied, but then she’d never been with another guy. Performance anxiety dried his mouth and he had to swallow before he could say, “I don’t know.”
Her flirtatious expression turned to surprise. “Wow. That’s honest.”
“I’m not going to lie to you.” He hoped she got the subtext: that he wasn’t like those other guys she’d been with.
“Hmm.” A twinkle lit her blue eyes. “So, since you don’t know and I’d love to know, we’ll just have to find out.” She uncurled her legs, rose, and sat down again—on his lap, straddling him. Not close enough to press against his erection, which was probably a good thing if he was going to retain an ounce of sanity. He and Candace had often made love with her on his lap, and his body ached for the sensation of bare skin against bare skin, of his hot hardness slipping inside a tight, moist sheath.
Miranda touched a hand to the side of his face, running warm, featherlight fingers from his brow past the outer corner of his eye. She fanned them so that she brushed his cheek and his ear, then she explored his jaw, and then a finger traced the outline of his mouth.
Everywhere she touched, he felt tingly pulses of sensation. There was nothing overtly erotic in what she was doing, but that was how his body interpreted it.
She lowered her hand and said, “Very nice.”
“Now I get to touch you?” When he thought about the parts of Miranda he most wanted to caress, her face, much as he liked it, didn’t top the list. But with an open door, and her little girl and his two boys sleeping in the house, things couldn’t get too hot and heavy.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
He and Candace had always gazed into each other’s eyes, sharing their souls. That was as intimate as you could get, so why did the idea of closing his eyes make him feel vulnerable? But whatever Miranda might do, or make him do, he figured it would involve more pleasure than pain. So he obeyed, forcing his reluctant lids to stay closed until the tiny muscles relaxed.
“Now”—she took his hand—“touch my face.”
He knew her face, the teen version and the adult one. In school, he’d spent too much time sneaking peeks at her—fascinated and to his shame a little turned on. Her Goth style mightn’t have caused second looks in Vancouver, but in Blue Moon Harbor it had made a statement. Stark black, weirdly streaked hair contrasted with near-white skin; either she’d worn pale makeup or, like a vampire, avoided the sun. Exaggerated, sultry eye makeup, near-black lipstick, and piercings everywhere had made him wonder why she was so dissatisfied with what she saw when she got up in the morning and looked in the mirror.
The adult, natural version was much more appealing because it didn’t conceal, it revealed her pretty features and her expressions. This face, he’d spent a lot of time looking at, openly and without guilt. What more could he possibly learn about it?
But of course he would give her what she’d asked for, and when she raised his hand and pressed it to the side of her face, he smiled at how soft and warm her skin felt. She took her own hand away, and cautiously, keeping his eyes shut, he spread his fingers. “Close your eyes, too,” he suggested, scared he’d poke her in the eye.
“Mmm, good idea. Then I can concentrate better on the sensations.”
Okay, that was a sexier interpretation. He traced her hairline upward to her forehead, his fingertips transmitting information: silky skin over firm bone; fine hairs springing from her scalp and tickling his fingers. Smooth forehead, the arch of her eyebrows, the angle of her cheekbones. He followed one to her left ear and skimmed the shell, then rested a finger on the silver heart earring. “You always wear this one.”
“I bought it when Ariana was born.”
“Nice.” His fingers tracked back to her face and explored her cute little nose, which ended in a slight upward curve. And then the shape of her mouth, a puff of breath warming his fingers as she parted her lips. The tip of her tongue touched his finger and his body tightened.
“Nice,” he said again, and with his eyes still closed he leaned forward to place his lips where his fingers had been. Miranda gave a sigh of welcome and shaped her mouth to his. And now, rather than using their fingers, it was their lips that explored, familiarized themselves, and created erotic pleasure. As the kiss heated, they opened for each other and their tongues joined the party.
With a soft moan, she slid forward so the crotch of her pants rubbed against the fly of his jeans. When she wriggled against him, he grew so hard he was afraid he’d burst.
He cast a glance toward the door, ensuring they had no visitors. Then he slid a hand under the bottom of Miranda’s long-sleeved top and stroked her back, from the long swoop of her shoulder and upper back down to the tender dip at her waist, skimming the back of her bra along the way.
He wanted the top off, the bra, everything else she was wearing. He wanted her naked, spread out on top of him like a blanket while he thrust inside her in long, slow strokes. Not that he could likely manage long and slow this time. He was so aroused that round one wouldn’t last long. But Candace had always said there was nothing wrong with gulping down the appetizer, all the better to savor a lengthy, drawn-out feast.
Was it wrong to think about his wife when he was with Miranda? Was it disloyal to one or both of them? Even if it was, he couldn’t turn off the thoughts, the memories, the comparisons. He wondered if Miranda was comparing him to Chef Emile, or to Ariana’s father.
Her lips separated from his. “What’s wrong? You tensed up.”
“Sorry. It’s just strange. I mean, it’s great, but my brain doesn’t want to turn off. I guess I’m nervous. And with the kids in the house, we shouldn’t go too far.”
She shifted her weight back. “But you want to? You want me?”
“Pretty desperately,” he admitted. “I had some idea that we should go slow with this dating thing. I didn’t want to be like those other guys you hooked up with so quickly. But I think I’m over that.”
Humor glinted in her eyes. “Good to know. Because I don’t want to wait much longer.”
“Then we’ll find a time when we can be alone. Soon.”