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She quickly unlocked the door and went inside. “Thanks. That may be exactly what I need.”
Before he could offer to get one for her, she closed the door with a clap and then stood for long moments, listening for sounds that he was leaving. Realizing that he might be waiting to see that she was safe inside, she leaned over to switch on a lamp, and then peered through the curtains. He still stood where she’d left him.
She gave a little wave and then closed the door curtains again.
Finally, she heard the sound of his footfalls as he walked back to his car, and then the crank of his truck engine.
Penelope let out a long sigh, unaware that she’d been holding her breath.
She stepped toward the kitchen, flipping on lights as she went. It wasn’t fair, really. On paper, Barnaby Jones was the perfect man for her. Beyond being great looking and single, they’d attended the same schools, knew all the same people, and enjoyed doing the same things.
Maybe that was the problem: they were too well matched.
She put the elephant ear down on the counter, inwardly cursing her meddling grandmother and aunt.
Of course, Barnaby was worlds better than some of the other men they’d fixed her up with. There had been the divorced car mechanic who’d liked to flex his muscles for her expected enjoyment every five minutes. And the nerdy bank vice president who pushed his glasses up constantly and rarely met her gaze, and then grabbed onto her so tightly when she’d kissed him good-night that she’d been half afraid he wouldn’t let go. She’d nearly pushed him down the stairs just to get him to disconnect.
So on the date scale, Barnaby was the best match yet.
If only kissing him wasn’t like kissing her grandmother.
She made a face at the comparison and then realized that the house was too quiet. And it wasn’t just the absence of the two old biddies who had gotten her into her current mess either.
“Thor?” she called out.
No response. Which wasn’t all that unusual. If he was curled up sleepy somewhere, he’d likely stay exactly where he was.
She opened the pantry door and took out the bag of his favorite dog treats. Still no Thor.
That was odd. By now he would be panting at her feet.
She shook the bag. “Who’s been a good boy?” she called out in a lilting tone. “Who thinks they’re deserving of a goodie?” She shook the bag again.
Nothing.
Huh.
Then it dawned on her that she might have left him out back.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Nothing. She flicked on the back light.
“Thor?” she called into the night.
A single bark somewhere in the yard.
She grimaced and stepped onto the back porch. Please don’t let him have cornered another badger. Or, worse, another skunk. She’d bathed him three times, once in tomato juice, another in lemon juice, but nothing but time had seemed capable of ridding him of the god-awful stench. They’d kept him locked outside for two miserable days with him whining the whole night through.
“Thor, come here,” she ordered, giving an experimental sniff. Nothing but the fragrant scent of her rosebushes.
Another quiet bark.
Penelope navigated the stairs and walked up the pathway. She heard his panting before she saw him. Or, rather, saw his tail wagging where he sat inside the gazebo.
“What are you doing there?” she asked, coming up behind him.
He turned and licked her outstretched hand, then sniffed animatedly at the bag she still held.
“I have half a mind not to give you a treat because I don’t think you’ve been a very good boy.”
His tail was now little more than a blur as he picked up wagging speed and began doing his crouch and bark and run in circles treat-dance.
She laughed. “Oh, all right. Maybe just one.”
A shadow moved in the gazebo. “How about this bad boy?” a familiar voice asked. “Do you think he’s entitled to any treats?”
3
PALMER HADN’T EXPECTED her to return so soon. Had even feared she might not be alone when she did. But here she was, and there was no suspicious sheriff in tow. Which made him much luckier than he’d been earlier in the evening when he’d paid his surprise visit to his father.
“Palmer!” she whispered. “What are you doing in there?”
He grimaced. What was he doing in there, indeed? “Sitting.” He went for the obvious.
There was a long silence as the summer night sounds penetrated the thin walls of the gazebo. The structure smelled of wood and flowers, the cushions on the bench soft and accommodating.
How many times had the two of them met secretly in this very place, concealed by the shadows? A dozen times? A dozen dozen?
“Have you been here since I left?”
“No.”
Although he wished differently. His father’s reaction had hit him hard. Harder than he would have imagined it might. What man turned his own blood away from the door? Especially considering that man didn’t appear to have anyone else.
To his surprise, Penelope came inside the gazebo and sat opposite him. She was little more than a warm blur and quiet breathing, the subtle scent of jasmine tempting his thoughts … elsewhere.
“That was a short date,” he commented.
He heard her soft laugh. “Yes. It was.”
“I hope I didn’t ruin things.”
She shifted, leaning back against the cushions. “Why is it that I doubt that?”
“Maybe because you always did know me better than I gave you credit for.”
He heard her swallow. “Not as well as I’d hoped, it appears.”
The words were said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear them.
While years separated tonight from the last time they’d shared the gazebo, it seemed as if it could have been yesterday. Not because of what he said, or she did. But because of the way he felt.
Palmer planted his forearms on his thighs and joined his hands between his knees. The movement put him within touching distance of Penelope. He waited to see if she’d move away or stay put. He knew a little thrill when she stayed put.
It was odd, the … need he felt for her. Even now. Time and space and maturity had made him believe that what he remembered was kid stuff. A major crush. A hormonally induced love.
But that theory no longer held water. Because right now he felt just as needy as he had back then. Perhaps even more so. All he wanted to do was reach over and haul her into his lap. Claim that mouth of hers with his. Lay his hand against her soft breast. Hear her sigh in his ear.
He cleared his throat. “I went to visit my father tonight.”
He swore he could feel her gaze probing his face in the dark.
“I know I should have gone before now … He’d heard I was back …”
He ran his hands through his hair and then returned to clutching them between his knees.
“He pretended not to know me and closed the door.”
She made a small sound he interpreted as surprise.
Palmer squinted in her direction although he couldn’t really see her. “Is it possible that he didn’t recognize his own blood?”
Penelope knew of his awkward at best, animosity-filled at worst, relationship with his father going way back. In fact, she was the only one who’d known outside his own mother. He’d told her all about it. Well, not everything.
“I knew who you were instantly,” she whispered.
Thank God for that, he thought. He didn’t know what he would have done had he faced rejection twice in one night.
Then again, if it weren’t for Penelope’s suggestion that he see his father, he might never have gone over there.
“So why do you think he did it?” he asked.
She made another small sound, but this time not because of what he’d said, but because he’d stretched his fingers and the tips were touching her knees. The hem of her dress fell just above, leaving him free to feel her warm skin.
And she was warm … And soft … And inviting …
God help him, but he wanted her so badly he hurt.
“Palmer … please …”
His hands drifted upward as if on their own accord, tunneling under the material.
Penelope gasped and trapped them with hers.
He was close enough to kiss her. Close enough to smell her skin. Close enough to feel her breath against his face.
“When I first saw you tonight,” he whispered, his voice ragged, “I thought I’d traveled back in time. Back to when we were both kids. When the world was nothing but a big question mark outside that gate. And where nothing existed but my need to kiss you.”
He was surprised by his words. It was one thing to privately acknowledge them. Another to put them out there where she might rebuff them. Might rebuff him.
“When I agreed to come back here to see to this business venture … I’d hoped I might see you.” Her hands were still on his. “But I never expected to feel this … way for you. Again.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
“I understand that you may not feel the same …”
Long heartbeats passed. Palmer didn’t speak. And neither did Penelope. They merely sat there practically forehead-to-forehead, him with his eyes closed.
Then, finally, she spoke.
“That’s the problem.” She paused. “I feel exactly the same …”
AND IT WAS A PROBLEM for Penelope. A monumental dilemma. Because whereas Palmer seemed glad to be feeling the way he had way back then, she was heartbroken to find herself in a place she never expected to be again.
So much time had passed …
Yet it amounted to a little more than a drop in a bucket …
She tried to think of Barnaby. To hold desperately onto all of the reasons why she shouldn’t let Palmer kiss her. But as he leaned even closer to her, all reason fled, leaving only acute awareness in its wake.
When his lips finally met hers, a moan years in the making wound up and around her throat, exiting softly. She released his hands and snaked her arms over his shoulders. How could he taste the same? How could his hair still be thick and coarse against her fingers? How could that longing that she hadn’t experienced since he’d left emerge as if he had never disappeared?
Palmer groaned, his freed hands sliding even further up under her dress. When the back of his fingers skimmed the front of her damp panties, she nearly jumped from the seat.
“God, I’d forgotten how responsive you were.” He kissed her long and hard. “I could always count on knowing exactly how you felt about me, Penelope. That you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”
She bit her bottom lip, hating the hot tears that flooded her eyes.
That’s not true, she wanted to say. If you’d wanted me as much as I’d wanted you, you would never have left.
But before she could truly consider the weight of her words, he was shifting her weight from the other side of the gazebo to across his lap. Penelope gasped and held onto his shoulders for balance, surprised by the move. Before she could regain her balance both physically and emotionally, he cupped the side of her face, holding her still while he launched a fresh assault on her trembling mouth.
Having him this close, his heat permeating her every cell, his chest against her side, his lap under her bottom, it was impossible to think about anything beyond her growing need. As his breathing grew more ragged, hers did, too. And her hands seemed to have taken on a life of their own. They tunneled into his hair, dove down his back, exploring the long, hard length, then circled to press against the hard wall of his chest. He felt good. Solid. A far sight better than what she’d experienced in her dreams. He was there. Present. And she intended to take every advantage of that fact.
Shifting around, she straddled him, adjusting her skirt so that the only things separating them were the thin wall of her panties and his slacks.
She stilled. Not because she knew a moment of hesitancy. But because she cherished the white hot heat flashing through her.
She’d forgotten what it felt like to think nothing at all. To give herself over to sheer emotion. To surrender to something that was bigger than her.
“Christ, you’re even more beautiful now than you were then,” Palmer murmured.
Penelope pressed a finger against his lips. “Shh. Please. Don’t speak …”
At least not with words. She wanted him to communicate with his body. Wanted him to touch her. Everywhere.
And he did.
Penelope gasped when he fanned his hands against her bottom and then budged them ever so slowly downward until his fingers were under the hem of her bunched up dress. Skin met skin, sending shivers down her back, causing her to arch her body, seeking a more intimate meeting.
