Swept Away. Gwynne Forster

looked at Schyler. “You don’t clean up when he cooks?” She shook her head. “Shame. Shame.”

      Schyler’s eyebrows shot up with such speed that she knew she’d suggested the unthinkable. “Me? Clean up after he cooks? You’re joking. He cleans up his own mess, and when I cook, I do the same. Ready to go? The bay is spectacular about now.”

      She settled into the passenger seat of Schyler’s cream-colored Buick Le Sabre, big and comfortable like the man who’s driving it, she found herself thinking. He backed out of the garage and headed for Front Street, and all she could see as he drove through the little village were white buildings.

      “Is there an ordinance in this town that requires all the buildings to be white?” she asked.

      “I don’t think so. This place is the bedrock of tradition, so it’s probably just copycatting. I think I’ll check that.”

      “I can’t imagine growing up here, though I suspect it was more fun than where I lived, considering you’ve got the Chesapeake Bay at your doorstep.”

      So she intended to keep their conversation impersonal, did she? All right. He was known for his patience. “The Seafarers Museum is our biggest attraction. Back in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this region was a pirate’s playground. They came to replenish their supplies and to ply their contraband goods. Of course, there was a great deal of legal trade as well. Spanish galleons used to take refuge in the bay from those powerful Atlantic storms. So we have a phenomenal cache of treasures from ships that were sunk in these parts. Maybe I’ll take you through the museum next time, but right now I want you to see the sunset over the bay.” He turned the car south, swung down Waters Edge to the bay and parked at the edge of the beach.

      He looked down at her feet. “At least you’ve got on low-heeled shoes.”

      He got out and headed around to her side of the car, but she opened the door before he reached it.

      “Why didn’t I know you’d do that?” he asked.

      She favored him with her sweetest smile. “Simple. Because you’re not omniscient. That’s supposed to be the Lord’s specialty.”

      He stopped, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, emphasizing his broad chest and flat belly, rocked back on his heels and did what could only be described as a slow burn.

      “I get angry about twice every couple of years, Veronica, but you’ve nearly shoved me to it twice this day. Try not to give vent to your sharp tongue and remind yourself what it feels like to hurt.” Before she could answer, he took her arm, walked along the narrow beach and paused. “Veronica Overton, the executive, is a far cry from the woman I’m looking at.”

      She didn’t mind the comment; in a way, it was accurate. On the nose. “When I was that woman, I hadn’t skied the slopes of the Jungfraujoch, and I hadn’t hiked alone for miles over flower-strewn meadows in the lap of the Swiss Alps. Imagine being the only person for miles and miles around with God’s blue sky, towering white snow-capped mountains and flowers of every color for company. Not a puff of wind, and air as fresh as new life. It was truly a rebirth. So you’re right. I’m different, and I hope I stay that way. I’m not chasing fame or success, and I’m no longer hell-bent on becoming Secretary of Welfare. I don’t even give a snap about any of it. I’m myself. Free. I mean free!”

      His stare didn’t make her uncomfortable, because she knew he was seeing her with new vision. “And you were yourself before,” she heard him say under the edge of his breath. He turned toward the water and stopped as though frozen in time. “Look! Would you just look at that?”

      She followed his gaze to the long red rays that streaked across the rolling water, fanning out from the huge red globe that moved slowly downward against a navy blue and gray sky. At her gasp, he moved closer to her, and for the first time, the feel of his arm around her waist sent powerful shivers of sensual awareness plowing through her. Helpless to prevent her tremors and realizing that he was well aware of her reaction to his touch, she made herself look at him to brazen it out, as if trembling for him were of no consequence.

      But he denied her that avenue of escape. “Months ago, when you were the consummate executive, I as much as told you we’d have to deal with this. Don’t count on its going away by itself and of its own accord. The chemistry between us is strong enough to cause an explosion, and nothing will make me believe you don’t know that.”

      “I’m not going there right now, Schyler. That isn’t something that bears discussion.”

      “Oh sure. If you talked about it, that would make it a fact,” he said. “Well, discuss it or not, whatever hooks men and women has its claws in us.” He laughed a deep tension releasing growl. “No point in worrying until it gets unruly.”

      She stepped out of his encircling warmth and walked along beside him swinging her arms. The sun dipped into the Chesapeake Bay, and she couldn’t help reaching for him, clutching his sleeve.

      “Schyler. That was…It was so beautiful. I don’t think I ever saw anything to match it.”

      He took her hand and sat on a log that had rested in its spot so long that the elements had bleached it. “I love to sit here and look out at the bay. You should see it in the moonlight when the stars almost blanket the sky. I’ve spent hours thinking and dreaming right in this spot. Did you have a special spot where you fought your fears, dreamed dreams and plotted your future?”

      Suddenly, she didn’t want to share that part of his life with him, and she couldn’t tell him about the times when her only toys were the stories she told herself. Not about the things and places she imagined when, as a small girl, she’d sat on the back porch of her parents’ modest home and tried to count the stars. Not when she’d talked to the owl that hooted nearby and cried a child’s pain when the bird didn’t respond. Schyler had lived in luxury by comparison, a luxury that was rightfully hers. She pulled her hand from his and jumped up from his precious log.

      “What is it? What’s the matter, Veronica?”

      “Nothing. It’s…Nothing. I…have to go. That’s all.”

      He stood, and she swung away from him, fearing his touch. As she moved, she felt her right leg come out from under her, but as quickly, he grabbed her, breaking her fall, and a burst of heat skittered through her body when she realized his fingers were splayed across her right breast. Warm. Delicious. Arousing. She wanted him to caress her, to…She needed him to tighten his hold on her and love her. His breathing deepened, and she heard him suck in air. He didn’t move his hand, but he had to know it was there, where he wanted it to be. The thought kicked her pulse into overdrive and heat spiraled through her veins. Desire quickened her body and, as though he willed it, she raised her eyes and gazed into his—heated pools of blatant need, of hot undiluted want.

      She should move, get out of his way. She had to…

      “I’m not forcing you to stand here,” he said, his voice low. Guttural.

      She wanted to move, but he kept looking at her like that, making her belly churn until her body wanted him to…to…“I’ve…I’ve got to—”

      He didn’t spare her. “If you don’t want my mouth on you, say so. Right now.”

      She stared into his fiery eyes, glittering pools of unbridled desire, and told herself to run while she still owned herself. At her hesitance, he lowered his head, tightened his grip on her body and stroked her breast possessively, as if he owned it.

      “Part your lips for me, take me in and get what you want.” She told herself not to open her mouth, but her disobedient tongue danced around its edges and dampened her lips. She heard him suck in his breath in anticipation.

      “Schyler. I…I’m—”

      His mouth came down on hers, and frissons of heat pelted her feminine center. Her arms went around him and tightened, and his tongue plunged into her mouth with an expertise that shocked her and sent her blood racing like a wildfire