Grace Green - The Wedding Promise

‘Well, you won’t have to suffer now,’ she said. ‘So would you mind letting me go? I want—’

She broke off, and he saw her swallow. ‘Yes?’ His voice had become husky. ‘What do you want?’

The pink tingeing her cheeks had darkened to a vibrant scarlet. ‘I want you to stop...looking at me like that.’

He raised his brows. ‘Like what?’

‘As if you’re...wondering how it would feel to...kiss me.’

‘Mind-reader, huh?’

‘No, just...a woman.’ She flicked a quick look at his bare chest, which gleamed wet from the pool. Nervously, she ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.

She’d been right; he’d wanted to kiss her. But now, as he watched that moist pink tongue move where he’d wanted his own lips to move, he wanted a whole lot more.

But a kiss would be a good place to start.

He drove his cool, damp hands into her hair and swept it right back from her face. Then he clasped her head with his long fingers, holding her fast.

For a long moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and sexual excitement shimmered between them like the gossamer flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

‘You’re wondering too,’ he said softly, and, sliding a hand from her hair, traced a fingertip over her lip, where her tongue had been. He felt the faint tremble of the moist flesh, and found it incredibly arousing.

Her lashes fluttered closed, as if she. couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t bear the electricity crackling back and forth between them.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered, now tracing his fingertip over the fine curve of her jaw. ‘Tell me you’re wondering too.’

A small moan was her only answer. He lowered his head, and water from his hair dropped onto the thin cotton of her shirt, making it cling in places to her breasts. His throat almost closed as lust catapulted him from tenderness to urgency. Male hormones amok. Testosterone on the rampage.

With a ragged groan, he dragged her against his wet body. And kissed her. Desperately.

The taste of her lips was even more lusciously sweet than he’d anticipated, the silky texture something close to heaven. He deepened the kiss, and heard her whimper. He stepped her backwards towards the tree behind her. She sagged weakly against it, and he slid his mouth along her jaw to the sensitive spot below her ear.

‘Still with me?’ he whispered against her scented skin.

She slid her arms around his neck, clung there as if her legs had become too weak to support her. ‘That—’ her voice was blurred, like velvet rubbed the wrong way ‘—is a loaded question—’

‘Daddy!’

The appalled voice came from behind him.

He froze...and felt Sara stiffen. Then she snatched her arms from around his neck and pushed him from her.

Oh, God, he thought despairingly—Andy! Where had she come from, and what was she doing here?

Heartbeats jamming, he turned.

His daughter was ten feet away. She was wearing jeans over a red and white spotted swimsuit, and she had a red towel slung over her shoulder. Her hair stood up in jagged little curls, and her face was whiter than the snowy foam at the foot of the waterfall.

‘Sweetie—’ Logan heard the choking sound in his own voice ‘—what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be busy with your letters—’

‘How could you, Daddy?’ The huge brown eyes were filled to the brim with tears. She didn’t once let her gaze flit to Sara; kept it fixed, agonisedly, on him. ‘Oh, how could you?’

‘Honey—’

‘I followed you. I thought you were lonely. I felt sorry for you, after you’d gone, so I came after you. But all the time you knew I was busy and you were planning to meet—’

‘No, no, Andy.’ He stepped towards her. ‘It’s not what you think—’

‘Oh, spare me!’ She stumbled back, her gaze now more anguished than ever. ‘You’re a hypocrite, Dad. You told me to keep away from her—“that woman”, you called her! You told me you’re judged by the company you keep, and you said—you said...a person’s reputation...is...’

The words ended in a wail, and her face crumpled. Blindly, roughly, she brushed at her over-spilling tears. ‘Oh, I hate you,’ she sobbed. ‘I just hate you.’

She spun around and took off along the trail, back the way she’d come. Her sneakers kicked up spurts of dry dirt with each step, leaving faint dusty clouds in the air.

Logan stood, as if too stunned to move.

‘Go after her.’ Shakily, Sara folded her arms around herself. ‘Hurry.’

He jolted to life. Shoving his feet into his trainers, he fastened the laces, and grabbed his shirt. About to leave, he glanced at her, his eyes dark. Unhappy. ‘You’ll be OK?’

She nodded.

‘Sure?’

‘Go.’

After a brief hesitation, he did as she bade. He took off, fast, his steps thudding hard on the sun-baked trail.

Sara stood where she was till he was out of sight, and the sound of his steps had faded away.

Only then did she hitch her backpack more firmly over her shoulders, and start the long trek home.

‘Sweetie—’ Logan tapped on his daughter’s bedroom door ‘—you can’t stay locked in there for ever. And hey—’ he tried for a touch of humour ‘—I’m starving... it’s almost seven o’clock. What about that stir-fry you promised?’

No answer.

He muttered frustratedly under his breath. He’d soon caught up with Andy that afternoon, on the trail from the swimming hole, but she’d refused to listen to him. And when they’d reached the house she’d raced furiously upstairs and slammed the bedroom door in his face.

She hadn’t come out since, despite his repeated efforts to coax her to unlock the door.

He sighed, and was about to turn away, when he heard her call, sulkily, ‘The door’s not locked.’

It had been, earlier. His spirits rose a notch.

He opened the door and walked into the room.

She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, with a book spread out on her lap.

She didn’t look up.

‘Let’s clear the air,’ he said quietly, and crossed to the cushioned wicker chair by the bed. He sat down, and grasped the curved arms of the chair. ‘Andy...?’

‘What?’ She still didn’t look up, but now he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed, the lids swollen. He resisted the urge to reach out to her. She wasn’t ready for that yet; her body was rigid with hostility, every taut line of her young face screamed defiance.

‘Have I ever lied to you?’

Her lower lip jutted out, and she shrugged.

‘Please answer me.’

She picked at a scab on her knee. ‘I guess not,’ she said sulkily.

‘Yes or no?’

‘No,’ she muttered.

‘OK.’ He relaxed—a little. ‘So here’s what happened. I went to the swimming hole, alone, expecting to be there alone. I didn’t see Mrs Wynter; she must have been sunning herself on the grass at the far side of the rock. At any rate, when I was in the water, she stole my shoes and shirt...but I spotted her. I chased after her, and grabbed her...’

Andy was looking at him now, her eyes gleaming. ‘She was going to make you walk home in your bare feet?’

‘Yeah.’

He could see she was trying not to smile. ‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘what happened next...’ He cleared his throat.

‘The kiss.’

He met her gaze squarely. ‘That’s the hard part to explain. I was darned annoyed at her for disturbing my swim. I guess I wanted to...well, show her!’

‘Dad—’ Andy cupped her hands around her knees and fixed him with an oddly adult gaze ‘—I sometimes think you’re living in the Dark Ages. If you kissed Mrs Wynter against her will, you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sue you for sexual harassment. That would teach you a lesson.’