He had so little time left.… He ran down the steps, across the driveway, and toward Penelope.
He was a fool for falling in love.
He was an ass for making love to her.
For her sake, he should wish he had never met her.
And yet for his own sake, he would rather spend this summer with Penelope and live off the memories forever.
She heard him running toward her and turned, smiling, open, her brown eyes shining with trust.
Never pausing, he picked her up by the waist, lifted her high, and swung her around.
She shrieked and laughed.
He placed her on a low branch of one of the huge oaks on guard on Nonna’s lawn, the second one from the porch, the one with leaves that mostly hid them from the house.
She put her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him. “I knew you’d come to find me.”
“I can’t stay away,” he told her, and hoped that wasn’t true. Once he had sent her away, he had to avoid her.
She had an uncanny knack of knowing when his thoughts wandered into the dark places, and now she frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” He smiled widely. “I was wondering if you would like to go on an adventure.”
“Yes?” She was smart enough to be unsure.
“Turn around. Straddle the limb, and I’ll take you on a trip around the world.”
She slanted her head and looked at him sideways in disbelief.
“No, really!” Was he distracting her? He couldn’t tell. “When Eli and Rafe and I were boys, we used to come out here and mount up our trusty steeds, and we’d ride off to find gold or chase down some rustlers, and one year Nonna showed me Robin Hood, the one with Errol Flynn, and I galloped all over England robbing the rich.”
“And giving to the poor?”
“Of course. All the maidens kissed me in gratitude.” Bitterly, he said, “I’ve always had a thing about being a hero.” And look how well that had turned out.
Once again, she saw too much, for she cupped his cheek and said, “You’re my hero.”
“No. I’m really not.”
She reproved him with a shake of her head. “Such modesty. Your brothers didn’t want to play Robin Hood?”
“They didn’t live here then. They lived with their mothers.” He remembered those lonely days.
She knew, of course. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his, and in her kiss he tasted sweet, warm comfort and the assurance that she would be here for him forever.
That was the kind of promise he could not make, and he pulled away. “Well. Turn around, straddle that beast, and tell me where you want to go!”
For a second, she looked both bewildered and hurt.
But he grinned and did his best imitation of boyish excitement, so she flung her leg over the wide branch, placed her hands flat on the rough bark, and ordered, “Take me to medieval England to meet this Robin Hood you speak of!”
“Hang on,” he warned, and pushed the branch up, then down, then settled it into a steady, rhythmic swaying like a horse’s trot. He waved an arm around. “Here we are in Sherwood Forest.”
“It’s beautiful.” She pointed. “Look at yon castle!”
“Ride quickly!” He picked up the pace. “That’s the castle of evil Prince John.”
She booed.
“Now here we are among Robin Hood’s merry men.” He let go of the branch, and it swayed to a stop. Putting his fists on his hips, he struck a pose. “And I am Robin Hood. You are Maid Marian?”
“No.” Penelope sounded absolutely disgusted. “Maid Marian always needed to be rescued. I don’t need to be rescued! I ride with you, for justice and freedom.”
Noah looked around. “My merry men don’t know what to think about that. What qualifications does such a weak little woman have to ride with my stalwart band?”
Breaking a narrow, leafy branch off the tree, she pointed it right between his eyes. “I come from the future, and I brought a light saber!”
Surprised, he started laughing, a little at first, then so hard he fell down on the lawn and rocked and held his belly.
She jumped off the branch and whacked him on the stomach with the branch. “Hey, if I want to bring a light saber on my trip, I can!”
He nodded and wheezed. “Yes, of course you can. And because of your forethought, you are henceforth one of Robin Hood’s men.”
She knelt beside him and grabbed his arms, and he let her push them over his head. “Robin Hood’s woman,” she said, “or no deal.”
He looked into her eyes and his laughter faded. “That is exactly who you are—Robin Hood’s woman.”
“And Robin Hood had better be careful or his woman will overthrow him and take control of his band of merry men.”
He snapped his arms down and around her, and rolled her beneath him. “I’d like to see you try, my maiden warrior.”
She struggled, giggling.
He watched her and laughed, too, and all the time his heart ached, because… never in his life would he find another woman like this one, and all too soon they would be parted.…
Chapter 32
Now Noah backed Penelope against the same tree, against the same trunk… but everything was different. She had lived through sorrow and the destruction of her life, both at his hands and at the hands of fate. And nothing she had believed about Noah was the truth… was it?
“Civilized?” He used the word like an obscenity. “You say we’re civilized?”
“I can be civilized.” He smelled good, like bergamot orange. Yes, and he smelled of brimstone, too. Of temptation irresistible.
“I know better.” His voice vibrated through her, all heat and depth and not very hidden message.
“What do you mean by that?”
His face was flushed, his features taut and intense. “I mean you might walk the walk and talk the talk, but you can’t deny there’s something between us. And I know what you’re like when I—” He didn’t even finish the sentence. Before her brain could work out what was coming next, he was leaning against her, trapping her between the sturdy strength of the oak and his own warm, living, muscled power, and he pressed his lips on hers. And for all that his body threw off anger like heat from a furnace, the pressure was perfect. She remembered this.
And then his kiss changed. Became persuasive. Needy. Unrelenting. Different from any kiss she’d ever enjoyed. Different from any kiss they’d ever exchanged. Different from any kiss in the history of the world.
This was seduction, pure and simple, a rage of passion, a glory of touch, a distraction from anything outside of this moment, anything that was not him. Tongues. Teeth. Lips. Raw emotion.
Longing.
That was it. She recognized it. Longing. He longed for her, desired her, wanted her.
He wanted to be one with her. To kiss, touch, be inside her.
She opened her lips wider, wishing for a lasting taste of him, and at once he filled her mouth with the flavor of his emotions: fury, determination, anguish.…
Anguish?
She pulled away just far enough to murmur, “Why anguish?”
He jerked back as if she’d slapped him.
Then his eyes flashed. “You’re too smart for your own good. That’s why I’ve missed you every damned second since the day I was a complete and total ass… and drove you away.” The memory of his own actions seemed to infuriate him more, and whatever subtlety he had used in the previous kiss vanished. He wrapped his arms around her waist, gathered her so she was leaning against him, teetering and off balance—and he kissed her.
All her senses opened to him, taken by storm. She could almost hear the crackle of hell’s fire as it enveloped her, enveloped them, shrouding them from the breeze, from the whisper of the trees, from the scent of grass. The world narrowed down to Penelope and Noah, and nothing else existed.
Stupidly, she opened her arms to him, reaching her hands up to his shoulders, gripping him, glorying in the muscles th
at rippled beneath her fingers. She opened her lips to him. Opened her body to him. And she longed every bit as fiercely as he did.
He finished the kiss to her mouth, but he wasn’t through with her. His fingers dug into her bottom; he lifted her.
She needed no urging, for instinct and desire drove her now. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders.
He walked to the most massive oak branch, one that draped the ground, and placed her into a fork where the mighty branch split into two.
It was a leafy nest, a promise of green privacy in the midst of nature. She was secure, the tree holding most of her weight, the bark rough against her jeans, and at the same time she was wedged against him, against his erection—and that was exactly where she wanted to be.
He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the lobes of her ears.
He rocked his hips against her.
He feasted on her throat all the way down to the first closed button on her shirt.
Lower down, he moved rhythmically, with precision, pressing himself into the cleft of her body. He kissed her lips again, caressed her breasts through her bra, ran his thumb over her nipples.
And that rhythm went on and on, relentless, taunting her.
He looked into her eyes. “If we were naked, you would come, right out here beneath the blue skies.” He smiled, a buccaneer’s slash of amusement. “Oh, wait… we don’t have to be naked. You’re going to come anyway.”
“No.”
“Yes, Penelope. I promise. You’ll come.”
“No.” She didn’t want to. That kind of orgasm, here in his arms, outdoors where anyone could walk up and see them; it was embarrassing. And while he maintained control? No. She did not want to yield that power to him.
“No,” she said again.
But not only her heart was lonely; her body was lonely, too. She had neglected it, ignored its needs, and now… He was so precise, targeting exactly the right spot, whispering in her ear, “Yes, Penelope. Do it. Now. I need you to come for me. I know you’re so close.” He opened two more buttons on her shirt. He fingered the front catch on her bra, popped it open, used his fingers to spread it wide.
She had forgotten how long his fingers were, how efficient his big hands were when it came to giving her pleasure.
She had forgotten that his erection could be so hard, so hot, so present beneath too many layers of clothes.
She had never had the occasion to realize she could say, “No,” and at the same time use her legs to hold him tightly, or that she would rub herself on him without a thought to anything except achieving sex. With him.
She knew only that when he cupped her bare breast, lifted it to his mouth, and sucked hard on her nipple—she came. Hell’s flames enveloped her, burning her to cinders. She dug her fingers into his back. She gasped, her body pulsing against his. She cried out. At last.
And he lifted his mouth from her breast, pressed her face to his chest, muffled her sounds of completion in the folds of his shirt.
She smelled starch. Cotton. Noah.
Bergamot orange. And brimstone.
Vaguely in some corner of her mind she knew that later she would be embarrassed. Right now, there was only complete and utter satisfaction.
And the mighty tide of his longing washing over her.
He longed, yes. He wanted to be inside her. But right now he was taking care of her, holding her, encouraging her, touching her, stroking her.
Yes, her pleasure gave him pleasure, too.
When she had finished, when the orgasm eased and Penelope was limp in Noah’s arms, he tilted her back until she was dependent on him for balance. He slid his hand up to her throat, held her until she lifted her eyes to meet his.
“Civilized?” He nudged his still-strong erection against her. “All I want is to sleep with you, screw you, come with you, come in you, make you mine until you can’t remember any man, any life except me and mine.”
She whimpered, his words creating a brief aftershock of climax.
He waited until she had finished, then said, “So don’t talk to me about civilized. There is nothing civilized about you and me.”
She heard him, looked at him, absorbed him. Wanted everything he wanted. Finally, she whispered, “Why can’t we have all those things? Why can’t we have sex?”
He smiled.
It wasn’t cheerful. “Because there isn’t time.” He helped her slide off the branch. He supported her while he fastened her bra, buttoned her shirt. He held her.… “Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. “Your eyes are so big and brown, pleading with me, and you make me want more than I dare grasp.” He wet his lips. “I brought you out here to vanquish memories, not build them. And… there’s no time,” he repeated, and he touched the closed top button on his shirt as if he had taken a vow of celibacy.
“Noah…” She brushed the soft strands of hair off his forehead, feathered the tips of her fingers across his cheek, tenderly outlined his lips… and smiled a wanton’s smile. “Actually, it wouldn’t take very long.”
He gave a bark of laughter, then sobered. Once again, he was intense, burning her with his gaze. “Not the first time. But once I got you underneath me, the rest of the world could go to hell. And I would go to hell for forgetting.” Catching her hand, he pressed a kiss into her palm, folded her fingers over it. “No, Penelope. You’ve already distracted me and challenged me. Time vanishes even while I race to catch it.”
She didn’t know what he meant. His eyes were wild, and his words seemed to ramble. “Noah, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ve had ten years to prepare for this. There’s no use whining about the way it’s playing out.” He held her elbow. “Are you steady enough to stand?”
She nodded.
“I’ve got to go for a walk.” He gestured down at himself. “I’m not fit for civilized company.”
Just like that, he walked away, down the driveway and out of sight.
She didn’t know why she was surprised. Walking away was, after all, what he was good at.
Sarah, June, Annie, Brooke, Chloë, and Bao—and Ritter—walked out of the living room, where they’d been clustered around the big window.
Eli, Rafe, and DuPey walked out of Sarah’s bedroom, where they’d been clustered around that window.
They met in the hall.
“Now, that’s the way it’s done,” Annie pronounced.
“Um-hmm,” June agreed.
“Nonna, you’ve got too many leaves on that tree,” Rafe said. “We couldn’t see.”
“My front yard is not a peep show,” Sarah said primly.
“No. Damn it.” Eli laughed and tucked his hand in Chloë’s arm. “I’d say that fire in Noah never got put out.”
“No,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “Which leads me to wonder—again—why did he ever let her go?”
Chloë took it to the next logical level. “And why is he leaving her now?”
Chapter 33
Noah walked down Nonna’s winding driveway like a man fleeing his demons. But there was no leaving them behind.
He touched the collar that held his doom.
What was he thinking, kidnapping Penelope like a pirate on the prowl? He couldn’t blame alcohol—he’d had one beer, and he hadn’t finished it. Yet as soon as he’d seen her stroll into his family’s kitchen, he had been intoxicated with desire. Not just for sex. That was too easy. But for the years they had lived apart when they could have been together, for the meals they’d missed sharing at Nonna’s, for the children they would have had, for fights and reconciliations and laughter and love.
He had a brain. He had never needed to use it more than he needed to use it now.
Unfortunately, he also had a dick.
And he had only enough blood in his body to supply one or the other.
He could think. Or he could lust. Not both. Not at the same time.
And he desperately needed to think. As soon as dinner was over and he could esca
pe, he was going back home to work on his project. It was delicate. It took every ounce of his attention. His two weeks were flying past. He’d told Penelope there was no time. He meant it.
Liesbeth didn’t know him. She didn’t understand him. She imagined that because he’d been raised in a loving environment surrounded by honorable people, he was not like her.
Yet given the right circumstances, he was like her. The blood of the czars ran in his veins. Could he be cruel? Could he be ruthless? Oh, yes.
Liesbeth didn’t realize that if he didn’t find that bottle, if fourteen days passed and his time was up, he wasn’t going alone. He wasn’t dying and leaving his wacko criminal of a mother and her depraved family to threaten Nonna, and Rafe and Brooke, and Eli and Chloë. And Penelope, who had found a job with Rafe and Brooke.
Noah might go to hell.
But by God, he would have company.
The walk in the late-afternoon sunshine, up and down the hills, past the lawn and the trees of Nonna’s yard, past the vines planted by the original Di Lucas at the start of the twentieth century… it should have soothed him.
Yet frustration sizzled in his veins, and he couldn’t take it in. He couldn’t reminisce about his boyhood spent here in the sunshine. He couldn’t remember the hours spent tagging along after his grandfather, learning to trim the vines. He couldn’t remember days spent with his brothers, climbing trees and playing baseball. He remembered the happy moments of his boyhood through a gray veil of grief: grief that he had taken them for granted, that he hadn’t understood how rare and brief those days would be.
How was it possible that Penelope was here, no longer the girl who had ignited his desire, but a woman, confident and intelligent?
Damn it.
Damn it.
He wanted, he lusted, he longed… and he could not have.
Nine years ago, he had had no right to involve her in his doleful fate, yet he’d been young and impetuous, and he hadn’t been able to resist her.
Since then, she’d lost a husband and a mother. What kind of ass would jump her bones now, use the solace of her love to smooth the edge of his fear, and then in a violent, bloody display, abandon her to loneliness again?