balloon glasses. Chocolate and assorted cheeses promised to satisfy a late night appetite.
Rory went to the hearth and put a match to the prelaid fire. Then he reached for the bag containing the mystery purchase he’d made in Carmel. “I hope you like it.”
In the top of the sack, Mariah saw black velvet. Smooth and plush in her hand, the floor-length robe unfolded as she drew it out. “It’s fabulous.” Opening the sash, she uncovered the lining of crimson silk.
He grinned. “Sedate, but with a bit of wickedness beneath.”
True to the spirit of being wicked, she took the robe with her into the bath. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she found a woman transformed. Her eyes appeared huge, soft. Golden hair spilled over her shoulders, making her look like the younger woman who had gazed into the glass in the master head aboard
Privateer,
the last time she and Rory were together like this. The night Davis had discovered their secret, she’d brought along a silky robe from home. Brushed her hair and gone out to find Rory turning the cabin into a candlelit fairyland … an idyll that lasted until the tread of his father sounded on the companionway stairs.
Brushing aside the nagging sense that running away from the city had solved nothing, she focused on the fervor in Rory’s voice when he told her there’d never been anyone for him like her.
Slowly, she took off her clothes and wrapped herself in Rory’s gift. The silk was the same hue as the ruby sparkling on her finger, black velvet an elegant foil. She picked up the brush Rory had bought her in Carmel and tamed her hair. With care, she removed the Band-aid covering the cut on her forehead. The reminder of the accident, still lined with sutures, reminded her that life was precious and ephemeral, and if she dared tonight, hers for the taking.
Feeling like an infatuated teenager, Rory waited for Mariah on their private fenced patio with a sunken Japanese-style bath. Barefoot on the slate tiles and naked under one of the hotel’s white terry robes, he swirled a snifter of brandy and imagined the dark ocean, more than a thousand feet below. On impulse, he opened the gate and saw a small path, no more than a tantalizing swath of flattened grass, leading away into the Ventana wilderness.
Tomorrow the high country beckoned, with spring hills green and wildflowers in bloom. He and Mariah would walk for hours … and talk. Did she still like peanut butter crackers? What movies could she quote? He couldn’t remember her favorite color; was it red like his?
Breathing the scent of evergreen from the nearby woods, he closed the gate. The bath steamed in the deep forest night, its heat inviting. He decided to wait for Mariah.
A smile curved his lips, and his stomach tightened, his sex stirring with anticipation. He’d told the truth this evening beside the stream where his cellular phone rested in peace. No one had ever made him feel this peculiar mix of thrill and ache.
Not his well-loved wife Elizabeth, with whom he’d had affectionate sex that left him warm yet not quite satisfied, or any of the women he’d tried on and discarded publicly courtesy of “On The Spot.” His first few months of the divorce crazies still had the power to make him ashamed. And not Sylvia Chatsworth.
No, it was Mariah, his first, and the only one he could imagine being with tonight.
Clad in nothing but the silk and velvet wrap Rory had given her, Mariah opened the sliding glass door to the patio. She felt a swell in her chest at the sight of him, bronzed skin against the white of his robe, his hair curling over the collar.
She started to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. “Let’s not spoil it with talk; things go wrong when we talk.”
There was much unsaid between them, yet he was right about the minefields awaiting them should they start discussing reality. Reinforcing her decision not to think but to feel, she accepted the pact by pressing her finger to
Rory went to the hearth and put a match to the prelaid fire. Then he reached for the bag containing the mystery purchase he’d made in Carmel. “I hope you like it.”
In the top of the sack, Mariah saw black velvet. Smooth and plush in her hand, the floor-length robe unfolded as she drew it out. “It’s fabulous.” Opening the sash, she uncovered the lining of crimson silk.
He grinned. “Sedate, but with a bit of wickedness beneath.”
True to the spirit of being wicked, she took the robe with her into the bath. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she found a woman transformed. Her eyes appeared huge, soft. Golden hair spilled over her shoulders, making her look like the younger woman who had gazed into the glass in the master head aboard
Privateer,
the last time she and Rory were together like this. The night Davis had discovered their secret, she’d brought along a silky robe from home. Brushed her hair and gone out to find Rory turning the cabin into a candlelit fairyland … an idyll that lasted until the tread of his father sounded on the companionway stairs.
Brushing aside the nagging sense that running away from the city had solved nothing, she focused on the fervor in Rory’s voice when he told her there’d never been anyone for him like her.
Slowly, she took off her clothes and wrapped herself in Rory’s gift. The silk was the same hue as the ruby sparkling on her finger, black velvet an elegant foil. She picked up the brush Rory had bought her in Carmel and tamed her hair. With care, she removed the Band-aid covering the cut on her forehead. The reminder of the accident, still lined with sutures, reminded her that life was precious and ephemeral, and if she dared tonight, hers for the taking.
Feeling like an infatuated teenager, Rory waited for Mariah on their private fenced patio with a sunken Japanese-style bath. Barefoot on the slate tiles and naked under one of the hotel’s white terry robes, he swirled a snifter of brandy and imagined the dark ocean, more than a thousand feet below. On impulse, he opened the gate and saw a small path, no more than a tantalizing swath of flattened grass, leading away into the Ventana wilderness.
Tomorrow the high country beckoned, with spring hills green and wildflowers in bloom. He and Mariah would walk for hours … and talk. Did she still like peanut butter crackers? What movies could she quote? He couldn’t remember her favorite color; was it red like his?
Breathing the scent of evergreen from the nearby woods, he closed the gate. The bath steamed in the deep forest night, its heat inviting. He decided to wait for Mariah.
A smile curved his lips, and his stomach tightened, his sex stirring with anticipation. He’d told the truth this evening beside the stream where his cellular phone rested in peace. No one had ever made him feel this peculiar mix of thrill and ache.
Not his well-loved wife Elizabeth, with whom he’d had affectionate sex that left him warm yet not quite satisfied, or any of the women he’d tried on and discarded publicly courtesy of “On The Spot.” His first few months of the divorce crazies still had the power to make him ashamed. And not Sylvia Chatsworth.
No, it was Mariah, his first, and the only one he could imagine being with tonight.
Clad in nothing but the silk and velvet wrap Rory had given her, Mariah opened the sliding glass door to the patio. She felt a swell in her chest at the sight of him, bronzed skin against the white of his robe, his hair curling over the collar.
She started to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. “Let’s not spoil it with talk; things go wrong when we talk.”
There was much unsaid between them, yet he was right about the minefields awaiting them should they start discussing reality. Reinforcing her decision not to think but to feel, she accepted the pact by pressing her finger to
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