Grady's Wedding by Patricia McLinn

simply vaulted from meeting her lips to near explosion or had the heat of the kisses, of her fingers in his hair, her palms on his cheeks, seared the intermediate steps from his memory?
    It didn’t matter. This is what’s important.
    Her shirt had ridden up, so they were skin to skin where his arm circled her back, where his hand caressed her midriff. His fingers grazed the silky material at the lower curve of her bra, and he craved much more. With his free hand on her legs, he pulled her tightly against him, the pressure of her hip against him a pain that made him groan with pleasure.
    He stroked the long line of her thigh, dipping inside the wide cuff of her shorts. He spread his hand, marveling at the smoothness. But he wanted more. He pushed the shorts up, delving nearer the mysteries Leslie hid.
    She made a sound he could almost tell himself was surrender, but an instant later she shifted in his hold, moving infinitesimally away from him.
    “Grady—”
    He moved with her, following her, taking her mouth, sweeping his hand lower, lower, until his fingertips encountered the silky material of her panties.
    But she retreated again, and this time he did not follow.
    Though he didn’t give up her lips until she exerted firm pressure against his shoulders.
    “Grady. Stop.”
    “You really want me to stop, don’t you.”
    “Yes.”
    He didn’t understand her at all. “But you are attracted to me.”
    Her body had told him that, but he waited for her lips to try to lie.
    “You’re a very attractive man.”
    If she’d denied the power between them, he could have proven her wrong. But how could he argue with agreement?
    “Then why?”
    “Because it wouldn’t be right.”
    “Why not?”
    She shook her head a little—he guessed at his stubbornness—but she answered evenly. “Because I don’t believe in short-term flings. And even if I did, with both of us being friends with all of them—” Her gesture took in the house behind them. “It could only lead to strained feelings, at best, when it ended.”
    “What’s to say it would have to end?” he demanded boldly. His question must have surprised her less than him, because she answered calmly enough.
    “Two things right off. First, we don’t have anything in common. And second, your history.”
    Her voice held no condemnation, yet he felt like a condemned man. He couldn’t even claim he was innocent.
    He couldn’t deny that short-term romances filled his history. When he’d been younger that had made him no different from most of his contemporaries. But now he found most men his age had something deeper with one person, while he still jumped from relationship to relationship. He’d felt vaguely uncomfortable about that for some time. Most often when his friends teased him—because he valued their opinion of him, and he discovered he wasn’t particularly proud of this aspect of his life. And lately he’d found the chase so much more of a burden than a pleasure that he hadn’t bothered. Though the reputation had lived on.
    But never before had it made him feel so shoddy.
    He didn’t look at Leslie as he stood, brushed the sand from his shorts and extended his hand to her.
    “Guess it’s time to call it a night.”
    * * * *
    Good-nights were brief. Only minutes after Leslie and Grady reached the porch, Tris and Michael arrived. Before long, everyone was heading off for bed.
    But an hour later she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a framed print of daisies in an earthenware jar.
    She decided to pack.
    She’d have time in the morning, but she had time now, too, along with too many thoughts and too many nerve endings still singing a siren’s song. She’d folded everything except her robe and what she’d wear tomorrow and started sorting through her cosmetics bag when she realized she’d left her brush on the porch.
    The only way to the porch was through the living room, where Grady slept on the couch.
    Her heart started beating more quickly