The Best is Yet to Come Part 8

She couldn't deny it. She traced a pattern in the stone and tried to breathe normally.

"It's for your sake," he said roughly. "You and I both know that you aren't ready for a physical relations.h.i.+p with a man. Not when you're still having nightmares about betraying Ben."

She wanted more than that from him, although she was touched that he'd felt that way for so long. It was now or never, she thought. She was going to trust to luck and tell him the truth about her marriage. Perhaps if he understood why she felt the way she did, they might be able to start over.

She pushed back a strand of her long black hair hesitantly. "The nightmares aren't about betraying Ben," she said huskily.

He felt his breath catch. "Then what are they about?" he asked.

"He hurt me, physically," she said nervously. Her eyes fell to his throat.

It was the first time she'd ever confided in him, even if she was telling him something he already knew. That was a start, at least. But he had secrets of his own, that she didn't know about. Secrets that were involved with Ben's life and death. He was carrying around a lot of guilt that he hadn't tried to deal with. Every time he touched Ivy, the guilt came back, and that was half of what made him mad. The other half was the desire borne of his desperate love for her, so sweeping that it possessed him. He wanted the communion of love with her, the oneness, knowing already that it was going to be the most profound experience of his life. But only if Ivy loved him, too. He couldn't bear to make love to her completely unless he had her love. That was what stopped him every time. That was what tormented him.

Now she was admitting that her marriage hadn't been perfect. Her love for Ben had apparently sustained it, though, despite his cruelty to her. It hurt him, thinking that the other man could have been so unkind to her. She was a gentle, sweet woman. But for his own lack of vision when she was eighteen, he might have spared her the anguish Ben had given her. She might have loved him instead of Ben, but he'd drawn back, thinking her too young for marriage. He could hardly bear to think about it.

"I a.s.sume you had no idea that he drank when you married him," he said, choosing his words carefully.

"I felt sorry for him," she said. "He was a kind, gentle man and he'd stopped drinking, for good, he said. I thought I could help keep him straight." She laughed bitterly. "I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. I thought he'd get better, but he only got worse."

"I'm sorry about that," he said, his voice heavy with regret.

"So am I," she said. "Once I was in, I couldn't get out, I was trapped, as much as by my conscience as by his need. I just seemed to go cold." She hesitated. "I still am, in a lot of ways." She drew in a slow breath. "I couldn't have an affair with you, though, Ryder. Desire alone just isn't enough," she managed slowly, trying not to think how beautiful that ultimate expression of love would be with him, if he cared even just a little. She glanced at him, but his face gave nothing away.

He lifted an eyebrow. "It may surprise you to hear it, but it isn't enough for me, either," he pointed out. "That's why I'm trying to keep my distance," he added meaningfully.

"Oh." She didn't know why she was surprised. After all, he'd never mentioned love. At least he was an honorable man. He wasn't going to seduce her out of a purely physical need. That was rea.s.suring, and she relaxed.

A reluctant smile touched his wide, chiseled mouth at her expression. "Did you think I notched my bedpost?" he murmured.

The teasing remark was more like the Ryder she used to know. She smiled back. "Don't you?"

He shook his head. "I told you in the beginning that it had been a long time. I wasn't joking. I've outgrown my curiosity about the opposite s.e.x. Although," he mused with a slow appraisal of her body, "not about you, I suppose. G.o.d, I love looking at you without your clothes."

She went scarlet and averted her face. "I don't know what possessed me!" she burst out.

"Nothing so terrible, little one," he said quietly. "Loneliness gets to us all eventually. Don't worry about it. You're human, that's all. Just like me." He slid a big-brother arm around her. "We'll keep things on the old footing, okay? No pressure, no problems. We've been friends for a long time. Let's not lose that."

"I couldn't bear to," she confessed, savoring the nearness. She sighed contentedly. "The tour guide said they had an exhibit of arms and armor down below," she reminded him. "Want to go and see it?"

Her enthusiasm was contagious. He chuckled softly. "We might as well," he replied. "Then I'll treat you to some extraordinary seafood."

"Great!" She brightened as they went back down the steps. He seemed in a better mood altogether, and what he'd said, combined with his less threatening behavior, rea.s.sured her.

She wasn't paying attention to her footing and she missed a step. It was a long way to the stone floor below, and she would have had a bad fall. But Ryder threw himself toward her and caught her, spinning her into his hard arms.

"My G.o.d, watch what you're doing!" he exclaimed angrily.

She only heard the anger at first, but then she felt the faint tremor in his hands, and when she regained her balance and looked up, she saw that his face was pale.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He let go of her abruptly. "No sweat. Just pay attention from now on, will you? It's a long way to the ground."

"I will." She felt his hand under her elbow, and she smiled to herself. It made her feel warm all over that he cared whether or not she hurt herself.

That sense of jubilation lasted the rest of the day. They toured the Ripley Museum nearby and she shuddered at the Iron Maiden exhibit and the Chinese man with two sets of eyes. They had fish and chips at a local restaurant and then went on to the small arcade, which featured a Christmas shop that stayed open year-round. Ivy found a whole roomful of teddy bears, and Ryder impulsively bought her one, a honey-colored bear with a lifelike face and a long nose. She hugged its plush softness against her as they walked along the sidewalk to the car.

"Thank you," she said, laughing up at him as she cuddled the huge toy. "I've wanted one of these most of my life. We were poor when I was little, so I did without a lot of toys."

"No one could call you spoiled," he murmured. It made him feel protective, watching her with the stuffed animal. He remembered how poor the McKenzies had been when he moved to south Georgia with his parents and sister. But Ivy, like her mother, had always been bright and cheerful despite their lack of material wealth. It was one of the things he admired about them.

"I'm beginning to feel spoiled," she murmured, hugging the bear. "Thank you, Ryder. I'll take good care of him."

"My pleasure." The look on her face was thanks enough. It amused him that she liked the toy so much. She had to be persuaded to put it in the back seat while he drove them back to Jacksonville.

He had to meet a businessman for supper, so Ivy ordered a chef's salad and watched a late-run movie on TV before she finally turned in. She lay on top of the covers with her precious bear next to her, praying that the nightmares wouldn't come back tonight. She'd wanted to tell Ryder about her marriage, about the way it had really been with Ben, in bed. She'd tried, but he'd changed the subject before she could. Perhaps it was a good thing. The last thing she wanted from him was pity.

Her mind went back to the way he'd kissed her at the Castillo, and the pa.s.sionate way she'd responded to his ardor. Perhaps she wasn't completely frigid after all. It gave her a little hope. She closed her eyes and let the memories flow over her. She felt anew the impact of his eyes on her body, the warm, hard crush of his mouth on her own, the delicate caress of his warm, strong hands. She moved restlessly on the covers, her gown riding up around her thighs. She burned all over. The sensations she felt were new and delicious, and she watched the open door half hoping that Ryder would come in. But he didn't, and the fever her own memories aroused eventually exhausted her.

She pulled the covers over her, curled the bear closer and closed her eyes. Finally she slept, and without nightmares.

When Ryder came in, she was dead to the world. He paused at her open bedroom door, smiling as he saw her cuddling the bear. He moved to the bed, the smile fading as he looked down at her sleeping face. Her long black hair lay in disheveled ripples around her face. Long black eyelashes curled down on cheeks flushed with sleep. The cover was over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and he fought the need to pull it away, to bare her to his eyes. Every day brought a new struggle with himself to keep his distance. He loved her more than his own life. He didn't know how long he could hold out.

He bent and brushed his lips with breathless tenderness over her closed eyes. She stirred and smiled and whispered a name.

He stood up slowly, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. As he went out, closing the door behind him, he felt dazed. The name she'd whispered so huskily was his.

The next morning they headed home, but he stopped off in Savannah to buy her mother some pralines on River Street. They strolled along the cobblestone streets, made of ballast left off by visiting s.h.i.+ps generations ago, past the statue of the Waving Girl. Ivy had never been to Savannah. The huge live oaks fascinated her, like the port itself. There were people milling around, and Ryder wanted privacy. He wanted to talk to Ivy, and not while he was trying to concentrate on driving. Privacy. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it?

"How would you like to go to the beach?" he asked suddenly.

"It's winter!" she exclaimed.

"Sure it is. But it's plenty warm enough for us to sit on the dunes and watch the ocean."

She laughed. It was crazy. "All right. I'd love it!"

"Then let's go," he said, catching her hand warmly in his. He took her back to the car, where the bear was sitting regally in the back seat, and drove out of town to Savannah Beach. It was pretty deserted at this time of year, but they could still walk along the strand and watch the waves roll in.

He pulled her down beside him near a dune rippling with sea oats and fingered part of a sh.e.l.l he'd found. They were both wearing jeans today, but he had on a green polo s.h.i.+rt, and she was wearing a white blouse and gray sweater. Amazing, she mused, how they never clashed in their color choices.

"Tell me about Ben, Ivy," he said unexpectedly.

She hesitated. There were things still too painful to talk about, but she'd wanted to tell him. Now was as good a time as any.

"I failed him," she said simply. "He was a good man when he wasn't drinking. But toward the last, he drank almost constantly."

"That was when he hurt you," he murmured.

She nodded. "He was always sorry afterward," she said. The wind caught her hair and tousled it. "I couldn't be what he wanted me to be. I did try," she said, lifting her tormented eyes to his. "But I... Ryder, I think I'm frigid."

He picked up a sh.e.l.l from the sand, rubbing it absently. "Do you?" he murmured, and smiled gently, a momentary softening of his hard face. "After what we did together in St. Augustine?"

She realized immediately what he was saying, and her breath caught. "Yes...well, I wondered about that."

"Wondered?" he prompted gently.

She swallowed. "I never felt like that with Ben," she confessed.

The sh.e.l.l froze in his fingers as he stared at her. "Never?" He exploded.

Her thin shoulders rose and fell. "Never," she said. "He knew, of course. I tried at first to pretend, but..."

"Why in G.o.d's name did you marry him, feeling like that?" he demanded.

"I didn't think it was that important. He was gentle and kind and I didn't mind when he kissed me. It's just that I didn't really feel anything, either. And in bed...oh, my G.o.d," she groaned, putting her hands over her face. "Oh, my G.o.d, I've never hated anything so much in all my life as I hated...that!"

At last, they were getting somewhere. He turned the sh.e.l.l over and over in his hand and chose his words. "That," he said, emphasizing the word, as she had, "is a beautiful communion between two people who care for each other. But the chemistry has to be there."

"I found that out the hard way," she said. "Ben and I were good friends. I thought it would be enough."

"Not in bed," he mused, watching her.

"No. Not ever in bed." She twined her fingers together. "I was afraid, after that time with you. Not only of you," she said, when she saw his face harden, "but of what I felt and the way I acted. I thought that since Ben was so gentle, and I didn't get very excited, that everything would be wonderful. I wasn't afraid of him, you see. He was safe...." Her voice trailed away.

"But I wasn't," he said, staring at her.

She glanced up and then back down again. "No. You weren't. You turned me into someone else when you touched me, and I couldn't handle it." She stared out at the cras.h.i.+ng whitecaps and her eyes dulled. "My wedding night toppled all my illusions. And his. He thought I knew what to do. Isn't that incredible-?" Her voice broke.

"I don't want to hear about it," he said through his teeth.

Ivy glanced at him, surprised. He wouldn't look at her, and his body was rigid. Why...it mattered to him!

"It wouldn't have been like that with you, would it, Ryder?" she asked gently. "The way I felt with you-that wildness, I mean-it would have made it easy, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," he said. His voice seemed to vibrate with the same dull roar as the waves. .h.i.tting the beach. "That wildness would probably have spared you most of the pain, because you'd have gone with me every step of the way. It would have been the way it was at the Castillo, Ivy, when you threw back your head and arched toward my lips. Only much, much more violent and sweet."

"I never thought of violence in bed," she said hesitantly.

"I don't mean cruelty," he said. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Her voice was sad. "Until I married, the only experience I ever had was with you, that night."

His body reacted feverishly to that statement. He stood up and kept his back to her, struggling for control. "It might have been better for both of us if I'd never touched you," he said bitterly.

She didn't look up. She'd thought of that, too-that if he'd never kissed her, she might have responded to Ben. Ben might still be alive, because she wouldn't have had anyone to compare him with. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't so. She'd been head over heels in love with Ryder long before Ben came into her life as a prospective husband. Ryder had been her life. He still was.

Ryder glanced at her brooding face for a long moment before he turned his attention back to the sea. He threw the sh.e.l.l as hard as he could into the ocean, walking absently down the beach with one lean hand shoved deep into his pocket. The wind lifted his hair, tousling it.

Ivy's eyes were drawn to him, and they lingered on his long, powerful body as he stood staring out to sea. He was a handsome man, and he had a physical presence that worked magic on women. But it was more than that. He had a kind, generous spirit that compensated for his quick temper and occasional melancholy. He was everything a man should be, and she wanted him so, in every way there was. She wondered what he might say if she told him that.

She got to her own feet, following along behind him. It was warm on the beach, but inside she was chilled to the bone.

"You always go away," she said sadly, joining him where the waves dampened the sand. "You do it without even moving."

He didn't look at her. He shoved both hands deep into his pockets and watched the water swirl in over the beach. "Do you know how much of my life I've spent alone?" he asked.

No, she didn't. She knew that he'd been alone since Eve married and his father moved to New York, but his early life was pretty much a blank for her. Eve, while fond of her brother, had never been really close to him because there was such a difference in their ages. Eve had never talked about Ryder's early life, and he himself was very reticent on the subject.

"I a.s.sumed you had the usual home life," she began.

"I grew up in an exclusive boarding school," he said. "When I was at home, my father tolerated me and not much more."

"Your mother loved you," she said.

"Yes, she did," he agreed absently. "But I needed my father, and he never gave a d.a.m.n about me. I don't think he really wanted children at all. G.o.d knows, he never acted as if he did. Eventually, he made it all but impossible for me to spend any time with my mother. I wasn't allowed to come home for holidays after I was twelve. I was sent to military school in the eighth grade, and from there I went to college-ROTC-and into the Army. By then, Eve had come along and my mother adored her. Oddly enough, my father didn't seem to mind her affection for their daughter."

He sounded bitter, and probably he was, she thought, watching him. "Maybe he didn't think a daughter was the same kind of compet.i.tion."

"Yes, I finally figured that out for myself. I grew up to be an overachiever, and probably I owe my father for it. But there were times when I'd gladly have traded it all for somebody to take me to ball games and play catch with me out in the backyard."

"At least you had a father, of sorts," she said with a smile. "I never knew mine. Mama said he was very special."

"Your mother is very special, too." He turned toward her, his pale eyes sliding warmly over her face in the sunlight. "Bright as a new penny," he murmured, watching her. "G.o.d, you're beautiful."

"Oh, no," she argued softly. "Not me."

"You. And not just the outward trappings." His lean hand touched her cheek, lightly caressing. "You're a little Dresden china doll with a heart like a marshmallow. I'd give you anything."

Her heart raced. He looked sad and sensual, a dangerous combination. He made her feel reckless.

"Anything?" she asked. She moved closer deliberately, her body singing with needs it was only just discovering. She wanted to kiss him, and it showed in her eyes, in her face.

"Yes," he said huskily. His breathing quickened. "What do you want?"

She lifted her face. "Your mouth," she whispered, her voice barely discernible above the waves.

His eyes flashed. "Are you sure?" he replied quietly. "At my age, kissing is serious business."

She touched his chest, liking the feel of the soft fabric over the warm, hard muscle. "I'm sure," she told him, her eyes as gentle as his were threatening.

"Then come here," he said softly, opening his arms.

She pressed against him, withholding nothing, making not even a pretence at modesty as she settled her body completely against his and raised her mouth.

He almost s.h.i.+vered with reaction at her unexpected compliance. He framed her face in his hands and searched her eyes for one long moment before he bent and began to bite tenderly at her mouth.

The whispery little kisses aroused, but didn't satisfy, which was apparently his intention all along. She began to feel a surge of heat that ran from her stomach down into her legs, making them trembly. She clung to his hard-muscled arms, her pose consciously inviting, her eyes slightly open, misty with longing and shocked delight.