A Will and a Way

her hand. It was cool and soft. “Add a little psychological warfare.”
    “Such as?”
    “What if we sent each one of our relatives a nice bottle of champagne?”
    Her smile came slowly. “A magnum.”
    “Naturally. It’d be interesting to see what sort of reaction we get.”
    “It would be a nasty gesture, wouldn’t it?”
    “Uh-hmm.”
    “Maybe I haven’t given your creative brain enough credit.” She fell silent as he wound her hair around his finger. “I suppose we should get some sleep.”
    “I suppose.” But his fingers skimmed down her shoulders.
    “I’m not very tired.”
    “We could play canasta.”
    “We could.” But she made no move to stop him when he nudged the thin straps of her chemise from her shoulders. “There’s always cribbage.”
    “That, too.”
    “Or…” It was her decision, they both understood that. “We might finish playing out the hand we started downstairs earlier.”
    He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the palm. “Always best to finish what you start before going on. As I recall, we were…here.” He lowered his mouth to hers. Slowly, on a sigh, she wound her arms around his neck.
    “That seems about right.”
    Holding fast, they sunk into the bed together.
    Perhaps it was because they knew each other well. Perhaps it was because they’d already waited a lifetime, but each moved slowly. Desire, for the moment, was comfortable, easy to satisfy with a touch, a taste. Passion curled inside him then unwound with a sigh. There was inch after inch of her to explore with his fingertips, with his lips. He’d waited too long, wanted too long, to miss any part of what they could give to each other.
    She was more generous than he’d imagined, less inhibited, more open. She didn’t ask to be coaxed, she didn’t pretend to need persuasion. She ran her hands over him with equal curiosity. Her mouth took from him and gave again. When his lips parted from hers, her eyes were on him, clouded with desire, dark with amusement of a shared joke. They were together,Michael thought as he buried his face in her hair. About to become lovers. The joke was on both of them.
    Her hands were steady when she pulled his sweatshirt over his head, steady still as she ran them over his chest. Her pulse wasn’t. She’d avoided this, refused this. Now she was accepting it though she knew there would be consequences she couldn’t anticipate.
    The fire crackled steadily. The soft light glowed. Consequences were for more practical times.
    Her skin slid over his with each movement. Each movement enticed. With his heartbeat beginning to hammer in his head, he journeyed lower. With openmouthed kisses he learned her body in a way he’d only been able to imagine. Her scent was everywhere, subtle at the curve of her waist, stronger at the gentle underside of her breasts. He drew it in and let it swim in his head.
    He felt the instant her lazy enjoyment darkened with power. When her breath caught on a moan, he took her deeper. They reached a point where he no longer knew what they did to each other, only that strength met need and need became desperation.
    His skin was damp. She tasted the moistness of it and craved more. So this was passion. This was the trembling, churning hunger men and women longed for. She’d never wanted it. That’s what she told herself as her body shuddered. Pleasure and pain mixed, needs and fears tangled. Her mind was as swamped with sensations as her flesh—heat and light, ecstasy and terror. The vulnerability overwhelmed her though her body arched taut and her hands clung. No one had ever brushed back her defenses so effortlessly and taken. Taken and taken.
    Breathless and desperate, she dragged his mouth back to hers. They rolled over the bed, rough, racing. Neither had had enough. While she tugged and pulled at his jeans, Michael drove her higher. He’d wanted the madness, for himself and for her. Now he felt the wild strength pouring out of her. No thought here, no logic. He rolled on top of her again, reveling in her frantic breathing.
    She curled around him, legs and arms. When he plunged into her, they watched the astonishment on each other’s faces. Not like this—it had never been like this. They’d come home. But home, each discovered, wasn’t always a peaceful place.
     
    There was silence, stunned, awkward silence. They lay tangled in the covers as the log Michael had set to fire broke apart and showered sparks against the screen. They knew