Read Online Remember Summer by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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very certain. The words weren’t a question or even an invitation, but a simple statement of fact.
Raine knew it would be useless to argue. Nor was there any reason to. For one thing, there wasn’t enough light left for photography. For another, it would be foolish to keep wandering alone over the unknown land with darkness coming down.
And, she admitted to herself, there was the simple, overwhelming truth that she wasn’t ready to leave Cord yet.
“Yes,” she said huskily.
He touched her mouth with his fingertips, then forced himself to turn away. He picked up the rucksack, laced his fingers through hers, and began walking back toward the country club, holding her close to his side. Even as he slowed to accommodate her smaller steps, she lengthened her strides to equal his longer ones. They exchanged a look of almost startled recognition, smiled, and continued walking, their steps evenly matched.
Lights from distant houses glowed in the sunset, making the sky overhead a deep, radiant indigo by comparison. Neither Cord nor Raine spoke. Each sensed that it was safer, if not smarter, to let the simple warmth of their interlaced fingers speak for them.
When they reached the clubhouse, there was a helicopter sitting at the far end of the parking lot, well away from the few parked cars. The chopper was small and sleek. It had neither military nor civilian markings. Its rotors turned lazily, waiting.
Before Raine could control her reaction, her footsteps slowed, then stopped completely. She had seen her father climb into similar helicopters and disappear for weeks at a time with neither warning nor parting words. Her fingers tightened for just an instant before she could force herself to release Cord’s hand. She had no right to hang onto him, no claim, no need. She was an adult, not a child.
He felt both the tension of her hand and the sudden release. She didn’t have to be told that the helicopter was waiting for him. After all, she was Blue’s daughter. She knew all about uncertainty and unexpected good-byes.
Knew it, and hated it, her resentment plain in first the tightness and then the quick, final retreat of her fingers.
Silently, deeply, Cord cursed the life he led, running up against its requirements like a mustang coming up against a fence for the first time in its wild life. Other women had found his job romantic, the secrets of his work tantalizing, the danger implicit in the gun he wore erotic.
But not Raine. She knew his work for what it was, a deadly enemy of intimacy.
With a hoarse sound he pulled her into his arms, holding her hard and close, ignoring the clash of binoculars and camera. When he felt the resistance of her closed lips, he simply tightened his arms, demanding what he must have, not really knowing or caring why.
For a long, agonizing moment, she clenched herself against him. In the next heartbeat she softened, unable to deny him what they both wanted. He spoke her name roughly, relief and hunger and apology in a single syllable.
Then he kissed her until she forgot everything but the taste and feel of him. Passion and restraint, strength and yearning, danger and safety, gentleness and ruthlessness, everything that he was and could be poured through the single kiss.
The reality of Cord swept through her like a storm, shaking her safe, predictable world, shattering her defenses and demanding that she make a place next to the civilized, womanly fire that he had guarded for so many years without ever knowing its warmth.
When he finally loosened his arms and stepped back, Raine could hardly stand. She closed her eyes but still she saw him, his thick black hair and icy, burning blue eyes, the lines of his face harsh with need and his mouth shockingly sensual as he looked at her, wanting her.
Needing her.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Seven o’clock. Dinner.”
“No,” she answered, her eyes still closed. “You don’t know where you’ll be tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be
Raine knew it would be useless to argue. Nor was there any reason to. For one thing, there wasn’t enough light left for photography. For another, it would be foolish to keep wandering alone over the unknown land with darkness coming down.
And, she admitted to herself, there was the simple, overwhelming truth that she wasn’t ready to leave Cord yet.
“Yes,” she said huskily.
He touched her mouth with his fingertips, then forced himself to turn away. He picked up the rucksack, laced his fingers through hers, and began walking back toward the country club, holding her close to his side. Even as he slowed to accommodate her smaller steps, she lengthened her strides to equal his longer ones. They exchanged a look of almost startled recognition, smiled, and continued walking, their steps evenly matched.
Lights from distant houses glowed in the sunset, making the sky overhead a deep, radiant indigo by comparison. Neither Cord nor Raine spoke. Each sensed that it was safer, if not smarter, to let the simple warmth of their interlaced fingers speak for them.
When they reached the clubhouse, there was a helicopter sitting at the far end of the parking lot, well away from the few parked cars. The chopper was small and sleek. It had neither military nor civilian markings. Its rotors turned lazily, waiting.
Before Raine could control her reaction, her footsteps slowed, then stopped completely. She had seen her father climb into similar helicopters and disappear for weeks at a time with neither warning nor parting words. Her fingers tightened for just an instant before she could force herself to release Cord’s hand. She had no right to hang onto him, no claim, no need. She was an adult, not a child.
He felt both the tension of her hand and the sudden release. She didn’t have to be told that the helicopter was waiting for him. After all, she was Blue’s daughter. She knew all about uncertainty and unexpected good-byes.
Knew it, and hated it, her resentment plain in first the tightness and then the quick, final retreat of her fingers.
Silently, deeply, Cord cursed the life he led, running up against its requirements like a mustang coming up against a fence for the first time in its wild life. Other women had found his job romantic, the secrets of his work tantalizing, the danger implicit in the gun he wore erotic.
But not Raine. She knew his work for what it was, a deadly enemy of intimacy.
With a hoarse sound he pulled her into his arms, holding her hard and close, ignoring the clash of binoculars and camera. When he felt the resistance of her closed lips, he simply tightened his arms, demanding what he must have, not really knowing or caring why.
For a long, agonizing moment, she clenched herself against him. In the next heartbeat she softened, unable to deny him what they both wanted. He spoke her name roughly, relief and hunger and apology in a single syllable.
Then he kissed her until she forgot everything but the taste and feel of him. Passion and restraint, strength and yearning, danger and safety, gentleness and ruthlessness, everything that he was and could be poured through the single kiss.
The reality of Cord swept through her like a storm, shaking her safe, predictable world, shattering her defenses and demanding that she make a place next to the civilized, womanly fire that he had guarded for so many years without ever knowing its warmth.
When he finally loosened his arms and stepped back, Raine could hardly stand. She closed her eyes but still she saw him, his thick black hair and icy, burning blue eyes, the lines of his face harsh with need and his mouth shockingly sensual as he looked at her, wanting her.
Needing her.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Seven o’clock. Dinner.”
“No,” she answered, her eyes still closed. “You don’t know where you’ll be tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be
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