On Mystic Lake

He looked at her and the intensity of his gaze caused a heat to flutter through her. She shivered.

“Are you sure?” He asked it simply, the only question that mattered.

And she was. Utterly, absolutely, positively sure. She felt herself moving toward him, reaching out. Later, she would never be able to remember who had touched first, or how they had come to be naked together on that massive, four-poster bed . . . but she would never forget the soft, singsongy way he whispered her name while he kissed her . . . or the way his arms wrapped around her body, holding her so close that sometimes she couldn’t breathe . . . or the shattering intensity of their lovemaking. All she could remember was that at the jagged peak of her pleasure, it was his name she cried out. Not Blake’s.

Chapter 19

Beside the bed, an oil lamp flickered gently; a ribbon of black smoke curled lazily up from the glass mouth.

Annie lay cuddled alongside Nick, her naked leg thrown across his thigh. They had been together for hours now, talking softly and laughing, and making love. About midnight, she’d reluctantly called her father and told him that she wouldn’t be home tonight—that Izzy was fighting a cold and needed Annie; but her father hadn’t been fooled. He’d listened to her rambling excuse, then asked the now familiar question: “Are you sure that’s wise, Annie Virginia?”

She’d brushed him off with a schoolgirl’s giggle and told him not to worry. She didn’t want to think about whether this was wise. For the first time in her life, she felt wicked and wild, and wonderfully alive. She’d been a good girl for so damned long. . . .

So much had changed for her tonight. The simple act of removing her wedding ring had transformed her. She’d become younger, braver, more adventurous. She had never known that sex could be so . . . fun. Tonight, in the hours she’d spent in Nick’s arms, she’d discovered a whole new woman.

When it was over—the first time—she’d expected to feel guilty and ashamed. She’d tensed herself for it, quickly devising rationalizations for her wanton behavior; but all it had taken was a word from Nick, a smile, a kiss, and all her explanations had taken flight.

Don’t pull away, he’d said, and that was all it took.

Now, they were tangled in the sheets together. About an hour ago, they’d gone scouting in the kitchen and come up with a plate of cheese and crackers and fruit, which they’d taken back into bed with them. Neither of them wanted to leave the bed and reenter the world that lurked outside this room.

Nick slid an arm around Annie and drew her close. For the first time, there was sadness in his blue eyes. “June fifteenth, huh?”

Annie caught her breath. Their gazes locked, and she felt her smile weaken.

In less than a month, Annie would be going home— such as it was. She would be leaving Nick and Izzy and Mystic, and returning to the brown world of her real life . . . or whatever was left of it.

He touched her face with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “I shouldn’t have said that. ”

“We have what we have, Nicky. Let’s not ruin it by looking ahead. The future isn’t something I like to think about. ”

His hand slid down her bare arm and settled possessively on her left hand. She knew that he was thinking about the ring she no longer wore—and about the tiny white tan line that remained to mark its place. When he finally looked at her, he was smiling again. “I’ll take whatever you have to give, and . . . ”

“And what?”

It took him a long time to answer, so long that she thought he’d changed his mind. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “And hope it’s enough. ”

Every day brought them closer together. In the last week of May, summer threw its multicolored net across the rain forest. Entire days passed without a drop of rain. Temperatures hovered around the low seventies. It was an unseasonal heat wave, and everyone in Mystic treasured the newfound warmth. Kids dug out last year’s cutoffs and pulled their bicycles out of storage. Birds clustered on telephone wires and swooped down, chattering and cawing, in search of plump, juicy worms.

Annie spent less and less time at her father’s house, and more and more in Nick’s bed. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t help herself. She was like a teenager again, consumed by her first lover. Every time she looked at Nick—which was about every fifteen seconds— she remembered their lovemaking. She couldn’t believe how uninhibited she’d become.

During the day, they were careful not to touch each other, but the forced abstinence only increased their desire. All day, Annie waited for the night to begin, so that she could creep into his bed again.

Today they’d had a wonderful time at Lake Crescent. They’d played volleyball on the beach, and rented paddle-boats, and on the long ride home, they had sung along with the radio. At home, Annie made a big pot of spaghetti, and after dinner, they sat around the big kitchen table and worked on Izzy’s reading skills.

Later, when they went upstairs, they all climbed into Izzy’s bed for story time.

Annie refused to think about how right all of this felt, how much she was beginning to belong here. She reached behind Izzy’s head and touched Nick’s shoulder, squeezing so hard for a moment that he looked up at her. At first he smiled, then slowly, that smile fell, and she knew he was seeing it in her eyes, the sudden fear, the desire that was going to hurt them all.

She turned away, focused instead on the open book.

Nick had read only the first page when the sound of a ringing telephone interrupted them. “I’d better go answer that,” he said.

“We’ll wait for you, Daddy,” Izzy said, snuggling up to Annie.

Nick pressed the book into Izzy’s hands and hurried out of the room. He came back a few minutes later, looking solemn.

Annie felt a prickling of fear. She sat up straighter, leaning forward. “Nick?”