Dancing in the Dark

Seth rushed forward. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. See?” She laughed shakily and set the mug upright on the counter. “There were only a few drops left.”

He cupped her face, bent to her and brushed his mouth over hers. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“And I didn’t mean to wake you.” She glanced down at her leg, flushed and tried to tug the hem of the shirt lower. “I just...I couldn’t sleep.”

He lifted her hair from the back of her neck and pressed his lips to her soft skin. “You should have woken me.”

“It’s all right. I had to call home, anyway.”

His eyebrows rose. “At one in the morning?”

“Uh-huh. I figured my folks might be worried.”

“Sure. I understand.” He didn’t. Yes, the call home made sense, but there was a stillness to her. A removal. What had changed between the time they’d made love and now? He nodded toward the kettle. “The water still hot?”

“I think so.”

“Great.” He went to the stove, made himself a cup of tea he didn’t want. “Shall I make you some more?”

“No. Thank you. This was fine.” Her eyes met his, then slid away. “Actually, I should go home.”

You are home, he wanted to say, but instinct warned him to keep it light. “Have you looked outside? The drifts are probably four feet deep, and the wind’s still blowing.”

“I know, Seth, but—”

“Sweetheart.” To hell with caution. He went to her and took hold of her hands. They were icy in his. “What’s the matter? Did I...did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to. I would never—”

Wendy shook her head. “Making love with you was wonderful. It’s not you. It’s me.” Her gaze dropped to the counter. “I shouldn’t have let this happen,” she said in a small voice.

Seth slipped onto the stool next to her. “Why not?”

“Because it only complicates things.”

Her hair had tumbled forward, hiding her face from him. He smoothed it back, put his hand under her chin and tilted her head up, his heart constricting at the sorrow he saw in her eyes.

“How can what we feel for each other complicate things?” he asked softly.

“It just can.” She drew in a breath. “Everything changed, the day I took that fall.”

“I know.”

“You don’t. Seth—”

He put his finger across her lips. “You’re the one who had the accident, not me. I’ve been selfish, not fully grasping what that means.” His smile was rueful. “Took me a while to figure that out, huh?”

“You’ve figured out more than I have.” Wendy gave a sad laugh. “I woke up in your arms. For a second, I thought I was dreaming—and then I realized it wasn’t a dream, that I was really here, with you.” She swallowed hard. “Everything seemed so clear in Paris. I would come home, I’d talk to this doctor, he’d agree to operate on me and...and I’d be myself again. But...”

“But?” Seth urged softly.

“But there’s more to it than that.” Her fingers tightened on his. “How could I have been so foolish, Seth? How could I have thought an operation on my leg could turn back the clock?”

He could almost feel the flutter of hope inside him. “Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about wanting the surgery?”

She smiled a little at that. “You still think it’s a mistake, hmm?”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” he said truthfully, and wondered how he could not have admitted that all this time.

She put her hand against his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for saying that.” She hesitated. “But I can’t answer your question. I don’t know what I want. Not now.” She drew back and her eyes met his. “The only thing I’m sure of is that we have to talk. About me. About us. About what happened in Lillehammer.”

He looked at her, at this woman he had never stopped loving, and knew she was right. They did have to talk. He had to tell her about Pommier, and once he did, things would move quickly.

And he might lose her.

But not now, not at 2:00 a.m. under the cold fluorescent glare of the kitchen lights. Not now, after he’d only just found her again.

“I agree.” Seth stood and drew her to her feet. “It’s time we talked about everything. And we will, in the morning.”

She started to protest, but he kissed her to silence and swung her into his arms.

“Seth,” she said with a little sigh, “we can’t keep putting this off.”

“Okay. We’ll talk in bed.”

“We can’t talk in bed.”

“Of course we can.”

“Liar,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, and kissed her. He didn’t stop kissing her until they were naked in his bed again.

She reached up to him in the darkness and clasped his face.

“This is a strange way to start a conversation,” she said.

“It’s the best way to start one.”

“Seth? I love you. You need to know that. I love—”

He took her mouth with his, moved between her legs and thrust deep inside her. Wendy cried out, lifted herself to him, and soon they were lost to the world, alone together on a turbulent sea of passion.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WENDY CAME AWAKE slowly, drawn from sleep by the kiss of morning sunlight, the scent of coffee and rich spices...and the warm whisper of Seth’s mouth against hers.

“Mmm,” she murmured, her lips curving against his in a tender smile.

“Mmm, indeed.” Seth’s voice was early morning rough. So was the stubble on his jaw as she cupped his face. “Good morning.”

“G’morning,” Wendy muttered, and rolled onto her belly.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Seth planted a kiss between her shoulder blades. “Rise and shine.”

“Wha’time izit?”

“Not a morning person, huh?” He sighed dramatically. “Terrible, the stuff a man learns about a woman the first time they spend the night together.”

Wendy smiled into the pillow. She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, her eyes filled with warmth. “It was, wasn’t it? Our first whole night together.”

“And the first time we ever made love in a bed.” He grinned and kissed her. “Whatever will they think of next?”

She sniffed the air. “Coffee?” she said hopefully.

“Uh-huh. And fresh orange juice. And a stack of cinnamon French toast with maple syrup. How’s that sound?”

“Decadent.” She smiled and linked her hands behind his head. “Cinnamon French toast, huh? I’m impressed.”

“Don’t get too impressed, babe. I should warn you, that’s it. Fresh O.J. and French toast is my entire gourmette repertoire.”

He said the word with a grin that made it clear the mispronunciation was deliberate. Wendy laughed. It seemed as if she’d done more laughing in the past few days than she had in a very long time.

She touched her fingers to his mouth. “Well, I’m impressed anyway.”

“Good.” He caught her hand and bit lightly into the pad at the base of her thumb. “It was a toss-up between cinnamon toast or a bowl of cornflakes. The toast won.” He leaned down. “How about a kiss for the cook?”

Wendy pondered the question. “If I kiss you, will you tell me the time?”

“Deal.”

Their kiss was long and sweet. Seth leaned his forehead against Wendy’s and sighed.

“Better than my toast.”

“Don’t change the subject. It’s early, isn’t it? Really, really early.” She sighed. “You have to go to work.”

“Nope,” he said, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. “My boss gave me

the day off.”

“Your...?” She smiled. “Ah. I forgot the benefits of working for yourself.” She drew his head to hers and kissed him again. “Then what are we doing up so early?”

“You have an eight o’clock appointment.”

“What eight o’clock appoint—” Wendy gasped. “Amy! I promised to meet her at Twin Oaks.”