He lifted a lock of her hair and rubbed its silky length between two fingers before releasing it into a gliding rest against her breast.
Not a bad place to be. "Sounds good to me."
Lori sank to the blanket, kicked her sandals free and drew her knees up. Her silky dress pooled around her. Gray hunkered down onto the blanket beside her, wincing as last twinges of the bends creaked through him. Pine needles cushioned the ground beneath the blanket. His back propped against a weather-worn oak, he stretched his legs in front of him, his feet only an inch away from her hip.
Wind lifted Lori's hair. "Did you bring me out here to see your etchings, flyboy?"
Gray snorted on a laugh. "If I had, you'd already be on your back."
"Or you would be on yours."
"Now there's a thought." He grasped her bare foot, his thumb rubbing the arch. When she didn't pull away, he draped his other wrist over his bent knee and pointed. "That star right there. Betelgeuse. It was the first one my dad taught me. Even before 'Nam, Dad had a low tolerance for noise. When family gatherings got to be too much for him, he would bring me out here with him. He taught me about celestial navigation."
"What a beautiful memory." Her chin fell to rest on her knees.
A year ago she would have leaned back in his arms.
"We didn't have a lot of money, but he spent time with us." Gray targeted another star with his finger and continued squeezing her foot gently. The heat and softness of her surged up his arm. "That one there. Polaris. You could follow it straight over the North Pole and down to Vietnam."
"And you went there in your mind." She stared up at the star, her voice as sure as if she'd watched him sit in his special spot all those lonely nights as a kid.
"At least a thousand times." His head tipped back against the rough bark. The stars shimmered and blurred. "God, Lori, he was a mess when he got home. What they did to my dad…"
Gray tried to swallow but couldn't.
A rustle from the blanket pulled his attention from the sky. Lori tugged her foot free and crawled toward him. Her knees straddled either side of his extended legs as they sat face-to-face.
The swirl of peach preceded her lips by a millisecond.
She cupped his face in her hands, pressing her mouth to his, firm, grounding him. Right now the sky held little allure as Lori threw herself against him like a warm barrier against painful memories.
He whispered against her lips. "I'm going to miss you so damned much. The past year—"
"Stop it." She kissed one eye. "Stop talking." Then the other eye. "We're not any good at farewells, anyway." She kissed his mouth.
Popcorn. She tasted like buttery popcorn and Lori, and he wanted more of her.
Gray bit back words, surprising words that would beg her to go with him to Washington. She'd turned him down a year ago. Why would now be different? And if she accepted? If anything, he should protect her by keeping his damned mouth shut.
Or otherwise occupied.
He tasted, drank of her, like a drug, potent and healing. Lori, the real healer, and as always he took from her. But, damn it, with his defenses in the negative numbers, he couldn't turn her away yet.
Her lips worked over him, open, tongues twining. Close. Not close enough. Gripping her hips, he drew her securely onto his lap. Her sundress caressed the top of his hands, Lori's silky skin and satiny panties tempted beneath his touch. Chest to chest, hearts thudding, he held her and stole more, everything she would give him.
Trailing up her sides, his fingers splayed, cupped and lifted her small breasts. A perfect fit, filling his hands and senses with the same incredible rightness he'd experienced the first time he'd touched her.
Impatient hands, hers and his, shoved open the vee neck of her wraparound dress and popped the front clasp on her bra. No more waiting, he closed his mouth over one nipple, already peaked and ready for him.
Humid air and need prickled beads of sweat along his brow. Lori sipped them from his skin.
He wanted her. So simple. So everything.
Always, always it had been explosive between them, and he was tired of running from it. He wanted the rockets, explosion, the damn fireworks she offered.
Thought became difficult, if not impossible when she touched him. Playfulness had always come after a combustible release. He wasn't feeling at all playful. A year without her had left him struggling to level out, when he wanted nothing more than to soar out of control.
His hand snaked under her dress again and found the smooth bare skin of her hips, waist, stomach. He explored the line of her panties with one lazy finger, two barely there scraps of satin attached with fragile straps. So very Lori, conservative and in control on the outside, seductive satin and heat underneath.