Cedar Cove Collection

They had one glass of wine with the salad and another before the entrée of baked salmon with a dill sauce so creamy Maryellen closed her eyes to savor the first bite. Dessert was an apple-and-date torte.

Between courses, Jon filled her wineglass again, opening a second bottle, and when they’d finished dinner, Maryellen was warm and slightly dizzy. He brought her to a comfortable sofa. A classical CD—she recognized Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”—played in the background.

“I’m going to need lots of coffee,” she told him.

“It’s already brewing.”

She could smell the rich aroma. Feeling flushed and utterly content, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa and looked out over the astonishing view. Lights twinkled like fireflies in the distance, and the dark water reflected a three-quarter moon. Jon had turned off the lights, so her own image wasn’t mirrored in the glass. There was nothing to interfere with the view.

He sat down next to her. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Then as if she might misunderstand the question, he added, “Being here with me, I mean.”

“It’s been very…nice.”

“Admit it. I’m not so frightening, am I?”

She shifted sideways to look at him and smiled. “You can be.”

“When?”

“When you kiss me.” It must be the wine talking, yet it was the truth.

Jon took her hand and examined her long, tapering fingers. “This might come as s surprise, but your kisses frighten me, too.”

“I frighten you?” This didn’t surprise so much as amuse Maryellen.

As if to prove his point, he bent forward and pressed his mouth to hers. It was a gentle, undemanding kiss but one that promised so much more.

“See?” he said in a low voice, sounding unlike himself. He flattened her hand against his chest. “Feel my heart.”

“Yes… It’s beating hard.” Her own heart was pounding, too. Wanting to reveal what his kisses did to her, she leaned toward him and placed her mouth over his. The kiss was deeper, longer, more involved. By the time it ended, Maryellen’s head was swimming. “Feel my heart,” she whispered.

Jon laid his large hand over her chest, but then as though he couldn’t resist, he cupped her breast. He gave her ample opportunity to stop him, but she couldn’t. The feelings his touch produced in her were too exciting. Too enticing. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse as he continued to kiss her. Even before he’d finished, she reached behind and released her bra, letting her breasts spill forward. Jon caught them with both hands and groaned when she leaned closer and ran her tongue along the inner edge of his ear.

After that, everything happened so fast, Maryellen lost track of who undressed whom. All she knew was that they were on the sofa and Jon was about to make love to her. His eyes held hers as he positioned himself above her.

“Do you want this?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded, so eager for him that she wrapped her arms tightly around him and urged his mouth back to hers.

“Say it,” he insisted.

“Yes, please.”

Their lovemaking was long and slow. And it was exquisite, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. At some point during the night, they moved upstairs to his bed. Exhausted, Maryellen fell into a deep sleep with Jon’s body curled around hers, his arm over her waist, his hand pressing her close.

Shortly before dawn, with morning just beginning to light the sky, she stirred. Startled, barely aware of her surroundings, Maryellen woke and abruptly sat up. “Where am I?” she asked.

“You’re with me,” Jon said and brought her back into his arms. He kissed her again and she turned to face him.

The second time they made love, she sat atop him, her long hair streaming over her shoulders and onto her breasts.

In the morning, Maryellen woke first and lay quietly in his arms for several moments, considering what she’d done. Jon Bowman had seduced her—and she’d let him. He’d wined and dined her and then he’d lured her into his bed—and she’d let him. She’d been a willing participant, without a thought to birth control or any form of protection. This was insanity.

Careful not to disturb him, she slipped out of the bed, mortified to find she was completely nude. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she gathered her clothes piece by piece and held them against her breasts. She’d put her underwear on and was stepping into her wool slacks when Jon appeared at the top of the stairs, naked from the waist up.

“You’re sneaking away?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Her intentions were obvious, and they didn’t include breakfast over coffee and a newspaper, either. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did. Are you going to pretend it didn’t?”

Her face burned red. “Yes.”

“Maryellen, be reasonable.”

“No—we have a professional relationship. It can’t be anything else.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t have any answers without launching into explanations she didn’t want to give. “Because it can’t. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be.”

“You owe me more than that.”

“I owe you nothing.” She continued dressing as fast as she could, zipping up her pants. “You planned this little seduction. The wine, the dinner, the music…”

“The hell I did! You wanted me as much as I wanted you. If you’re going to be angry, fine, but at least be honest.”

“Yes, I wanted you, but I would never have slept with you if you hadn’t blackmailed me into coming out here. You had everything planned—right down to the three glasses of wine, didn’t you?” She flipped the hair away from her face and grabbed her blouse. She jerked her arms into the sleeves and didn’t bother to fasten the buttons before walking over to the closet and grabbing her coat. She yanked it free and left the hanger swinging.

“Maryellen,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave like this. Don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself. I didn’t plan what happened.”

“It’s very clear that you did.” When she was young and naive and a virgin, Clint had lured her into his bed with wine and promises. They’d taken wild, irresponsible chances with pregnancy, just as she’d done now. In all the years since her marriage and divorce, she’d apparently learned nothing.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Believe what you want, but I know the truth and so do you.”

Maryellen stomped out, and it wasn’t until she’d driven halfway home that she remembered the photographs.

Eight

Jack didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to stand having Eric in his house. His very small house. When he went to make breakfast that morning, he discovered an empty bread sack. Eric had eaten the last of the bread. That was just the most recent instance of his son’s thoughtlessness. He wondered how Shelly coped with Eric’s slovenly behavior, cursing as he shoved plates and cups into the dishwasher.

Doing his best to control his irritation, Jack decided he could go without his morning toast. It would be good for his waistline. However his attitude didn’t improve when he discovered that Eric had used up most of the hot water for his own shower and then thrown in a load of wash.

Unaware that the hot water tank was empty, Jack stepped into the stall and turned on the water, only to be drenched in icy spray. Yelping, he slammed open the glass door, scrambled out and grabbed a towel. Unfortunately it was damp from Eric’s shower. His son had managed to use both towels, so there wasn’t a dry one for Jack.

“That does it!” he shouted, flinging down the towel. When Eric had first come to live with him, it was supposed to be for a few days. This had gone on for weeks now, and Jack was putting an end to it.

His disposition was quickly moving from irritation to outrage as he tried to dress, still wet from the shower. Twice he had to stop and take deep breaths in order to calm his thundering heart. As far as he could see, Eric and Shelly were at a stalemate. Neither one of them was going to budge. Jack had hoped they’d patch things up on Thanksgiving Day at Olivia’s. Unfortunately, Shelly had refused the invitation.