Page 123 of Homeport

The strength and the softness of her, so endearing, so familiar. And so necessary to him.

She’d always been there. He’d always known she’d be there.

It wasn’t easy to break free. Not from his hold—she could have easily stepped away. His hands were gentle as bird wings on her face. The mouth both needy and tender.

She’d wondered, had let herself wonder once, if it would be the same. The feel of him, the taste. But that was long ago, before she’d convinced herself that friendship was enough. Now it wasn’t easy to break free of what that one long quiet kiss stirred, what it asked, what it took out of her.

She needed all of her strength of will to step back from the slowly kindling need he’d brought back to life. A need, she told herself, that wouldn’t help either of them.

He nearly pulled her back, was already reaching out blindly when she held up her hands, palms out, in warning. He jerked back as if he’d been slapped a second time.

“Oh Christ. I’m sorry. Annie, I’m sorry.” What had he done? How could he have ruined the single friendship he didn’t think he could live without? “I didn’t mean to do that. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

She let him wind down, let the miserable guilt settle on his face. “I bounced a two-hundred-pound man out of my bar last night because he thought he could buy me along with a beer and a bump.” She clamped her hand around Andrew’s left thumb and gave it a quick twist. His eyes widened, his breath hissed as she held it. “I could have you on your knees, pal, whimpering if I gave this one little digit a good yank back. We’re not seventeen anymore, not quite so stupid and a hell of a lot less innocent. If I hadn’t wanted your hands on me, you’d have been flat on your back, checking out the cracks in my ceiling plaster.”

Sweat began to pearl on his forehead. “Ah, could you let go?”

“Sure.” Obligingly, she released his thumb, and kept her eyebrows arrogantly cocked. “Want a Coke? You look a little sweaty.” She turned and stepped to the refrigerator.

“I don’t want to ruin things,” he began.

“Ruin what?”

“Us. You matter, Annie. You’ve always mattered.”

She stared blindly into the refrigerator. “You’ve always mattered too. I’ll let you know when you ruin things.”

“I want to talk about . . . before.”

He waited while she popped the tops on two bottles. Grace in economy of motion, he thought, a steel spine in a well-toned body. Had he noticed those things before? Noticed the little flecks of gold in her eyes? Or had he just stored them up so they’d all come to him in a flood in a moment just like this?

“Why?”

“Maybe to face things—something I didn’t realize until lately was stuck inside me.” He flexed his fingers, felt the ache. “I’m not in the best shape right now, but I have to start somewhere. Sometime.”

She set the bottles on the counter, forced herself to turn, to meet his eyes. And hers were swimming with emotions she’d struggled to keep locked in for years. “It’s painful for me, Andrew.”

“You wanted the baby.” The breath he released hurt his chest. He’d never spoken of the baby before, not out loud. “I could see it in your face when you told me you were pregnant. It scared the hell out of me.”

“I was too young to know what I wanted.” Then she closed her eyes because it was a lie. “Yes, yes, I wanted the baby. I had this idiotic fantasy that I’d tell you, and you’d be happy and just sweep me up. Then we’d . . . Well, that’s as far as it went. But you didn’t want me.”

His mouth was dry as dust, his gut raw. He knew one drink would smooth it all away. Cursing himself for thinking of that at such a time, he snagged one of the bottles off the counter and gulped down soda that seemed sickly and sweet. “I cared about you.”

“You didn’t love me, Andrew. I was just a girl you got lucky with on the beach one night.”

He slammed the bottle down again. “It wasn’t like that. Goddamn it, you know it wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” she said evenly. “I was in love with you, Andrew, and I knew when I lay down on the blanket with you that you weren’t in love with me. I didn’t care. I didn’t expect anything. Andrew Jones of Jones Point and Annie McLean from the waterfront? I was young, but I wasn’t stupid.”

“I would have married you.”

“Would you?” Her voice went chilly. “Your offer didn’t even hit lukewarm.”

“I know it.” And that was something that had eaten away at him slowly, a nibble at a time, for fifteen years. “I didn’t give you what you needed that day. I didn’t know how. If I had, you might have made a different choice.”

“If I’d taken you up on it, you would have hated me. When you offered, part of you already did.” She moved her shoulders, picked up her own Coke. “And looking back, I can’t blame you. I’d have ruined your life.” The bottle froze halfway to her lips as he stepped toward her. The hot glint of fury in his eyes had her bracing against the counter. He snatched the bottle out of her hand, set it down, then took a hard grip on her shoulders.

“I don’t know how it would have been—and that’s something I’ve asked myself more than once over the years. But I know how it was. Maybe I wasn’t in love with you, I don’t know. But making love with you mattered to me.” And that, he realized, was something else he’d never said aloud, something neither one of them had faced. “However badly I handled things afterward, that night mattered. And damn it, Annie, damn it,” he added, giving her a brisk shake, “you might have made my life.”

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