Kisses like that were probably illegal in half the states in the union. Kisses that ended with a woman coming up for air, wearing nothing but a black satin teddy, sitting in the lap of a man still fully dressed, straddling him, held close against his sex with two strong, skilled hands that were right now cupping her buttocks through the satin.
She stared into his eyes, just stared, caught like a deer in headlights as his hands slid up her body, caressing her with satin.
"I need you," he said, staring up into her eyes as he spoke, sending the words pulsing through her. "Now. Right now."
She felt her own pulse throb against his need. She swayed slightly as his hands released her, gasped as his thumbs stroked her nipples through the satin, then slipped away to touch her breasts, her belly, her buttocks, with satin seduction.
"I want you to take me," she said clearly, arching into his kiss as he bent to caress her breast with his mouth, through the satin. "Now, Blake. Please."
But he knew ways to torture her with seduction first, to drive a high, breathless scream from her as she peaked for him once, then again, and he urged her up the steep slope of passion a third time, his mouth now rough on her flesh, his breath painfully ragged.
She was conscious of nothing but him, but when he struggled out of his jeans and reached back for something, she knew, and in that moment she understood that she wanted, needed more than memories from this man.
She touched him intimately, bringing a groan to his throat. "Now," she urged. "Please, Blake... now."
She felt him tremble, but when his hand pulled away from his jeans she could see the foil package and, heart pounding with something more than passion, she took it from him.
"Claire—"
"Don't." She swallowed and said, "I'm on the pill."
He was motionless, as if frozen, then he said, "Are you sure?"
"Yes." And if there were a hell for liars, she'd be going there, because she somehow stared him straight in the eyes and saw that he believed her.
"It's been over a year for me," Blake said, "and I've always... there aren't any other risks. Claire, I... God, if you do that..."
"Hush," she said, placing his hand over her breast, feeling his sex harden under her, knowing that whatever sins she committed with her lie, at least she would be able to tell his child that she had loved his father.
* * *
As Blake had predicted, the morning sea lay calm under an overcast sky. Claire drained the cold water on last night's dishes and washed them while Blake made a breakfast of bacon and eggs. Then she slipped their breakfast dishes into the water and waved away his offer of help.
"I'll get the anchor then," he said, pulling her close for a leisurely kiss. "You don't mind? I want to be at the shipyard before the boys turn up."
That brought a smile from her. "Setting them a good example?"
"Something like that."
She was still smiling when he went up on deck, smiling as she heard the engine start, then footsteps on deck, followed by the sound of the anchor chain being hauled in. Of course, she thought, he would take the precaution of starting the engine, making sure it did start, before he raised anchor. For a man who'd once been a hell-raising teenager, who still loved speed and risk, he had a remarkably cautious streak.
Then her smile died, leaving her with both hands in the dishwater, her heart pounding with something like panic.
If he knew,
she thought.
If he knew what I've done.
Staring straight into his eyes and saying,
I'm on the pill.
Knowing as she spoke that if she weren't already pregnant with his child, the chances were very good that by the time the night was over she would be.
She'd lied, twice: first in telling him there would be no repercussions from their unprotected lovemaking yesterday morning, then telling him she was on the pill. She'd lied, knowing it was wrong.
Now, staring at the dishwater, hearing his steps above her, she knew she'd tell the same lie again, because she wanted the child.
It wasn't as if she were trying to trap him into marriage or support payments. She would never tell him... he would never know. The old phrase echoed in her mind:
what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
It, too, sounded like a lie, but she'd done it now, and there was nothing to do but go on.
She washed the last dish, drained the water, and rinsed out the sink. Then she dried the dishes, putting the cutlery in its drawer, the plates into form-fitting teak shelves. When everything was shipshape, she traced the silky teak shelves with her fingers. He'd built this beautiful boat, sanded and oiled the teak and mahogany. She wondered if his child would inherit Blake's talent for creating beauty.
She'd better control those thoughts, or Blake would notice. He was too perceptive, and he seemed to have an unerring instinct for her moods and her fears. It wouldn't do to let him know she had a secret.
Later, once Friday came, she could let herself think about the possibility of a child, could let herself plan.
Through the window, she saw movement and realized the sounds of the anchor chain had stopped. She grabbed her jacket and went up above and found Blake at the tiller, bringing the boat around in a circle until the bow pointed to the buildings she could see onshore in the distance—Port Townsend.
He flashed her a smile. "No sailing this morning. There isn't a breath of wind. Want to steer?"
"Yes, please."
He handed the tiller over to her, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders.
"Where's the marina?" she asked, and he pointed it out to her, his hand over her shoulder, his face close to hers. She turned her head and met his lips, a brief, sweet kiss that ended with his eyes smiling into hers. She got her breath again and concentrated on steering until she knew her voice would be steady.
"What will you be working on today?"
"More sanding. I'll set Jake and Tim to work on that. Jake's getting pretty good at it now that he's actually turning up to work. I'll work on the mast boot."
She smiled, wondering what the devil a mast boot was, and the notes of Nana Mouskouri's
Only Love
played in her memory as a slow swell rolled under the boat. She felt Blake's body sway with the practiced rhythm of a sailor.
"Can I help with the sanding? I enjoyed the other day."
"You can't really enjoy sanding."
"Don't you?"
She felt his shrug. "I enjoy coaxing beauty out of a good piece of wood."
She liked that image, and it was easy to picture him patiently coaxing the beauty from wood that looked plain until he put his hands on it.
"That's what you do with the boys," she said. "You coax the beauty out."
He didn't reply and when she twisted to see his face, she realized she'd embarrassed him. It pleased her, knowing she could.
"How long do you want with the boys tonight?" he asked.
"Three or four hours."
His hands dropped and settled around her waist, drawing her back against him. Oddly, it wasn't a sexual embrace.
"Why don't I take you out for a late dinner afterward, then dancing?"
"All right," she agreed, thinking it would be best to spend as much time as possible between now and Friday morning in the presence of other people, where he was less likely to ask the sort of personal questions that might trip her up.
She should have welcomed the silence that fell between them, but it unnerved her, as if it contained a threat. She guessed they were halfway across the passage between their anchorage and the marina when he finally spoke.
"When are you due back in Arizona?"
"A week from Saturday."
"So you could stay a few days longer?"
"I can't." A few days more and she'd give herself away, she knew she would. She couldn't afford to spend more time, to fall even more deeply under this man's spell. "I've only got the condo for a week, and besides—"
"Stay at my place."
"I have to be in San Francisco Saturday for an appointment. Then there's a symposium of astronomers, starting Sunday."
She started to breathe again in the silence, feeling as if she'd just skated past some very thin ice.
"Where's the symposium?"
"Pasadena."
Mercifully, a boat appeared from their right, crossing their path, and Blake took over the steering. By the time the boat had crossed ahead of them and disappeared in the direction of Keystone, they were close enough to the marina that Blake had to concentrate on navigating, directing Claire to put down the fenders and get the docking lines ready.
She enjoyed the bustle of docking, and enjoyed watching Blake skillfully jockey the boat into position in the limited space of the marina, bringing it to rest perfectly aligned in its space. She enjoyed watching him jump lightly onto the dock—the float, she corrected with an inward smile—and efficiently fasten the first line.
"Toss me the bow line," he called, and she scrambled to obey, shouting, "Aye, aye, Captain," as she threw the coil of rope and he caught it with one hand, his eyes sparking laughter at her.
When the boat was shipshape, they walked together up the ramp.
"I'm glad you're coming to the shipyard this morning," he said, catching her hand in his. "You can look over the supplies we bought yesterday, be sure we have everything we need to start on the telescope project tonight."
"So you are going to be involved in building it?" she asked. "I wasn't sure from your reaction on Sunday."
"What reaction?" They'd reached his motorcycle and he released the helmets from their catch and handed one to her.
"We're only going a block," she protested.
"Helmets," he said firmly. "What reaction, Claire?"
"You seemed angry about the project, angry with me for starting it... as if I were somehow... I don't know. You were angry."
"Because you were only giving them a few days, then you'd be gone."
"But you know—"
"I don't want you to leave. I want more than a week, Claire."
She stared at him, lips parted, unable to speak. Then she turned away, broke the prison of his gaze and found the boats, the water. She thought he would touch her, that he would reach for her, and she stiffened herself to resist the tide of sensation his touch always brought.
He said quietly, "I gather that's not what you wanted to hear?"
She tried to shake her head, couldn't even seem to do that. He wanted the affair to go on, to meet her again. But if she carried his child...
"You want to see me again?"
"We could start there, but I should warn you that I'm probably going to want more than that."
"More?" She realized she'd clenched her hands together, forced them to release. "You said this was low-risk, that you didn't want a relationship and neither did I."
"I was wrong."
"You can't..." Her hands were gripping each other again. "It's only been a few days. You can't know."
"I know I won't be ready to let you go on Friday."
She had thought she could leave, but now, staring into his eyes, she wasn't so sure. "Next year. My holidays..."
By then, the baby, if there was a baby, would be born and somehow, maybe she could... But he would know, wouldn't he? Women bore traces of childbirth, stretch marks, and... and if there were a child, she wanted to nurse the baby, and next summer she'd still be nursing, milk in her breasts.
"Next year is far too long," he said. He raised a hand as if to stop the reply she couldn't have made in any case. "This is no place to talk. We'll talk tonight, after the boys are gone."
Tonight, she thought dully, pulling the helmet over her head, glad of the barrier that would hide her face from him. He didn't want to let her go, but he had to see it was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
Much more impossible than he could know.
The ride to Blake's shipyard was too short, hardly more than a minute purring along the waterfront to the big shed with the massive motor launch outside.
"Are you sure you don't need to go back to the condo for anything?" he asked when they'd both dismounted from the bike.
"No, I'm fine."
She wanted to get inside, to find sandpaper and work to do, anything to avoid the possibility of continuing the discussion he'd begun. She needed to think, to get everything very clear in her mind, to be sure she gave nothing away.
"You're sure, Claire?" He frowned and said, "What about your pill? When do you take it?"
"My pill? Oh, it's—it's okay." When did Jennifer take her birth control pills? "I take it in the morning. I've already taken it."
"You brought them with you?"
"Yes, in my purse."
He laughed and brushed another of those shattering kisses over her lips. "You're blushing, Claire. You don't need to be embarrassed."
"I... I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sorry either. Come on, let's get organized before the kids turn up. It's only Tuesday. I don't want them getting the idea that it's OK to sleep in and turn up late."
Tuesday, she thought. Only Tuesday, and the day had hardly begun. It wasn't yet eight o'clock and already the day was sprouting more complications than she'd dealt with in the whole of her thirty-one years.
She clutched her purse tightly against herself, imagining what would happen if it fell to the ground, if the catch sprang open and spilled out her lipstick, her keys, her comb, her toothbrush and the hair fasteners she'd slipped inside yesterday afternoon. He would bend to help her pick up the mess, and he would notice right away. Not a birth control pill in sight.
She supposed she could say she'd forgotten them on the boat, but he'd probably go back to get them for her. He seemed very determined to ensure they didn't accidentally conceive a child. Not that this child would be an accident—well, it would be if they'd made a baby yesterday morning in his shower. But last night, and this morning as dawn filled the sky.... Well, that was no accident, just her lies, her deliberate plan to have his baby without telling him.
She didn't know what her father would think of her affair with Blake, but she had no doubt what his opinion would be of
this.
And Jennifer—she knew very well Jennifer wouldn't approve. If she told her friend—which she supposed she would if she didn't end up in Chile—Jennifer was going to give her a very uncomfortable lecture.