she whispered. “What are you doing in there?”
He grimaced. What was he doing in there, indeed? “Sitting.” He went for the obvious.
There was a long silence as the summer night sounds penetrated the thin walls of the gazebo. The structure smelled of wood and flowers, the cushions on the bench soft and accommodating.
How many times had the two of them met secretly in this very place, concealed by the shadows? A dozen times? A dozen dozen?
“Have you been here since I left?”
“No.”
Although he wished differently. His father’s reaction had hit him hard. Harder than he would have imagined it might. What man turned his own blood away from the door? Especially considering that man didn’t appear to have anyone else.
To his surprise, Penelope came inside the gazebo and sat opposite him. She was little more than a warm blur and quiet breathing, the subtle scent of jasmine tempting his thoughts … elsewhere.
“That was a short date,” he commented.
He heard her soft laugh. “Yes. It was.”
“I hope I didn’t ruin things.”
She shifted, leaning back against the cushions. “Why is it that I doubt that?”
“Maybe because you always did know me better than I gave you credit for.”
He heard her swallow. “Not as well as I’d hoped, it appears.”
The words were said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear them.
While years separated tonight from the last time they’d shared the gazebo, it seemed as if it could have been yesterday. Not because of what he said, or she did. But because of the way he felt.
Palmer planted his forearms on his thighs and joined his hands between his knees. The movement put him within touching distance of Penelope. He waited to see if she’d move away or stay put. He knew a little thrill when she stayed put.
It was odd, the … need he felt for her. Even now. Time and space and maturity had made him believe that what he remembered was kid stuff. A major crush. A hormonally induced love.
But that theory no longer held water. Because right now he felt just as needy as he had back then. Perhaps even more so. All he wanted to do was reach over and haul her into his lap. Claim that mouth of hers with his. Lay his hand against her soft breast. Hear her sigh in his ear.
He cleared his throat. “I went to visit my father tonight.”
He swore he could feel her gaze probing his face in the dark.
“I know I should have gone before now … He’d heard I was back …”
He ran his hands through his hair and then returned to clutching them between his knees.
“He pretended not to know me and closed the door.”
She made a small sound he interpreted as surprise.
Palmer squinted in her direction although he couldn’t really see her. “Is it possible that he didn’t recognize his own blood?”
Penelope knew of his awkward at best, animosity-filled at worst, relationship with his father going way back. In fact, she was the only one who’d known outside his own mother. He’d told her all about it. Well, not everything.
“I knew who you were instantly,” she whispered.
Thank God for that, he thought. He didn’t know what he would have done had he faced rejection twice in one night.
Then again, if it weren’t for Penelope’s suggestion that he see his father, he might never have gone over there.
“So why do you think he did it?” he asked.
She made another small sound, but this time not because of what he’d said, but because he’d stretched his fingers and the tips were touching her knees. The hem of her dress fell just above, leaving him free to feel her warm skin.
And she was warm … And soft … And inviting …
God help him, but he wanted her so badly he hurt.
“Palmer … please …”
His hands drifted upward as if on their own accord, tunneling under the material.
Penelope gasped and trapped them with hers.
He was close enough to kiss her. Close enough to smell her skin. Close enough to feel her breath against his face.
“When I first saw you tonight,” he whispered, his voice ragged, “I thought I’d traveled back in time. Back to when we were both kids. When the world was nothing but a big question mark outside that gate. And where nothing existed but my need to kiss you.”
He was surprised by his words. It was one thing to privately acknowledge them. Another to put them out there where she might rebuff them. Might rebuff him.
“When I agreed to come back here to see to this business venture … I’d hoped I might see you.” Her hands were still on his. “But I never expected to feel this … way for you. Again.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
“I understand that you may not feel the same …”
Long heartbeats passed. Palmer didn’t speak. And neither did Penelope. They merely sat there practically forehead-to-forehead, him with his eyes closed.
Then, finally, she spoke.
“That’s the problem.” She paused. “I feel exactly the same …”
AND IT WAS A PROBLEM for Penelope. A monumental dilemma. Because whereas Palmer seemed glad to be feeling the way he had way back then, she was heartbroken to find herself in a place she never expected to be again.
So much time had passed …
Yet it amounted to a little more than a drop in a bucket …
She tried to think of Barnaby. To hold desperately onto all of the reasons why she shouldn’t let Palmer kiss her. But as he leaned even closer to her, all reason fled, leaving only acute awareness in its wake.
When his lips finally met hers, a moan years in the making wound up and around her throat, exiting softly. She released his hands and snaked her arms over his shoulders. How could he taste the same? How could his hair still be thick and coarse against her fingers? How could that longing that she hadn’t experienced since he’d left emerge as if he had never disappeared?
Palmer groaned, his freed hands sliding even further up under her dress. When the back of his fingers skimmed the front of her damp panties, she nearly jumped from the seat.
“God, I’d forgotten how responsive you were.” He kissed her long and hard. “I
