Devil's Creek Page 15

  In spite of his troubled conscience, in spite of how exhausted he felt, he drove harder and deeper. He couldn’t stop. His voice defied him, too, unleashing the feelings he’d bottled up for so long. “I love you, Grace.”

  “I know, Professor.” She cupped his bottom and pulled him impossibly closer to her, wrapping her legs tight around his waist. “I know.”

  He abandoned himself now, feeling his passion rise to heights he’d not known possible, and from his distant past he remembered how it was with Caroline, how incredibly perfect it had been. Now, again, he felt the same sense of incredible inner abandonment, of wild and unadorned raw desire brought to a taut and inexplicable climax.

  Grace screamed and gripped him hard in pulsing waves, her head thrown back in euphoria. “Anderson,” she moaned, again driving up and down beneath him until he shuddered and exploded inside her seconds later.

  “Grace,” Anderson groaned and collapsed on top of her, still unsure that it had really happened. “Oh my God, Grace.”

  The room began to come back into focus. The cat purred at the foot of the bed, curled in a tight ball. The sheets on the narrow bed beneath them smelled like the outdoors. The moonlight that streamed into the room silvered the floor. And the soft body lying beneath him was warm and breathing. Real.

  He had just crossed the line. He’d made love to a twenty-two year old student. He’d broken the university rules.

  A sense of doom filled him.

  He’d done it now. He’d just ruined his career, disappointed his inner self, and betrayed the nice people who were Grace’s parents, all in one swift, tantalizingly delicious moment.

  How would he face himself in the morning? How would he look into her father’s eyes?

  He touched her face with his hands, stroking the softness of her cheeks and lips with one finger. “Oh, Grace. We shouldn’t have.”

  “No worries.” She put a finger to his lips and suddenly lifted her legs around him again. “I know. But I need you again. Now.”

  Chapter 42

  When the rose-colored morning light sifted in through the bunkhouse windows, Anderson’s eyes snapped open.

  Had he dreamed the whole thing? Or was it real?

  He sat up. Alone. Wearing the pajamas he’d gone to bed in.

  He sniffed his pillow and his heartbeat kicked up a notch.

  Grace. The scent of her hair wafted up to him.

  Oh, God. Grace.

  What have I done?

  The clock showed six-fifteen. He’d only had a few hours sleep. And if his memories were right, he’d made love to her three times in just two hours.

  They hadn’t even used protection, he realized, slamming his palm against his forehead.

  He hurriedly grabbed yesterday’s clothes and ran down to the bathroom, starting up the shower. After a quick rinse, he’d jump in his car and head home. To think. To figure things out.

  Should he resign?

  He loved his job, and he’d hate to leave the university. But he’d just broken a sacred rule: no relationships with students. Although he knew other professors had ignored the rules—flagrantly at times—he just couldn’t do that. It was wrong. And he couldn’t live with himself for giving in to his carnal desires.

  But he’d been half-asleep, hadn’t he?

  You’re making excuses.

  It was a poor excuse, but it was the truth. In that half-awake stage he really hadn’t understood what was happening, until it was too late. He’d already been halfway to exploding inside her when he grasped what was happening.

  He slid out of the pajamas and tee shirt and into the hot stream of water. He soaped up, feeling the morning-after throbbing pulses in his muscles.

  A hand reached in and drew the curtain back.

  Grace.

  Naked, she stepped into the shower and pressed against him. “Hi.”

  In the golden light of morning, she looked like a goddess: eyes shining, skin gleaming, hair tumbling down her back. The water ran down her perfect curves as if adoring her, gently streaming over her breasts, stomach, and legs.

  He firmly pushed her away. “Grace. No. We can’t do this again.”

  She pouted, laughed, and moved closer, reaching down to close her fingers around him. “Why not?”

  He groaned and moved her hand away from his hardening member. “No.”

  “But you didn’t say no last night, Professor.” Her words came out in a purr, a gravely tone so evocative of last night’s sensations, he nearly gave in again.

  “No, Grace. It’s not right. You’re only twenty-two.”

  “Nearly twenty-three.” She took his hand and placed it on one of her swelling breasts.

  “But I’m your teacher. It’s against the rules.” He drew his hand away from her.

  Up on tiptoes, she whispered into his ear, moving her slippery body against his. “You said you loved me.”

  He gently pinned her arms to her side. “And I do. But this isn’t right.”

  “I don’t care about some stupid school rules. I’ll quit the damned school. I love you, too.”

  His heart jackhammered beneath his ribs. “You do?”

  She looked up at him through wet lashes. “Yes.”

  “I’ll lose my job,” he said, feeling himself weakening.

  “Not if I quit. Or if I don’t tell anyone.” She reached again for him, sliding her wet fingers up and down on his skin. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “I’m thirty-eight years old.”

  “I know, silly.” She grinned through the spray of water. “I’ve researched it. Lots of successful marriages start out this way. May-December relationships have the lowest divorce rates.”

  “Really?” He looked down at her. Her impish expression tore at his heart. She stood there, ready for him, wanting him, loving him.

  Loving him?

  Could she really?

  Would it be so bad if she left school? Or maybe went to another college? More important, would her parents hate him, or accept him?

  She stroked him harder and he moaned, reaching for her. “Oh, God. Grace. How can I resist you?”

  “You can’t, Professor.” She reached her lips to his. “Now make love to me as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see me.”

  As if they’d choreographed this difficult event for years, he lifted her up and leaned her against the wet shower wall. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer. With one hand, he explored between her legs to be sure she was ready to take him, but all signs pointed to go.

  Gently, he guided himself to her, and in one magnificent thrust, he was deep inside the woman who loved him. Slowly and with excruciating care, he drove up and down until he couldn’t stand the intense pleasure another second. This time, they came together, and with a twinge of guilt, he was certain her family would hear her shouts of joy all the way in the farmhouse.

  ∞∞∞

  Except for Salvatore, who teased Grace mercilessly until she spilled the beans, no one knew about their affair. She acted indifferently to Anderson during the day in their theater class or during chance meetings in the halls, but at night she consumed him with her passion in the place she’d begun to call their love nest. His drab little apartment, which he’d always thought of as boring and dull, now turned into a haven of sweet pleasures, his favorite place on the planet. He couldn’t wait at night to return home to find her there already, either soaking in a sudsy bath or lying in wait between the sheets. Afterwards, he’d always cook something simple for them, either eggs on toast or corned beef hash, or pancakes. Grace loved pancakes.

  It had been three weeks, and they hadn’t told anyone, especially her parents. Anderson felt terrible about that, but he knew, deep in his heart, if this woman whom he adored really and truly loved him back, it would all work out in the end.

  When the last day before Thanksgiving break arrived, dread filled his heart. Grace would go home to her parents for a week, and he’d sit alone in his apartment, missing the hell out of
her.

  At the end of the last class of the day, she caught him in the nearly empty parking lot.

  “Professor?”

  He turned to her, a smile lighting up his face. “Grace. I thought you were driving home at noon.”

  “I’m leaving now. I just wanted to say I’ll miss you.”

  She kept her distance, but he felt her passion seeping through the chilled air and into his heart.

  “Oh, Grace.” His voice deepened, hoarse with emotion. “It will be torture without you here.”

  “You won’t forget me?”

  “Forget you?” he laughed. “Never, my love. You’re on my mind every second of every day. And this is going to be hell, just sitting around, waiting for you.”

  “We’ll tell my folks at the end of the year, when I finish up my classes. Okay?”

  “Of course,” he said, still dreading facing up to Dirk and Daisy.

  “It’ll go fast, honey. And then we can plan the wedding.”

  His heart thumped wildly. Their wedding. She really did love him. “Will you call?” he asked, feeling a bit like a lovesick teenager.

  “Every night at ten,” she whispered, turning to walk away. At the corner of the lot, she swiveled around and blew him a kiss.

  He caught it and pressed it to his heart.

  Chapter 43

  Grace drove her old Ford Escort along the road leading to her family’s farm. She passed under the artsy sign swinging above, smiling at the name: Bittersweet Hollow, Morgan Horse Farm. The orange and red bittersweet berries proliferating the woods every autumn had been the inspiration for the farm name, and the location of the property—dead center of what locals called The Hollow—had been the logical choice.

  She passed fields of recently shorn corn stalks and smelled wood smoke on the air. The Green Mountains rose in the distance, greeting her as she passed through the lower foothills cradling The Hollow in their fertile embrace.

  November had already claimed the flamboyant fall foliage, and now reddish brown leaves skittered overhead in the majestic oaks lining the dirt road. Dried leaves swirled along the road’s edges in the brisk wind, rising up in crispy brown mini-tornadoes.

  Grace pulled over for a moment to watch a mother deer and her two fawns grazing in an alfalfa field. The peaceful scene spoke to her, and she opened her window to inhale the fresh country scent. Watching the elegant animals, she wondered where they slept when the snow came, but she knew most of the wild animals made it just fine through Vermont’s bitter winters.

  A sense of joy filled her heart when she thought again of Anderson, making her almost giddy with happiness. His face filled her inner vision, and she missed him so much already, it hurt. How she longed to have his strong arms wrapped around her, his gentle voice in her ear. She even missed his pancakes.

  Oh, how I love that man.

  She giggled with excitement, so wanting to shout from the treetops about her love. But she knew if she revealed her secret too soon, her parents would go ballistic. Since she’d survived her drug addiction, all they’d wanted was for her to prove she was okay. To be a good student. To keep her nose clean, so to speak.

  She’d been pretty good at school, before Anderson. There had been a party or two, and a few nights of binge drinking in the beginning. But she hadn’t let the old demon grab hold of her again, mostly because she was so excited about the show.

  When Anderson finally gave in to her that night, proclaiming his love for her, she’d practically fallen down with exhilaration. Someone loved her. Actually loved her! She’d never felt loved by a man before, and she didn’t want to lose the dizzying sensation of pleasure it brought her.

  She hummed a tune from the show, and soon saw the white post and board fences lining the expansive pastures of her family farm. Around a corner, and there, in the distance, was the white farmhouse and the horse barns. Smoke curled out of the chimney, and she could already anticipate the taste of her mom’s turkey and stuffing at tomorrow’s family dinner.

  Portia’s old Camry sat neatly beside the barn, and Grace grimaced.

  Drat. She’s home. Miss Perfection. Miss Pretty. Miss I-can’t-do-anything-wrong.

  When Portia wasn’t home, Grace was the apple of her daddy’s eye. Mom made special treats for her, and she reveled in the attention she got as the “only” child of the moment.

  But when her older sister was there, the dynamics changed. And Grace felt like second fiddle.

  She knew her parents couldn’t help it. After all, Portia had been their pride and joy. She’d done great in high school, been a perky cheerleader, and had aced most of her classes. She finished her undergrad degree in biology with good grades, and came home exultant, talking about grad school. Talking about being a vet.

  It made her sick.

  It was all Grace could do to finish high school, and the drugs had been what she lived for. She’d had some great pals who shared the highs and lows with her, and they really had known how to party. In spite of the trouble they’d gotten in—time after time—it had been fun and for the first time in her life, she’d felt like she was a part of something.

  The harder times had come when she had been rejected from all the colleges she applied to—including the local community school—and the drugs had begun to take hold. She’d been a prisoner of her need then, and had done horrible things to get her next fix. She’d had dangerous sex with strangers, had stolen from her parents and friends, and had even worked for a while for a local dealer, smuggling deliveries across the Canadian border.

  Four long years and two unsuccessful stints in rehab… and finally, her father and their neighbor and friend Boone Hawke had dragged her kicking and screaming one last time into the rehab facility. This time it had “taken,” and she’d come out feeling ready to live her life clean again.

  So far.

  She grimaced at the thought of having to take second place to Portia again, but tried to shrug it off.

  I can do this. I have a man now. A good man. And he loves me.

  She parked beside Portia’s car and turned off the ignition. It would be good to be home again. Mom’s cooking, Dad’s folksy stories, and her horses were enough to keep her happy for at least a week without Anderson.

  ∞∞∞

  Grace lay beside Portia, giggling and snuggled onto her sister’s bed with Boomer, their new lab puppy. They’d decided to have a girls’ night together, doing each other’s nails and watching their favorite movies, like “Dirty Dancing” and “When Peggy Sue Got Married.” So far, their time together had been wonderful, and Grace realized she’d been silly to worry about it. They were grown up now, and all that ridiculous sibling rivalry of her youth began to fade in her mind. Their Thanksgiving meal had been delicious, with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and a dozen other dishes her mom always made. They’d pigged out on pumpkin pie with real whipped cream, and Grace didn’t know if she’d ever be able to eat again.

  “I love that movie. And it’s so sad about Patrick Swayze.” Grace whispered with a teary sigh when the final scene of “Dirty Dancing” faded away.

  “I know. He was so wonderful.” Portia wiped a tear from her cheek. “Will we ever find love like that?”

  Grace rolled onto her side to face her sister. “Of course we will.”

  They lay still for a while, listening to the music in the credits.

  When it was done, Grace sat up against the pillows. “What about Neil, from college? Are you still in touch with him?”

  Portia’s eyes filled. “No.”

  “Really? What happened? You talked to him every day when you first came home from school.”

  “The long distance thing was too hard. He found someone else. Took him less than three weeks to break it off with me.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have asked you sooner. Sometimes I’m a little… ” she shrugged and smiled apologetically. “self-absorbed.”

  Portia laughed. “Sometimes.”

  Grace hit
her. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me.”

  “Sorry. But there is someone I’ve got my eye on.”

  Grace nudged her. “Tell me.”

  “He’s a guy who’s been coming into the store lately. He works for a landscaping company. He’s quite the hunk.” She smirked and then turned to laugh into her pillow.

  Daisy appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “Ladies? Can you hold it down a little? Daddy’s gotta get up at five.”

  Grace glanced at the clock, which showed just past midnight. “Sorry, Mom.”

  Portia echoed her words, and Daisy backed out of the room with a sleepy smile. “Okay. G’nite girls.”

  They both said goodnight and turned back to each other with eager expressions.

  “So, tell me more,” Grace said.

  Portia grinned. “He’s tall. Bronze. And has the most amazing green eyes.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Adonis.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I call him. I don’t know his first name yet.”

  “So, you haven’t even spoken to him?”

  “Not yet. Marty takes care of all the landscapers.”

  “She’s the owner of the nursery, right?”

  “Right. She’s seventy and feisty as hell. That woman runs circles around me, I’ll tell you.”

  “Get her to introduce him to you next time.”

  “I’m working up my courage,” Portia said.

  “You can do it. Mr. Adonis might be worth the effort.”

  Portia reached for her glass of lemonade. “So, what about you? You seeing anyone at school?”

  Grace smiled mysteriously. “Yes. But I can’t tell you yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s not a reason.”

  “I know. But I’m serious. I’ll tell you at Christmas. You’ll understand then.”

  Portia leaned over to hug her sideways. “You’ll tell me. I’ll wrangle it out of you before then.”

  Grace crossed her arms and glanced toward the television. “What are we watching next?”