of desire streaked through her.
Her eyes flew open, met his. Once upon a time heâd caused that reaction, in quite different circumstances.Did he remember? Judging from the strain in his face, the slight tremble to his hands as he dragged her loose pants down her legs, hardly shifting her casted leg at all, he did remember.
Determined to feel nothing as he pulled on her pjâs bottoms, then covered her up with the comforter on her bed, she concentrated on breathing, concentrated on not going down memory lane every single time she so much as glanced at him.
He moved off the bed and opened her bedroom window, letting in some of the early evening breeze. And unbidden, another memory hit her. Him crossing her bedroom just like he was now, his tall, lanky form turning to shoot her a crooked grin as he eased open her window and swung a leg over the sill at the crack of dawn, preparing to leave after a long, forbidden night of touching, kissing, talking, loving.
Now, Benâs mouth curved wryly with the same memory. âI guess this time I can use the door instead of nearly killing myself climbing down the trellis. Remember?â
Her body shuddered. It was damn hard to feel nothing, to refuse to go down memory lane with him saying âRemember?â in that sexy voice every two minutes. âTell me again why you have to do this, Ben. Why you have to stay.â
He turned away. âDo you really think that little of me, that you believe I wouldnât?â
âI think youâre crazy if you expect me to fall for the reasoning that you want to be here, in South Village, tied to one house, one spot, when everything within you yearns to be on the move.â
He moved to the door. âWell, then, call me crazy.â
âBut why? You canât want to be here.â
âThis has nothing to do with what I want.â He glanced at her over his shoulder. âJust get better. Get better and itâll be over before you know it. Then you can go back to your safe, sterile life and forget I bothered you for one moment of it.â
The door shut behind him, and before she could obsess, sleep took over her battered body, releasing her from thinking, aching, wondering.
But not from dreaming.
Â
T WO MONTHS BEFORE high school graduation, National Geographic contacted Ben. They wanted him to intern with one of their photographers for the summer in Venezuela. If that worked out, heâd have an assignment waiting for him in the fall in South Africa.
âCome with me,â he said to Rachel.
They sat in their hidden-away spot in the botanical gardens behind city hall, their common meeting place, halfway between their respective houses.
Rachel lifted her gaze off the letter in his hands and stared at him. He was more animated than sheâd ever seen him, even in the throes of passion, and she knew why. Heâd been waiting his entire life to leave this town, and now he had a chance.
But sheâd been waiting her entire life to stay in one place longer than it took to order and cancel cable service. Sheâd moved once a year for as long as she could remember, and she was weary, so damn weary.
She loved South Village; loved the joyous crowds, the urban streets, the sights, the smells, everything. This town was her life, her heart. She loved it here and didnât want to leave, not even for Ben. If she left, her life with him would be no different than it was nowâjust a blurof moving, moving, moving, when all she wanted was a home.
âRach?â
âI want to stay.â
âNo, we have to go. Thereâs nothing for me here, you know that.â
Actually, sheâd only guessed, as he never told her about his family. It was the one thing heâd always refused to discuss.
âItâs my future,â he said hoarsely, telling her only how much this meant to him, but not why.
Oh, God, letting him go, watching him walk away, would be like ripping out a part