Free Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) by Joseph Pittman Page B

seen him in far less clothing than what he was wearing now, but that was a different time, that was the past, a lifetime ago. He’d been practically a kid then, her too. But now, this feral attraction caught her by surprise. Was this something she’d had in mind when she decided to attend the reunion? Had she been hoping for a repeat encounter of their intimacy? Or was it just a natural response of seeing a man without clothes on? It had nothing to do with him.
    Him.
    She realized she had to do something, say something, because at the moment it appeared that all she was doing was staring, gawking. He looked good. Despite the grin he’d added to his wardrobe.
    â€œI . . . Adam, aside from the bandages, I was really coming to tell you that I found some food that we can actually eat, and surprise, surprise—how about a bottle of wine? Haven’t found the corkscrew yet, but maybe I’ll look again. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I could use a drink right about now.” She paused, took a step back, then took one step forward toward him. She placed the gauze on the edge of the sink, stole a look at an obviously bemused Adam, and then made a bid for a hasty retreat. She closed the bathroom door with a bit too much force.
    As she walked away, she could hear a chuckle coming from inside the bathroom.
    â€œJerk,” she muttered.
    Still, on her way back down the long staircase, clutching the wooden rail in an effort to steady her nerves, the picture of Adam in that blue towel kept popping into her brain. A reunion, a car accident, no phones, just her and him and alone in an abandoned farmhouse, and now she’d mentioned a bottle of wine. Now to top it all off she’d just seen him nearly naked and all she could think of was: Give me some of that. He’d looked sexy, for sure—sexier than she could have imagined. He’d aged well. Her pal Reva would have told her to make a play for that trim, athletic body, with well-defined muscles on his arms and a shock of dark chest hair to run her fingers through. Adam Blackburn had grown up a lot, both physically and emotionally, since high school. He’d been almost still a boy back then, and now . . .
    She almost missed that last step.
    â€œFocus, girl. That’s not what this weekend is about,” she said.
    But wasn’t it? What was her purpose in traveling all these miles—across an ocean for goodness’ sake—for the reunion? To see her old high school gang of Jana and Tiffany and Davey and Rich? She was in touch with them already, she spoke with the girls regularly and e-mailed with the guys, and so getting together with friends you still knew could hardly be considered motivation for going to your twentieth high school reunion. No, she’d thought about it in the car, and she was thinking it again now. She’d come purposely to see Adam, but she’d wanted to see him not so she could experience some kind of sexual reawakening. No, she’d come to settle the past with him, to talk, and he was clearly unsuspecting that there was anything to discuss. Her motives were hidden. His intentions looked quite apparent given that supercilious grin he’d adopted when she’d backed out of the bathroom. Though why he would suspect they had unfinished business, she didn’t know. She was the one with the secrets. Adam Blackburn knew nothing of what had happened to her.
    â€œThe wine, must open the wine.”
    As she returned to the spacious kitchen, she looked at the plates of food she had prepared. Tomato soup, simmering on the stove, a tin of Vienna sausages that opened with the ease of a pull-top lid, and that bottle of red wine, standing like a sentry on the middle of the counter. With renewed vigor, she hunted again for the corkscrew; there had to be one, why else buy wine if you didn’t . . . maybe it had been a gift, maybe the wine was years old and had turned to vinegar. God, chicky, she hoped