Still Lake - Anne Stuart [96]
He stared at her, probably astonished at her calm cheer. “No,” he said finally.
She nodded, satisfied. “And do you want to go back to the house and make love with me?” Her heart was pounding. She knew she’d said it, knew she wanted it, but hearing the words out loud, in her voice, was shocking.
Not as shocking as his answer. “No,” he said.
She felt the color drain from her face. She’d never been so horribly embarrassed in her life, and she had no idea what to say. Something breezy, casual, dismissing him, as well. Instead she sat on the picnic table looking at him like a wounded puppy.
“I want to fuck you right here,” he said simply.
Marty tried to keep the pout from her face as Patrick drove down the winding drive to the lake. It had been a perfect night, from the flowers to the dinner in Stowe to the drive home. They talked. She wasn’t used to talking with boys, and she and Patrick Laflamme had nothing in common. He was from the country, hard-working, ambitious, moral to the point of being judgmental. She was a city girl, looking for a good time, which he was clearly not about to provide her. And yet she found herself telling him things she hadn’t told anyone in years.
He pulled up in front of the house, and she gathered her slightly bedraggled flowers in her hand and reached for the door. He’d assured her there wasn’t going to be a good-night kiss, but she still was reluctant to leave him.
“I had…” She was about to say “a wonderful time,” but that sounded too coy or too gushing. “An okay time,” she finished, trying to sound jaded. “Thank you for the flowers.”
“I got them from Doc,” he said with a faint grin. He really did have the most delicious-looking mouth. He was wearing a jacket and tie—never in her life had she gone out with someone in a tie. She liked the novelty of it. “I didn’t want to tell you since you said Doc creeps you out, but he said he heard we were going out and wanted me to take the flowers to make a good impression. I didn’t tell him I’d already planned to bring you flowers.”
“And you didn’t tell him I didn’t need impressing, either, did you?” Marty said. “You probably told him you had to beat me away with a baseball bat.”
“If I had beat you away, then I wouldn’t have asked you out, would I?”
There was no answer she could make to that, so she simply sat there in silence. He said nothing, as well, as if he didn’t want to break the moment, either.
But they couldn’t sit there forever, and he wasn’t going to kiss her. She fumbled for the door handle, only to have the spotless truck cab flood with light as he opened his own door and got out, then walked around to open her door for her. He even gave her a hand to help her down from the high seat of the truck. The outside lights were on, and she caught him looking at her legs. Admiring them. At this point it was the best she could hope for.
She slid out of the truck and he shut the door behind her, but to her surprise he started up the hill to the porch, holding her hand.
Someone was watching them from the windows. Grace couldn’t be bothered—it was probably Sophie, making sure her sister didn’t get into trouble.
She liked his hand in hers. His hands were big, strong, callused, and yet amazingly gentle. She liked everything about him.
They reached the porch, the orangeish glow of the light swarming with tiny bugs. “Uh…you can’t come in,” she said nervously. “Sophie would kill me. If you want to go to your place…”
He did have the loveliest smile. “I told you, Marthe,” he said patiently. “I’m not interested in sex without commitment.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, shifting nervously. “And no kissing until the third date.” He was still holding her hand, and she felt strange, awkward, as she broke his grip, transferred the flowers and reached out to