The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [97]
“I’m glad I met you, too.” He leaned over and turned off the light on the table next to them, the only light in the room. “Just in case Betsy’s groom is prowling around outside with his shotgun,” he told her as he pulled her closer and took her mouth again with his own.
Dina’s pulse began to pound and sharp slivers of heat flooded through her. This is what I’ve been waiting for, what I tried to describe to Mom. I’ve waited all my life for someone to take my breath away, for someone to kiss me and set the world on edge.
And that was exactly how it felt. Like the world had been set on its edge and the center of gravity shifted. She was wondering how much further one could slide down this slope when Simon leaned back and traced the side of her face with his fingers.
“You look tired,” he said softly.
“I am tired,” Dina admitted.
“When was your last full night of sleep?”
“What day is it?”
“That’s what I thought.” His fingers kneaded at the knots in her shoulders. “Your muscles feel like poured concrete. Here, turn around. . . .”
He turned her body so that her back was facing him, worked his thumbs just above her shoulder blades.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped as he began to massage from the base of her neck to her shoulder blades.
“Just relax and let me see if we can scare away some of the tension. . . .”
“I’m beginning to feel like a rag doll,” she said a few minutes later.
“That’s good. That means it’s working.”
“Oh, it’s working all right.” Dina smiled to herself. It’s working just fine. . . .
“Why don’t you go on up and try to get some sleep?” he said after he’d reduced all of her muscular structure to jelly.
“I don’t think I can move,” she murmured sleepily.
“Then I’ll carry you.” He started to rise.
“That won’t be neces—” Dina giggled as he lifted her from the sofa in one smooth motion. “Really, Simon, I can—”
“Too late.” He chuckled and made his way to the stairwell.
“No, seriously, you can just put me down now.” Dina stifled a laugh.
“Not till I have you safely to your door.”
“That would be it, on the left,” she pointed out when they reached the top of the steps. “Thank you for the lift.”
“My pleasure.” He leaned down to nuzzle the side of her face. “I’ll see you when I get back from Stinson’s.”
“Simon.”
“Ummmm?”
“I’m trying really hard to sort things out—about myself, I mean—but it may take a while.” She looked up at him with eyes that darkened with all the swirling emotions of the past weeks. “It’s hard to reach beyond yourself to someone else when your entire life is shifting right before your eyes. Hard to open up to someone—even though you may want to—when you’re not really certain who you are.”
“I understand.” He settled his arm around her neck and stroked her hair. “I’m in no hurry. I’ll be here waiting when you do.”
No matter how long it takes, Simon silently promised as he held her for just one more moment. Some things were well worth waiting for.
For the second morning in a row, Simon crept down the steps early, taking pains to avoid those steps he’d already identified as creakers. This morning, however, there was no Dina waiting on the bottom step, no thermos of coffee or fresh muffins.
He sat with the engine running while he located Green Lake on the New Jersey map that was in his glove box. Not too far if he took the Commodore Barry Bridge and then picked up Route 322. From there, he could take one of several roads. He’d stop someplace once he crossed the bridge to ask which might be fastest. Then of course, there’d be the matter of finding Stinson.
Green Lake, New Jersey, being what it was, however, with its population of roughly one thousand souls, finding Stinson had been relatively easy. Simon had stopped at the Green Lake Country Store, part of which served as the local post office, as he discovered when several folks walked up to a large open window and walked away sifting through the bundle of mail they’d been handed.
“Excuse me,” Simon said to the gentleman behind the window. “I’m looking for Peter Stinson. I was told he had a home in the area. Could you tell