The Sky Beneath Her(88)

He set the glass down and laid his hands on my shoulders. His fingers felt warm and soothing against my skin.

I looked up at him. He’d hugged me earlier, but this felt different. He’d never touched me in such a sexual way. If there had ever been any physical contact between us, it had always been professional. A hand to guide me, an adjustment to my tanks, or a fist bump. I’d soaked up every moment like that, thinking it was a kind of tenderness.

But this touch wasn’t cursory. It was intimate. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever appreciated the pure excitement of such a simple gesture. Now I did.

And I wanted him as much as the seventeen-year-old version of me had.

Rising on my toes, I leaned toward him and gently kissed him on the lips. He tasted of salt. At first, he didn’t lean into the kiss, and he stared, studying me. The eye-to-eye contact was intense. I feared I’d misread the situation. I’d always assumed he hadn’t wanted me before because of my age. But maybe he just didn’t want me. Maybe I wasn’t his type.

And then his hands slid to my waist, and he pulled me closer. The strength of his hands was sexy. I was breathless.

“Are you going to kiss me back?” I whispered.

Instead of answering, he pressed his lips to mine. A groan rumbled in his chest as his hand slid up under my T-shirt. Since I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties, his fingers easily grazed over my nipple. My knees nearly buckled.

“That the kind of kiss you want?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure. Try again.”

He backed me up to the wall and planted a hand on either side of my head. “I want more than a kiss.”

“Me too.”

He leaned in and brushed his lips over my jaw and then down to the nape of my neck. His reluctance, if he’d had any, evaporated. My nerve endings tingled. And that hand found its way under the waistband of my pants. His kiss deepened and time melted.

Finally, he paused, his lips close to mine. “My bedroom?”

“Yes.”

He kissed me again and pulled me down the narrow, carpeted hallway. I barely noticed the trek toward the bedroom. I’d dreamed about him more times than I could count when we’d worked together. He had been the fantasy. The dream guy who would make my world just perfect.

And then that world had shattered, and I was gone. But this moment wasn’t going anywhere. He was here now. And I wasn’t a kid. I knew what it felt like to talk myself into liking a guy. I didn’t need any persuading with Nathan. I pulled off my T-shirt. My nipples hardened as the cool air brushed over the sensitive skin.

Nathan yanked off his shirt. God, he looked amazing. I hesitated a fraction before pulling off my pants. I wasn’t the skinny bikini-clad kid I’d been in my teens. I had curves, and not all of them were welcome.

When he took me in his arms, I forgot about everything but this moment. As I’d dreamed, he lowered me to the bed, and I scooted up to the pillows. I’d never felt so unrestrained or so alive.

He smoothed his hands over my skin. “So pretty.”

“You’re the stunning one.”

He kissed my breasts and my belly. The sensations overwhelmed my nervous system, now humming with desire I hadn’t had in a long time. I’d been in limbo, encased in glass ever since the wreck. I didn’t realize how frozen I’d become.

Nathan rose off me and leaned over the side of the bed. Cool air hit my warm skin. I reached for him, tracing my finger down his muscled back as he grabbed a condom from his wallet. As he slid it on, his hands trembled a little, and I was so charmed. Dave’s hands had never trembled for me.

I rubbed my hands up and down his leg, anticipating and so ready. “You aren’t nervous, are you?”

A nervous chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Maybe.”

“You were a huge fantasy for me for a long time.”

“Yeah.”

Faint worries whispered. Fantasies were all well and good, but they often didn’t live up to the hype.

When he had settled between my legs, he slowly slid into me, and I was pretty sure my out-of-balance life had finally tilted back in the right direction. It might still not be totally centered, but it was better. And this night, this dream, lived up to the hype.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


Gertrude





Friday, April 24, 1942, 3:15 p.m.


Two hours after the Oceanus was torpedoed


The lifeboat rocked back and forth, farther away from the ship, which now listed badly to the left. In total, ten lifeboats had launched, and from what I’d heard from those on our boat, over a hundred people had survived the attack.

My belly squeezed again tightly, and I could barely breathe as the pain rocketed through my body. Mrs. DuPont had given me her hand, and I squeezed it with all my strength.

“That’s thirty seconds,” Mrs. DuPont said, checking the slim watch on her wrist. “Has your water broken?”

My skirts were wet, but I’d thought it was from the ocean water that had washed over the side of the lifeboat when we’d crested a wave.

“I can’t tell,” I said.

“I know, dear, we’re all wet.” She lifted her head and looked around, scanning the other boats. “Everyone in this boat, I want you to have a sharp eye out for that doctor. We’re going to need him.”