SummerJerking his shirt over his head, I wet my lips as I took him in. Sun-kissed skin, light dusting of hair, ropey muscle shifting. A flex of his bicep and my gaze dropped to where his hands were unfastening his shorts. Through hooded eyes, he watched me as he dropped everything and kicked the garments away. Blood roared through my veins. He had a slight happy trail of hair that descended toward a thick erection. The crown brushed his naval as he wrapped his fingers around the girth and stroked. Mesmerized, my fingers twitched, and then he stepped forward, strong, hard thighs bulging.He nodded, indicating I should strip the rest of the way. Wasting no time, I shucked my shorts and panties. His heated gaze raked over me, and suddenly I was unsure. We'd been together before, but that had been on vacation. This time, we were at home and it felt more...real. A choice rather than a heated whim. With his slow exploration, his nostrils flared, and I wondered about the other women he'd b

Present-Summer"I still say you should have Ian here with you for this, not me." Rick shoved his hands into his pockets. I gave him a baleful look. "You're the accountant.""He's the business owner, and you're avoiding him."Yeah, well, couldn't deny that one. I couldn't shake all the doubts in my head. We had such a good thing going. I'd cook dinner at his place, we'd have eyes-rolling-back-in-my-head, I-can't-move sex afterward. We laughed. We talked. We acted like a normal couple. But the past couple days, I'd made excuses about needing to paint in order to avoid him. The painting part was true, not that I'd gotten any work done. I just...I just couldn't lose him. And I somehow knew I would. The kind of happy he made me never lasted.I was trying, though. So hard, I was trying. For him. Ian had been right in what he'd said at Seasmoke. I couldn't trust myself to be happy. And the only time in my life I could remember ever being that way was with him. Our childhood, our teen

IanI watched from my seat as Summer walked up to the podium in the Charlotte Art Museum, fidgeting with her dress. What a dress it was, too. Long, deep burgundy, and a slip-satin that hugged her hips and waist. The neckline swept low, peeking at the swell of her breasts. The tone complimented her skin, especially when she blushed, and it was really damn difficult watching her move in that thing when all I could think about was getting it off her.She placed a hand to her hair, which was in some complicated twist concoction, and tapped the microphone. "Can I have your attention, please?" Yeah, she had my attention, all right. A new fantasy ran amuck through my dirty mind. One in which I took out those pins in her hair, one by one, until the strands fell over her shoulders so my hands could roam through them. Then I'd fist that dress and shove the material up past her hips and-Hell. I was flanked between my parents, Rick and Dee, in a room full of people. I folded my arms over my

SummerIf someone had told me three months ago my long-lost mother would be coming back to see me, that it had been Daddy's choice to keep her away, that Ian Memmer was in love with me, that Matt Holcomb would ask me to marry him, and that I'd be opening my own studio, I would've committed them to the loony bin, complete with a straight jacket, padded walls, and crafts on Sundays. But, there it was. That's exactly what had happened. And my head reeled.Leaning back on my elbows, I breathed in the early dawn from my porch steps and listened to the crickets fade into the morning. Cicadas buzzed. Leaves rustled with a caressing breeze. I hadn't slept a wink. Not. One. Wink.Ian and I had it out after I'd gone upstairs last night. He'd been sick with worry and I'd reassured him. We'd had angry sex, and then made love. We'd talked into the hours about what I planned to do about Sharon. He'd been unusually mum on the subject. Awhile ago, I'd left him sleeping in my bed in order to wai

SummerI'd taken Mom to my studio to show her around and it dawned on me how much time we'd already wasted. Over lunch, she had tentatively asked how I felt about her moving back to Wylie. The next day, she'd flown to Houston to make arrangements to put her condo up for sale. I'd spent the next two days idly, painting or cleaning or anything else to get my mind off of Ian.At the cemetery, I breathed humid air and watched Jon Melbourne's tiny casket as it was lowered into the ground. There wasn't a sadder sight on earth than a coffin that size. I stood alone, behind the family as they mourned a child taken too young. A child who would never have a first kiss or fall in love. Who would never go to college or grow up and become a man. How many years had I wasted being scared? How many years had I not lived? Loved? Ian hadn't returned any of my phone calls. I'd tried to go over there to tell him about my mother and everything else, wanting to show I wasn't afraid to talk to him and,