“I want to show you something,” he said, popping open his door and motioning with his head for her to exit.
Jennifer joined him at the front of the car, fields of high grass mixed with yellow and purple flowers all around them. It was private, quiet, romantic.
Bobby threaded his fingers through hers. “This was one of my favorite places when I was a kid. I’d come here to get out of the house.”
“To get away from your father,” she said.
“He was always at the garage or the bar. I just liked this place. I used to bring my radio and books, and spend hours here.” He walked backward and led her around one of the big oak trees. “This is what I wanted to show you.” He turned her to face the tree and stepped behind her, his arms wrapping around her from behind. There, at the center of the tree’s trunk, was a big heart carved with two lovers’ names and a year, 1947.
Bobby nuzzled her neck. “This was some young couple’s secret spot. Now it can be ours. I always wanted to bring you here, but I didn’t want to explain why I didn’t want to take you to see my father.”
Jennifer’s heart swelled with the confession, and she rotated around in his arms, her hands sliding around his neck. She didn’t miss the importance of a gesture that reached far beyond romance. He wouldn’t have taken her before, but he would now. The boundaries were coming down.
“I’m glad you brought me today,” she said, pressing to her toes and kissing him.
His hand molded her lower back, his tongue sweeping against hers in a lush stroke just before he nipped her lip. “We should carve the tree with our names,” he suggested.
She laughed, feeling like a schoolgirl, and loving it. “All right,” she said. “But you have to do all the work.” She ran her hand over his bicep. “I’ll watch all your delicious muscles flexing and make ooh and ahh sounds at all the right moments.”
He kissed her, a short, firm kiss filled with a sexy reprimand. “Don’t tease me,” he warned, his voice that low hum that rattled through her nerves with sensual delight. “Or I might just have to take you right here against the tree.”
Feeling playful, she taunted him, “I wonder if the couple who carved their names here before us tried the tree?”
A low growl escaped his lips. “You’re naughty.”
“You bring it out in me,” she purred, nipping his lips as he had hers. “Only I think I’d rather be naughty on a blanket, which we don’t have.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he asked, his hand sliding over her backside and pressing her into his obvious erection.
“Waiting for a blanket,” she assured him, and noting the fast encroaching darkness, added, “and candles. Let’s carve our names before it gets dark.”
Reluctantly, Bobby let her go. “Next time we’ll bring a blanket.”
The “next time” reference pleased Jennifer. It gave her hope that despite his reluctance to see his father, he really wasn’t expecting his father to impact their future. “Do we even have a way to carve our names now?”
Bobby reached into his boot and pulled out a pocket-knife. “A soldier is always prepared,” he said, holding it up. He then produced a small penlight. “Let there be light.”
Fifteen minutes later, the sun all but gone, Jennifer held the light on the tree as Bobby finished the carving. “Done,” he said, flipping the knife shut and sliding it back in his boot.
“We’ll have to come back when we can see it properly,” she said, shining the light around the tree. “But at least we’ve marked our territory.”
Bobby pushed to his feet and eased her upward with him, his body cradling hers. “The whole idea gives me the sudden urge to forget the blanket and claim you, not the territory.” He leaned against the tree and molded her across the long, hard length of his hips and thighs.
She stared up at him, searching the hard lines of his face, obscured by shadows, sensing a shift in him—his mood darker, the playfulness of earlier gone.
His mouth closed down over hers, his lips firm, his tongue ruthless in its invasion, its demand. His hand, forceful as it guided her hips to his, his erection thick where it rested against her stomach.
Jennifer moaned into his mouth, tasting that darkness she sensed in him, the primitive lust—feeling it in his touch. On some level, in some place in her mind, Jennifer knew this was the beginning of a firestorm of more than passion. This was a foreshadowing of what was to come—of Bobby dealing with why he’d left, why he’d returned. She told herself to pull away. Knew she should ask questions, demand to understand what had caused his mood. If only she had asked questions seven years ago.