Her hands left his face and traveled down the sides of his neck. One side smooth, the other riddled with divots and scars and rippled where the skin had been damaged. She didn't pull away, but felt each mark, memorized each wound. And then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his neck, just below his jaw. And then again on the other side, on the side that bore no scars, letting him know that the kiss wasn't about sympathy, but desire. It was a caress. And his control broke.
She was on her back on the blanket, his big body pressing into hers, her face between his hands as his mouth took hers without finesse, without restraint, and without thought. He simply took. And she gave, opening for him, welcoming the slide of his tongue against hers, the grip of his hands on her face and in her hair and on her hips. He felt her hands slide beneath his shirt and tiptoe up his back and it felt so good he caught his breath, losing contact with her mouth for a heart-beat as his eyes fell closed and his head dropped to nuzzle the sweetness of her neck. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as if she too had lost control. She kissed his head, the way a mother soothes a child, and stroked the bare skin as he fought for control and lost once more, his hand sliding up to cradle her breast in his palm, his thumb caressing the full underside that made him long to pull her shirt over her head and see if she looked as good as she felt.
But she was a girl who had hardly been kissed, and she needed many more kisses, deserved many more. And so with regret, he slid his hand back to her waist. She arched against him and protested the loss sweetly with a sigh that made his blood boil and his heart knock against his ribs. So he kissed her again, communicating his own need. Her lips welcomed his, moving softly, seeking, savoring, and Ambrose Young felt himself slip and slide, falling helplessly–with very little resistance–in love with Fern Taylor.
“Look who's here!” Bailey crowed as he cruised through the sliding doors into the store. Rita followed behind him, her little son on her hip and a big smile on her face. Fern squealed and ran to her friend, taking the tow-headed toddler from her arms and smothering his little face with kisses. Apparently, Becker was out of town and Rita had been driving home from her mother's when she'd seen Bailey motoring down the street on his way to the store. He'd convinced her that karaoke and dancing were just what she needed.
Before long, Bailey had the music blaring and Rita's son Ty in his lap, cruising up and down the aisles, making the little boy shriek with glee. Rita ran along beside them, her face wreathed in smiles at her son's happiness. Like Fern, Rita had changed since high school. Ambrose wondered how just a few years could alter each of them so drastically, though from what he'd seen of Becker Garth, he hadn't changed at all. He was still a bully, and his wife was now his main target. Rita was still beautiful, but she looked beaten-down and skittish and didn't seem comfortable looking at him, so he retreated to the bakery not long after she and Bailey arrived.
“Ambrose?” Fern was smiling at him from the doorway and he smiled back, liking the way she looked at him, as if there was nothing wrong with his face, as if his very presence made her happy. “You have to come out, just for a minute.”
“Yeah? I think I like it in here better,” he said mildly.
“We're playing the Sheen/Taylor Greatest Hits CD, all our favorite dance songs, and I want to dance with you.”
Ambrose groaned and laughed simultaneously. Leave it to Bailey and Fern. They would have a greatest hits CD. And he would be happy to dance with Fern–he would be happy to do almost anything with Fern–but he would rather stay in the kitchen and dance where no one was watching.
Fern started pulling on his hand, wrapping both of hers around his, smiling and cajoling as she drew him from his cave. “The next song is my favorite song of all time.”
Ambrose sighed and let her have her way. Plus, he wanted to hear what her favorite song of all time was. He found he wanted to know everything about her.
“I've told Bailey if I indeed die before he does . . . which was his greatest wish when we were ten, that he better make sure they play it at my funeral. And I want everyone to dance. Listen! Tell me you don't just immediately feel better when you hear it.”
She waited in anticipation and Ambrose listened intently. The first bars of the song rang through the store and Bailey and Fern moaned in unison, right along with Prince, and launched into frenzied dancing. Rita laughed and whooped and joined them immediately, Tyler on her hip. Ambrose didn't dance . . . but he enjoyed the show.