The Girl From Summer Hill Read online

  When she looked at him, he wore the most genuine expression of emotion she’d seen on his face. No acting, no trying to entertain, no teasing. Neither was there a sense of protecting himself. He was open and vulnerable—to her.

  It was easy to see what was in his mind. He was waiting for her answer.

  Scenes from the last few days flashed through her mind: his anger because she’d spied on him while he showered; how he’d sat quietly while she bawled him out for eating a whole pie. When he’d first stepped onto the stage and seen her dressed as Elizabeth Bennet, a light had come into his eyes. He’d been glad to see her. Later, he’d held her life in his hands as she dangled down on a steep roof. Most of all, she remembered how many times he’d made her laugh. He’d even made her feel better about Ben. For months all she’d felt was guilt. How could she have been so insensitive to a man she loved? But Tate had made her see a different side of it all.

  When she gazed up at him with a smile of welcome, he grinned in understanding—and in such deep happiness that she laughed.

  He peeled off his wet T-shirt and flung it to the side. The candlelight played off the muscles of his body, and for a moment he stood there looking down at her.

  She expected him to pounce on her, but he didn’t. Instead, he stretched out beside her on the pillows, barely touching her. She’d braced herself for an electrical shock, but there was none. Instead, her body seemed to hum.

  He reached out to run his fingertips down her cheek. “You’re a very pretty girl,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  Her heart was beginning to beat faster. “You see starlets and—”

  He pressed his lips to her temple. “You’re prettier, and I like you. Big difference.”

  She started to reply, but he began to kiss the side of her face. Her eyes closed as she gave herself over to the pleasure of his lips and his skin pressing against hers. He kissed her eyelids, then slowly moved down toward her mouth.

  His lips touched hers, softly at first.

  The gentleness slowly deepened so that her mouth opened under his and she felt his tongue. Her arms went around him, her hands on his warm skin, caressing the hardness of the muscles beneath.

  The humming inside her seemed to increase.

  Tate drew back to look at her. “Feel that?”

  “I do,” she said.

  His lips moved to her chin, down to her neck. It was only as he reached her throat that she realized he’d unbuttoned her shirt. He easily slipped it off her shoulders. Her bra came next, and when he pulled her bare chest to his, she gasped. Her skin was cool from the rain, but his was warm to the point of being feverishly hot.

  His face was in her neck, kissing, his tongue touching the sensuous cords. His hand moved up her ribs, his thumbs caressing her breasts.

  “I’ve wanted you since I saw you in those pajamas.”

  “You yelled at me.”

  “It was either that or throw you across the kitchen table.”

  “Too bad I wasn’t given a choice.”

  When Tate laughed, she could feel it all over her body. “Not you,” he whispered. “You hold yourself in too high esteem for that.”

  “Do I?”

  Casey leaned her head back. His lips moved down to her breast. With his tongue on the tip, the humming that ran through her body grew too loud for her to remember words. All she was aware of was this man and this moment.

  She wasn’t sure how it happened, but all their clothes came off. When their nude bodies touched, she thought she might die if he didn’t come to her completely.

  But he didn’t. He continued to kiss her, to touch her, until it was as though her very soul left her. She was all sensation, all desire.

  She ran her hands over his body, caressing each muscle and its contours.

  His hands moved down between her legs and parted them. When he moved on top of her, she was more than ready for him, and he slipped inside her with velvet ease.

  Tate took his time, slowly building, his strokes gradually increasing in strength and speed. His breath was by her ear. She could hear him, feel him, sense him, smell him.

  When he came, she was ready for him, and her release went through her entire body. Waves of pleasure passed through her, making her body convulse.

  Tate held her close to him, not moving off her, and the weight felt good. The hardness of his taut, muscular body was a perfect contrast to her softness.

  It was a while before he rolled away and pulled her over so her head rested on his chest. “I wasn’t prepared for this, so maybe we should talk about my lack of protection.”

  “Pill,” she murmured. Right now she didn’t want anything to ruin this magic moment.

  He kissed her forehead and snuggled her to him, her leg across his. The rain kept coming down, isolating them. When it grew cool, Tate pulled an old lap robe across them, and when the dust flew up, they coughed and laughed, but they didn’t detach from each other.

  “I want to thank you,” Tate said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

  “For this?”

  “No, but yes. Thank you for taking my mind off my…my fear of seeing this place.” He paused before continuing. “Nina and I kept track of Tattwell since we were kids. We knew it changed hands twice after my mother had to sell it, and both times the owners wanted to subdivide the land and put in mass housing. The town of Summer Hill fought them and won. But the place was virtually abandoned for about ten years.”

  “Why didn’t you want to see it?”

  “My goal had always been to make enough money acting to buy it and present it to Mom as a gift, but she died before I could afford it. I felt guilty and…” He shrugged. “I told Nina there were too many memories attached to the place and that I didn’t want to be taken back to the stories of the past. Or I didn’t want the press to find out. Whatever. I came up with a thousand excuses. But then one day Kit Montgomery showed up at my trailer on set and told me we were related. Nina said that it was fate that Kit had shown up, so I could buy Tattwell through him without the press knowing.”

  “Maybe it was fate.”

  “Nah. It was Kit’s secretary. Someone in Kit’s family works on genealogy and found out that we’re related. When he made an offhand comment to that fact, his secretary said that if he didn’t get her an autographed photo of me she was going to quit.”

  “Did you give it?”

  “Of course. Kit and I spent a weekend drinking and bellyaching about relatives and employees. When I got sober—which took a while, as that man can drink!—I went to his office in D.C. and had photos taken with everyone. And…”

  “And what?”

  “I had a friend, an assistant director, who I’d told Kit about, and he said I should bring him. Kit arranged a blind date with my friend and the secretary’s widowed daughter. They’re married now and expecting their first child.”

  She looked up at him. “That’s a wonderful story. Was the matchmaking your idea or Kit’s?”

  “His. He likes to manage people’s lives.”

  “Like yours? And mine?”

  “Exactly. But this time I like it. How did you meet him?”

  “I opened the back of my car. I was—”

  “Wait,” Tate said. “I think this story calls for pie.”

  When he moved away from her, Casey sat up to watch. Although he was totally nude, he didn’t seem the least bit shy or inhibited. As for her, she held the dusty old lap robe under her arms.

  Tate got the pie carrier and the spoon, then moved back to snuggle beside Casey. He opened it, scooped a huge spoonful from the middle, held it out to her, and she took a bite.

  “You do know, don’t you, that pies are usually sliced and served on plates.”

  “I used to think so too. But then I fought a mad beast in a girl’s bedroom, and later I ravenously dug a spoon into a pie so good it must have been made in heaven. Then a very pretty girl yelled at me, and all I could think of was that her cheeks were pink and every part of her bod