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  Olivia loved watching them. When she’d been married to Alan, his mother had been adamant that Kevin was her grandchild, that he was no relation to Tisha Paget. At the time, Olivia had been too busy and too young to think about how her mother had been deprived of that special bond of the only grandchild she’d ever have.

  It was Ace who pulled the men into the sewing. Reading glasses were found, lights turned on, and everyone was put to work.

  As Olivia sewed the easy, basic seams on the old treadle machine, she began to feel, well, youth coming into her body. As the minutes ticked by, she felt herself changing. At first it had been enough to move easily and fluidly. And her mind had been full of seeing old friends and knowing their futures. In eight years her mother would call her father to dinner and when he didn’t answer, she’d find him slumped over his workbench, dead. Tisha Paget would live another eighteen years. She’d dedicate herself to the community and the church—just as Olivia had done after Alan died. The difference was that her mother had enjoyed her role. But even after Alan’s death, Olivia had been too weighed down by guilt to enjoy much of anything.

  “She’s doing it again,” Ace whispered loudly to Uncle Freddy.

  They all looked at Livie as yet again there were tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  Suddenly, Olivia knew that it was time to see Kit. She stood up. “I, uh...” She couldn’t think of what to say. Turning, trying to look as dignified as possible, she left the room, walked through the kitchen, and went outside.

  The sun and the air felt good on her body. She had forgotten how restless she’d been as a young woman. Over the years, she’d regretted how snappy and rude she’d been that summer she stayed at Tattwell. Why couldn’t she have been kinder to the children? To the old men? Why had she been so obsessed with Kit? At times even her career had been forgotten. Later, when she went back to New York, all she could think about was him. By then she was angry at him for having left her, but still, Kit was everything.

  She walked into the garden. How beautiful it was! When she reached the big old magnolia tree, she leaned against it and closed her eyes, letting herself remember the time the children had tied her and Kit up. Remembering the first time he’d kissed her. He had been angry, but what a kiss it had been! “Not a boy,” he’d said.

  No. Not a boy. She hadn’t known it then, but he’d been facing what would become a heroic act of risking his life to help his country. Certainly not the act of a boy.

  With her eyes still closed, she breathed deeply of the soft, fragrant summer air. She could feel her body tingling. Lips, breasts, between her legs.

  Over the years, she’d forgotten that feeling. She’d found pleasure in a good book, an afternoon movie, an hour away from running appliance stores. And recently, after she and Kit had married, there’d been sweet and tender sex. But it hadn’t been that hard, pounding, have-to-have-it-or-die sex of their youths.

  Right now she felt that coursing through her body. The desire for it. Wanting it. Craving it. Needing it. As much as she had to breathe, she needed to feel skin on hers. Lips and tongues. She wanted her hands and mouth on the male hardness of Kit. She only wanted him.

  When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t surprised to see Kit standing there. Alive, breathing, young. She’d remembered him as beautiful, but the reality was much, much more than she remembered. He had on practically nothing, exposing skin that was a luscious golden brown. He was all lean muscle.

  She looked down at his bare feet and went upward, savoring every inch of him. The bulge that was barely covered by his low-slung shorts was growing. Big and pressing against the cloth. Hungry.

  When she reached his face, she saw a heat that she barely remembered. This is why teenagers are all over each other, she thought. We adults forget this surging, pulsing, utterly uncontrollable desire.

  She could feel her body moving toward his. It was as though a rope had been tied to the middle of her and he held the end of it.

  He didn’t speak, just gave a quick movement of his head. The rope was pulled.

  Part of Olivia knew she was a rational being. She’d been an adult who’d cautioned young people against following their “base instincts.”

  “You just have to say no,” she’d told teenagers at church. How pompous she’d been!

  As she followed Kit to wherever he was leading her—and she didn’t care where it was—had someone tried to stop her, she would have used a gun on them. What she was feeling was as primitive as a fight for survival.

  When they were at the back of the property, Kit halted and put his hand out to her. Taking it, she felt his touch through her entire body. She threw back her head and laughed from pure joy. She was here and now and the man she would love forever was with her.

  Kit smiled, but he asked no questions. Instead, he began to run. He left Tattwell, stepping over the old fence, then led them through the woods that used to surround the plantation. Olivia knew that in the eighties a developer would plow most of the big trees down and build some boring little houses.

  With a jolt, she realized where he was leading them. “River House,” she said. Kit was silently asking if that was all right.

  Olivia hadn’t believed that her happiness could be increased, but it was. This was the day they’d sneaked over the stone wall to Camden Hall. Today they’d make the memory that Olivia had repeated with Elise. I mustn’t forget to leave my bra behind, she thought, and laughed again.

  At the sound, Kit tightened his grip on her hand and began to run faster. When they reached the wall, Olivia knew how to get over it. The first time, Kit had been the one to figure it out, but this time she already knew and she couldn’t wait. Back then, it had been under twenty-four hours since they’d last made mad, passionate love. But this time, it had been over forty years.

  She ran along the wall, ducking under overhanging branches until she reached the big limb that went over the side. She bent her leg for Kit to give her a boost up, then he vaulted up behind her. When they stood up, for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, and her eyes flickered in anticipation.

  Smiling, knowing what she wanted, he caught her about the waist and stepped past her to walk along the tree. But he didn’t kiss her.

  “I’ll get you for that,” she said.

  “That is my hope.” His tone was so suggestive that Olivia’s gasp made the leaves move.

  When they were on the other side of the wall, Kit silently jumped down and held up his arms to catch her. As he swung her down, it was her turn to put her lips close to his, then turn away. He laughed in delight.

  She knew where they were going, so she took his hand. To reach the bridge, they had to walk through water that was a lot deeper than it would be when she and Elise went through it. On the island, the ruins of the little building were still there, surrounded by trees and pretty flowers, all of them left over from when the estate was loved and lived in.

  Stopping in front of the little building, she turned to Kit. As she started to say something, he grabbed her to him, his mouth coming to hers with all the passion they both felt.

  In an instant, her clothes were discarded and his shorts fell to the ground. Before she could take a breath, he was inside her. Strong and fast, as only all-consuming desire—and youth—could make it.

  Long, hard thrusts, so deep she thought they were hitting her heart. She was no longer a living, breathing person but something primitive, all feeling, with no thoughts.

  It didn’t take long before the first round ended, then Kit picked her up, her nude body against his, and laid her down on a mossy bit of ground.

  They made love again, taking their time, kissing and touching, stroking and caressing.

  Exploring their young, beautiful bodies that were so full of energy and need.

  When they fell back from each other, sated at last, the sun