The Ocean Between Us. Susan Wiggs
you had a problem with this, Grace. I’ll stay as long as you like.”
He reached for her, but she moved away. “I don’t have a problem,” she said, wondering how she could possibly make him understand. It wasn’t something obvious, but an aspect of their relationship that, over the years, had slowly and inexorably crept into her awareness. He wasn’t rude about it. He probably didn’t even realize he did it. He was a busy man with important duties.
“It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’m one of the things on your mental list of things to do: tell the wife to get the silly fat notion out of her head, give the kids a pep talk before thrusting them into yet another new school, take command of a carrier air wing, make the world safe for democracy—”
“Jesus, Grace, what’s got you so cynical all of a sudden?”
“It’s not all of a sudden.” She studied his face, that all-American handsome face, and saw genuine confusion in his eyes. He was the sort of man who fixed things—but if he couldn’t see it, he couldn’t fix it. “Never mind. I’m just stressed out. Want to rent a movie?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” He put some music on the CD player, soft, fluttery jazz by Authentic Rhinestone. Then he slipped his arms around her, holding her so close that she disappeared, and drew her into a sexy dance.
“Yeah?” She shut her eyes as desire simmered through her. Even after so many years, he could still make her foolish with wanting him.
“Yeah.” He pressed his thighs to hers. Steve was a fine dancer. He’d been advised to learn at officer training school. He was good at anything and everything that would help him advance his career, she thought, and then felt disloyal. He was a good husband and father, two things the Navy didn’t require of him.
They danced all the way to the bedroom. As Grace drew the curtains shut, he came up behind her and slipped his hands along the buttons of her top, undoing them one by one and sliding the shirt down her arms. Just for a moment, she flashed on that image of herself she’d seen in the dressing room. With a will, she remembered what Steve had said—“You’re beautiful to me.” And he made her feel that way, with his hands and mouth as he finished undressing her and laid her down on the bed. By the time he shed his clothes and joined her, she wasn’t thinking at all.
This was a different sort of dance, one of their own invention, the moves practiced and perfected over the course of years. The intimacy was deep and genuine. It was a haven for Grace, a place where she felt complete and…yes, beautiful. She lost track of the time, and was startled to see, through gaps in the curtains, that the last light of day had finally faded. Steve lay atop her, breathing slowly with contentment.
“I should ask you to dance more often,” he whispered.
She smiled and held him close, their bodies still joined. Even in moments like this, she could never get close enough, could never know him completely, a dilemma that both frustrated and excited her. He was a complicated man who had overcome a brutal childhood, and no matter how much Grace loved him or how well she knew him, there was always a part of him that was a mystery to her.
It wasn’t just his other life on the carrier. The same strength that had allowed him to survive his youth had made him a warrior. When she held him like this, it was hard to believe that, at his very essence, he was a machine trained to kill. The Navy had every possible term for it, but the bald fact was, that was his job. To kill and to train and lead others to kill. That was his secret side, the shadow Steve. He could hold her with the tenderness of a bridegroom. Yet if ordered to do so, he could send men and women to drop bombs on people.
He shuddered one more time, then parted from her, sliding the cool bedsheets up over them both. “You know,” he said, “I think I’ve figured out why kids leave home.”
“Hmm?” Grace sank back against the pillows. “Why is that?”
He folded his hands behind his head. “So their parents can have sex whenever they want.”
“Dream on.” She laughed and moved closer to him, laying her head on his chest. A pleasant sleepiness crept over her, and she could feel his muscles relax.
“I love it here,” she said, her thoughts drifting to the house she’d seen.
The CD changed to an old Rolling Stones collection, and strains of “Ruby Tuesday” drifted through the house.
He slipped his hand under the cool sheet and caressed her. “I love it here, too.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to miss you, Grace.”
She knew that tone in his voice. “You’re leaving?”
“I, uh—I’m going to Washington on Tuesday. Briefing at the Pentagon. I’ll be gone a week.”
She tamped down a familiar welling of resentment. Of course he was leaving. That was nothing new, and a week’s absence was minor. But maybe what she resented was that he’d waited until she was drowsy with sex before springing it on her. All right, she thought, that was his dream. Maybe it was time to try out hers on him.
“Well,” she said, “that’s your project. Here’s mine.”
“Where?”
She grabbed her robe and slipped it on. Despite his romantic words earlier, she felt no need to put her middle-aged body on parade. She switched on the light and found the real estate brochure on the bedside table.
“The girls and I went to an open house,” she said, handing him the sheet and putting on her reading glasses. Steve didn’t need glasses yet. Of course he didn’t.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he scooted up in bed and scowled at the flyer. “Yeah?” he said. “So?”
She realized she was holding her breath. The brochure showed a reasonably flattering picture of Marcia’s home basking in the sun, clear sky and blue water in the distance. But she wanted him to see what she saw, a house on a bluff, surrounded by towering trees, an apron of emerald grass and a view of the sea. She wanted him to see a place that would become theirs, a place where they might sit on the deck and hold hands, watching the stars come out at night. She bit her lip, feeling foolishly sentimental. It was just a damned house. A plain-looking house owned by a widow who had spent her entire marriage there.
He scanned the information quickly and efficiently, with total absorption. That was the pilot in him, able to suck up multiple facts in moments. In a squadron ready room before a flight, he’d be handed charts and kneeboard cards. A pilot had mere seconds to memorize the code words of the day and mission specifics on a color-coded briefing card.
Yet when he lifted his gaze to her, his expression was one of total incomprehension. Clearly he needed remedial work.
Grace took the flyer from him and set it aside. She’d never understood how he could frustrate her and turn her on all at once. “Well?” she whispered, turning to nibble at his ear. “Do you like it?”
“I get the idea there’s only one right answer to that question.” He slipped his hand inside her robe.
“I want it,” she said.
“Me, too,” he agreed.
She pushed his hand away. “Really, Steve. I want to buy this house.”
He fell still. “Gracie, we’re only going to be here a couple of years. Three, max. Then we’ll be stuck with a house here.”
“You don’t get stuck with a house. You own it. You live in it. It’s where you go at the end of the day—”
“Not if you’re transferred to the Pentagon.”
His career again. She used to find it so exciting, used to look forward to each new assignment. But lately her thinking had shifted. She wanted permanence. She wanted a home. “It’s time, Steve. I need something of my own for when the kids are gone. A place we can always come