Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from him and rolled onto her back. A sheen of perspiration filmed her breasts and stomach.
She said, “Incredible.”
“Incredible.”
Neither of them was ready to say more than that.
The breeze had almost dried them when he finally raised up on one elbow and looked down at her. “You know something?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve never known another woman who was able to enjoy herself as thoroughly as you do.”
“Sex, you mean?”
“Sex, I mean.”
“Annie enjoyed it.”
“Sure. We had a fine marriage. But she didn’t enjoy it quite like you do. You put everything you’ve got into it. You’re not aware of anything but your body and mine when we make love. You’re consumed by it.”
“I can’t help it if I’m horny.”
“You’re more than horny.”
“Oversexed, then.”
“It’s not just sex,” he said.
“You’re not going to tell me that you like my mind too.”
“That’s precisely what I’m going to tell you. You enjoy everything. I’ve seen you savor a glass of water like some people do good wine.” He drew a finger down the line between her breasts. “You’ve got a lust for life.”
“Me and Van Gogh.”
“I’m serious.”
She thought about it. “A friend at college used to say the same thing.”
“You see?”
“If it’s true,” she said, “the credit belongs to my father.”
“Oh?”
“He gave me such a happy childhood.”
“Your mother died when you were a child.”
She nodded. “But she went in her sleep. A cerebral hemorrhage. One day she was there-gone the next. I never saw her in pain, and that makes a difference to a child.”
“You grieved. I’m sure you did.”
“For a while. But my father worked hard to bring me out of it. He was full of jokes and games and stories and presents, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He worked just like you did to make your kids forget Annie’s death.”
“If I could have been as successful at that as Sam evidently was with you-”
“Maybe he was too successful,” she said.
“How could that be?”
Sighing, she said, “Sometimes I think he should have spent less time making my childhood happy and more time preparing me for the real world.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Happiness is a rare commodity in this life. Don’t knock it. Grab every minute of it that’s offered to you, and don’t look back.”
She shook her head, unconvinced. “I was too naïve. A regular Pollyanna. Right up through my wedding day.”
“A bad marriage can happen to anybody, wise or innocent.”
“Certainly. But the wise aren’t shattered by it.”
His hand moved in lazy circles on her belly.
She liked the way he touched her. Already, she wanted him again.
He said, “If you can analyze yourself this way, you can overcome your hang-ups. You can forget the past.”
“Oh, I can forget him all right. My husband. No trouble, given time. And not much time at that.”
“Well then?”
“I’m not innocent anymore. God knows, I’m not. But naïve? I’m not sure a person can become a cynic overnight. Or even a realist.”
“We’d be perfect together,” he said, touching her breasts. “I’m certain of it.”
“At times I’m certain of it too. And that’s what I distrust about it-the certainty.”
“Marry me,” he said.
“How did we get around to this again?”
“I asked you to marry me.”
“I don’t want to be set up for another fall.”
“I’m not setting you up.”
“Not intentionally.”
“You can’t live without taking risks.”
“I can try.”
“It’ll be a lonely life.”
She made a face at him. “Let’s not spoil the day.”
“It’s not spoiled for me.”
“Well, it will be for me soon; if we don’t change the subject.”
“What could we talk about that’s more important than this?” She grinned. “You seem fascinated with my tits. Want to talk about those?”
“Jenny, be serious.”
“I am being serious. I think my tits are fascinating. I could spend hours talking about them.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Okay, okay. If you don’t want to talk about my tits, we won’t talk about them, lovely as they are. Instead-we’ll talk about your prick.”