Mallory stared at the radio and her heart performed a slow somersault. She still hadn’t recovered from Adam’s mind-boggling confession that he’d been in love with her, had cooled off their relationship not from lack of feeling but out of fear, and now this romantic gesture. She turned toward him and even though she knew he’d requested the song, she asked, “Is this from Adam to Mallory as in from you to me?”

“You know any other Adam and a brown-eyed Mallory?”

“When did you call in?”

“When I went to the kitchen.” Without taking his gaze from her, he stood and held out his hand. “Wanna dance? For old times’ sake?”

Not entirely trusting her voice, she nodded, then shifted to the edge of the bed and stood. She put her hand in his and he drew her closer, setting their joined hands against his chest and wrapping his free arm around her waist. She skimmed her other hand up and over his shoulder to encircle his neck then closed her eyes and rested her temple against his jaw.

A lump lodged in her throat as she was bombarded with a myriad of memories. Adam holding her just like this, turning his head to brush his lips against her hair. His warm breath brushing past her ear, shooting tingles of pleasure all the way down to her feet. His body touching hers from chest to knee as they slowly swayed to the music.

She leaned back to look at him. His gaze searched hers, intense and filled with those same flickers of confusion she’d seen earlier. And something else she couldn’t decipher. Was he experiencing the same unsettling sense of the past as she? Was he asking himself the same “what if” questions that were crazily bouncing around in her mind?

What if instead of agreeing when he’d suggested they give each other their freedom she’d told him she was in love with him?

What if she’d listened to what he’d had to say when he’d called her at college before letting her pride claim she’d started a new relationship?

What if-

“Since the day we met,” he said, cutting off her reverie, “I’ve thought of you every single time I’ve heard this song.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she shoved the useless “what if” questions aside. There was no point in dwelling on what-might-have-beens. She forced a smile and what she hoped passed for a lighthearted laugh. “Uh-huh. Me and how many other brown-eyed girls that you’ve known over the years?”

He didn’t smile back. “Just you.”

She tried to hold off the thrill that washed through her at his softly spoken admission, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with a rake.

“Not just because you have brown eyes,” he continued, “although that’s definitely part of the reason-”

“I kinda figured.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “But it’s also the words… They’ve just always brought such a vivid image of you to mind. Especially the part about making love behind the stadium.”

Mallory thought for a second, then shook her head. “We never made love behind the stadium.”

“I know. But I always wanted to. One of the many adolescent fantasies you inspired-getting it on with my girl behind the stadium, underneath the bleachers.”

“So why didn’t you ever bring me there? It’s not like the high school was a plane ride away. I would have been happy to indulge you.”

“I meant to. But then we…ran out of time.”

Ran out of time… The words echoed through Mallory’s brain. Yes, they had run out of time back then, just as they would soon run out of time now. This night would end and they’d go their separate ways, a reality she firmly pushed aside. Reality would intrude upon them soon enough. Until then, fantasy was all that mattered. So before they went their separate ways…

A smile curved up her lips. “Let’s get dressed.”

He gave a short laugh. “Totally the opposite of what I was about to say.”

She ruffled her fingers through the silky hair at his nape. “If you get dressed, I’ll make your fantasy come true.”

“If you get naked, my fantasy will come true a lot quicker.”

She laughed. “I mean your ‘behind the stadium’ fantasy. The local high school is only about a quarter mile away.” She rubbed her pelvis suggestively against his. “Let’s get dressed, walk over there and take care of this unfulfilled fantasy of yours. What do you say?”

For an answer, he yanked off her towel, then his. “Let’s get dressed.”

11

Sunday, 2:30 a.m.

WALKING ALONG the dark, quiet street lit by nothing more than the hazy silver glow of moonlight, her fingers lightly entwined with Adam’s, Mallory pulled in a deep breath. The air was hot, humid, heavy with moisture, and smelled of cut grass and summer flowers. And the clean, fresh, masculine scent of the freshly showered man walking beside her.

Another wave of memories inundated her, of that magical summer when she’d fallen so deeply in love with him. They’d frequently taken long walks, sometimes in the park, sometimes along the beach. Leisurely strolls, hand in hand, talking about everything and nothing. People they knew. Places they’d been and wanted to visit. Their favorite things and least favorite stuff. Sports. School. Books. Music. Movies. It seemed as if they never ran out of conversation. As far as she was concerned, there hadn’t been enough hours in the day to cram in everything there was to say and do.

She’d loved talking to him. Listening to his deep voice. His laugh. His gentle teasing as he tried to convince her that since she was now a New Yorker she needed to switch her baseball allegiance from the Cubs to the Yankees.

Yet she’d also cherished their comfortable silences, the times when they’d just sit, their arms wrapped around each other, and watch the sunset. Or the gulls fight over a morsel left by the day’s beachgoers. How she’d close her eyes and lean against him, absorbing the feel of him surrounding her, and think that this was just the beginning of something very, very good.

“Are we almost there?” he asked, yanking her thoughts back to the present.

She inwardly smiled at the hint of impatience in his voice. “Just around this next corner.”

“Thank God. Feels like we’ve been walking for hours.”

“It’s been about four and a half minutes.”

“Well, in my alternate ‘dying to get my hands on you’ universe, those four and a half minutes feel like an eternity.”

There was no denying the delighted shiver of anticipation those “dying to get his hands on her” words rippled through her.

They rounded the corner and the high school came into view, the tall stadium visible behind the building. Adam quickened his step and Mallory practically had to jog to keep up with his long-legged strides.

“Good thing I didn’t wear my heels,” she said, glancing down at her flip-flops. “What are you, in a rush?”

“A gorgeous, sexy woman who has me so aroused I can barely see straight is going to rock my world as soon as I can get her behind that stadium. Yeah, you might say I’m in a bit of a rush.”

When the stadium loomed before them, Adam broke out into a run, tugging her along. Laughing, feeling wilder and freer than she had in a long time, she ran with him across the grass. By the time he pulled her beneath the bleachers, she was gasping for air. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her up and spun her around until she was dizzy and weak from laughter.

When he stopped, he slowly lowered her, her body dragging along his. Before she could catch her breath, he kissed her. A hot, deep, demanding, impatient kiss that set her on fire until she imagined her every nerve ending glowed. And she realized that he was what was making her dizzy. Just as he always had.

Without breaking their frantic kiss, he stepped backward until he bumped into one of the thick cement columns. He immediately turned them, pinning her against the column with his body. And then he simply overwhelmed her, inundating her with a deluge of sensations so rapid she could barely keep up.

His hands were…everywhere. Pushing up her tank top. Cupping her breasts. Teasing her nipples. Skimming over her stomach. Down her legs, then back up, slipping under her skirt.

He broke off their kiss, his breathing a labored growl. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“No. God, no.” He impatiently yanked down her skirt and she kicked it aside. Gliding his fingers between her thighs, he stroked her with a maddening rhythm that dragged a long moan from her throat-a moan that turned into a gasp of pleasure when he slipped two fingers inside her.

“You feel so good,” he said against her lips, his voice a ragged groan. “So wet. So tight. So hot.” His mouth blazed a downward trail, kissing, nipping, licking. When his tongue laved her nipple, she arched her back, a plea he instantly answered by drawing the stiffened peak into the heat of his mouth. Each pull of his lips on her breast was matched by a deep stroke of his amazingly talented fingers, the combination of which made her come in a convulsive rush.

Gasping for breath, her shudders had barely subsided when he dropped to his knees before her, spread her thighs wider and ran his tongue along her cleft. Her eyes slid closed as his lips and tongue proved as amazingly talented and relentless as his fingers. With her body still humming with the aftershocks of her last climax, another orgasm rocketed through her, forcing a ragged cry from her throat.

Eyes closed, muscles lax, breathing unsteady, and floating on a hazy cloud of postorgasmic bliss, she was vaguely aware that he stood. Somewhere in the back of her glazed mind she heard the tearing of a wrapper. The hiss of a zipper. Then he lifted her and moved between her thighs.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said, his voice rough with arousal. She clasped her ankles behind him and with a groan he thrust deep. Then slowly withdrew, the erotic pull setting up a deep craving and reawakening nerve endings that only seconds ago she’d thought sated. Another deep thrust, dragging a guttural growl from her to mingle with his, followed by a slow, gliding withdrawal. A thought-destroying rhythm that he repeated. Again. Again. Harder. Faster.