by Gail Dayton
"Everything?" he murmured, needing to be sure.
"I want it all."
He plunged home, fighting the intensity of the pleasure. He had to make it good for her, wanted to make her come screaming over and over again, but God, he didn't know if he could last. Not like this.
Marilyn whimpered, spoke his name and he deepened his rhythm. She was incredible. Amazing. Fantastic. Wonderful. He loved her so much. So incredibly, amazingly much. He whispered the words, barely aware of it as he searched for more, trying to distract himself from the sensation of being gloved naked inside her. He loved her.
He couldn't hold back. She didn't want him to. She said so. The sofa made strange noises, trying to scoot off the rug onto the hardwood floor under the power of their lovemaking. She wanted him. All of him. If he got her pregnant, they'd handle it, she said. He wanted her pregnant. Wanted her round and soft with his child, wanted to pamper her, cuddle her, buy her ice cream at midnight. He loved her.
He would love her forever. Till she was gray and wrinkled and embarrassed to be seen with him. Till he had to remind her twelve times a day who he was and how much he loved her. Till he had to carry her upstairs to bed because she couldn't climb them anymore. Oh, God, how much he loved her.
She cried out--maybe his name. He didn't know for sure, because he caught her cry in his kiss. She shuddered, coming apart so sweetly in his arms, and he fought to hold on, to make it last and last, because he loved her.
But the thought came one time too many. His climax came crashing over him with the power of a freight train. A cruise missile. He loved her. Now and always. Forever and ever, amen.
When he could move again, Eli rolled off the sofa and hauled his jeans back up. Probably better not to be running around the house butt naked. He gathered up their discarded clothes, handed them to Marilyn to hold, and swept her up in his arms, stifling her squeal with another kiss.
"Shhh," he whispered. "The boys."
"What are you doing?" She clung to his neck.
"Carrying you upstairs. There's a bed upstairs."
Eli got as far as the stairs before Marilyn started fighting him.
"Put me down right now. I'm too heavy. You can't carry me all the way upstairs," she hissed, trying to squirm free.
"I can if you hold still." He adjusted his grip. "The way I feel right now, baby, I could carry you all the way to Canada."
Her laugh was a little huffy, but it was a laugh. She quit trying to get away. "Yeah, well--Canada's only on the other side of Lake Erie."
"I know." He winked at her as he started up the stairs. "That's why I didn't say Mexico. We might have a problem there."
He carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the bed, grinning at her squeak when she bounced. He closed the door and stripped off his jeans, crawling up on the bed with her. She lay sprawled on her back, the clothes they'd shed downstairs tumbled around her. Her silver-blue eyes went soft and serious as she watched him move toward her, over her.
"Did you mean it?" Eli stroked her hair back from her face and continued the caress down her neck, past her shoulder until he covered her breast. "Do you really want it all? Because there's more."
"More loving? Or more pain?"
"Both." He laid his head on her shoulder, near where his hand covered her, needing to know she wouldn't turn him away. She'd said it, but he needed to feel it skin on skin to believe it, to be bone-deep certain. "I found a guy, when we were looking for you and Pete. From back then. Only it's two years too late to send him up for what he did to me. Jackson said they found some younger guys willing to press charges. They want me to help dig the rest of these bastards out."
"Whatever you have to do, Eli. I'm with you."
He lifted his head to look at her. "Are you?"
"You know I am." Her fingers trailing down his cheek sent shivers to prickle his spine.
Eli studied her a minute before nodding and carefully placing his head where it was before. "Maybe you're right about a lot of what you said. But I'm no hero. I just did what had to be done."
She ran her fingers through his hair in that way that made him sleepy and aroused as hell both at once. "Isn't that the definition of a hero? Someone who does what's necessary to help others despite the risk? You've done that over and over again. Since you were still a child."
He eased his hand off her breast, sliding it down over her stomach to the dark hair still wet from their lovemaking. "I'm not so sure about that." He took pleasure in her sharp intake of air when his tongue flicked across her nipple at the same time his fingers found her sweet spot.
"I am." She rolled toward him, tugging his head up and settling herself against him. "You're my hero. My knight in black leather." Marilyn smiled as he looked up at her, astonished she would say such a thing. "I thought of you that way the first day we met. I just didn't know how true it was."
It wasn't true at all, the way he saw it. But she was here now, with him. And she wanted him. He took himself in hand and stroked his tip over her hidden bud. "Everything?"
Marilyn shuddered. "Yes."
Eli woke when the alarm went off, slapping the snooze button fast before it woke Marilyn too. She deserved the chance to sleep in, especially considering how little of it he'd allowed her last night. He smiled at the memory, rubbing a hand over his chest as he sat up and turned off the alarm.
She knew. Had known all along, and made love to him anyway. It still amazed him. Probably always would.
He pulled on some clothes and padded out of the bedroom to see if the boys were up. Steve was. Pete wasn't. As usual. Eli rousted the younger boy out and headed downstairs to fix breakfast. Frozen waffles. His specialty.
Steve made it downstairs first. Pete had a tendency to fool around if nobody kept on top of him. Eli set a glass of juice on the table for Steve and ran upstairs to chivvy Pete along. Usually he just called up to keep the kid moving, but today he didn't want to wake Marilyn.
When he came back down, Steve was putting the waffles on plates. His backpack sat next to the mudroom door as usual, but today, a half-full trash bag sat next to it.
Eli frowned. He could see colors through the thin white plastic of the bag-denim blue, T-shirt reds and blacks. Steve had stuffed all his clothes inside it. "You going someplace?" Eli asked.
Steve shrugged, sitting down at the table without meeting Eli's eyes. "Guess so."
"What? You decide you don't like it here?" Eli set the syrup bottle in front of him.
Now, Steve looked up. "I heard you and Marilyn last night. Fighting about me. Figured I'd be ready when you ship me out."
Eli barely managed to keep from swearing. He and Steve had been trying to break the habit. "It wasn't about you. It wasn't even a fight, exactly. It..."
"What was it, then?" Steve's gaze challenged him.
This time, Eli did swear. He put another waffle in the toaster so it would be ready when Pete finally showed up and sat down in the chair across from Steve, taking the other plate. He poured on syrup while he tried to figure out what to say.
"Yeah." Steve's voice was bitter. "That's what I thought."
"Shut up and listen." Eli slapped the syrup bottle down on the table. "I'm gonna say this one time and say it fast before Pete shows up. Before Flash got in the business, his old man ran things. And I was one of his boys. From when I was thirteen till I was almost seventeen, I was one of his boys, okay? And I didn't want Marilyn finding out.
"I figured she'd either hate me, or feel sorry for me, or kick me out, or maybe all three. She sure as hell wouldn't... Anyway, last night I found out she already knew. All along, she knew what I did, who I was. Who I am.
"And she likes me anyway. She thinks I'm a good person. If she can think that about me, when I was there almost four years, don't you think she can see the truth about you too? Because she's right. What happened isn't your fault. It wasn't my fault. It's all on those sick sons of bitches.
"Flash is in jail and he's not getting out, ever. I
f you want, we can talk to Jackson about putting away as many of those other bastards as we can.
"Just don't go thinking that if we knew the truth--the real truth--we wouldn't want you. Because we know. I know. There's nothing happened to you that didn't probably happen to me first. And we're going to make it. Don't give up on me. Deal? I swear I won't give up on you."
"Give up what?" Pete asked, scuffing his way into the kitchen.
"My waffle." Eli forked the whole thing into his mouth at once, making his son laugh. It was cold now, and sticky, but that didn't matter. Pete's laughter did. He even got a smile out of Steve. Eli got up to put Pete's breakfast on the table.
"Where's Marilyn?" Pete yawned as he started eating.
"Asleep." Eli picked up the trash bag and held it out to Steve. "You got time to put this back before we have to get you guys to school."
"Yeah. Thanks." The boy took it and slouched toward the stairs in the foyer. At the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder. "I won't give up."
"Good." Eli nodded, taking it as a promise. Steve was learning about promises, too.
"Give up what?" Pete said. "Stevie already ate his waffle."
"He sure can't give it up then, can he? Eat." Eli pointed at the plate and Pete took a bite.
Eli headed up then to find his shoes and a shirt to wear over his T-shirt. It still got cold in the garage mornings. He crept back in the bedroom, doing his best to be quiet. He glanced at the bed and was shocked motionless.
Marilyn lay sprawled on her back, the sheet down to her waist, arms thrown wide. Her fair skin was marked with raw, red abrasions and mottled blue-purple bruises. The marks Flash had made were healed. These were new. Had he done that?
He rubbed a hand along his jaw, feeling three days' worth of beard. Her skin had always been sensitive to that. The bruises bothered him more. God, couldn't he even make love to her without hurting her?
Maybe Flash wasn't his fault, but this was. He could pick out the marks of his fingers on her arm, five separate, distinct little bruises. Even if there weren't some hideous blackness inside him like she claimed, he still wasn't good for her. He hurt her when he touched her. How could he stay?
Eli shoved his feet into his boots and tied the laces. He snatched a flannel shirt out of the closet and escaped the bedroom. He couldn't think about it.
Downstairs, Steve was prodding Pete into loading his homework in his pack. Eli grabbed up the car keys and his coat. "If you're coming, come on."
Maybe after he got the boys to school, he could come back, figure things out.
The silence thundering in her ears woke Marilyn. That and the cold draft blowing down her back as she curled up in a ball. She'd thrown off the covers, and she wasn't wearing a nightgown. Or anything else.
That reminded her why she wasn't wearing anything. She pulled the covers up to her neck with a self-satisfied smile. There certainly were advantages to having such a young lover. Marilyn snuggled down into the quilt, remembering.
She hoped she had convinced Eli to let go of the guilt riding him. Surely he wouldn't have made love to her like that--her face burned as she recalled just where he had made love to her last night. On the sofa. In the living room. And her stark, staring naked. Where the boys could have come down and seen them. Thank goodness they hadn't.
But it had been so wonderful. Eli had whispered things to her the whole time, sweet nothings. She hadn't understood half of them, but the ones she did understand curled her toes. What woman didn't adore hearing a man tell her things like, "You are so beautiful," or "Amazing," or even "I love you."
He didn't mean any of them, of course, but they were still sweet. They made her feel beautiful. Amazing. Loved. Wouldn't it be wonderful if they were true?
Twenty-Five
***
No. Marilyn pulled the covers up over her head to hide from the thought. No good came from wishing for things that weren't possible. She would just break her heart, falling in love with someone who didn't love her back. When he left, she would...be absolutely devastated because she was already madly, desperately in love with her young lover.
Dear God, when did this happen? How? Well, how was obvious. Eli was perfect. He was young and handsome, a passionate lover, a loyal friend. He was a fabulous father. He never complained. He made her laugh. He even picked up his dirty clothes and put them in the hamper. How could she possibly not love him?
How could he possibly love her?
With a groan, Marilyn forced herself to throw back the covers and get out of bed. She was supposed to go down to the shop today and get all the bills sent out, but maybe she could put it off till tomorrow. She didn't think she could face Eli today. Not now that she knew the truth. How did she manage to delude herself for so long?
Because she never wanted to face facts. She'd rather hide in the sand and pretend everything was just fine. Oh, God, she was just like her mother.
"Marilyn?" Eli's voice came floating upstairs.
In a flash, she dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then she locked it. She absolutely couldn't face him now, without any defenses. Or clothes.
He must have come back after taking the boys to school. He usually did that when he took them, so she could have the car.
"Marilyn?" He rapped on the bathroom door and startled her into jumping and squeaking. "You in there?" He rattled the handle. "Can I come in?"
"Um--" Say something, you dummy. But she couldn't think what to say. She was an idiot. She loved him.
"Is everything okay, babe? Why is the door locked?"
"Um--" Talk. Now. "I'm naked."
"I know."
She could hear the smile in his voice and bit down hard on her thumb. Oh God, she was so in love with him.
"Come on, babe. Let me in. Just to talk. That's all."
She had to make him leave. Get some time, some space to think, decide what to do.
He didn't say anything for such a long time that Marilyn thought maybe he'd left. "Are you sure you're okay? I know things got--I got a little wild last night--"
Total humiliation flooded her entire body. Thank God she was behind a closed door where he couldn't see her. "Things" had gotten more than just a little wild. She'd been absolutely out of control.
"I'm fine, Eli," she snapped, embarrassment making her sound sharper than she intended. She tried to moderate her tone, soften her words, but it was too hard. "Or I will be if you'll go on and give me a few seconds to myself."
To pull myself together, she meant. But before she could say it, he spoke.
"Sure, Marilyn. Whatever you want." And his footsteps walked away from the door, out of the bedroom.
Oh, Lord, now she'd hurt his feelings. Marilyn grabbed her robe off the hook on the bathroom door and threw it on. She was still wrapping it around her as she bounded down the stairs, but she was too slow.
She threw open the back door and heard his motorcycle catch. "Eli!"
He couldn't hear her over the engine. He didn't see her dash barefoot into the frost-kissed yard as he took the Harley out into the street and was gone.
Dammit. Marilyn rushed back into the house before her feet froze off. She'd have to hurry and get down to the shop and explain. Apologize.
But he wasn't at the shop. He didn't call or come in the whole time Marilyn worked, getting the bills printed out, stuffing them in envelopes, sealing them, sticking on the stamps. He wasn't there when she got back from the post office. Or after she picked Pete up from school. Or when Slug walked in from his school.
She tried not to panic. He'd ridden his motorcycle all over the United States without a scratch. He'd be fine. He'd be back. Pete was here. But when supper was on the table and Eli still wasn't back, it was awfully damn hard to keep the panic at bay.
"Better sit down and eat, guys," she finally said after waiting another half hour.
"Where's Eli?" Stevie asked.
"I--" What should she tell the boys? What could she tell them? "He had to--"
The phone rang and Pete knocked over his chair getting to it before anyone else could. "Hello? Oh, hey, Dad."
Marilyn wilted in relief. He was all right.
"Yeah, she's here." Pete cut his eyes toward Marilyn. "Fine."
She moved toward him, her hand out for the phone. "Pete, let me--"
"Okay. Sure. See ya then." He hung up.
"...talk to him," Marilyn finished.
"Oh, sorry. Did you want to talk too?" Pete picked up his chair and sat on it. "Can we eat? I'm about starved to death."
"Sure. Eat." Marilyn got the big pan of chicken and rice out of the oven. It wasn't too dried out. "What did Eli have to say?"
"He went to visit Fitz. See how he's doing. Figure out some stuff. He'll be home tomorrow."
Home. The word did funny things to Marilyn's insides. "Is this home, Pete?"
"Well, yeah. Duh. We live here, don't we?" Pete rolled his eyes like she'd lost her mind.
Stevie grinned at her. "Yeah. Duh. We live here."
Marilyn gave him a hug. Tears gathered in her eyes as he hugged her back. He hadn't done that before. Did Eli think of it as home too?
He was coming back tomorrow. Would things go back like they were before? Did she want them to? She didn't know anything anymore, except that she was in love with Eli and she wanted him home. To stay. And that would never happen.
Eli took the long way back from Erie. He never went to see Fitz, though he'd intended to, partly because he didn't want to disturb his fragile peace with his daughter. Mostly because he didn't want to listen to any lectures on how bad he'd screwed things up with Marilyn.
He'd spent part of the night in a bar, the rest at the Salvation Army shelter downtown, looking and feeling about as downtrodden as the rest of the bums. He left a fat donation in the bucket to assuage his guilt.
How could he have been so stupid? On the drive up, he realized that he'd actually said it out loud. Told Marilyn he loved her. No wonder she locked herself in the bathroom.
When he'd lost control in the past, he'd done all kinds of crazy things, from beating the shit out of Flash to bashing in car headlights and breaking a cop's nose. Thank God he'd been only fifteen or his record would be a mile long.
