by Donna Fasano
Reece never even stopped chewing, he just lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
A grin waged all-out war on her lips, and Maggie was barely able to cover her mouth with her napkin before it won.
After dinner, Jeff raced down to the bay to toss rocks into the calm, blue-green water while Reece and Maggie carried in the leftovers and cleaned up the mess.
As soon as Jeff left the immediate proximity, Maggie was besieged with that horrible awkwardness that had made her relationship with Reece so very difficult. The stiffness had seemed to dissipate completely during the meal, but now it was back, thicker than ever.
And there it was again… that bright red orgasm…er, piñata, swinging and swaying in the breeze.
Silently, they busied themselves, Maggie at the redwood table and Reece over near the grill.
The wall that separated them was completely and totally his fault, she decided. He shouldn't have—
Her face flamed at the mere thought of what had happened between them.
The orgasm. Her orgasm.
He shouldn't have done what he did to her. Reece had kissed her, hugged her, teased her, touched her, until her world had exploded and the stars had rained down on her in a million sensuous, glistening shards. But when she'd wanted to please him in return, when she'd taken his hand with every intention of leading him up to her bedroom, he had flat out rejected her. And in doing so, he'd totally blown the whole concept of give-and-take between a man and woman.
She'd been mortified at the time, wracked with guilt. She might have told herself she wouldn't feel guilty—but she did, damn it! She did.
She hadn't wanted to give in to this attraction they felt for one another in the first place. It had been her suggestion that they ignore the hunger they were feeling for each other. She had wanted to pretend it didn't exist. Certainly, as two grown adults, they should have been able to control themselves.
However, they hadn't controlled themselves. And now she was wondering why Reece had given to her... yet hadn't taken for himself. This man completely confused her.
Maggie gathered up the cutlery and plates from the table, stacking them as neatly as possible, trying hard to push the erotic images from her mind.
He'd given oh-so generously—the idea persisted—yet, he hadn't accepted what she had offered. Herself. Her physical self, at least.
Again, she felt her neck and cheeks grow warm and knew the heat suffusing her face had nothing to do with the summer sunshine beaming from the clear, cloudless sky. Maggie set the dirty dishes on the tray and made her way toward the door of the house. Inside, she began rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.
Reece entered the kitchen, a bottle of catsup, the jar of dill pickles and a large container of mustard balanced in his hands. Automatically, she turned off the water spigot and went to help him. Her eyes were helplessly drawn to his handsome face, his dark, intense gaze. She hated the fact that she wanted him so much, hated that she could so easily call to mind the delicious feel of his hands on her skin. She felt so betrayed by her body. She wanted desperately to conquer this frantic wanting.
"Thanks," he said when she plucked the pickles from his grasp.
Reece moved to the refrigerator and opened the door. "Maggie, I want to thank you." He placed the jar of mustard and the bottle of catsup on the shelf in the refrigerator and then turned to face her.
She didn't move, didn't respond.
"You've been great with Jeff the last couple of days," he went on. "I want to thank you for your patience." He took the pickles from her and placed them in the refrigerator before he closed the door.
His hand reached up to rub across his jaw as he faced her once again. "I want you to know," he said quietly, "that I've been analyzing every word that comes out of my mouth at the office. I've been doing my damnedest to make certain I'm not condescending or... or—" he grimaced "—chauvinistic. I complimented Pam, my administrative assistant, on the new dress she was wearing today, and I wondered afterward if my tone was in any way inappropriate."
"Reece, I know that you want to change your attitudes and behaviors for Jeff," she said, "and for yourself. But there is such a thing as going overboard. I mean, complimenting a woman on a new dress is a good thing. I don't know a woman alive who would resent a well-meaning and heartfelt compliment."
He nodded, studying her as though he had something else on his mind.
Maggie pressed her lips together, refusing to say another word. She'd meant to encourage him, to let him know she realized what he was doing for his son. However, hearing how he was working to rectify his behavior only stirred her desire for him in this traitorous body of hers. And she was so afraid that the longer she stood here, the larger the chance that he would recognize the desire that was coursing through her. She feared that the craving churning inside her would reach out with invisible fingers and alert him to its presence.
After a moment of silence, he said, "I just want you to know that I really appreciate what you're doing for Jeff. And for me."
His voice was quiet, warm and rich, like hot, silken honey coating her skin, its caress causing her absolute misery. He had moved toward her as he spoke, and Maggie realized that he was close enough now to reach out and touch her. For a moment, that's exactly what she thought he intended to do.
Please don't touch me, she begged silently. Please don't touch me.
If she felt the warmth of his skin on hers, she would lose every ounce of control she had. She felt shaky all of a sudden, and she tightened her grip on the stoneware plate she'd intended on stacking in the dishwasher.
She saw him raise his hand and reach toward her.
"Please." Maggie flinched back, hearing the blatant pleading in her tone. The embarrassment that rushed through her had her hurrying to the sink to load the last of the dishes into the machine.
When she finally looked up at him, she saw the last vestige of some dark emotion crossing his features.
Let him be angry, she thought. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd recoiled out of a pure, self-preserving instinct. If he misconstrued her behavior, there wasn't much she could do about it.
Reece stepped toward the French doors that led outside, heaving a huge sigh, and the tension seemed to dissipate a little with the added space between them.
"I'll be out back," Reece told her. "I'm going to spend a little time with Jeff."
"That's a great idea," she said, striving to conjure that same artificial brightness they'd been using with one another. "And by the way, I want you to know that I think I've come up with an idea that's really going to wow Jeff. It's sure to change his mind about women—" she strained to grin "—and their place in society."
Reece's eyes lit with interest.
"Yes," she went on, "I don't want to give it away just yet. I have some reading to do, but I think that little boy out there's going to be impressed."
He slowly nodded his head. "Well, whatever it is, go for it. I trust you." With that, he ducked out the door.
When she was alone in the kitchen, Maggie glanced out the window. Reece joined his son, and together they skipped rocks on the smooth surface of the water. They laughed together, the image bringing a pang to her heart that she didn't understand. But then, there was a lot happening to her lately that she didn't understand.
She felt as though her emotions were in a turmoil. Reece Newton confused the heck out of her. He made her feel things, physical desires she didn't want to feel, emotional responses she couldn't comprehend.
Faint laughter drifted in on a light summer breeze, telling her that father and son had shared another funny thought or a joke. Reece shouted out, and she heard the two of them race around the yard together.
The Newton males were a rambunctious pair, and despite the awkwardness between herself and Reece, the loud and playful boisterousness that was a natural part of the tiny, close-knit family had kind of grown on her. As Maggie wiped her hands on the dish towel, she wondered if she'd ever ge
t used to the silence of her own home when she was finally forced to return there. The thought was a dismal one, for in the isolation of her quiet house, there would be absolutely nothing to distract her from the memory of being in Reece's arms.
* * *
The swiftness with which the week passed was phenomenal to Maggie. She and Jeff spent their days with rods and reels at the shore, or cooking some new dish that never seemed to fail to impress Reece, or hiking along the water, or rowing a small boat around in the bay. One day the temperature had soared and Maggie had impulsively jumped into the sunlit water; Jeff had quickly joined her. They had frolicked, and splashed one another, and Maggie knew she'd never felt so carefree. There was something about this bright little boy that brought out in her a sense of fun and spontaneity she had never known she possessed.
Growing close to Reece's son was not something she had ever expected to happen; however, it had. Maggie found herself awaking with great anticipation to see those deep mahogany eyes of Jeff's shining with excitement over a new day just brimming with a million possible adventures.
This afternoon, the two of them sat at the picnic table preparing paper rubbings, a craft of sorts that involved covering a textured object, such as a shell or the bark of a tree, with tracing paper and "rubbing" a textured design with crayon or charcoal pencil.
Maggie watched Jeff concentrate on transferring the texture of a large piece of driftwood onto the paper. She smiled at how his tongue protruded from between his small lips.
She thought she was ready. She'd read all she could find on the subjects she wanted to discuss with Jeff. Certain that the information she was about to impart was enough to impress the most hardened chauvinist, Maggie placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward to speak.
"Jeff, did you know—" she worked hard to produce a tone of wonderment in her voice "—that there was a female artist by the name of Georgia O'Keeffe who painted such beautiful pictures that some of them are hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City?"
"Oh, yeah?"
He didn't sound very interested, and he certainly didn't sound impressed.
"And even though she was married," Maggie said, stressing the point, "she became famous in her own right."
Jeff looked up at her from the piece of wood. "She was married?"
"Yes, and she was famous. For her artistic talent. She became the head of the art department of West Texas State University—"
"Who'd she marry?"
"His name was Alfred." Maggie downplayed this information. "He was a gallery owner, but the important thing is—"
"He was a what?"
"A gallery owner," she said. "You know, he owned the business that showed and sold paintings."
"His wife's paintings?"
Maggie lifted one shoulder. "I would guess so."
His little head bobbed up and down knowingly. "Well, no wonder she got famous. She married the guy who sold her pictures."
Jeff's cavalier attitude took Maggie aback. "I'm sure Georgia O'Keeffe wouldn't appreciate having her paintings described as pictures, and I can't believe you think she got famous because of some man who happened to own an art gallery."
She sat up straight and tried to gather her wits about her. Stirring up a confrontation hadn't been her intention. She inhaled deeply, determined to try again.
"Have you ever heard of Marie Curie?"
"Nope." Jeff's attention was once again focused on the piece of tracing paper in front of him.
"Well, she was a famous scientist."
"Was she—?"
"Yes," Maggie said, anticipating his question, "she was married. Her husband was a scientist, too. They worked together. And they won a Nobel Prize in physics."
His chin tipped up and he eyed her. "He won a prize?"
"They won a Nobel Prize."
The first twinges of her irritation pinched at her when his expression told her that he was sure Madame Curie's husband had done all the work. However, she tamped down her annoyance. She would have liked a drumroll to precede what she was about to say.
"But," she said, pausing for emphasis, "she won a second Nobel Prize in chemistry all by herself after her husband died."
Jeff repositioned the crayon in his fingers. "The Noble Prize people musta felt sorry for her. I would, since her husband died and all."
"Nobel Prize," she corrected. Her shoulders sagged, and she ground her teeth together to keep from saying something nasty to the child.
"They did not feel sorry for the woman," she finally declared. "She made great strides in the medical field. Because of her, people with certain diseases can be treated with radium therapy."
The concept obviously went right over his head. This just was not working out the way Maggie had expected. Well, she had one more piece of ammunition to shoot his way. If this woman's achievements didn't wow him, nothing would.
"Did you know that there was a woman who fought in the Revolutionary War?" she asked.
"A lady soldier?" He stopped rubbing and lifted his chin.
"Yep." Maggie nodded. "She was known as Molly Pitcher, and she fought side by side with her husband." She thought it prudent to add that fact before he had the chance to ask.
"A woman soldier?" he repeated, his eyes lighting with interest. "Way back in the olden days?"
"That's right. She was a cannon loader, and she fought so bravely that, after one particular battle, she was presented to General Washington."
"George Washington? The first president?"
"The very same one." She could barely contain her excitement over how engrossed Jeff had become in what she had to say. "And the story goes that Molly was still bloody from the battle when she went to meet the general. The men praised her so highly that Washington made her a sergeant, right then and there."
"A lady sergeant back in the Revolutionary War?"
"You betcha."
"Wow, Maggie," Jeff said at last. "That's awesome."
She beamed. Then, when it looked as though Jeff was about to add something else, Maggie braced herself for one of his deflating comments.
His attention was completely focused on her as he said, "The next time Timmy comes over, would you mind tellin' him that story about Molly?"
Maggie blinked. That was it? she wondered. No disparaging words about Molly riding her husband's back to gain her place in history? Maybe her idea had made a little dent in his chauvinistic attitude, after all.
Chapter 9
Reece got out of his car, and the sound of laughter drew his steps around toward the back of the house. It was the end of the work week, and Fridays usually caught him feeling tired and just plain worn-out. Yet he found himself feeling invigorated and... alive. He'd experienced the same sensation returning home from work each evening. Somewhere between his house and the office, somewhere in the midst of late-afternoon traffic that used to irritate the devil out of him, he'd find his energy level rising in anticipation of seeing Jeff and Maggie together.
His son was always full of tales of his daily activities with Maggie. And with each passing day, Jeff seemed to grow closer and more fond of her. The change in the boy was near-miraculous. His behavior toward her had gone from a grudging, reluctant acceptance to a familiar, almost devoted friendliness.
Standing at the corner of the house, Reece was able to watch Jeff and Maggie play their game of Wiffle ball without their knowing they were being observed. Maggie was up to bat. Jeff pitched the plastic ball. Maggie swung and missed. Jeff cheered. She tossed the ball back to him. He pitched the ball again, this time putting a discernible spin on it. Pride welled up in Reece, his shoulders squaring slightly, as he took in his son's athletic ability. Maggie swung the narrow plastic bat, and whacked the ball far over Jeff's head. She yelped with carefree delight, dropped the bat, and flew like the wind toward a round metal trashcan lid that had been evidently designated as first base.
The joyful smile on her face mesmerized Reece. He had known that her time away
from her PI business had been good for her; he'd seen the fear in her drain away until it was no longer noticeable. However, the strain that had developed between himself and Maggie had made it impossible for her to relax completely.
He was sure the tension was caused because she felt rejected by him. And all because he hadn't made love with her.
Even though he still believed he'd done the right thing, he couldn't count the number of times he'd awakened in the night in a cold sweat, rock hard with wanting, his fervid dreams of her fogging his brain and leaving him horny as hell. In those moments, he was filled with regret that he hadn't made love to her; however, in the crystal-clear, logical light of day, he knew his original decision had been for the best.
He watched her run on toward second, her head thrown back as she laughed, and his body surged with need. He still wanted her just as much as ever. So was he really certain that giving up his chance to take her to bed had been the right choice?
Of course it had! She was a thinking, feeling human being. Taking advantage of her in a moment of weakness would have been wrong.
Reece rubbed his hand against his jaw. It had been an awfully long time since he'd taken a woman's feelings into consideration over and above his own wants and desires. An awfully long time...
"Dad!" Jeff was grinning as he raced toward Reece.
"Hey there, buddy," Reece called. "How are you today?"
"Great," the boy said. "Did you see Maggie wallop that ball?"
"I sure did." Reece glanced toward Maggie and saw that her carefree smile slipped a bit. His spirits plummeted. He wished there was something he could do, something he could say.
Talking was the only answer, damn it! The only way they were going to clear the air.
"You feel like pizza for dinner?" he asked his son.
"Sure!" Jeff glanced over his shoulder. "Maggie too?"
"Of course Maggie too."
"Great," he said, turning. "Hey, Maggie, you wanna go out to the pizza place with me and Dad?"
