by Dawn, Penny
"What about Rachael?"
From out of nowhere, sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he cleared his throat. “I'll always be her dad, too."
"Dad, do you love Mom?"
His legs, suddenly weak, shook when he rose. “Of course I love Mom."
"Does Mom love you?"
"Yeah.” She wouldn't sleep with him, smile at him, or say one kind word to him, but deep down, she loved him, right? He'd always lived for that assumption, until the beautiful girl at the gym had twisted him in knots.
Kimberley had tensed when he raked through her hair, but almost instantly, she'd eased into comfort, as if she'd trusted him, as if she'd known him forever. He'd forgotten the thrill of an affectionate touch, of a woman's response to his hands. So sweet.
While he'd learned to live without it since Rachael Catherine had made her debut, he craved the buzz of reciprocal attention. And now, he couldn't shake the memory of this morning's source of it: Kimberley Roderick.
"Next time you leave, Dad, can I come with you?"
Luke clapped his hand against his thigh, alerting Derby. “Come on, boy."
"Can I?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Mom says you don't have time for kids without her help. She says your dad didn't take you, so you won't take me."
"Caleb, you want to know something about your grandpa?"
"Mom says you were Rachael's age when he left."
"Grandpa was a career military man. Do you know what that means? It means he moved from base to base, wherever our country needed him. He did it to protect your freedom."
"Why didn't you go with him? Why didn't Grandma?"
"Because adults don't always agree. Your grandpa's not a bad man.” Just a lousy father, an even worse husband, and Luke would probably sucker-punch him in the jaw if he ever saw him again.
"You want me to go with you next time, don't you?"
"I always want you with me,” Luke said, twisting his wedding ring. “Now stop worrying, kiddo.” At the moment, he wanted to drop his wedding ring into Lake Michigan, Kimberley Roderick to a hotel room floor, and his divorce lawyer a line. “So, what do you say? Batting practice?"
"Coach says if I'm quicker with the grab, he might put me at shortstop this summer."
"Then we'll work on fielding. You'll make a good shortstop."
* * * *
"Hi.” Kimberley had one foot in the door when Brennan kissed the hollow of her neck, his breath a hot whiskey whisper at her throat. Hair of the dog that had devoured him last night. He closed the door and pressed her up against it. “Nails look great. Did you get a manicure?"
"And a pedicure.” She hid her satisfied smile.
His fingers inched into her yoga pants. She recognized this pattern of behavior—he was sorry about last night, and he'd prove it with sex.
"Where's Allie?"
His tongue filled her mouth.
"Bren?” She turned her cheek to his demanding probe. “Where's Allie?"
"With my parents. They said they'd keep her all day.” He spun her around and lowered her to the granite floor in the vestibule, his fingers working the zipper on her hooded sweatshirt.
"Here? Bren, we—"
"Sure we can."
She turned away, but that only enabled him to roll her over to her stomach and lift her hips to his pelvis. He pressed against her, rock hard. Overcharged from her taboo conversation with Luke, not to mention her near-masturbation in the shower, she groaned. Brennan's readiness sparked a passionate nerve, a needy desire to be stroked and penetrated. “Mmm.” She pushed against his erection like a cat in heat, presenting.
"That's right. I know you like it like this.” He peeled her pants down and shoved himself deeply into her. No time to undress, no time for foreplay, the fire between them urgent. But for all the wrong reasons. “God, you're dripping wet."
She imagined Luke behind her, gripping her waist and beating himself against her wet walls. Harder. Faster. When she pinched her eyes closed, Luke's large hands registered in her mind, caressing, doting, teasing.
It wouldn't always be this way, hard and unforgiving. Most of the time, she and Luke would probably make love leisurely, playfully, as if they had no place to be, nothing more important to do. They would talk about it for hours, tempting one another with lingering strokes and leering gazes in the forest preserve, before combusting behind closed doors.
He'd probably lick her first. A long drag of his moist tongue from her labia to her rectum, a thorough brushing around and inside her hole. Get her good and wet, so his cock would slide in without effort, without nudging or coercion.
Unless, of course, he had prowess to surpass the average man. And with hands like his, he was probably well hung, with a circumference to come for. He'd want to work on her for hours with his fingers, his tongue. Oh, the thrill in making it fit, the teamwork involved in burying a well-endowed penis. Yet once in—all the way in—they'd move together naturally.
Pound into me. Deeper. Harder. It's not enough. I need more.
She tucked her hand into her panties and massaged her clit, the image of a perfect stranger interring himself soul-deep into her. Evocative eyes, straight teeth. Rugged smile.
You're a beautiful woman. Even Luke's voice exuded sex.
"That's it, that's it.” Taut around the invasive cock, feeling every hard inch of it, she quivered. “That's it."
"Are you coming?” Brennan's voice.
Ignore it. Finish what you started.
"Are you coming, Kimmy?"
"Shh."
Deep, quick strokes into her slick vagina. And that was Luke slapping her ass, pushing into her, leading her over the edge. She rubbed with more precision.
"Are you coming?"
Yes.
"Let me look at you. I want to watch you come.” He lifted one of her legs and in smooth movements, raised and rotated her body between plunges, racking her back against the stairs.
"Did you get there?"
Shut up.
A step lodged against the small of her back, and her orgasm broke. The digging of the stair treads against her back intensified the shattering of pleasure between her legs.
He cupped a breast, stroking her through her clothing. But now she'd come to her senses, she didn't need the incentive, and she didn't want him inside her. He wasn't the man she'd just come for. And the whiskey on his breath proved it.
* * * *
Brennan placed a hand on her backside as she arranged cubes of cheese and sausage around a disc of baked brie en croute on a square platter. “Let's cater next time,” he whispered. “This is too much for you."
"I enjoy it. Besides, hors d'oeuvres isn't exactly dinner for twelve. I can do this."
"We should try Coup de Gras. On Belmont."
"In the city? There's probably someone closer."
"Not as good."
City-boy mentality. Nothing was as good in the ‘burbs as it was in the city.
"Lauren uses them, and her parties are always lavishly supplied, Kimmy, don't you think?"
Kimberley might have been offended that Brennan compared her cooking to his ex-girlfriend's caterer's, but Lauren Wagner had been her best friend for years. “Very elegant, yes. Expensive, too, I'm sure."
"You're too frugal when it comes to this stuff.” He slid his arms around her, drumming his fingers against her abdomen, and snuggling behind her. “Have you thought about how we're going to handle this tonight?"
"You mean whether we should tell people about the pregnancy?"
"Yeah ... what do you think?"
She'd been too busy thinking about Luke to ponder the breaking of their news, wondering if the physically fit stranger was as good in bed as he looked, as phenomenal as he'd been in her mind against the stairs.
"Maybe you can nurse a glass of red wine all night. Then no one will be suspicious."
A sigh, half desperation, half disappointment, escaped her. “Brennan, I love you."
His arm
s tightened around her. “I love you, too."
"But I'm not going to allow our children to grow up thinking every big event in life demands a lavish dent in the pocket book, or—"
"There's nothing wrong with paying for a service."
"—or involves over-consumption."
He pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Do we have to talk about it every god-damned night? I've been looking forward to this party all week. It's the highlight in my week of fast food and hotel curtains, and all you want to talk about is—"
The front doorbell sounded and he backed away, tapping her on the backside.
"I'll get the door,” she said, wiping her hands on a tea towel and walking to the front of the house.
"Honey, you're pregnant.” Lauren hadn't taken off her jacket or moved beyond the foyer. Her big, blue eyes seemed to grow even larger with excitement, and her pretty pink lips puckered.
Kimberley attempted to deny the inference with a shake of her head, but it was no use. “You're scaring me."
"Sixth sense about pregnancy. Am I right?"
"Don't tell anyone."
"Such great news.” Lauren turned a make-believe key at her lips and with the flick of her white-blonde hair, tossed said key over her shoulder. Magical and magnetic, she drew fans the way a queen bee attracted soldiers.
And she'd do anything for a friend. Need a babysitter? At midnight? Lauren's your girl. Need a new tailor? Lauren knew the right guy. Need an extra bridesmaid? Kimberley did, and Lauren filled in with more enthusiasm than either of Kimberley's sisters. So it was only fitting she knew the Rodericks’ secret.
The lilac satin pumps on Lauren's feet—remnants from a wedding years ago—coordinated with the handbag dangling from her tiny wrist. “Pregnant with number two. Can I congratulate Bren?"
"He knows, if that's what you're asking."
"Well, how do I know?” She pulled a chic, silver jacket from her shoulders to reveal the sexiest garment any mother of four had ever donned: a shimmering ivory catsuit—vinyl—with a halter-style top. “He's been out of town more than he's been in. For all I know, you haven't had time to kiss him hello."
Kimberley pressed a hand to her bruised back and glanced at the staircase. “Oh, we've accomplished that."
With a bottle of No.7 whiskey and bunch of spring flowers, Lauren's husband Rick approached the house, pocketing his cell phone. “I know something you don't know,” Lauren sang.
"All right.” Kimberley took the bottle and bouquet from Rick. “You can tell him."
"They're pregnant.” Lauren grasped her husband's hands and leaned to kiss him. “They're catching up. But don't tell anyone."
"Congratulations, buddy.” Rick looked directly over Kimberley's head at Brennan, who moved toward them with his hands shoved into his pockets. “You're halfway to four."
"I think this is our last,” Kimberley said. “I want to go back to work someday."
Lauren waved the thought away. “Whatever for?"
Brennan hooked an arm around her waist. A little too tight. “I see we've decided to share our news."
"Don't blame her,” Lauren said. “I guessed."
"This calls for a celebratory shot, don't you think?” Rick said.
After a hesitant glance into Kimberley's eyes, Brennan nodded. “Why stop at one?"
She felt her heart sinking.
"Who do you like in the Cubs-Astros series?” Brennan asked. “Care to make it interesting?"
* * * *
"Don't even think about it,” Diane said in the darkness, rolling out from under Luke's hands to the edge of the mattress.
"Diane,” he whispered, inching closer. “Please."
"You want me to spread my legs so you can hop up and down on me until you're satisfied?"
"No, I want—"
"Here.” She spread her limbs, lying in an X. “Go."
"I want you to enjoy it, too.” He leaned over her, daring to weave a hand into her brassy hair. If not for the look of contempt in her ice blue eyes, she'd be the same girl he fell for so long ago. There had been a time when that fire had nothing to do with anger, but verve. The ancient image of her reaching orgasm ricocheted inside him like a pinball. “I want you to want me. The way you used to."
"I have never enjoyed it with you.” Her sharp glare might as well have been a shard of glass, ripping through his heart. “I can't stand the sight of you, much less the feel of you."
He turned his back to her, punching the pillow into submission before settling into it. “This isn't right. It isn't natural."
"If you have to have it, find yourself a little friend and leave me out of your natural urges. Fuck every fucking whore in town until your dick falls off."
"I don't want that, and you know it."
A staccato, snake-like laugh hissed from her lips. “Given the chance, you'd be screwing everything you could get your dirty hands on. In bar bathrooms, backseats, sleazy motels."
"I love you."
"Right."
"Why won't you let me love you?"
After a long, drawn out exhalation, she gave her head a tiny shake. “I had a talk with Caleb today."
"About what?” He turned toward her again and dropped a hand onto her stomach; surprisingly, she allowed it to remain there after only a tremor of distaste.
"Where the hell do you get off telling him you're taking him with you next time you leave, Luke?"
"I didn't—"
"I carried him. I threw up for ten weeks. I got stretch marks on my ass, I went through fourteen hours of labor, and I spent three hours pushing him out of my body. What makes you think he's yours to take?"
"First, I was right there with you, through it all."
"Doing nothing next to what I did."
"Doing what I could. And second, he's not the last piece of pizza, he's our son. And I didn't—"
"You don't even know how to open a can of Spaghetti-O's. What makes you think you can be a single father?"
"Let me love you, Diane. I don't want to be a single father. I want us to be happy again."
She shook her head.
His hand traveled to her sexless cotton briefs, and although she sighed in boredom, she allowed him access. “Diane.” He slowly and gently pressed a finger into her folds, searching for the one spot that used to do the trick. He hadn't come close to finding it in years. “Try to enjoy it."
She lay like a limp rag doll, completely unresponsive. Biologically, she felt right. Warm and moist on the inside. But on the outside, stiff and uninterested.
"Just get it over with,” she said. “I'd like to get some sleep tonight."
He pulled his hands from her underwear. No, thanks.
"Fine.” She yanked the sheets over her body and rolled away. “But for the record, I was willing. You make the concession next time."
He rolled out of bed, tucked his rigid cock back into his boxer shorts, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a flannel.
"Take that damn dog with you, wherever you're going."
"Of course."
"But those children are mine."
He fastened the last button and darted out of the bedroom. Derby fell into place beside him, and to accommodate the dog's leisurely saunter, Luke slowed his pace. “It's all right, Derby. We'll make it through."
The stairs might as well have been Mount Everest for the pup. Too old to make the climb, he often slept by the back door instead of outside the master bedroom, where he'd been this night. Luke lifted the dog's weight and carried him down. “You're heavy."
Derby groaned in sympathetic, brotherhood fashion, his sad eyes blinking slowly, as if he knew of the rejection behind closed doors. And maybe he did. The Discovery Channel had played a documentary on companionship last month, confirming what Luke had already suspected: Derby felt pain when his master was sad and elation when Luke was happy. Studies had shown that just as long-term spouses often died within weeks of one another, pets of the elderly had done the same.
; "You and me, pup. We got to stick together."
They stopped in Luke's tiny den. It once was a breezeway connecting their smallish house to the garage, but when Luke had gone into business for himself a few years ago, he'd enclosed it. It was far from ideal. Diane traipsed through with groceries and laundry, and the kids were constantly in and out. Case in point, he tossed the half-eaten apple screaming Rachael was here into the trash. But it was a sufficient place to keep his sister's old computer.
