Rolling in Clover

by Dawn, Penny

  She brushed at a smudge of dirt on her white T-shirt, where Luke had rested his hand. Suddenly, his scent accosted her. Wintergreen chewing gum. Fabric softener. Musky-male-out-running. He'd barely touched her, but he was all over her.

  Could others smell him on her, too? She should shower the scent of him away. Now. “Brennan?"

  No answer.

  With a pounding, nervous heart, she climbed the stairs and entered the master sitting room, immediately removing her T-shirt. And with it, the sexual scent of Luke.

  "Kimmy, I'm sorry."

  She dropped her T-shirt and spun toward her husband's voice. He sat on the sofa, with the Masters coverage blaring on the television. His red, puffy eyes suggested he'd been crying, but she knew better. He'd spent the morning up-chucking, wherever he'd slept.

  She raised a hand, continuing toward the shower. “I don't want to hear it."

  "Kimmy, I love you."

  "Show me, you son-of-a-bitch. Prove it to me."

  "I don't know what happened last night. I'm sorry."

  "I don't care how sorry you claim to be.” Luke was all over her, like Chanel No. 5. The only thing she cared about was hitting that shower before Brennan came close enough to pick up the scent.

  "Where's Allie?"

  "What do you care?” She ripped Luke from her body and shed the rest of her clothing.

  "What do I care? She's my daughter, too, you know."

  "Yes, I know. I know it all too well. That doesn't mean you deserve her.” Did Luke's abstinent wife ever feel this same abandonment? Did Diane feel alone when her husband spent the morning jogging, or placing his hands on other women's bodies? Allowing his life to carry on, despite his fatherly obligation?

  Did Luke's seven-and-five-eighths crave her favorite shade of lipstick the way she yearned for an hour of Brennan's undivided attention?

  "Kimmy?” Brennan appeared in the bathroom doorway, while she sobbed against the glass shower doors, steaming water beating onto her head.

  "She's with Lauren and Rick. If your blood-alcohol content is legal, go get her."

  "I'm sorry.” He unbuttoned the collar on his golf shirt.

  "You aren't sorry, and you don't love me. And don't even think about joining me now."

  "Too late.” He dropped his pants. “Already thought about it, already decided to."

  "Have a conventional affair, will you? With a live, breathing woman. Stop putting up hundreds for a few dozen drinks and a high score, and start spending it on a legitimate, trashy blonde. Leave me for her, for all I care, but I can't do this anymore."

  "You don't want that.” He entered the shower.

  She turned her back to him. “Yes, that's exactly what I want. Not one soul recognizes your problem as an infidelity, but it hurts worse than cheating ever could."

  His hand slithered around to her abdomen.

  Luke. Nerves swirled into desire. Oh, to feel that man's wet body behind hers, to save him from chronic self-pleasure with a grip around his thick seven-and-five-eighths.

  "How's our baby?"

  She parted her legs for Luke, imagining his strong hand entering her one finger at a time until he plunged her with all four, hitting every inch and massaging her clitoris with his thumb.

  "I'd be crazy not to love you,” he whispered, kissing the hollow of her collarbone. “You're beautiful."

  When a hand wandered over her breasts, she shook in his embrace, biological urges overtaking her. In her mind, it wasn't her husband pumping inside of her, bringing her to orgasm.

  It was Luke, stroking her just right, whispering words of encouragement, building her up. Her breasts tingling, her clit surging with power, with pleasure.

  "Oh, my God.” Her orgasm broke in an intense rush, and she caught her breath.

  "That's my girl,” Brennan whispered, with a slap to her ass.

  She blinked away water and pushed away from her husband.

  "Not done with you yet,” he said.

  "Well, I'm done with you.” She'd used him the way he'd used the old No. 7 last night—for a brief thrill, far from reciprocal.

  "What?” He brushed water from his face and, standing ramrod erect, attempted to close the door before she strode through it. He was unsuccessful.

  "I'm done.” She dressed and left to retrieve her daughter.

  CHAPTER 6

  "We have the room, Luke.” Julie Sheffield placed a plate of left-over chicken casserole onto the kitchen table in front of her big brother. “Move back in."

  "I appreciate the offer.” Derby slept on his feet under the table, numbing his legs. “But it isn't that easy,” he said between mouthfuls of comfort food, Julie's specialty.

  "I don't like to see you this way. When was the last time you slept?"

  Sleeping with an erection was nearly impossible, but more than that, his mind wandered at night. If he married Kimberley someday, would she hate him in five years the way Diane did now? Would she roll away in the middle of the night to avoid his touch? “I think we might be happy."

  "You and Diane? Are you serious?"

  He looked up. “You know I try with Diane, right? I mean, you know I give it my all, right?"

  "You give it more than you should."

  "Well, I'm done. I'm done giving."

  "It's about damn time."

  "I'm not leaving her. I'm just done. I met someone."

  "Oh, Luke.” Her knitted brow displayed her disappointment, the same way it did when she was a child. “Are you having an affair?"

  "Not yet."

  "This isn't what you need."

  "Easy for you to say. You're secure with a great house, an attentive husband, and you'll have everything you've ever wanted once this baby's born."

  "We're not talking about me, and it's easy for anyone to say. What's so difficult to understand? You're married, albeit to the devil, and until you divorce her, what do you see happening between you and this woman? Sex? Because if sex is all you're after—"

  "No.” He shoveled the last of the casserole into his mouth. “We're good together."

  "Is she married?"

  "And pregnant."

  "I can't believe I'm hearing this.” Julie shook her head, her rich, brown hair bouncing against her shoulders. “If you're not happy, Luke, leave your wife."

  "Why does every woman I know suggest that?"

  "I don't know ... because it's the sane thing to do, maybe? What does Dr. Schaeffer say?"

  "I can't leave her without leaving my kids, and I promised Caleb a long time ago—” A crack of thunder drowned his words, but the promise he'd made to his son was no secret to his sister.

  "You told Caleb you wouldn't leave again.” She stood and reached for his empty plate. “Luke, he's eight. Are you going to hang around for another ten years, living like this, in order to keep some ridiculous promise you never should have made?"

  "Thirteen years, at least, until Rachael's in college."

  "You're going to screw around for thirteen years?"

  "I don't think Diane would notice. I walked into the house the other day with a blanket—this woman's blanket we shared at the forest preserve—and you know what? She washed it without blinking an eye."

  "Finish with one woman before you start with another. You know how I feel about your wife, but she did have two children for you, and she probably deserves the courtesy. There's nothing more humiliating than a cheating spouse.” She walked to the sink, where she rinsed the dish, unaware Luke knew exactly how humiliating a cheating spouse could be, but...

  "How do you know what a cheating spouse is like?"

  She shook her head. “Don't worry about it."

  "Julie? Is there something about Bobby you're not telling me?"

  "No, but that's another thing. If this woman is willing to cheat on one husband, why wouldn't she cheat on another?"

  "There are circumstances. And who says she's willing? She needs some convincing."

  She stared hard at him, just starting to show, n
ever looking as healthy. “Do you really want to get involved with this woman's circumstances?"

  "Half of me says no."

  "Then the other half of you better wake the hell up."

  "This isn't black and white, Julie. Do you think I want things this way?"

  "Do you still love Diane?"

  Unable to voice the obvious answer, he shrugged. “Can anyone love a woman like that?"

  "Get a good lawyer."

  He pulled his feet out from under the dog and stamped them against the floor to stimulate circulation. Kimberley was a lawyer, and he'd bet she was good in every capacity.

  "Our door is always open. We're a five-minute drive away. It's not like you'd be leaving the way Dad did."

  * * * *

  "I want to call Daddy.” Allison cuddled against Kimberley under piles of blankets, sweating and shivering at the same time. Her temperature had risen to a hundred-and-two, and she'd thrown up twice in the past hour.

  And to make matters worse, morning sickness churned through Kimberley's gut, like a wave slowly approaching a rocky shore. When would it hit? And with a hot bulk of child lying across her, would she make it to the toilet when it did? “Shh. Daddy'll be home soon."

  "When?"

  She glanced at the clock. Six minutes until seven. After a few days out of state, Brennan finished his week at the Elgin Riverboat Casino, entertaining new recruits with a late luncheon, drinks, and—of course—card games galore. His ETA was anyone's guess.

  "Mommy? Are you sick, too?"

  "Yes, Allie."

  "Let's call Daddy. He'll come."

  "All right, let's try him again.” She reached for the cordless phone on the nightstand and dialed.

  "Yeah?” Brennan answered after several rings.

  "It's me."

  "Hi, Kimmy. How's our little girl?"

  Although he labored to sound sober, Kimberley guessed by the inflection in his voice that he was far from it. “Not well."

  "Want me to come home?"

  "It'd be nice."

  Only the background noise of a casino bar sounded over the line until Brennan cleared his throat. “You can't handle this?"

  "Brennan, I'm exhausted. It's been a long week."

  "You know that's how I feel all the time, right?"

  You have the energy to stay out playing games until four in the morning. “Brennan, please."

  He sighed like a teenager whose parents had denied him the car keys. “This outing is the best part of my job. I've got one-fifty on Gretchen."

  "Who?"

  "It's a reality show. Sixteen strangers deserted on Route 66, and the last one to the check point is out of the race. I bet on Gretchen."

  "You're kidding, right? Allie is sick, and she hasn't stopped asking for you."

  "Let me enjoy this."

  "Brennan, I think this is a special circumstance. I'm not feeling well either."

  "I forgot. You're the only woman in the world who's ever had a baby."

  Spoken like a true man. She hung up.

  "I wanted to talk.” Allison sniffled. “I miss Daddy."

  "Shh. He's coming, baby. It's all right. He's coming.” If she'd married Jason, he would have been halfway home by now, on a rescue mission.

  It hit her for the first time. Jason had tried to rescue her on the eve of her wedding day. With the letter on which she still depended. Perhaps he wrote it by design, knowing she would keep it. Knowing she'd need a piece of him for the rest of her life.

  Allison eventually cried herself to sleep, and Kimberley slipped from the bed. She washed her face and brushed her teeth before sauntering toward the kitchen. She retrieved The Fabulous Gourmet, and it fell open to the hollandaise page. Perhaps it was time to move Jason's letter to the dessert section, lest her husband find it. Or maybe she ought to toss it. After all those years, keeping it was probably unhealthy.

  She crumbled the sheet of paper—she'd done so countless times to date—and tossed it into the already full wastebasket. There. Jason was gone, and now she could concentrate on her life. The life she'd chosen to live.

  She tapped her toes against the floor and darted glances at the waste basket. I'm okay with my decision. Really, I don't need that letter.

  After a few more glances, she jumped to retrieve the wad, ironed it with her hands, and tucked it back into the hollandaise page. Some things were never meant to leave her.

  The telephone rang and she pounced on it. She didn't have the energy to rock Allison back to sleep, so she didn't waste time checking the caller ID.

  "Hey, Kimberley.” A vaguely familiar, male voice.

  She scanned the window on the back of the receiver. She didn't recognize the number.

  "It's Luke, beautiful girl."

  Her stomach flip-flopped. How did he find her unlisted number? And why the hell was he using it?

  "Kimberley?"

  "What do you want?"

  "You're hard to find. Would you believe it took a twenty at the club counter to get your number?"

  Talkative towel boys.

  "Kimberley, are you there?"

  "Yeah. What do you want?"

  "This is a pretty bad storm, and I know your husband's never around to take care of you, so—"

  "Is it raining?” She peeked out from behind a shade for the first time since morning. Rain poured in sheets. “Well, at least Allison and I didn't miss a sunny day."

  "Go back to the window."

  "How did you—"

  "I want to see what you're wearing."

  Her heart quickened and she snapped up the shade. And there before her, with a tiny cell phone pressed to his ear, stood Luke, holding a magazine above his head to shelter his perfect hair from the rain, illuminated with the outside lights. Her jaw slowly dropped.

  "I was in the neighborhood. I'm not stalking you or anything like that."

  Pity.

  "I just...” He shrugged. “I don't know, I wanted to see you."

  "Now you have."

  "Nice nightgown."

  A white cotton, chemise style, there was nothing sexy about it.

  "It's very"—he paused, cocking his head, studying her through dripping panes of glass—"maternal."

  "Go home."

  "Where's your daughter?"

  "She's asleep. You shouldn't be here."

  "Is your husband home?"

  "No."

  "Then give me two minutes.” He smiled.

  "No. Go home.” Desire twitched between her legs; perhaps it was time to use the purple vibrator Brennan hid in her Christmas stocking last year.

  She stared at the delicious man in her driveway. Because he was already soaking wet, it was easy to imagine Luke's self-gratification in the shower. Oh, what an image.

  "Ninety seconds,” he said.

  "Forty-five, starting three seconds ago."

  He hitched his chin toward the back door. “Let me in."

  "Absolutely not."

  "Then come outside."

  "It's raining."

  "Don't you have to take the garbage out or something?"

  She glanced at the overflowing can. “Yes, actually. How did you know that?"

  "Women let it pile up and that's all right. It isn't ladies’ work."

  "Good-bye, Luke.” She hung up and pulled the shade down. The sound of the rain lulled her, now that she was aware of it. Her nausea had subsided, but the image of Luke in the rain left her far from content.

  A nagging sensation drew her toward the trash bin. Because she was insane—I must be—she gathered the plastic bag, secured it with a twist tie, and yanked it out of the can.

  While she could have reached the attached garage through the mudroom, she exited into the screened porch and out onto the open-air patio. Warm rain bled through her nightgown, stimulating her nipples.

  He stood less than three feet away, but she carried on as if he were a mirage, tossed the bag into the city-issued receptacle, and pivoted back toward the house. A small stick wedged
between her toes, and she bent at the waist to remove it.