Rolling in Clover

by Dawn, Penny

  He moistened his lips and pulled her tight to his chest. Limp, she was the usual rag doll in his arms. Still, it felt good to hold her, to kiss her stiff, unresponsive mouth, stale from hours of sleep in the family room.

  "Just hurry, okay?” she whispered. “Please."

  "I want you to want it. Can I just ... can I try to help you want it?” He raised a hand to a breast. “You used to like this."

  "Don't remind me of mistakes I've made."

  "You used to put my hands here on your own."

  "Before two children shriveled me to raisins."

  "They're still here. Nicer than they used to be."

  "Give me a break, will you?"

  "Try, Diane. Please. It'll feel good if you let yourself try. What can I do to help? To help you want it?"

  "Nothing. I don't want it."

  "Do you want it from Rachael's father?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake.” She rolled away.

  The slim contour of her body remained against his hands, imprinting, but fading fast. “We should talk about this."

  "We've been talking about it since she was born, Luke, and I can't put it any plainer for you. She's yours now, that's all that matters, and that was your decision, not mine. You didn't have to come back, you know."

  "Yes, I did."

  "For who, Luke? You didn't come back for me. You came back for Caleb."

  His cell phone rang from the pile of dirty clothes on the floor.

  "Who the hell is calling you at this hour?"

  "I don't know."

  "Go ahead and answer it.” Diane retrieved her book. “We're done anyway."

  Numb from head to toe, he reached to the floor. The ringing had stopped, but he picked up the phone, checking the Caller ID screen.

  It was Kimberley.

  CHAPTER 7

  "Kimmy?"

  She opened her tired eyes to find her husband leaning over her, rubbing her stomach under her cotton nightgown. A small sense of satisfaction darted through her, knowing yesterday Luke had seen her body through it.

  She closed her eyes again, remembering the fire in his eyes when he'd observed her through the window, the sound of his soft gasp the exact second she'd bent over.

  "Kimmy, I—"

  "Don't tell me you're sorry.” She shook him away with a piercing glare.

  He reached out for her. “I don't know what happened. One minute I was at a black-jack table, and the next I was—"

  "You don't have to tell me. I remember what happened."

  "Kimmy."

  "It's bad enough you'd put me in that situation, Brennan, but Allie?"

  "I didn't ask you to come get me last night."

  "No, you told me to."

  "I could've called a cab."

  "Then why did you call me? Why did you bully me into driving down to Elgin, to the Riverboat district—"

  "I don't know. I don't remember. I'm sorry."

  "Do you think I honestly care that you're sorry? The little girl down the hall is old enough to remember now. She's growing up, not that you've been around to see it, and she's big enough to know when things are wrong."

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "How many times are you going to be sorry for the same damn thing? Sorry doesn't work anymore. You need to get a handle on this. Love me, love Allie enough to control yourself."

  "Do you think I don't try? I swear to you, I do."

  "I'm tired of your trying, Brennan."

  His hand wandered to her breasts.

  If she closed her eyes and pretended the hand were callused and scarred, like Luke's, it felt nice. Comforting.

  The telephone rang, and she answered it, thankful for an excuse to roll away. “Hello."

  "Hi, beautiful girl."

  Her heart pounded, while Brennan rubbed her back. “Hi."

  "I tried your cell, but you didn't answer. Is he there?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you meet me in an hour?"

  "Yes."

  "Say ‘no, thank you,’ and hang up the phone. I'll see you soon."

  "No, thank you.” She hung up the phone.

  * * * *

  "He did what?” Luke asked, walking alongside Kimberley on the forest preserve jogging path.

  "He drove directly into the third stall door."

  "Is he all right?"

  "Yeah, he's fine, and surprisingly, so is the car, but the garage door needs some work. I suppose it's better he hit the garage, instead of the ragtop parked inside, but now I have to call for service. It's going to look like I did it."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "Because I'm a woman aiming a big vehicle at a narrow stall door."

  "Oh, don't worry about that old stereotype. Believe it or not, most repairmen don't give a hoot about the circumstance, as long as you pay your bill."

  "I'm just glad he didn't hurt himself, but it's only a matter of time before he does something a repairman can't fix."

  He tossed a blanket onto the ground at the site they now referred to as their place. “Have a seat."

  "Thanks.” She kicked off her sandals and emptied a bag of pedicure tools and lotions. “I don't even know who to call to fix it."

  "Jackson's. I'll give you the number."

  "Thanks. That'll help."

  "So, about these beautiful breasts..."

  She smiled, blinking up at him through the sunshine. “What about them?"

  "Are you going to breastfeed?"

  "For the last time, that's none of your business."

  "Tell me you are, and I'll shut up about it.” He daringly reached for her left breast and dragged a finger along its contour.

  She stared hard into his eyes, hoping her pleasure was not nearly as noticeable as it felt in her flushing cheeks. “Don't do that again."

  "I can't help it."

  "I mean it."

  "After Friday in the rain ... Jesus, Kimber, they're perfect."

  Friday in the rain was undoubtedly the best part of that day. And it could have been even better, had she invited Luke to join her inside.

  She grabbed an exfoliating lotion, yet before she opened it, Luke stole it from her hands.

  "I'm good at this part.” He squeezed a dollop into his palm and pulled her feet into his lap. “Besides, pregnant women should have their feet massaged daily."

  She probably should have protested, but his rough hands worked her aching feet with such perfection she didn't have it in her to deny him.

  "It helps with circulation. My wife's ankles never swelled during pregnancy.” His brown eyes punctuated his statement. “Never."

  "I didn't know such a thing was possible. When I was pregnant with Allison, my ankles were huge.” She looked away. “As was the rest of me."

  "If you were my wife, I'd wake you like this every morning."

  "Would you fuck me afterward?"

  A long, slow smile crept into his eyes before appearing in his lips. “I don't fuck, but yeah. I think I'd find my way inside you."

  "What about the pure and true glow of pregnancy?"

  "There's nothing in the world more stimulating. I have a thing for pregnant women. That's when I felt closest to my wife. When she was pregnant with Caleb. That's why it hurt so bad when she wouldn't touch me."

  His hands worked the lotion around her feet, his thumbs pressing hard along her arches. “You're good at what you do."

  "You have no idea. And breastfeeding's important, Kim. If you were my wife, I'd make damn sure that baby was nursed."

  "And I'd make damn sure you were up in the middle of the night to keep me company."

  "Oh, we'd be up in the middle of the night, for sure. Doing all the things I can't do to you now."

  "It's a good thing I'm not your wife. We might never leave the bedroom."

  "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  "Who'd take care of the children?"

  "You'd have my children?” he asked with a coy sm
ile. “I'll take that as a compliment."

  "This is a crazy conversation. I'm not your wife."

  "Oh, I know what you aren't, but what I can't figure out is what you are."

  "I'm a woman who shouldn't be here.” She slid her feet out from under his hands and tossed him a towel. “I'm a woman who shouldn't let those hands anywhere near me."

  "But you want to, don't you?” He swiped the towel against his thick, rough, amazing hands.

  "It doesn't matter what I want. I'm married, and I'm pregnant."

  "So now's the best time. There's one thing you can't get before that baby's born, and that's pregnant again."

  "Let's not talk about it. I mean, really, Luke, what would Diane do if she knew you'd just invited me into your bed?"

  "Nothing. That's not the way she works. She'd make life so insanely miserable I'd want to leave. She knows I won't. She knows I promised Caleb, but—"

  "So why risk it?"

  "Because I need more. And so do you."

  "You don't even know me, and you're willing to risk your marriage, your children."

  "You're incredible.” He reached for and massaged a foot. “Your husband doesn't know how good he's got it, but I know, Kimberley. I think about you everyday, and I know."

  Luke wasn't touching more than her feet, but she felt his hands everywhere. In her mind, they were entwined, and he was inside her, moving like Jason.

  Luke crawled toward her, as if he'd just spun a bottle in a circle of teenage friends. He leaned over her, parting his lips.

  An inch of air hovered between them.

  When she backed away, he only leaned closer, compelling her onto her back.

  "Think of the consequence.” Her words were a breathy dare: Kiss me. “Don't do it, Luke. I'm not worth it."

  "Don't do what?” He chuckled. “I'm not touching you. I just want to know what it feels like to be above you."

  It felt great to be under him. “Promise me."

  "Anything."

  "Thank you."

  "What am I promising?” He flashed his smile.

  "Don't kiss me."

  "I only want...” He took a deep breath. “...to inhale you."

  Was he as biologically as ready as she? With her hand a millimeter away from investigating, she came to her senses just in time and scrambled out from under him. She might have kicked his shin.

  "What now?” He sat back on a heel, like a catcher behind home plate.

  "Tell me about your wife."

  "What about her?"

  "I don't know.” She reached for an emery board and filed her toenails. “Just tell me something about her."

  "What are you doing?"

  "Fulfilling my alibi. My toes."

  The same finger that trailed along her left breast caressed a tiny patch of bare skin on her side, just above her hip, where her T-shirt pulled away from her body.

  She glanced up at his intense eyes. “Can you sit here without touching me?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Try."

  "You're just so pretty."

  "Is Diane pretty?"

  He nodded, and his hand came to rest against her abdomen. “Yeah."

  "Do you love her?"

  "Yeah."

  "If that's true, why are you here?"

  "Why are you here?” He frowned and snapped his hand away. “I'm not here alone, you know. It wasn't my idea to bend over in a soaking wet nightie. I'd rather not see your hair curling in the rain at all, rather not see your name light up my telephone at three in the morning. My God, do you think this is easy for me?"

  Her mouth fell open.

  "If you feel superior to assume this attraction is all on my side of the fence, that's fine,” he said. “But let me know the rules before we start playing the game."

  "The point is, Luke, that we shouldn't play a game together at all."

  "Great. Go home and wait for your husband to realize what he has in you, and hope he doesn't gamble away your future in the mean time."

  She stopped filing. “What did you say?"

  He winced. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"

  "You don't know my husband."

  "Do I need to?"

  "He gives me everything he can."

  "He gives you a whopping headache."

  Well, he was right about that.

  "Look.” Luke waved away an insect. “You're taken care of, and I guess that's something, but would you stay with him if the security weren't there?"

  Would she?

  "He might lose everything someday. Would you still be there, if he did?"

  "We're both adults here. We can control ourselves, can't we?"

  "That depends. Can your husband control himself? Was he controlling himself last night when he demanded you bring your sick little girl to the riverboat district to find him? Was he controlling himself when he went for a drive and then crashed into your garage? Control is all a matter of relativity. It's quid pro quo."

  "My husband has addictions.” She applied cuticle softener, her hands as steady as steel. “And he's unfaithful, I'll give you that much. But my husband craves the rush of a game and the company of No. 7, not an extra-marital skirt."

  "How do you know? How do you know he doesn't wager oral sex? How do you know he doesn't bet his buddies who can get into the bartender's pants the fastest? Quid pro quo, Kimber."

  "There's nothing quid pro quo about this."

  "It doesn't matter how he's doing it. With or without the bartender's panties, by your own definition, he's still cheating on you."

  "So you want me to give him a taste of his own medicine? But instead of betting a paycheck, I should bet my marriage? Instead of drinking whiskey when it all falls apart, I should drink you?"

  "Maybe."

  She began to shake her head.

  "Do you swallow?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Swallow. Do you?"

  "Yes.” Why had she answered in the affirmative? She and Jason had used oral sex as foreplay. Ejaculating into her mouth, according to Jason, would be impolite, unromantic, and unnecessary.

  And as far as Brennan was concerned, he was usually too drunk to finish fellatio.

  "I want to taste you, beautiful girl.” Luke inched toward her, crawling between her legs. “I'm harmless.” He maneuvered around her bent knee and rested his head in her lap. “I can't lose my children, but if there were a way we wouldn't get caught—and I mean an airtight, sure-as-death way—I'd be all over you. Would you wake me with a blowjob? Would you swallow me?"

  One of his hands cupped her backside. She said nothing, simply reached beyond the bulk of his body for a bottle of burgundy organza nail polish. She imagined seeing Brennan's mouth only inches from some woman's crotch and shuddered at the mental picture. But she couldn't push Luke away.

  "I wish you knew,” Luke said. “I wish you understood."

  "Understood what?” She pretended not to notice the brushing of his lips against her inner thigh, the trailing of his fingers along her hip.

  "That we're soul mates, beautiful girl. I wish you could feel it."

  The pressure of his mouth intensified, deepening her breaths to uneven, erratic inhalations. I'll give you something to feel. Stick that hot tongue inside me.

  She closed her eyes, imagining those pouting lips gently massaging her clitoris, that pink tongue swirling against her from the inside out, his head bobbing between her pregnant thighs, and—

  "Or maybe you can. Can you feel it?"

  Yes, Luke, I can feel it, I love it, I want it. “It doesn't matter what I want. I can't indulge."

  "Let me make love to you."

  "You want to fuck me. Let's not confuse the issue."

  "I'm not confused."

  She painted her toenails, the rapid beat of her heart reverberating in her ears. Luke equated sex, inside and out. And when she was with him, so did she.