Partners In Parenthood

by Raina Lynn

  Basic decency told him to back off until she’d made up her mind, but the gnawing ache in his body made honorable intentions about as practical as suggesting they sit down and chat about the weather. “I understand.” His brain might, but his body was a screaming mess.

  Then she surprised him by undoing the top button of his shirt. Her fingertips brushed the skin beneath his throat. It felt so good it burned. The ability to breathe vanished, another complication he didn’t need.

  “No, I don’t think you do understand,” she said softly, not quite meeting his gaze. “Being nervous isn’t the same as changing one’s mind.”

  Jill always took life as it came. He had never suspected she had an insecure side. A wave of tenderness overtook him, tempering the urgency. He cradled her face in his hands, then slowly kissed her lips, taking care to invite, not demand. After a few tentative explorations of her own, she opened to him with quiet trust.

  One button at a time, they undressed each other, hands reveling in the discovery of naked skin. When he pulled her against him again, he knew what they would experience with each other would be something special. “You okay?” he murmured.

  “You talk too much,” she complained against his lips.

  He pulled her down onto the bed and the fire raged. It seemed only moments—then again, it felt like forever—before he buried himself inside her welcoming body. He hadn’t intended to rush, but it seemed right, and she was more than ready for him. The explosion that rocked his body came without warning, its suddenness embarrassing.

  “Jill, I’m sorry. That wasn’t what—”

  She clamped her hand over his mouth. “You’re wonderful, Bradshaw. Now, shut up and kiss me.”

  The second time, he found with her a completeness to lovemaking that he never suspected could exist. They held each other in the darkness, alternately sleeping and loving. Together, they kept the loneliness at bay.

  Chapter 3

  Jill woke at three, a glorious feeling of well being infusing her with warmth. She braced her elbow on the pillow and rested her head in her hand. The moon had risen, and soft light filtered in through the window. Self-indulgently, she watched the man she loved as he slept. And she did love him, too. She wasn’t sure when she’d crossed the line, but, win or lose, she had definitely crossed it.

  Mason slept soundly on his back beside her, the sheets shoved erotically down to just below his waist. He had very little body hair, mostly a thin, dark patch across his chest and a matching fine line down his abdomen. It seemed to invite her touch, and she had the almost irresistible temptation to trace that line with a fingertip. Smiling in the dark, she kept her hands to herself. If she woke him, she’d no longer be able to watch him unobserved, no longer be able to savor the way the moonlight glowed on his satin skin or the way his heavy lashes shadowed his cheeks in sleep.

  Could this night really be happening? Or was it all a delightful dream? Had she really made love with a man she had assumed would never want her? And what love, she sighed. She hadn’t even known she was multi-orgasmic. With her ex-husband, whatever dissatisfaction she felt during sex—she refused to call it making love, not after what she’d experienced tonight with Mason—Donald had always blamed her. With Mason, they’d experimented, learning each other’s preferences and needs. There’d been no self-consciousness, only absolute trust.

  Still asleep, he flung one arm above his head. The empty place by his side became more temptation than she could deny. Careful, so as not to wake him, she snuggled against him and closed her eyes.

  The Prince Charmings of the world gravitated toward educated women of elegance and success, not self-taught bookkeepers. But maybe, just this once, the rules had been set aside.

  When his alarm went off at four o’clock in the morning, Mason dragged his eyes open and tried to force his fuzzy brain to function. Beside him, a warm body stretched languorously and rolled over. Jill! The electric shock of denial raced through him as memories of the night crystallized.

  Sleepily, she reached for the lamp. The light’s brutal glare somehow fit the moment, and he squinted against the pain blasting through his eyeballs. Smiling as only a woman thoroughly sated can, Jill scrutinized his face. What she apparently found there fractured her contented glow into shards of uncertainty. Regret flooded him. One night stands definitely weren’t his thing, and as he fought for something to say, she pulled the sheet protectively around her naked body.

  Jill appealed to him. Obviously she did, or they wouldn’t have spent the night together. But he wasn’t any more ready to begin a new relationship than he was to fly.

  Her body tensed with apprehension. “Mason, are we okay?”

  NOW, she calls me by my given name. He needed time to clear his head, needed time to think this through. Dealing with problems before breakfast and his first cup of coffee wasn’t one of his strong points.

  “Are we?” she insisted, sitting up and clutching the sheet just above her breasts.

  “I don’t know.”

  She flinched, and he wished he’d lied. Then again, lying ran as contrary to his nature as did casual sex. He tried to find something comforting to say, but as he struggled for the words, an accepting disappointment dulled Jill’s expressive face. Her body wilted, saying more than he wanted to hear.

  “Don’t sweat it, Bradshaw.” She swung her legs over the far side of the bed, putting her back to him. Even in the harsh light, her delicate skin invited touch. “I’m pretty unscrupulous. I knew you were drunk when I got here.”

  “I was not!”

  “Taking advantage of you in a vulnerable moment got me a no-ties roll in the sack.”

  He’d thought only Karen could bring his temper to the flash point with such speed or accuracy—apparently something else he was wrong about. “Don’t cheapen what happened between us with flippant remarks!”

  Keeping her back to him, she took so long in answering that he wondered if she intended to speak at all. Finally, she stared off at nothing, and her voice wilted with resignation. “Now I know why God frowns on sex outside of marriage. I guess since He created us, He knows it has a good chance of backfiring and making us miserable.” Agony rolled from her like summer heat. “I can’t believe I’m so stupid.”

  “Jill, don’t.” Things were happening too fast. Mason didn’t know how to handle it. Relationships weren’t his strong suit. He reached to her, but the moment his hand closed around her arm, she shot off the bed and out of reach.

  “I don’t know about you, Bradshaw, but I feel like hell.” She snatched up her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

  In the pit of his stomach, regret and guilt churned violently. The last thing Mason had wanted was to hurt her. Pulling on his pants, he knocked on the bathroom door. Not a sound came from within. “Jill, come on out.” He knocked again. “Please? We’ve got to talk about this.”

  A moment later, the door whipped open, and she stood before him fully dressed. That in itself startled him. Karen took twice that long just to find the right shoes.

  Her lips were pursed tight against bloodless skin, her dark eyes glistening with haunted humiliation. “You still love your ex-wife, right?”

  Mason wouldn’t have touched that question if his life depended on it. In the first place, he didn’t know what he felt for her. In the second place, just thinking about Karen turned him inside out, which meant he still hadn’t laid her adultery to rest. That didn’t bear close scrutiny. Lastly, opening that can of worms right now would only complicate the problems between himself and Jill. “It’s normal to have morning-after—”

  She clamped her hand over his mouth, exactly as she’d done the night before. “Both of us were a little too emotional last night. Hormones got out of hand. Don’t sweat letting me down easy, Bradshaw. You’re a terrific guy and a great lover, but I rushed my fences on this one. Sorry. Despite what you probably think, I don’t have much experience chasing men.”

  He took hold of her shoulders and drew her to
him—the only thing he could think to do. She jerked free and brushed past him.

  “Look, Bradshaw, I have just enough time to get home, do my hair and still be at work on time.” Then she checked her watch and whimpered. “Actually, I have enough time to read Wuthering Heights first.” With that, she darted down the hall. The sound of her opening the front door short-circuited his stunned immobility, and he rushed after her. By the time he reached the living room, she’d stepped out onto the porch. Her expressive, pain-filled face made him feel like he’d just shot Bambi.

  “It’s been fun, Bradshaw.” The door shut softly and with soul-jarring finality.

  Jill cried during the entire drive home. At that hour, few other cars were on the road, a small blessing but an appreciated one. Then she cried again while she showered and picked out her clothes for the day.

  “You always thought you were a reasonably intelligent human being, didn’t you?” she muttered, putting on her makeup. She used a heavier hand than usual to hide the carnage of her face. “If you thought facing him after a kiss in the park made you squirm, wait till you get to work today!”

  She hurt so badly from throbbing heartache that even swallowing was painful. She curled her short blond hair and scrutinized her appearance. The redness had begun to ease from her eyes. She saw no trace of her usual spark, but maybe if she didn’t break down again, no one would think anything of it.

  On the drive to work, she had a couple of close calls when the burn behind her eyes almost got the better of her, but by the time she swung into the break room, self-control had a fighting chance. She poured herself a cup of coffee, scalded her mouth on the first swallow and nearly swore.

  “Today’s going to be hell,” she whispered. “But you’re a survivor. Keep telling yourself that, and everything will be okay.”

  The muffled voices behind Mason’s closed door told her that the daily production meeting was in full swing. With luck, a newsworthy disaster had happened that would keep him busy enough to ease past the first few awkward encounters. Frankly, she dreaded the thought, particularly when the memories of his touch were still so raw, and her body still tender from his ardent lovemaking. With a heavy sigh, she flipped on her computer and got to work.

  Thirty minutes later, the reporters filed past her office, still discussing the approach they wanted to take on assorted stories. Helen and Bobby waved at her, and she hunted for anything out of the ordinary in the way they looked at her. They kept walking. Apparently nothing registered, or they were too polite to comment.

  Jill breathed a sigh of relief, looked down at her desk and picked up the next voucher.

  “Can we talk?”

  She jumped out of her skin at Mason’s voice. Tears blasted to the surface, and she turned away, blinking them back.

  “I’m awake now, Jill. I’ve had coffee, breakfast and my morning run. We need to discuss what happened.”

  “I thought we already had.” She stared hard at the papers in her hand, without a clue as to what they said, but making a good show of scrutinizing them anyway. “We’re both over the age of consent, so there’s nothing else to say.”

  He closed her door and walked to her desk. Jill’s pulse pounded in her veins. He hooked his hip on the corner of her desk, drew the papers from her hands, then hit the “off” button on her monitor.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  She knew better than to glance up at his beloved face, but refusing to look at him would have been an even bigger mistake. If nothing else, she needed to give the impression she’d shrugged off being upset. Despite how little sleep they’d managed, Mason looked surprisingly rested. Maybe a good roll in the sack was what he’d needed all along. The worried tension around his eyes and mouth had apparently come later—like after he’d awakened, found her in his bed and realized what he’d done.

  “You’re a nice man, Bradshaw, but you have this irritating tendency toward apologizing for things that don’t need—”

  “Jill, we can’t sweep last night under the rug. We have to find a way to put it behind us so it doesn’t destroy our working relationship. Either way, the next few days will be hard enough.”

  Jill hadn’t realized until then that deep down she’d been hoping he’d say something about wanting to take things one step at a time, about seeing what they could build, about feeling last night had been the most wonderful night of his life. So much for stupid hopes and dreams. “Okay, Bradshaw, if that’s what you want to do. Since I had my say before I left your bedroom this morning, I’m done. Your turn.”

  He stared at her, his handsome face bleak. “You don’t make it easy on a man, do you?”

  She crossed her arms, hoping she looked irked. “I’m trying to. You’re the one who wants to beat this to death.”

  He glanced at the floor and rubbed the tension from his brow with the fingertips of one hand. From what Jill could see, he really didn’t know what to say, and was floundering. If they’d been swimming, she’d have thrown him a life preserver.

  “Jill, I value your friendship.”

  She flinched. That had no more finesse than “you’re a great girl, and someday you’ll find a man who really appreciates you.” Yadda, yadda, yadda. Just get it said and out of your system, Bradshaw, so I can go back to licking my wounds in peace.

  “I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you as a bookkeeper, either.”

  “That’s good, because I like it here.”

  He sighed, pausing to weigh his words. “Can we move forward? Or did last night ruin everything?”

  “Depends on how fast you forget things, I suppose.” Swearing under his breath, he paced the room. “I will never forget last night, Jill. You were incredible.” He swore again. “We were incredible—together.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m not interested in becoming involved right now.”

  She blinked, deliberately projecting a picture of serene innocence. “I know that. It took me a year and a half to get to a place where I could even think about starting over with someone new. The ink on your divorce decree isn’t even dry yet. A man on the rebound isn’t somebody I want.” That was not quite a lie. Why did he have to still be tied in knots over his ex?

  “But I hurt you,” he said. His voice sounded as bleak as his face looked.

  “No, Mason.” Jill sighed. “We hurt each other.”

  He just stared.

  “Bradshaw, if we want to continue on as before, we’ll have to accept that it will take time to put this behind us. Like you, there are some things I handle better alone. Let me work through my half by myself, and maybe one day we can dance at each other’s weddings. But for now, please go back to work. The deal Jerry cut the Happy Mart people on their advertising campaign won’t give us the operating capital to expand the Community Events section like you wanted. I need to figure out someplace else to rob funds. Okay?”

  Suspicion radiated from him like a furnace, but she held her ground, saying nothing more. “Jill, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Positive. Now get lost before I throw you out and you have to fire me for insubordination.”

  A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. Nothing in his body language said she’d convinced him, but they were surviving the first horrible face-to-face meeting. In another few seconds, it would be over and she could breathe again.

  Silence stretched out longer than she thought she could bear. Then he spoke.

  “You’re special, Jill.”

  “Glad you noticed. Now scram.”

  With one last look, Mason nodded, then left her office. His retreating footsteps sounded like a death knell to her heart.

  At noon, Vicki dragged Jill from her desk. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

  “But I’m brown-bagging it today.” Making a fancy lunch had given her something else to do that morning after she’d gone back to her apartment and had hours to kill.

  “So? Eat it for dinner. We’re going to the seafood place d
owntown. The atmosphere is cozy and private. Just perfect for you to tell me all your darkest secrets. Like why you look like something the cat dragged in.”

  Reflexively, Jill pulled back. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk here.”

  She glared at her best friend. “You’re as bad as Mason.” Vicki looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve been compared to worse. Now are we going?”

  “Are you sure you’re buying?”

  “That’s the spirit, girlfriend. Never turn down free food.”

  At the restaurant, Vicki waited until they had their entrees before she pounced. “Okay, your wine should be hitting your brain cells about now, effectively loosening your tongue.” She stabbed a shrimp, popped it into her mouth and moaned with delight.

  Jill picked at her salmon, trying to convince herself she really wanted to eat. “What do you think is wrong?”

  “Is this twenty questions, or are you trying to weasel out of answering me at all?”

  “Both.” Despite her lack of hunger, Jill began eating her meal. Starvation really didn’t do much for unrequited love. “So start guessing already, and I’ll tell you if you’re hot or cold.”

  Vicki snorted. “Well, Mason only looks marginally better than you do. So offhand, I’d say something happened when I turned my back.”

  Jill hadn’t expected Vicki to hit the nail on the head with her first swing. “You’re good at this.”

  “Of course. My youngest child is two. That means I have to be part mind reader. Now how warm am I?”

  “You could fry eggs on that answer.” Keeping this mess from her best friend really was pointless. “But at the moment, I don’t want to talk. I want to curl up in a nice dark bomb shelter until my life finishes exploding around me.”

  “That does not do good things for my curiosity level.” Jill sighed. “I went to his place last night and things got... complicated.”

  “As in ‘two bodies, one bed’ complicated?”