by Sandra Brown
The small table was informally but correctly set. In its center there was an opened bottle of red wine “breathing,” which was something Laney was finding difficult to do. She was overwhelmed. No one had ever gone to so much trouble for her in her entire life.
“Mr. Sargent. I—”
“Oh, for Godsakes, Laney, don’t start again.” He finished with the spaghetti and began ladling a thick and wonderful-smelling tomato sauce over it. When it was to his liking, he faced her, hands on hips. “I can’t argue on an empty stomach, and you’ve got two empty stomachs growling. Yours and Scooter’s. And besides that, there’s nothing worse—”
“Scooter’s?”
“—than cold spaghetti. Now, sit down.”
“Spaghetti is the last thing I need. It’s fattening.”
“You do need it. Sit down.”
“I need fattening?” She looked down. She could barely see the tips of her toes over her stomach.
“Laney, I’m getting tired of repeating myself.” He pointed an imperious finger toward the nearest chair. “Sit down, dammit.”
A giggle she couldn’t stop bubbled out of her mouth and then she was laughing uncontrollably. “What are you laughing at?” he asked.
“I think I’m finding it hard to take orders from a man wearing a yellow-ruffled daisy-print apron.”
He had the grace to look chagrined. “Well, the apron is coming off,” he said threateningly. He untied the strings and tossed the apron onto the countertop. “And then—”
He took two steps toward her. “Oh, all right.” She plopped down in the chair. The aroma of the spaghetti was making her mouth water.
“Garlic bread, hot out of the oven.” He pulled the foil-wrapped bread from the oven and cursed under his breath when he burned his hand.
“I’ll gain five pounds.”
“You can stand it,” Deke said, swinging his leg over the back of his chair and sitting down. He reached for the wine bottle and poured a small portion into Laney’s glass, a more generous one into his. “Dr. Taylor said you were doing a good job keeping your weight down, but he didn’t want you to starve yourself or the baby.”
Laney had been spooning salad from a large bowl onto her salad plate. The oversize wooden fork and spoon halted in midair. When he finished speaking, she gradually lowered the utensils to her plate. Her hands found each other in her lap and clenched. “You spoke to Dr. Taylor?” she asked tightly. “About me?”
Deke took a sip of wine and replaced his glass on the tabletop. He looked at her for a moment, the steam from the platter of spaghetti rising between them. “Yes.”
“Damn you,” Laney said. All the warmth she had begun to feel after he awakened her disappeared and she was left only with that cold feeling of having been violated. “Why would he discuss a patient with a complete stranger?” She could feel tears forming in her eyes and cursed them.
“I told him what you had told everyone else: that I was your estranged husband, that you were carrying my child, and that I wanted to know how you were doing. I also admitted that I had been negligent because I didn’t know about your pregnancy, but that I intended to remedy my seeming unconcern immediately.”
“Dr. Taylor wouldn’t have told you anything unless he checked with me first.”
He made a vexed sound with his mouth. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
“So, where did you get all your information?” she demanded.
“From his nurse,” he admitted contritely.
That Laney could believe. He could weasel the combination to the vault at Fort Knox out of a female. Her eyes narrowed with enlightenment. “You paid my bill, didn’t you?”
“As any husband worth his salt would have.”
“But you are not my husband, estranged or otherwise. I’ve never had a husband, nor do I want one. I manufactured an imaginary husband to keep my job. That’s all. I was taking care of myself and the baby just fine without your interference. Why don’t you just leave me alone?” Propping her elbows on the table, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
Deke came around the table, dropped to his knees and took her in his arms. “Laney, don’t cry.”
She tried to shove him away, but he wasn’t easy to budge. “What do you expect me to do? I don’t want you here. Can’t you understand that? I never wanted to see you again.”
“Am I such a bad choice of companion? You didn’t seem to think so the night of the blackout.”
“I had no choice,” she said fiercely.
“You did, Laney.” His voice was quiet but adamant. It compelled her to look directly into his eyes and admit the truth. She was the first to look away. “I gave you many choices. I tried not to touch you, but God, I’m only a man. And I got every indication that you were all too willing to accept my loving.”
“I had had one or two drinks with Sally and Jeff. I never drink that much.”
“I didn’t know that. I didn’t know you were a virgin.”
She glared at him defensively. “I’ll bet that gave you a good laugh later, didn’t it? Did you share the gory details in the racquetball locker room with all the guys? What did you imagine was wrong with me?”
“Just keep this up, Laney, and you’re going to make me mad as hell,” he said tensely. “I thought your virginity was endearing.”
“And weird, certainly unusual. Vastly different from the sophisticated women who had shared that bed with you before.”
“Yes.”
She felt she had been slapped in the face and she drew in a sudden breath. Had she perversely wanted him to deny that other women had shared his bed?
“I offered to stop numerous times, Laney. You didn’t want me to. Or if you did, you were saying one thing and meaning another.”
“Stop,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands once more. “I don’t want to remember.”
“Why did you leave that morning before we could even talk?”
“I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to know you—not your name, nothing. I thought I’d never see you again. I never considered getting pregnant because I’d been told I couldn’t conceive. I just wanted to walk away and forget it. I should have known better. We have to pay for our mistakes.”
“You consider what happened between us a mistake?”
“Yes!” she said savagely, lifting her head to look at him. “I had a well-ordered life. I asked nothing, wanted nothing, from anyone. Now look at the mess I’m in.”
“The mess and me being synonymous, I suppose.”
He was smiling, actually smiling, as he squatted on his haunches beside her chair, smoothing back her hair and drying the tears from her cheeks.
“Leave me alone,” she said crossly. “I can’t fight you. Not physically, not verbally. I’m so tired. I want the baby, but I’m sick of being pregnant. Of looking like a blimp. Of having to go to the bathroom every ten seconds. I hate whining to you like this. Oh, God, what am I going to do?”
“Right now you’re going to eat your dinner,” he said practically.
He came to his feet and began heaping her plate with spaghetti. “I’m not hungry,” she said petulantly.
“Yes you are. And Dr. Taylor, or rather his nurse, said that having a sip or two of wine at dinner won’t hurt the baby. Hopefully it’ll improve your disposition,” he added under his breath, but she heard him.
“Like brandy did once?” she asked nastily.
“You didn’t hear me complaining.” He nuzzled her neck and let his hand slide beneath her breast for a quick caress before he returned to his own chair, “Eat. Drink.”
“And be merry?”
He grinned. “That will take some work.”
She was curled in a corner of the sofa, staring into the fire and sipping a cup of herbal tea, when he switched out the light in the kitchen and joined her. He sprawled on the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Without the least compunction, he took her hand between his.
“You
’re going to have dishpan hands,” she remarked sullenly. He had insisted on clearing up the dishes after their dinner. She had been too weary and too aggravated to argue.
“Yeah. I thought most civilized people had automatic dishwashers these days.”
“The house didn’t come with one and I adored the house. You caught me on the maid’s day off.”
“You do have a housekeeper, then?”
She looked at him incredulously. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She pulled her hand from between his. With that simple question he had pointed out just how different their lives were. They might as well have come from different planets, for all they had in common. “I live on a kindergarten teacher’s salary, Mr. Sargent. I live comfortably and will be able to support my child. But housekeepers are not in the budget.”
“You look beautiful in the firelight, Laney.”
She sighed in exasperation and let her head fall back onto the cushions. Immediately she raised it. That posture reminded her too much of the night in his apartment. The logs in the fireplace crackled and popped cheerily, mocking her melancholia. “I love having a fire on a cold night. Thank you.”
He retrieved her hand. “You’re welcome.”
“It’s been difficult for me to carry the logs inside, so—”
“I’d better not see you lifting anything heavier than a mascara wand.”
When she faced him, her expression was no longer angry but pensive. “You really intend to move in here, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He studied the shape of her fingers and nails as he spoke softly. “I want to be with you during this. Having a child is definitely an event to be shared by the parents. I want to see my child born.”
She wet her lips. The strokes of his fingers against her flesh, in the palm of her hand, were eliciting strange thrills through her body. She remembered similar strokes of his tongue against her hand.
Memories of those and other caresses still alarmed her, but she didn’t take her hand away. Desperately she wanted to understand why he had sought her out. She also realized the futility of denying that the child was his. What purpose would that serve? They both knew the truth.
“Even if I agreed, how could you stay here until the baby was born? You have a busy life in New York—your law practice.”
“A staff of assistants is taking care of it. I’ll give you the details if you like, but—”
“No.” She was shaking her head. There were other things she wanted to know, things she couldn’t help being curious about. “You must have family, friends, who want to know why you left everything to come to Arkansas of all places. Surely you didn’t tell them about me?”
“My family is quite large,” he said, smiling fondly. “When the time is right, you’ll meet them.” Laney paled at the thought of a multitude of snobby New Yorkers assessing her with distaste. “But in the meantime I told them I was taking some time off for personal business. They were curious, but they respect my privacy.” He kissed the back of her palm and ran his hand caressingly up her arm, slipping it into the wide sleeve of her robe.
“As to the other, I have very few friends I deem worthy of confidences about you.”
“And other . . . uh . . .”
“Women?” She shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve never been married. I’ve been semiseriously involved with a few and casually involved with many.”
“I see,” she said, swallowing hard, wishing for more information on that aspect of his life and at the same time glad she didn’t know.
“What about your family?” he asked.
“I have none.”
“None?”
“No. No one.”
“And no young men to explain me to?”
Lying was useless. “No.”
“I haven’t been to bed with a woman since we were together.”
She was stunned, and the face she turned on him told him so. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered. A man like him, suave, apparently wealthy and virile. She could testify to his potency.
“Oh, you’ll believe me soon enough. My temper is mighty testy these days.” He was laughing softly, but his expression changed swiftly. “Laney, I want you. And I want my baby. I’m too old to play games, and I don’t want to mess this up any more than I already did the morning you woke up with me. This means too much to me to foul up.”
He stood and went to the fireplace. With a poker he idly stirred the coals beneath the logs until the flames leaped high again. “I could have come on to you gradually, wooed you, courted you. But I probably would have made a damn fool of myself. Not to mention the embarrassment it would have caused you.” He turned to her and treated her to a glimpse of straight white teeth as he smiled. “Most people, especially in this part of the country, wouldn’t have considered a pregnant lady estranged from her husband courtable. Besides, patience has never been one of my virtues. I like to see results quickly.” He walked toward her. “I can tell by your expression that you’re still bothered by my being here. Do I repel you? Does the thought of having made love with me repel you?”
She answered honestly. “No.”
He hid a quick smile of relief. “Ah, well, that’s good. Is it my age? How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“I’m relieved. I thought you were younger. There’s sixteen years difference in our ages. Does that bother you?”
“No, Deke.” And when she heard his name on her lips, she yanked her head upright to see if he had noticed. He had. He settled beside her on the couch.
“Then what is it, Laney?”
“It’s everything,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “You. Me. Our ages are the least of our differences. We don’t even know each other, except . . .” She shook off the persistent memory of their night together. Ah, Laney, you’re sweet, he thought.
“I know every inch of you.” He slipped his hand into her robe and encircled her throat, massaging the triangle at its base with a hypnotic thumb. “You know me too. We touched everywhere, explored each other, kissed everything.”
Spots of scarlet flared in her cheeks. “We don’t know each other in the ways that count.”
He folded her into his arms and pressed her head to his chest. “That’s why I’m here. I want us to get to know each other before we’re introduced to this other little person.” He laid his hand on the bulging curve of her stomach just under her breasts. “And that’s the first thing I want to know.”
She was puzzled. “What?”
“Why you, Laney McLeod, a beautiful young woman, warm and caring as you are, shrink defensively every time I touch you.”
Alarm sirens shrieked in her head. He was getting too close. Not physically. He couldn’t get any closer physically than they had already been. But he was getting too close to her fears, her inner self. “I don’t.”
“You do. Each time I touch you, you tense up. I can feel a hesitation, almost a fear, inside you, Laney. Only when your students touch you do you let that invisible guard down. What are you afraid of, Laney? Why do you flinch when you’re caressed?”
She swallowed hard. Her voice was thready and she tried to inject anger into it, but didn’t think she was successful. “Can you blame me? I’m hardly accustomed to a strange man moving in on me, touching and fondling me. Turn the tables and ask yourself what you would do, how you would feel.”
He cupped her face in his hands and stared down into her eyes for what seemed to her an uncomfortable eternity. “There’s more to it than that. The night you were in my apartment, you were starved for the touch of another human being—you were craving love. You’re a sad lady, Laney McLeod, and I intend to find out why. All a part of making you merry.”
He kissed her lightly. “Just for the record, if you moved in on me and wanted to touch me, I’d be wild with happiness.” Once more his lips swept hers. “Go to bed now. You’ve had a hard day.”
He pulled her to her feet as he rose a
nd gave her a gentle push toward the bedroom. She went without an argument. She picked out something to wear to school the next day and prepared for bed. She was just about to pull the covers back when Deke walked in.
“I’m going to wait until morning to unpack,” he commented, yawning. “We’re low on milk. Do you have it delivered or do you buy it at the grocery store?”
“I buy it. What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly as he peeled off his sweatshirt.
“I’m taking off my shirt.” He tossed the shirt aside and sat down on the bed, pulled off his shoes and let them drop. “Now I’m taking off my pants.” He stood, unsnapped and unzipped the bleached and frayed jeans and let them fall. He stepped out of them, bent down, scooped them up and began to fold them. He laid them neatly in a chair and turned to face her, totally unabashed that he was wearing only a pair of tight white briefs. “Aren’t you cold? Get in under the covers.”
She stood transfixed and watched him walk around the bed to where she was standing with one hand on the bedspread and the other over her pounding heart.
“You look like a rich, creamy dessert,” he said, clasping her by the shoulders and letting his green eyes feast on her appreciatively.
The yellow nightgown was old, but she liked it and it was comfortable. It was sleeveless and had a scooped neckline that showed quite a bit of cleavage, now that her breasts were larger. A ribbon was tied under the bosom to form an empire style. The floor-length skirt was full and loose enough to accommodate her stomach. It had never occurred to her how sheer it was until this moment and she was alarmingly aware of her nakedness beneath it. Mainly because Deke was inspecting her so intimately.
“Your nipples have changed color too. They’re darker, aren’t they? I like the change.” His hand touched first one sensitive tip, then the other. There may as well have been no nightgown, for his fingertips branded her flesh. “Come on. In with you.”
