by Arlene James
He didn’t turn on the light in the bedroom. The light from the opened doorways to both the bath and living room provided the needed ambiance. On another evening, he would have built a fire and made love to her by the light of the flickering flames. This winter, he promised himself. He would make love to her in front of a fireplace this winter. He didn’t doubt it.
Standing her beside the bed, he kissed her again with some urgency, lest she change her mind and walk out before he could make her understand what this meant to him. Then he didn’t know what to do except undress and get into bed. Suddenly his hands were shaking, but he backed away from her and began unbuttoning his shirt. In his haste, he forgot the two bottommost buttons, so that when he whipped the shirt back off his shoulders, they flew in opposite directions, plunking softly in the distance. He couldn’t have cared less. He yanked his hands out of the stillbuttoned cuffs and dropped the shirt on the floor. When he reached for her again, she stepped back.
His heart in his throat, he watched as she slipped off her sneakers, then pulled down the zipper on the side of her skirt and let it slip down her legs to the floor. She was wearing pale blue bikini panties beneath, and his mouth went dry at the sight of them. With achingly graceful movements, she crossed her arms over herself, lifted the edge of her small, white cotton, sleeveless sweater and peeled it up her torso and off over her head. The instant she was free of it, she dropped it and stood before him in panties and bra, a lacy little strip of a thing with a narrow band and tiny straps. She reached behind her and unfastened it. The straps slid off her shoulders as she brought her hands back to her sides. She shrugged and brought her arms in front of her. The straps slid over her fingertips and fell away.
For a moment, he could neither speak nor move. Then her hand lifted and timidly brushed across his chest, her fingertips fluttering lightly across his skin. To his surprise and embarrassment, his nipples tightened into small bumps thankfully hidden in swirls of chest hair. He reached for her, his hands skimming over the bare flesh of her shoulders and back. Pulling her to him, he looked down, watching as the soft mounds of her breasts flattened against his chest. He put his forehead to hers, breathing laboriously, his heart hammering as if he’d run for miles. “So beautiful,” he whispered, dismayed at the inadequacy of the words. “You are so beautiful.”
“Edward,” she said. Just that. It was enough.
He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, savoring the feel of her body next to his, so warm and sleek. The perfume of her filled his head. Hers was a unique scent—light, musky, so very female. He had forgotten that women smelled differently than men, but he felt certain that no other woman smelled like this, his Laurel. His Laurel.
He lifted her into his arms again, liking the feel of her weight, the heat of her skin, the way her neck arched languidly when he put his mouth to it and how she made startled, delighted little sounds when he nipped at her with his teeth. He leaned into the bed with one knee and carefully lowered her into the middle of it, tasting her mouth again briefly before pulling away to toss off his shoes and peel away his socks before wrenching his belt open and stripping out of his pants. He came back to her in only his briefs. She lifted her arms about his neck as he settled beside her and found her mouth again. He folded her close, wrapping his arms and even a leg about her, wanting to absorb her through his skin and mouth. Need ached in his groin and throbbed against his belly. He slid his hands down her body and hooked his fingers in the narrow elastic band of her panties, peeling them away as she lifted for him and curled her legs so he could slip them off. When they had joined the rest of their clothing on the floor, he caught one of her hands and brought it to his waist.
Unable to resist the taste of her, he helped himself to her mouth again as her fingers dug beneath the waistband of his briefs and tugged them down. After struggling a moment—he was bigger than her and harder to disrobe—she pulled her head back. Her mouth flattening in determination, one slender brow quirking up with intent, she pressed a hand to the center of his chest. Pushing him down onto his back, she rose into a semisitting position and, affording him a delightful view of her luscious breasts, employed both hands in easing off his underwear. They were a tighter fit than he’d realized. Of course, he didn’t usually fill them quite so well. She’d barely gotten them to his thighs when he lost patience and finished the job himself. He’d wear boxers from now on.
Rising up, he swept an arm about her waist and pulled her down onto the bed, settling his body against hers once more. He could not get enough of the feel of her skin or the taste of her. He began with her mouth and worked his way to the tip of one breast, kissing and nipping and licking down the column of her throat and over the gentle swell of her collarbone to her chest. His hands were at work, as well, stroking and pressing and shaping until his fingers slid into the welcome heat between her legs.
Very deliberately, pulse pounding at every pressure point, he tugged her nipple into his mouth and at the same moment parted her silky curls with his thumb and slid his middle finger deeply inside her. She gasped and threw her head back, exquisitely responsive, wet and hot. He dragged his hand upward, trailing her own moisture, until only the tip of his finger remained inside, then pushed downward again, curling his hand so that his finger penetrated deeply once more. Again and again he repeated the process until she was wet enough to allow his index finger to join his middle one. Only then did he let his thumb explore and find the nubbin of flesh hidden in those blond swirls. Gently, oh, so gently, he worked fingers and thumbs together, while kissing and sucking and bathing with his tongue every inch of her that he could reach. The pressure of her thigh rubbing against his arousal, lightly at first and then more roughly as her excitement built, nearly drove him mad, but it was a madness he embraced wholeheartedly.
When she began to buck rhythmically against his hand, he knew it was coming and rejoiced. When she began to gasp his name, he raised his head and looked into her lovely eyes. There was some question in the way she said his name, some uncertainty in her eyes. Only when it was fully upon her, when she shuddered and her body clenched around his fingers, only when her eyes went wide and a little wild and her nails dug into his shoulders, only when that question that was his name came fully into blossom did he understand that she had not felt this before, had never experienced what she had every right to know. He was stupefied. No one had ever loved this entirely lovable woman as she deserved. No one until now. He watched the tide of sensation sweep over her face, saw the tears well in her eyes and trickle from their corners, and realized that his own cheeks were wet.
He slid his arms around her and hugged her close, whispering words and phrases in short, probably unintelligible gasps. He didn’t even know what he was saying, but it must have been right, for her hands bracketed his face and lifted it so that her mouth could stop his. He kissed her then as he had never kissed another woman in his life, and he didn’t stop with her mouth. He didn’t stop until he’d brought her to tears again and she lay splayed beneath him.
He positioned himself, one hand dropping down to lift her knee as he pushed up inside her body with one long, slow glide that was pure ecstasy. He didn’t stop then until he was implanted as deeply as was possible and her legs were wrapped around his hips. And then he began again. This time when he brought her to that peak of existence he was there with her, humbled and grateful that it was a peak no other man had climbed, and in the rush of winds he heard the words as clearly as if she had said them. I love you, Edward. I love you. In his mind and in his heart, he shouted I love you back to her, and then as he drifted down into warm, happy contentment, he warned himself not to wake the baby and smiled. Maybe they would have another nine months from now. They hadn’t used any protection, so unless she was on the Pill, which he doubted, pregnancy was a very real possibility.
He stroked the top of her head, feeling her settle into the easy, floating rhythm of sleep, and told himself that it probably wasn’t wise to rush into having a second child. Laur
el might not want another child for some time—or at all. He would have to ask her when the right moment presented itself. Meanwhile, he had much to do, not only to secure Barry’s adoption, for he had no intention of settling for anything less, but also to free himself from the unrelenting pressure of private practice. What he needed, he reflected for perhaps the dozenth time in the past twenty-four hours, was a partner, not to mention cocounsel. In fact, now that he really thought about it, cocounsel had to come first.
He couldn’t tell himself any longer that he could be dispassionate and objective in this matter. He had to face the possibility that he very well might gloss over something too threatening to face or give more weight to a promising factor than he ought. His heart was involved as deeply as Laurel’s now, and he knew from experience that it was best to step back in such a case. That’s what he had done with the Sugarmans’ fight for Darla, and he had been right to do it.
Of course! He nearly bolted upright in the bed as the answer presented itself, and it was the answer to not one problem but both. Only the pressure of Laurel’s head against the hollow of his shoulder prevented it, and even then he lifted a hand to smack himself in the forehead. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? It was perfect! Utterly perfect! He put a fist to his mouth, muffling the chuckles of relieved joy that gurgled up from the deep well of his chest. For the first time in weeks, his full-to-bursting heart was light as a feather. For the first time since Laurel Heffington Miller had walked into his office, he knew exactly what he should do, and he was only too happy to do it.
She woke alone in the big, rumpled bed and knew instantly that she had made perhaps the biggest mistake of her life. The wonder of the night before swept over her in a great, poignant wave. The only term she could think of to express what she had experienced in Edward’s arms was physical joy, but the melding of ultimate physical sensation with that of pure emotional joy was beyond anything mere words could adequately convey. And it could only be hers for the moment, then never again.
Suddenly she knew why such intimacies as she and Edward had shared should be confined to marriage. They weren’t meant to be temporary. In her case, they were not, for she knew with awful certainty that she would never love another man as she loved Edward White, and yet one day soon she would have to go back to her real life. It hardly mattered anymore whether she went back to that shabby little apartment or the mansion in Highland Park, for whenever she went, she would undoubtedly go alone. No, not alone. She would still have Barry. Wouldn’t she? She refused to think that she might not, for that she knew she could not bear. She could not lose Edward and Barry, too. She simply couldn’t, and yet…Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
She threw back the covers fiercely and scrambled from the bed, determined not to cry. She had brought this on herself. She would not die of it. She would not. If only for Barry, she would not. Barry. She needed to hold him suddenly, to feel and smell and snuggle him. Almost running, she tore across the master bedroom, through the bath, across the hall and into the small bedroom to the crib. Barry lay on his tummy, blissfully sucking his finger in his sleep. He was wearing a fresh cotton sleeper and, from appearances, a dry diaper. Edward.
A feeling of intense love welled up in her. She staggered beneath the weight of it and backed against the end of the bed, collapsing there. A bittersweet moment from the night before found her, and she relived it with aching resignation. She felt the shockingly giddy euphoria, the overwhelming sensations, the wringing depth of emotion. She heard herself sobbing out the wrenching truth, “I love you, Edward. I love you.” She experienced the hard, empty silence that followed, so much sharper and uglier now, so much more cruel and disappointing.
At least, she told herself, he hadn’t lied to her. But then he wouldn’t, not Edward, not her white knight. Except he wasn’t hers. No, if Edward loved anyone, it was his best friend’s wife. No doubt, Laurel was nothing more than a substitute for the woman he couldn’t have, because, man that he was, Edward would never let himself come between Parker and Kendra. Edward had more integrity than that. He had more integrity than Laurel herself, or she wouldn’t be in this position now. She had told herself last night that she was doing it for him, because it was what he wanted. She had seen it as a selfless act on her part; an act of gratitude, but she knew now that that wasn’t so. She had made love with Edward because she had desperately wanted to, and she knew that in the back of her mind she had been hoping that it would be enough to make him fall in love with her.
Well, it hadn’t worked. Obviously he hadn’t known how to face her in the cold light of morning after she’d blurted out her feelings last night. She didn’t blame him for slipping away before she woke. They both needed some absence in order to put perspective back into the situation. She would be ready when he came home, ready to pretend that she hadn’t said a word about love, that he hadn’t answered her with telling silence, that her heart wasn’t broken and he wasn’t uneasy. She would use these hours well, so that when he came home, she would be what she needed to be. Until then…She lay back, put her fist to her mouth, curled into a ball and surrendered to the agony of tears.
Kate Ridley Ballard leaned forward over her slender, crossed legs and placed her empty ice tea glass precisely in the center of a round cork-and-felt coaster. Straightening again, she swept her long blond ponytail off her shoulder and fixed Edward with her cool gray-blue eyes. Kendra’s stepmother was older than him by some ten years—ten years of experience enhanced with a formidable intelligence, keen insight and fierce competitiveness. He could see the wheels turning behind that assessing gaze, processing all that he’d told her and much that he hadn’t. As an attorney, no one rated more of his respect than this tall, handsome woman.
“Well,” she said, “you seem to have a knack for involving yourself in unusual custody cases. Tell me, are you in love with the foster mother again?”
He’d expected this, and still she’d somehow caught him unaware. It took a moment to get himself in hand. The answer, however, was never in question. He sipped ice tea, one brow cocked in silent congratulation, and said, “Yes.”
Kate stared a moment longer, then a smile curled the corners of her mouth. “At least you’re consistent, Ed. I’ll give you that.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Actually, last time didn’t count.” He leaned forward then, elbows on knees and addressed her with all earnestness. “I can’t tell you how important it is that we win this one. Laurel’s taken too many emotional blows already. She can’t take another. She’s cared for this kid since even before he was born. I can’t let her lose him. I need your help. Again.”
Kate smiled supportively. “I’d be glad to help.” She folded her arms. “To tell you the truth, I’m ready to get back into a courtroom. Dan and I needed this last year together, and we’ve had great fun, but I need the stimulation of practicing law again.”
“Does that mean you’re ready to go back to work full-time?”
She grimaced, hedging a bit. “Yes and no. I guess it depends on your definition of ‘full-time.”
Edward chuckled and shook his head. Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have understood what she was getting at. Now he did. “I’m not too enthused by the idea of burning the midnight oil anymore, either. I love practicing law, and I doubt I’ll ever fully retire, but there is life outside the office and the courtroom.”
She appeared appropriately shocked. “Why, Edward, I do believe you mean that.” She sat up very straight then and cocked her head to one side. “You really are in love this time. Edward, are those wedding bells I hear?”
He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to. Dignity be damned. “I told you I was much too close to this one to handle it on my own.”
“Do you mean you’ve actually asked this woman to marry you?”
He was surprised at what pleasure he took in saying this. “Actually, no. She asked me.”
He had never exp
ected to see Kate Ballard speechless, but doing so, he had to laugh. “Now you know why I’m thinking of taking someone new into the practice. Full-time doesn’t mean quite what it used to now that I have a real personal life, a family life. And that’s another reason I came to you, Kate.”
Kate shook her head. “I—I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s surprisingly simple,” he said. “I need someone experienced and objective to guide this custody case for me, someone fiercely dedicated to fight for Laurel’s right to control her own inheritance—and a partner I respect and trust.”
Kate stared at him a moment longer, and then she stuck out her hand, smiling. “Seems we’ve got our work cut out for us, partner.”
Ed was surprised and pleased by the strength of her grip. He’d have the papers drawn before he called it a day, even if it took all night. He envisioned the new shingle. White And Ballard, Attorneys At Law. Then he put his head back and laughed because if he knew Kate, that new sign was going to read Ballard And White.
It all seemed to happen at once. He called late in the afternoon to tell her that the restraining order had come through, some of the other papers had been filed and he was working with a new attorney on the rest. Then they were going to personally serve Bryce and track down a couple of potential witnesses. He called again near ten in the evening to say that she shouldn’t wait up for him, that he was likely to be at it all night. The background noise told her that he wasn’t at the office. The laughter and the music and the crack of billiard balls was all too audible. Didn’t he know that, or didn’t he care? She tried not to think about it, but when morning came and he did not, she could no longer pretend that it didn’t matter.
It was nearly lunchtime when he finally came dragging through the door. He was too tired to eat, he said, and too tired to talk, but she should take heart from the fact that it was all working out better than he’d even hoped. Soon, he mumbled, scratching at nearly two days’ growth of beard, she could go back to living a normal life again. Then, placating a reaching Barry with a clumsy pat on the head, he shuffled off to bed.
