by Sun Chara
A sigh from the heart, and she plodded down the hall to the bedroom. Bypassing the living room, she glanced at Michael crashed out on the sofa near the blazing fire. The two spare rooms lacked furnishings and were ice cold without a wall heater. In lieu of better sleeping accommodations, blankets tossed over the couch turned it into a bed for the night. He was cocooned in the covers, snoring like old man winter.
A fleeting grin feathered her lips. At least Johnny didn’t snore. She squirmed, wondering if she’d overdone the flirting with Michael. Probably not. Not if Johnny preferred canine company to her. Hammers nailed her brain to her skull, and a moan tumbled from her mouth. What was a woman to do? Not with one man, but two to contend with. One her husband, the other claiming he’d be better husband material. Massaging her temples with her fingertips, she slogged into the bedroom and turned on the light. Then, she screamed.
And screamed and screamed.
************
Startled, Michael jumped up and the blankets pooled at his feet. Disoriented for a moment, he thought he’d had a nightmare. Cool air had him crossing his legs and yanking down his undershirt over purple satin boxer shorts. When he heard Samantha scream a second time, he rushed to the front door, fumbling to open it.
“Jonathan Belen, come quick. Samantha is screaming!” He pressed himself against the wall and the door slammed shut behind him. His imagination stampeded through his brain. Shaking from the top of his head to the soles of his stocking feet, he inched his way to the bedroom, his teeth chattering.
“Samantha, what’s the matter?” He peeked around the doorway at the precise moment Johnny careened into him and bumped him inside.
“Not a thing, big boy.” Samantha sat on a mound of bedding on the floor, back propped against the wall, filing her fingernails.
“Sam, what happened?” Johnny swiped wet hair from his eyes and blinked, taking in the serene scene before him. Then, he turned a dark look on Michael. “You called me in here on false pretenses, nearly giving me a heart atta—”
“She really did scream.” Agitated, Michael shrank in the corner and waved his hands in front of him. “Real loud.”
Johnny noticed Michael’s state of undress and scowled. “Cover yourself, man, when you’re in the presence of my wife.”
“She’s not really your wife.”
“You’re deluded.”
“If you two he-men are going to have another fist fight, kindly do it outside.” Samantha blew on her nails. “The rain’ll cool your tempers.”
“You did scream, didn’t you, Samantha?” Michael took a tentative step away from his corner and looked at her for confirmation. “Real loud.”
“I did.” She buffed her nails across her sweatshirt. “Real loud.”
Michael sagged down the wall and hit the floor, breath fizzing from his tense mouth.
“What’d you scream for, Sam?” Johnny asked, annoyed.
“A minor inconvenience.” She waved the nail file about. “One of many since we got here.”
“What?” Johnny asked in exasperation.
She raised her brow at the impatience in his voice and because of that, she waited a beat before answering him. “I went to get in my cozy bed and” –she glanced up at the drippy ceiling— “it was soaked.” Seemingly unconcerned, she scratched her cheek with a well-manicured fingernail. “Guess it was the last straw.” She looked at both men with her wide-open baby blues and blinked. “However, I’m over my hysterics, now.”
“Glad to hear it,” Johnny muttered.
“I took the sleeping bags, Belen.” She smoothed her nails with her thumb. “You may sleep in the bed, between wet, clammy sheets.”
He lurched a step closer to her makeshift nest and pinned her with his hard gaze. “I think not, Mrs. Belen.”
“What do you mean?”
A wicked grin split his mouth.
A chortle from Samantha.
“I’m bedding down where it’s warm.” A saucy glint lit his eyes.
“Only room for one here, Belen.” She belted him with her words, then ignoring both men, burrowed beneath the blankets.
Johnny clicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I intend to get a good night’s sleep.”
A sound from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder.
Michael clutched the wall for support, slithered up and tottered out.
“I suggest you do the same, Mikey,” he bit out. “Five o’clock comes mighty early.”
Chapter Twenty
Samantha stirred beneath the warm covers and listened to the pitter- patter of rain on the roof. A smile curved her lips. She shifted, brushing against Johnny’s leg, the rhythm of his breathing soothing. Her heart pulsed with joy. As nature serenaded outside, she slid her foot along the muscles of his calf, and his hair tickled her instep. He growled in her ear and pulled her closer to his side, his arm possessively around her.
Lifting her gaze, she glanced through the slit in the drapes Mirabella had revamped. Still pitch-black outside. She lowered her lashes and cuddled closer to her husband, relishing the thought of a couple of more hours’ sleep.
A sudden bang, then a clatter had her nearly leaping from the bed, and only her weight kept her from flying off the mattress.
“What the …” Rattled awake, Johnny slid from the bedding and landed with a thump on the floor. “Oomph!”
Samantha bent her elbow and propped her chin in her hand, watching her husband sprawled on the carpet, bare-chested and barefoot, his brief shorts his only covering. Heat infused her body, and nerve endings on her extremities tingled. She flopped her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes tight, recalling the conditions existing between them.
A moment of angst, and she opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. She lifted her arms up high and slammed them back down at her sides, a groan bursting from her mouth. “Belen, it’s not even the crack of dawn. Can’t a woman sleep?” She reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp. “Let alone a pregnant one?”
“I’m with you there, Mrs. Belen.”
Another resounding crash echoed through the house.
“Are we being invaded, Johnny?”
He sprang up, rubbed a hand across his eyes and scratched his head. “Only by your secret admirer.”
“Oh, gosh, Michael.” She yawned and pushed hair away from her eyes. “Do you think he’s all right?
“I hope not.”
“John—”
“Save it, Samantha.” The moment he leaped up, she fixed her eyes on his briefs and the strong evidence of his reaction to her proximity. A flush warmed his skin. Man, what was happening to him? She was his wife for heaven’s sake, seen him in less many a time, yet here he was, blushing from every follicle like a schoolboy. “The cold.”
“Ah huh.” She wiggled upward and leaned back against the cushioned headboard, her gaze teasing. A knowing smile curved her mouth, and his heart stirred with feelings he didn’t want to deal with just yet. Too vulnerable, especially with the buffoon not two yards away.
He lowered his lids a fraction and decided to take the bull by the horns. “See something you like, Mrs. Belen?” A step took him closer, and he stood over her like a warrior in all his splendor.
“Possibly.”
“Hmm.” He pressed one knee on the bed and the mattress pressed beneath his weight. “What’ll it be?” His hot gaze met her shadowed eyes. A breathless moment, and he straddled her over the covers, pressing his palms against the headboard, capturing her between them. “A quickie, or long and leisurely?”
“Can I have both?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He shuffled in bed beside her and pulled the blankets over them both. He nuzzled her throat. The warmth of her skin invited, and the erratic beat of her pulse signaled. Well, good. He wasn’t the only one affected. He touched and tasted. Sweetness. He nibbled upward along her jaw, the curve of her cheek to her mouth. A feather’s breadth from her sweet surrender, then a loud bang from the hall had
her warding him off with both hands.
He bit an epithet off his tongue and tightened his jaw against the frustration. “Rain check, Mrs. Belen?” He brushed her mouth with his in a quick kiss and grinned at the pun, listening to the rain upon the roof.
Considering the uncertainty of their marriage, Samantha should’ve been glad of Michael’s untimely interruption. But the wild beating of her heart told another story … and her breathlessness told its own tale.
Reluctantly, Johnny yanked his clothes off the chair by the dresser and slid his arms through his shirt. Pulling on his jeans, he hopped to the door and paused to wiggle his feet into socks and boots. “Keep warm, Sam. No need to get up.”
He turned her bones to mush with those caring, tender words. And yet, he could get her so riled, she could spit and hit bulls-eye. She pulled the covers under her chin, glad he’d had the foresight last night to move the bed away from the leak. A tin can caught the drips from the ceiling. After he’d stripped the wet linen off the mattress, he’d scooped her up in the bundle of bedding from the floor and plopped her on the bed.
She sighed. Once, it could have been called their love nest. Yearning tugged at her heart. She shoved it aside and, difficult as it was, determined to focus on the new circumstances of her marriage. The road ahead seemed bumpy, and without a compass she was sure to swerve off course. Then a quiet small voice signaled that her heart pointed her to true love.
She laughed, wondering if she’d heard right. She’d followed her heart, and look where she’d landed: in a cold room with a leaky roof and confusion in her life.
“Scott, show yourself,” Johnny bellowed.
Realizing she’d get no more sleep, she shuffled off the bed, and goosebumps popped up all over her skin. She was glad she’d showered last night, right after Johnny; a smart move, for by the time the house warmed up, her teeth would be chattering a broken melody. Not long ago, she and Johnny would’ve frolicked beneath the spray and—emotion welled up inside her, abruptly curbing her erotic thoughts.
She pulled off her wrinkled sweatshirt and slipped into a creme-colored pullover sweater and billowy skirt. She pulled socks on her feet, then sneakers, shaking her head at the ingenious way Johnny had her clothes delivered and hanging in the closet. She’d have to ask him about that. Yet, all his intelligence didn’t translate into a steady job and income; a necessity for any normal and decent living conditions. The man she married, or thought she married, was certainly turning out to be an enigma.
“Speak up, man.”
She heard Johnny stomp down the hall, his irritable words mingling with the rumble of water pipes in the decrepit little bathroom. When he pounded on the bathroom door, she plodded across the bedroom and peeked around the doorjamb.
“Yes?” Michael opened the bathroom door an inch and peered through the crack.
“Has the army landed, Michael, or what?”
“What do you mean?” he blubbered, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth, toothpaste fizzing at the corner of his lip.
“Must you be so inhumanely insensitive and abrasive at the crack of dawn?”
“It is five o’clock.” Michael tilted back inside, spit and gargled. A moment later, he showed his face and opened the door a little wider. “I didn’t want to be late for my first official day on the job.”
“Conscientious son of a gun.”
“I wanted to impress Samantha.”
“Of course.” Johnny scratched his tousled head. “You will put the coffee on, start the fire, stock firewood, clean kennels, feed and water the dogs.” He ticked off each chore on his fingers. “Hurry it up before the storm picks up. “When you get back, I like bacon and eggs for my breakfast. Bacon crisp, eggs over easy. Got that?”
Michael shut the door, but his groan filtered through.
Johnny nearly knocked the door down.
Michael pulled it open. “What now?”
“Make the brew strong.” Johnny scrubbed his unshaven jaw with his knuckles. “And laundry’s on the list.”
Michael’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “Where do I do—”
“Figure it out.”
Michael slitted his gaze and gave him a look that would’ve seared another mortal to ashes.
It didn’t faze Johnny though. He yawned and, scratching his scalp, sauntered off.
“Michael, did you sleep well?” Samantha asked, venturing a step into the hallway.
“Mmm, so-so.”
Johnny paused in stride and turned, his forehead creasing. “Michael, you’re up to the task, aren’t you? You’ll have quite a progress report to give … er … daddy. Good marks beyond his wildest expectations.”
Michael’s head shot up in surprise. “Mmm, yes.” His lashes veiled his eyes, his words sharp. “Totally unexpected, it will be.”
Johnny rubbed his nape, tried to decipher any hidden meaning in his cutting response, and then shrugged. “Move a leg, man.”
Michael stalked out, hair spruced back, shirt and pants immaculate. The man was a walking mannequin. He made him feel like a bum. And for that, Johnny pushed a little more. “And if you can manage it, fresh baked bread is my favorite.” At Michael’s mutinous look, he hollered, “It’s Samantha’s, too.”
Michael slapped his hands over his ears. “You don’t have to shout, leprechaun.”
“Uh, uh, no name calling, Mikey Tikey.” Johnny guffawed.
A glower from over his shoulder, then Michael tossed his head and marched to the kitchen.
“I don’t want your stuff cluttering the living room, either.”
Michael stopped and turned a perfect pirouette. “Where will I put it? It’s a designer original and only one suitcase.”
“I’ve seen it. Size of a tank.” Johnny yanked up his shirt collar and stuffed the shirttails in the waistband of his jeans. “If you can’t keep your junk from spilling all over the place, I’m going to trash it.”
“You can’t do that,” Michael wailed. “I’ve spent thousands of dollars on imported suits and ties and shoes …”
“Better get ’em outta there, then.”
He stomped for the living room, and then stumbled to a halt at Johnny’s next command.
“That’s personal biz, man. Do it on your own time.”
“Oh, sure.” He spun around, a haughty tilt to his chin. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, peasant man.” He shook his finger at Johnny. “By the time I get back, I’ll have no clothes left.”
Johnny grinned, then sobered. The last thing he needed was for a half -dressed dodo-man parading around the premises and playing upon Sam’s sympathies. “You will. Relocated to the outside garbage heap.”
“You are the most vulgar, uncivilized—”
“Such compliments first thing in the morning,” Johnny said, voice silky smooth, his jaw hard.
Samantha stepped between the two men. “Michael, I’ll have your things moved to our bedroom.”
Johnny balked.
“Until one of the guestrooms is made suitable for you.”
A look of triumph pinched Michael’s features. “Thank you, Samantha.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I can’t wait to get you away from this beast.”
But Johnny heard. And Johnny growled at Michael from behind.
Michael jumped and stepped forward.
“Breakfast at six sharp. Bacon crisp, eggs over easy.” He watched as Michael, with head held high, rerouted his steps to the front door. “Toast better not be burned.”
Michael slammed the door behind him.
“We don’t have a toaster,” Samantha said.
“A minor inconvenience.” Johnny slid around her, his hand brushing her hip and resting a moment on the curve of her buttock. Then he strolled into the bathroom and vaulted back out.
“What’s the matter?”
“Smells like a perfumery in there.”
Samantha chuckled. “Open the window.”
************
Precisely at six a.m., Joh
nny straddled the crate and wolfed down his breakfast. “You’re getting better by the hour, man.” He chomped, swallowed and took a gulp of coffee. “Gotta work on the brew, though.”
Michael rolled his eyes and offered Samantha more toast, but she declined.
“There’ll be some furniture delivered today,” Johnny said, between mouthfuls. “Before it arrives, make sure the house is clean.”
“But Mirabella—” Samantha interjected.
“Mira—whoever didn’t do it all, however much you keep insisting.” He picked up his mug and waved it at Michael for a refill. “Sweep floors, make beds, clean bathroom, toilet included, trash out, dishes done. Afterward, be ready to help move furniture inside. By then, it’ll be lunch.” He turned to Samantha. “What would you like for lunch, my sweet?”
“I’ll let Michael surprise me.”
“Well, I won’t.” He took another gulp of coffee, and then slammed the cup on the table, liquid sloshing on the sides. “Got insurance, Michael?”
“I don’t know what—”
“If you’re determined to burn my tongue with your brew, then you might pay up.”
“You swine. You lowlife. You … you …”
Johnny inclined his head at Samantha. “Don’t think Sam would approve of your choice of words.”
“Sorry, Samantha.” Michael set a second plate of toast on the counter, picked up a slice and ripped off a piece with his teeth. “I don’t like him trying to extort money—”
“What?” Johnny leaped for him.
Michael stepped aside, swallowed the chunk of toast and put up his dukes.
“Watch your mouth, you dandied up mannequin.”
Michael spurted, “You’re so financially strapped, you’ll—”
About to blast him with a series of verbal bullets, Johnny changed his mind; instead, he tossed back his head and laughed, the sound burst from deep in his chest and ricocheted off the kitchen walls.
“You have a boorish sense of humor.” Michael skirted around him to Samantha’s side.
