Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom

by Jennifer Greene

  She couldn’t breathe.... She sucked in a lungful of oxygen when he finally lifted his mouth. His mouth was wet from hers. Bruised from hers. He wasn’t breathing all that easily, either. But he looked at her hard again, with that same fire glow in his eyes.

  “So...you’re not just a giver. You get an A for amazing in the giving category. But we’re going to have to work on the taking thing. Think selfish.

  “Think greedy. Think ‘I want.’ Can you do that for me?”

  He was talking gibberish. Not making any sense she could comprehend. But she heard the low, throaty tone in his voice. He was talking love words. He was talking coaxing. Wooing. Wanting.

  And then he quit talking. Peeled off her sweatshirt, then fought and won her jeans, found bare skin.

  Oh, man. He was deep trouble anywhere near bare skin. He sucked in a breath at the look of her, bare, in firelight, vulnerable like she’d never felt vulnerable. By the time he met her eyes again, she considered shrinking. All that concentrated danger in his gaze was downright scary.... At least for a woman who already knew she couldn’t make a man happy, not sexually, even when she thought she was pretty naturally comfortable with herself that way. Whit was just different.

  Whit was more man.

  More man times a million or so.

  He changed gears, from high speed to a torturous crawl. Every little thing seemed to slow him down. Her tongue, her lips, her throat. He washed her navel with his tongue, flipped her over...made an adventure trail down her spine with his kisses, took a small, careful nip of her fanny...then flipped her over again.

  The man was more powerful than a Hummer. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t think. He wasn’t giving her a chance to do what she needed to do, knew how to do. She wanted to stroke him the right way, the kind of touch that made him feel wanted, desired. She wanted to remember to make the right sounds, the sounds that made a man believe she was enthralled, hot for him.

  She knew what to do.

  He just wouldn’t give her a chance to do it.

  The fire hissed and crackled. Shadows danced on the wall, a slow dance of profiles, his, hers, always in motion. A coffee table pushed away. Couch pillows scattered. The dance of fire turned into a glossy sheen on his skin...on hers.

  Every nerve in her body turned tense, fraught as wire stretched too tight. All the sensations that had been deliriously, wonderfully changed. Nothing was right. Her pulse picked up edgy, restless beats. Her heart picked up an unhappy thrum. She felt a confused myriad of feelings—thrills like skydiving, wild like running naked in the rain, restless that this would never stop, never get where she needed to go.

  She wanted to tell him...something...but then his greedy hands claimed another forbidden spot. The inside of her thigh, behind her knee. Then his fingers found the nest of blond hair, combed through it, found the core of her, forced her to gasp.

  He took that gasp seriously. Really seriously, as if world peace were at stake. Worked at winning another gasp out of her.

  Then another.

  She considered pounding on his head, but he studied the expression on her face and let out a throaty chuckle. “I think one of us is ready.”

  “Did you get a degree in torture?”

  “Thanks. I wanted to do better, but it’s been a while. I’m way, way out of practice.”

  “Are you still talking?”

  But then she couldn’t talk, either. He moved his hands under her hips, pulled her legs up and around him, climbed on and then in. She sucked in her breath at the sensation of him filling her, her being stretched to the maximum. The torture he’d inflicted before was nothing like this. This was misery at the most exhilarating level, need that took her over and under. Need for him. Need for fulfillment. Need she wanted to scream for.

  She didn’t scream. But she called out. His name. Furiously, fiercely. Over and over. He was calling hers as well, not in a scream but in a soft, urgent hiss of a whisper. The hot, wild ride headed for a cliff, tipped over.

  He collapsed on top of her, then seemed to realize that his weight could crush her and immediately flipped her on top of him. He tried collapsing again, then seemed to realize that she could be cold, so he lifted up, tugged off a throw from the couch, draped it over her, then crashed for the third time.

  This time he was out for the count, breathing hard, eyes closed. Recovery wasn’t about to come fast.

  Recovery was never going to happen for her. Rosemary figured she wouldn’t survive making love with him a second time. She was beyond sated. A stupid smile had become glued on her mouth; she still hadn’t caught her breath; and her heart was still slamming like a jackhammer. If there was an earthquake, an avalanche, a tornado all at once, she still couldn’t have moved. Not then.

  Her skin was slick, against his sweat dampened skin. Her cheek rested right in the curve of his shoulder. Her ear pressed against the wild pulse in his throat. She felt his arm around her, his big hand still securing the blanket over her. She tried to grasp a little reality again.

  Couldn’t.

  There was nowhere else she wanted to be than right there, hot and naked in his arms. She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t need to think about it. Ten minutes from now, the world might well crash on her head. But not at this second.

  Nothing was wrong. Everything was right. For the first time in months. Maybe for the first time in forever.

  Days passed. Maybe months.

  Maybe just minutes.

  She felt the stroke of his hand, his fingers combing into her short hair. “I need to tell you something.”

  Instinctively she braced. “Sure.”

  “I meant to tell you before.”

  “It’s all right. Just say it.” Whatever it was, she was positive she wouldn’t want to hear it.

  “The first time I saw you, I thought you were extraordinarily beautiful. The kind of beauty that I couldn’t get out of my mind. Special beautiful. Uniquely beautiful. Your heart shows up in your eyes.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I didn’t know this was going to happen. But I’d thought about it.” Again, his palm stroked her hair, her neck. “I wanted this. Wanted you. The more time I was around you, the more I was...drawn.”

  “You’ll get over it,” she assured him. “I’m feeling delusional right now, too. But then, I’ve never made love with that much energy. It probably blew out most of my common sense brain cells.”

  “You’re funny. But you’re still beautiful. Even if you don’t want to hear it. And I’m confused.”

  “I know you are,” she said sympathetically.

  “Rosemary. You don’t have to fake it. And if you felt you needed to fake it with that ex-fiancé of yours, then he had to be damned stupid and a jerk you’re well rid of.”

  “Fake it?” Now she propped herself up on her elbows, using his chest as a table, and the look she leveled on him wasn’t sweet.

  “Okay. I’m sorry I brought it up. Not a time to be blunt. I’ve been accused before of having the finesse of a junkyard dog.”

  “I never faked it.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. I was way off base. And I shouldn’t have said anything anyway.”

  “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” She repeated, “I never faked anything.”

  “I’d be willing to offer diamonds or rubies or a Mercedes to get out of trouble.”

  “And furthermore, you have plenty of finesse. Loads. Heaps.”

  “Um, was that a compliment or a complaint?”

  “A compliment, you idiot.”

  He was still stroking her hair. Still looking into her eyes...as a lover. Possessively. Greedily. Intimately.

  “I’m thinking this would be a great time for the phone to ring. Anything to get me out of hock until I figure out how to get my fo
ot out of my mouth.” Abruptly a cell phone went off from the pocket of his jacket across the room. “Damn. I didn’t mean it. I swear.”

  “It could be your girls.”

  “It has to be my girls. At this hour. At this time of night before Christmas Eve tomorrow. Do I have to answer it?” he asked her plaintively.

  “Afraid so.”

  “But I don’t want to leave you.”

  A minute before he’d been so aggravating she wanted to strangle him. Then he said that, and she remembered they were both still naked, still glued together, and maybe her fresh arousal wasn’t as public as his, but she wanted him again. Right then. As hard and wild and scary as the first time had been.

  The cell peeled out a rap beat again. She said what he already knew. “You have to take the call.”

  And he uncurled and stood up to do just that, but as he connected the call and pressed the speaker button, Pepper’s plaintive voice started up. “Dad. Lilly’s already asleep but not me. But she was worried, too. We just wanted to be sure Rosemary wasn’t mad at us.”

  Rosemary had to smile, both at Whit walking naked across the room to dive for his cell phone—the firelight incredibly illuminating his tight little ass. And it was little, compared to those big brawny shoulders and muscular thighs. Sexy. Head to toe.

  But even more, lovably, when he scraped a hand through his hair and talked to his daughter. “Rosemary was never mad at you. She liked it, that you were willing to talk about your mom with her.” He glanced back.

  She gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  He turned around, so he could look at her even as he talked to his daughter. “And yeah, she’s totally still on for the cooking thing tomorrow....”

  She sent him another thumbs-up.

  “So she wants you to come over around, say...” He waited.

  She held up both hands, fingers splayed.

  “Around ten o’clock, she says. So you’d better get to sleep, cookie. I’ll be home in two shakes.”

  The instant he clicked off, he scowled and said, “I don’t want to be home in two shakes.”

  She laughed, and draping the couch throw around her shoulders, started scooping up his clothes. He dressed. Unwillingly. Stopped to kiss her. And then return to scowling as he yanked on boots, and finally his jacket. Then kissed her again.

  “So do I get to come over tomorrow or is it just the girls who get to come?”

  “You can come over midafternoon. We need to do the baking stuff on our own. Unless...well...the only job we have open before midafternoon is washing dishes.”

  “That’s just cruel,” he said.

  “Uh-huh.” She opened the door, then wrapped the throw seriously tight around her. Outside, the night was black velvet, not a star or moon in sight—but toe-stinging cold. “Whit?”

  “What?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  His head shot up, and his eyes lost all that teasing silly nonsense. “So tell me.”

  “I wanted to say it before.”

  His expression changed, as if he were bracing for a hurt. She’d felt the same way when he’d started a conversation with those same words. Nothing good ever seemed to follow “I need to tell you something.”

  She said softly, “I’m really, really glad we did this.”

  He waited, as if assuming an ax was going to fall on his foot after that announcement.

  But there was no ax. She smiled softly, bravely. “Before you go home...I just want you to know that this whole night was absolutely okay. It’s the Christmas season. Everything gets crazy emotional around the holiday—for you and the girls especially this year, because of Zoe. I never wanted to interfere with that. Never wanted any of you to think I wanted or could replace her.” He opened his mouth, but she pressed two fingers—two very cold fingers now—against his lips.

  “Whit, I really wanted to be here for you. I loved having the chance to be here for you. But after the holiday, I know you three are going back to Charleston. And that’s fine. I don’t want you to worry even a second about tonight. This was all good.”

  She lifted up, pressed a kiss on his lips—a fast, fast smooch—and then chuckled. “Go, would you? I need to close the door before I freeze to death.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to answer—or a chance to think up some awkward reply. She just closed the door. Fast. Before he could see how hard it was to hold on to that soft smile.

  She hustled to the warmth of the fire and crouched down to secure the screen for the night, feeling that she needed to lock up her emotions the same way. Whit had made her feel beautiful.... When she’d never felt beautiful before.

  But after the holiday, she knew he would have trouble remembering her.

  Every man she’d ever known seemed to find it all too easy to forget her.

  Chapter Nine

  The house was quiet as a cave when Whit woke up. He pulled on clothes as he glanced outside. The moon was still up, the landscape black and glistening and silent. A perfect Christmas Eve day was dawning.

  There wasn’t a whisper coming from the loft—the girls were still clearly dead to the world. He measured coffee, put it on, did some token cleanups until the percolating finally finished.

  He carried the mug to the tree, stared at the lopsided wonder they’d created. From the thrown cranberries to the loopy popcorn strands to the sequin slipper Pepper had donated for the top, it was the best tree he could remember.

  Because of her.

  Rosemary.

  Heaven knew where she’d been hiding all that passion...but he’d never figured, at his age, to be blown away by making love. It was her. All her. She inspired his girls; she inspired him. That huge heart of hers seemed to have no limits. She had an endless capacity to give and understand, a magical intuition and perception about what others needed.

  He thought about what she’d looked like, naked in the firelight.

  He thought about her standing in the doorway, the couch throw covering her but her feet still bare, her legs, her eyes in that freezing night wind, telling him it was okay, she didn’t want or expect more from him.

  She had the right to expect the moon and the stars from a man. She deserved the best of guys. She deserved to be cherished and appreciated. To be loved.

  And he wanted to be the guy to love her. To be loved by her.

  Only they’d barely made love before she was kicking him out.

  “Hey, Dad.” Lilly, loudly yawning, ambled downstairs, wearing her lion floppy slippers and her Christmas jammies, her hair all atumble. “Is it time to go to Rosemary’s yet?”

  “It’s not even eight, lovebug.”

  “We’re gonna have a great day.” She yawned again. He lifted an arm, and she scooched next to his side, curling up the way she had since she was a little girl. “You’re bringing the ham to Rosemary’s house, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And the pop.”

  “And the pop.”

  “And the ice cream Christmas trees.”

  “And the trees.”

  “So we won’t have anything to do but love Christmas.”

  “That’s the plan I heard,” Whit agreed. “I was told I couldn’t come over to her house today, though, until midafternoon. Unless I was willing to shut up and do dishes all morning.”

  “We’re doing girl talk, Dad. You’d be bored anyway. Or you’d be holding your hands over your ears so you didn’t have to hear embarrassing stuff. Besides...don’t you want to get something for Rosemary for Christmas?”

  He hesitated. “You’re right. I could pick up something this morning. Do you think it’d be a good idea if it was from all of us?”

  Pepper showed up in the doorway. “I think Lilly and me should get her something that isn�
��t, like, a thing. We could put a present in an envelope. Like that we’ll do all the dishes tomorrow. Or we could vacuum or something. Or fold clothes. You know. Some dumb chore so she wouldn’t have to do it.”

  Lilly considered that idea. “Yeah. That’s good. She’s not so much about stuff from stores. But still. We could write it on a piece of paper, and in an envelope, and then in a box, and then in a bigger box, and then wrap it up so she couldn’t guess what it was.”

  “And Dad could get us some boxes and wrapping paper if he’s going out anyway.” Pepper elbowed her way to his right side, where she curled up next to him.

  “I wasn’t planning a long shopping trip,” Whit said.

  Lilly shot him a frown. “But you need to take your time, Dad. You need to get something neat for Rosemary.”

  “Like what do you think is a good idea?”

  “I don’t know. Just something special and nice and that’s a good surprise for her. Like that.”

  Acid starting churning in his stomach. He wasn’t an anxiety-ridden kind of guy, never had been. It was just...well, he’d rather wrestle with a nest of rattlers than shop for a woman. Nothing he’d ever gotten Zoe had pleased her. No matter how hard he tried. And he’d tried. “Like what kind of nice?”

  “Dad.” Pepper patted his shoulder. “Go to Greenville. Park near downtown. Then just walk. All the shops will be open. You’ll see something just right. You can do this.”

  “Yeah. You can do this, Dad.” Lilly stepped up to reassure him, too. “Just take your cell phone. Call us if you get in trouble.”

  That was a big help. He was already in trouble. Trouble that had nothing to do with his girls or buying a present.

  It had to do with falling in love with a woman he’d only known for a few days. A woman who seemed quite sure he was suffering from holiday madness. A woman who had a secret regarding her ex-fiancé—a secret that put sadness in her eyes, a secret that led her to hiding out as a hermit. And a woman who was under the impression that he was still in mourning for Zoe.