He shifted to her side, one hand already tugging her shirt free of her shorts, his fingers warm and gentle as they slid over her rib cage. She gasped, arching backward as the sensations built to a nearly intolerable intensity.
His fingers slipped under her bra to stroke her nipple with the gentlest of friction until her breast was swollen and hot. Only then did he attend to the other breast, using the same sweet skill until she was writhing helplessly, awash in pleasure. His hand left her breast then, but only to push her shirt higher. She moaned as he brought his mouth to her belly, his teeth nipping gently at her skin, lower and lower.
Her hands tangled in his hair, her fingers lost in the golden thickness. His tongue lapped at her belly button until she cried out. Tiny spasms of sensation ran through her, stronger and stronger. Frantic now, she arched upward, whimpering helplessly.
"Easy, sweet, I'll take care of you," he murmured almost incoherently as he pushed himself backward, tugging her shorts lower on her hips as he moved. Cool air hit her skin, heightening the sweet tugging tension that was torturing her almost beyond bearing. Bracing himself on his elbows, he kissed the quivering flesh of her belly, then moved lower, his tongue trailing fire along her skin.
His hands were patient, his mouth hot. Sensations built until she was mindless. At the first jagged peak she cried out, and then she was tumbling, coming to earth slowly.
He murmured her name, his face pressed against her throat, his skin damp and hot.
"Mitch?"
He lifted his head and looked at her. "What can I do for you, honey?" he asked, his voice slurred and his eyes smoldering.
She smiled, so full of love it hurt. "I think I should be asking you that," she murmured, caressing his face.
"Next time," he replied, his tone husky and his smile drowsy.
"But—"
"Shh, it's okay." Tightening his arms, he rolled them over until she was cradled against him. "I think we just ruined a couple hours of work," he murmured, his deep voice touched with wry humor.
"It was worth it," she managed to whisper, so content she wasn't sure she would ever move again.
"Liked that, did you, sweet Caroline?" he asked in a low, husky tone that rippled like pleasure through her.
When she didn't answer, he tipped her face up to his. When he saw her lip clamped between her teeth, he swore an oath so ripe it had her jolting. "Baby, I'm sorry. I thought … hell, I don't know what I thought."
She let out a sound halfway between a moan and a laugh. "You idiot, I'm not upset. I'm happy. I feel as though that was my first time and you are my first lover."
His expression turned pensive. "Carly, I've done a lot of things that might shock you. I'm pretty beat up in the white knight department."
Her hand trembled as she touched his face. "Let's pretend the rest of our lives start now, this minute. The past doesn't matter."
For the first time in years Mitch felt the hard knot of tension in his belly ease. He kissed her gently, then brushed the hair from her face. It was trust he felt from her, trust that he planned to nurture with the greatest care.
He thought he'd known what needing was all about. Now he knew that he'd never needed anyone the way he needed her. Emotion filled him until he wasn't sure he could handle much more.
He growled something, then pulled her to him for a hard hug. "Now, get," he ordered, masking his frustration behind a lazy grin. "I know I can get up okay, but I'd just as soon not have an audience while I figure it out."
It was on the tip of her tongue to offer her help, but the look of fierce pride in his eyes stopped her. Leaning forward, she kissed him tenderly and then scrambled to her feet.
"Oh, and about killing the cat?" she said, watching him. "In my opinion, she deserves a nice big tin of tuna." She waited for the deep masculine chuckle she needed to hear before she turned and left.
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Tracy spooned sugar onto her already sweetened Crunchy Crispies before glancing across the table at her grandmother. "No way, Grandmother. Nothing pink, and definitely not organza, whatever that is."
Felicity dabbed her mouth with her napkin before reaching for her teacup. "Organza is a type of fabric, Tracy, and it's perfect for a graduation dress."
"No one is going to know what I have on under that long robe, so what difference does it make? Besides, it's going to be hot, and all the girls voted to wear shorts."
Her grandmother nearly choked on her tea. "Did you hear that, Caroline? Shorts!"
Carly glanced up from the morning paper. She had already had her swim and her coffee, and, since it was Saturday, she wasn't in her usual time squeeze. Besides, she and Tracy had a date to go shopping later, and the stores at the Medford Mall didn't open until ten.
"I'm sorry, Mother? What did you say?"
"Your daughter is planning to wear shorts under her graduation robe. What do you say to that?"
Carly met Tracy's gaze over the top of the sports page. "I'd say it's a darn good idea, actually. Should save me a bundle on a dress."
Tracy grinned, and for a moment Carly's heart all but stopped. It was Scanlon's grin she was seeing on her daughter's face, right down to the slight little downward hook at one corner. The same grin she'd just seen in the article on the sports page announcing the exhibition game set for the first week in September.
"Give it up, Grandmother," Tracy suggested, flipping her hair over one shoulder. "I'm incorrigible."
Carly ignored the distressed look her mother shot her. "Which reminds me, Mother, have you asked Coach to be your date for the graduation ceremonies? Ticket requests are due in by Wednesday, and I need to know how many to ask for."
"Caroline, I've told you this before. Peter and I are not dating. We're friends, and friends see each other occasionally for dinner or a movie, that's all."
"Fine, Mother. Are you going to be 'seeing each other' for Tracy's graduation and the reception afterward?"
Felicity's flawless complexion took on a pretty pink glow. "Yes, we are, but only because I didn't want him to feel slighted."
"That's very thoughtful of you, Mother."
"It is, isn't it?" Felicity said with the faintest of twinkles in her eyes, and Carly realized that she was liking her mother more and more these days. She liked everyone more these days, including herself.
Sunlight filtering through the tinted windows overhead felt wonderfully warm on her bare shoulders, and she lifted a hand to finger comb her still damp hair.
"Don't forget Tilly," Tracy mumbled, her mouth full of cereal.
"Of course not," Carly chided gently. "Tilly's family, just like Aunt Marca."
"And Mitch."
Carly closed the paper and folded it carefully into fourths before placing it next to her coffee mug. With each day that passed, she was becoming more and more convinced that Mitch had a right to know that Tracy was his daughter. But whether or not to tell Tracy the truth was an issue she had yet to resolve, and until she did, she didn't know exactly how she was going to couch her revelation to Mitch.
"Honey, it's very generous of you to include him because he's a guest," she said, feeling her way slowly, "but I'm sure he's not expecting an invitation. Besides, the seating is limited."
"Limit's six to a graduate. Six tickets, six guests. Works for me."
"Well, yes, but Aunt Marca might want to take a date."
"Aunt Marca swore off men after her divorce, remember?"
Carly wondered if Tracy remembered everything everyone said to her, or just the juicy parts. "She might have changed her mind."
"Too late. I've already invited Mitch."
Carly felt her jaw drop. "When?"
"A couple of days ago when Ian and I ran into him at the stadium."
Felicity lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Who is this Ian you keep talking about?"
"Oh, Grandmother, you know. Ian Cummings, the Wolves' quarterback? Coach Gianfracco and Mitch were discussing him the other day while Mit
ch and I were playing backgammon, remember?"
"Is that the boy who's in danger of flunking Spanish?"
"That's the one. Mitch offered to tutor him."
Felicity brightened. "Ah, indeed. He must be valuable to the team."
"Only the most important man on the field when our team has the ball."
"What did Mitch say when you invited him?" Carly asked, her voice only slightly strained.
"That he would be delighted to attend, provided he was back from Sacramento by then."
Inside the house proper, the phone rang suddenly, breaking off in the middle of the second ring, and Carly assumed Tilly had picked up one of the extensions.
"Sweets, I hope you won't be disappointed if he can't make it. After all, he's going to be very busy getting the team organized for the beginning of preseason practice."
"Not to worry, Mom. I'm not a baby, you know. If Mitch can't make it, I'm not going to cry every night into my pillow."
"Well, of course you're not, dear," Felicity murmured. "Tears are terribly self-indulgent, after all."
Tracy ignored her grandmother, concentrating instead on her mother. "But it would be nice to have a man around the house permanently, especially one as nice as he is." Her tawny eyes brightened as though she'd had a sudden inspiration. "Plus he has a great sense of humor. That's probably even more important at your age, right?"
"Oh, absolutely," Carly said dryly. "We old folks need a good laugh now and then."
"Oh, Mother, you know what I mean."
"Carly, have you seen Mr. Scanlon this morning?" Tilly came toward her, carrying the portable receiver from the den extension.
"Not yet. Is that call for him?"
The housekeeper nodded. "It's a Mr. Dante from Sacramento. I knocked at the door of the guest room, but he didn't answer."
"Maybe he's in the shower."
Tilly's eyes registered doubt. "I didn't hear the water running."
"Maybe he's out jogging," Tracy said, grinning.
"Tracy!" Felicity exclaimed, aghast. "That's not a kind thing to say, considering his unfortunate situation."
"Oh, Grandmother. He knows he's handicapped. Why should we try to pretend he isn't?"
Carly glanced at her daughter in amazement. For a sometimes flighty sixteen-year-old, Tracy sometimes showed remarkable wisdom.
Frowning, she rose and extended her hand for the phone. "Maybe I'll have better luck."
Tilly looked faintly relieved. "Find out when he'll be wanting his breakfast while you're at it."
"Will do." She cinched her robe tighter before rapping on the door leading from the terrace to the guest room. "Mitch, are you awake?" When he didn't answer, she knocked louder and longer.
"Mitch? Your friend from Sacramento is on the phone for you."
When there was still no answer, she turned the knob and inched the door inward. The light by the bed was still burning, although daylight was streaming through the windows.
He was lying on his back with the duvet bunched at his waist. His eyes were closed, his brows drawn, his face ashen under the morning whiskers. A worn notebook lay next to him, and she realized he'd fallen asleep reading.
"Mitch? It's Carly," she murmured, closing the door behind her.
He didn't respond. Swallowing a sudden jolt of panic, she hurried to his side. She touched his shoulder with her fingertips and called his name more loudly. His lashes fluttered, and he muttered something she didn't understand.
"Who should I call? Mitch?"
Suddenly she remembered the phone in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she punched the talk button and lifted it to her ear. "Mr. Dante?"
"Yes?" The voice that had answered was deeper than most and flavored with caution.
"This is Caroline Alderson. Perhaps Mitch has mentioned me?"
"He had indeed, Dr. Alderson. Where is the lazy so-and-so, anyway?"
"He's still in bed, and, Mr. Dante, he seems to be in severe pain."
"Muscle spasms in his legs?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Is he conscious?"
Carly glanced at Mitch's ashen face. "Not really."
"Okay, this is what you do. Soak a couple of bath towels in hot water, hot as you can stand it, and then wrap his thighs as tight as you can. That should ease the pain enough to bring him to long enough to shove a Demerol down his throat. You'll probably find the tablets with his shaving stuff. Got all that, or should I repeat it?"
"No, I've got it." She took a much needed breath. "I take it this has happened before?"
"A few times, yeah," Dante drawled in what she suspected was a major understatement. "One more thing, Dr. Alderson. Mitch hates for anyone to see him like this, and he hates having to accept help even more. Most likely he'll be in a vicious mood when he wakes up, so be prepared."
"I will, and thanks for the advice."
"You're welcome. Better take down my number just in case, though."
"Just a minute, let me find a pen." Glancing around hastily, she saw a gold pen on the dresser, along with a man's wallet, car keys and small leather notebook.
"Okay, shoot," she said when she'd grabbed the pen and torn a page from the notebook. Wedging the phone against her shoulder, she wrote down the number he gave her and shoved it into the pocket of her robe.
"Have him call me when he's up to it, okay?"
"Yes, I'll do that."
She switched off the phone and left it and the pen on the dresser before hurrying into the bathroom. She plugged the tub, turned on the hot tap full blast and impatiently waited for the tub to fill. When the steam was thick enough to raise a sweat on her skin, she tossed the two towels from the rod into the water and watched them sink before searching for the pills.
She found them tucked inside a worn leather shaving kit, just as Dante had suggested. A quick glance at the label gave her the dosage, two tablets as needed for pain. She pocketed the tiny bottle, then filled the glass she found on the sink with water and carried it into the bedroom.
He hadn't moved. Agony seemed an inadequate term for what he seemed to be suffering, she thought as she drew back the comforter.
The next few minutes were an exercise in patience as she managed to wrap one thigh, then the other, in the hot towels. By the time she finished, she was drenched in sweat, and he was groaning steadily as she covered him again.
Twenty minutes later she'd wiped his face a dozen times and checked the clock at least twice as often. He was still out, but his color was better, and he'd stopped groaning.
Closing her eyes, she flexed her aching back, then reached for the towel again. Before her hand reached his face, his hand came up to stop her. His eyes were open, but unfocused.
"Mitch, it's me," she murmured when pain shot up her arm from the pressure of hard fingers. "Let me go, Mitch. It's Carly."
"Sweet Caroline," he murmured as he eased the terrible pressure; then his fingers fell away. He looked exhausted, but alert enough to swallow the painkillers.
"Two, right?" she asked, reaching for the water.
When he nodded, she slipped the pills between his lips, then held his head while he swallowed. "You can go away now," he said, his eyes closed. He sounded perfectly reasonable, which surprised her, given Dante's warning.
"Will you be all right?"
"Just need to sleep," he managed to get out between gasping breaths. He'd gone through some bad times in the past five years, but he couldn't remember hating his disability more than he did at this moment.
Carly eased to her feet, careful to keep from jarring the bed, but the sudden clenching of his jaw told her that she hadn't been careful enough.
"Sorry," she murmured before bending to kiss his forehead. I love you so, she told him silently before leaving him to fight his way through the pain alone.
* * *
Carly stopped by Tracy's room to explain that she was running late, then went straight to her bedroom to call Dante.
"Are you sure he'll be all right?" she as
ked after identifying herself and giving him a quick run-down of what she'd done.
Dante's sigh was impatient. "Yes, I'm sure. He just needs to sleep off the medication."
Carly rubbed Tabitha behind the ears absently, her mind still on the suffering man one flight below. "Does this sort of thing happen often?"
"Often enough."
Carly drew a breath. "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell him you called."
"Don't worry about it. Next time you see him, tell him I've lined up a couple of prospects with executive experience in spa management for him to interview when he gets back next week. If he has any questions, he knows where to reach me."
They chatted for a few minutes longer, then hung up.
* * *
It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Carly returned home. After their shopping spree, she'd dropped Tracy at Karen's and then worked for an hour or so in her office on end-of-term reports before heading home.
She was loaded down with packages and out of sorts when Tilly opened the back door for her. "I saw you coming," the housekeeper explained as she relieved Carly of two of the bulging shopping bags. "Looks like Tracy found a few things she liked."
"Just a few," Carly muttered, depositing the remaining bundles on the kitchen table. "I think we'll just leave all of these here and let her put them away."
Tilly nodded. "She'll want to show them off anyway, before she hauls them all upstairs."
Carly flexed her tired shoulders, then sniffed the air. "Is that gingerbread I smell?"
"It is. I was just getting ready to prepare tea for your mother and Mr. Scanlon, if he's up to it."
"How is he?" Carly asked anxiously. She'd worried about him non-stop all day.
"Truth to tell, Carly, I haven't seen him."
"Hmm, maybe I should check on him." She hesitated, not wanting him to think she was hovering. "I'll take him a cup of tea and a piece of gingerbread."
"Poor boy is probably half-starved," Tilly muttered, putting two squares of still warm gingerbread on a plate. "Big as he is, he needs lots of fuel."
Her Secret, His Child Page 19
