by Debra Dixon
As Nick brushed the soft bud of her womanhood, he swallowed her moan and let his fingers sink into her heat. Everything about her was soft and welcoming. She was as moist for him as he was hard for her. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand and cupped her rump, guiding her to match his rhythm as he pressed his arousal against her.
Dieu, but he wanted this woman! Just touching her brought him close to the edge.
Mercy sensed the spiraling need in Nick that matched the rising desire she felt. When she freed his erection from the confines of his trousers, she was rewarded with an utterly masculine sound of satisfaction. His arousal pulsed beneath her fingers as she caressed him. Mercy reveled in the power she felt within her grasp and the urgency she could create with a few strokes.
“Mais non, chère,” Nick told her, knowing that if he let her continue, he wouldn’t be able to control his release. He wanted to complete what they had started, but he needed to be inside her, as deep as he could get. “If I’m going to finish, I’m going to finish inside you.”
His blunt language sent a wave of excitement rolling through her, because she knew she’d brought him to this point. Stripping off the rest of their clothing and sheathing Nick’s erection only took a moment, and then he pressed Mercy down onto the bed. He stroked and touched her, played with her until he felt her body begin to tense. Then he slid his knee between her thighs as he rose above her, urging her to open to him without words.
Nick caught his breath and paused as his hardness met her softness. With an effort that took all his concentration, he entered her slowly, creating a velvet torture for himself. All his self-control vanished when Mercy’s inner muscles contracted around him and her hips rose to bring him completely inside her.
Together they found a hard rhythm that sent them rushing toward the finish. Every stroke felt more intimate and deeper than the last. Mercy’s head twisted gently from side to side, and a soft cry tore from her throat as she reached for and caught the stars that exploded around her. Nick’s own climax was wrung from him at the sound of her pleasure, leaving him spent and sated as he felt completion course through him in shock waves of satisfaction.
Nick gently transferred Mercy’s sleeping body from his arms to the pillow and tucked the sheet around her. He tugged on his shorts and trousers before he quietly left the room. In her kitchen, he made some coffee, noting the fact that since the last time he’d rummaged around her pantry, she’d bought some chicory blend at a gourmet shop. Little by little he was becoming a part of her thoughts, and he liked that.
While the coffee brewed he studied the dawn as it crept through the branches of the huge crab-apple tree by the backyard fence. He felt a little like the dawn himself, sneaking up on Mercy’s subconscious. Last night he’d made love to her a second time, as if the most intimate act between a man and a woman could bind her to him and make her forget whatever demons scared her away from love.
If nothing else, last night taught him that he wanted more than a place in Mercy’s life. He wanted a place in her heart. Too bad the woman’s heart lit up with a No Vacancy sign whenever a man got close. She guarded her heart the way that damn crab-apple tree guarded the fence. Somehow he’d have to find a way to slip in under her guard. He’d have to, because he wasn’t going to give her up. If that meant backing off until she got used to the idea of loving him, then he’d try.
Mercy woke up, not because light filtered into the room announcing daybreak, but because she reached for and couldn’t find Nick. Sitting upright, she smelled the coffee and saw his shoes and his purple polo shirt on the floor. Unfortunately, she didn’t know whether she should be glad to find that Nick hadn’t fled into the darkness after last night or appalled that he was such an early riser.
When she glanced at the alarm clock, she groaned and pulled the covers over her head, trying to go back to sleep. Anytime before seven o’clock was too early to rise by her standards. Too early to do anything! Especially on weekends. Especially on annoyingly quiet weekends like this one. She could hear the silence in the room; it was deafening. Resigned, Mercy uncovered her head and said, “If you’re going to stick around, Dr. Devereaux, we’re going to have to get a few ground rules straight.”
As soon as she said it, Mercy clamped a hand over her mouth and bolted upright, clutching the covers to her. Now you’ve done it. You’re thinking in terms of Nick being a permanent fixture. Get a grip, Mercy May. What you had was great sex, not the beginning of something beautiful. You know what will happen if you allow yourself to get attached. You’ll forget where his life ends and yours begins. “I” becomes “we,” and when he’s gone, you’ll hurt like hell because you won’t remember how to be alone.
Dragging the sheet around her, Mercy got purposefully out of bed and crossed the room. She pulled clean underwear out of a drawer and grabbed the first top and pair of shorts her hands touched. Tiptoeing across the hallway, she locked herself in the bathroom to recover from the shock of having admitted, even to herself, that she wanted Nick to be more than a good time, more than a friend. Those were scary thoughts. How could she forget, even for a moment, the bitter fights and broken relationships that littered her childhood like Nick’s clothes littered her floor?
Falling in love was like letting someone sink their teeth into your chest and standing idly by, waiting for them to rip your heart out. No, the life her parents had wasn’t for her. Then why are you hoping for more than last night?
Mercy plucked her toothbrush out of the holder and tried to come up with an answer. Once her teeth sparkled, her face was scrubbed, and her hair brushed, she’d convinced herself that having more than a one-night stand with Nick wasn’t the same thing as losing her heart to him. She could cut it off anytime she wanted, she promised herself as she stared into the medicine-cabinet mirror. “An affair is more than a good time and technically less than a serious relationship. Right? Right.”
Ready to face Nick, Mercy left the bathroom. After all, why should she deny herself the pleasure of his company, in or out of bed, as long as he could be trusted to maintain the proper perspective. He seemed willing to do that. At the roadhouse, hadn’t he promised he didn’t want anything more than she was ready to give?
Her clever conscience waited until she was halfway down the stairs before reminding her that what Nick had actually said was he “wouldn’t take anything more than she was willing to give.” The man hadn’t made any promises beyond that.
Obviously, he hadn’t made any promises about being discreet either, since the front door stood wide open. Mercy suspected Nick was resting in the swing, barefoot and bare-chested for all the neighborhood to see. The man certainly had a flair for creating small-town gossip.
Mercy hesitated before walking onto the porch, afraid of what she might find. Having everything about last night analyzed, organized, and explained in her own mind didn’t mean that Nick had come to the same conclusions. What if he wouldn’t settle for an affair? What if he had that look, the one men got when they finally decided to make a monogamous commitment? What if he got all morning-after sappy and wanted promises she couldn’t make?
She honestly didn’t know what she’d say, because what she felt for Nick she’d never felt for anyone else. Friendship and passion were all mixed up with the fear of trusting him. Of trusting in love. Hadn’t she seen marriage after marriage break up because somebody stopped caring? She reminded herself that the trick was not to care in the first place.
Steeling herself, she pushed open the screen. As it turned out, the first words out of Nick’s mouth were far from morning-after sappy. They were downright rude and did more to put her at ease than anything he could have done.
TEN
“It lives, I see,” Nick said, and saluted her with his coffee. He lowered his cup and added, “Barely.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked indignantly, all her concerns forgotten as she reached to take a sip of his coffee and plopped down beside him.
“It means you were
dead to the world when I got up.”
“Everybody was dead to the world when you got up,” she pointed out testily.
“I wouldn’t know about everybody. ’Cause I couldn’t hear everybody else snoring.”
“I don’t snore!”
“I didn’t say you did. I just said that I couldn’t hear everybody else.”
He grinned at her, and Mercy thought maybe, just maybe, falling into bed with Nick Devereaux hadn’t been a mistake after all. Instead of looking for promises, he was looking for her sense of humor. Instead of crowding her this morning, he’d given her space. More importantly, instead of leaving, he’d parked his rump on her front porch, silently assuring her that he wanted more than last night but was willing to take everything one step at a time.
They swung in peace for a moment before they heard the argument between Sophie and Witch. Sophie won. Her neighbor refused to be dragged across the street at a breakneck pace and dug in her heels at the curb edge, sternly telling Witch to hold her horses. “Mercy! Send that young man of yours over here to get this dog before I say a few things to her that will make my pastor frown.”
Knowing now was not the time to debate whether or not Nick was her “young man,” Mercy simply waved and hollered, “Right away!”
“Throwing me to the wolves?” Nick asked as he got up and padded across the porch.
“Better you than me,” she said right behind him. “Maybe she’ll be too polite to ask you personal questions about why you’re practically naked and sitting on my porch.”
Nick paused at the edge of the steps to study the elderly woman who had managed to subdue Witch by having her lie down and then standing on the leash. Sophie waited with her arms akimbo and an expectant expression on her face. Shaking his head, Nick said, “Don’t fool yourself. Sophie would ask personal questions of the pope without blinking an eye.”
Pushing him from behind, Mercy said, “Just remember. Only name, rank, and serial number.” She stopped him by placing a hand on his biceps to whisper, “But don’t be abrupt. Be casual, or she’ll smell a secret. Talk about gardening or the weather.”
“Only name, rank, and serial number,” Nick repeated as he walked through the yard. Since Sophie had begun tapping her foot at his leisurely pace, he loped across the asphalt street and held out his hand for the leash.
Instead of the lead, Sophie handed him a conversational hot potato. “I see you’ve made some progress with our Mercy since that picnic.”
“Yes, ma’am. Considerable.” Nick continued to hold out his hand as he repeated to himself, name, rank, and serial number.
“Well,” Sophie huffed as she slapped the leather strap into his palm and stepped away from the Labrador. “With that attitude you’re not likely to make any more progress, are you?”
Surprised, Nick gave the older woman a hard stare, and Mercy’s advice was completely forgotten. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me, Sophie?”
“Mercy’s a healthy, red-blooded, American girl.”
Looking back over his shoulder, Nick had to agree. She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn the first time he met her—old, faded cutoffs and a little scrap of a white top. From where he was standing, Mercy definitely looked all-American—all legs and curves and memories of last night. Then his attention swiveled back to Sophie, who waited patiently and looked a bit smug.
“Mercy is all of those things and more,” he told her. “So what’s your point?”
“You’ve won a tiny battle, not the war.” Sophie smoothed back some silver hair with short broad fingers; the gesture unconsciously betrayed her uncertainty about how she wanted to approach the subject at hand. “Spending the night doesn’t constitute considerable progress. That girl … You’re not …”
As she hesitated, obviously searching for words, a grin tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “Don’t spare my feelings, Sophie. I might like my whiskey with Coke, but I like my truth straight up.”
“Well, to be perfectly blunt, Mercy’s not going to change her mind about marriage because Nick Devereaux spent the night.”
“Who said anything about marriage?”
A peal of laughter broke from Sophie. “Don’t kid a kidder, son. If you were only interested in the bedroom, then why did you announce your intentions to the entire neighborhood by planting yourself on that front porch like you’d come to stay?”
“Is that what I did?”
“That’s exactly what you did. I knew you had marriage on your mind when I saw the look on your face at the Fourth of July picnic. You looked like you’d been kicked in the head by a mule. I thought to myself, Now there’s a man our Mercy won’t be able to scare off. You’re head over heels for the girl, so let’s not waste time arguing about something we both know is true.”
Nick mulled that over while he scratched Witch behind the ears. “I didn’t realize it was quite so obvious. Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind. And thanks for keeping Witch.” Mercy hovered anxiously on the porch, so he smiled to let her know that everything was fine and patted his leg for Witch to get up. “Let’s go, girl.”
“I’ve met her parents, you know,” Sophie said casually as he stepped off the curb. “Both of them.”
A simple sentence, but one that stopped Nick cold. He glanced back at Sophie, all the while trying to look casual so Mercy wouldn’t think she needed to dash over and rescue him. As easily as he could, he stopped the dog and prompted Sophie at the same time. “And?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met two more self-absorbed people as those knife-happy doctors. All they can talk about is procedures and who’s been asked to speak where. Can’t imagine how Mercy managed to turn out so well having to grow up with those two egomaniacs as examples. It’s a pity, really.”
“Sounds like it,” Nick said in the land of voice that was meant to encourage Sophie’s observations.
“A real pity for that girl. Growing up with the kind of people who like to blame their troubles on everyone but themselves.” Sophie put her hands on her thin hips and rolled her eyes. “And the way those two get married, there’s always a convenient new victim to blame for their desperate unhappiness.”
“You mean when the relationship falls apart?”
“Of course. It’s inevitable.”
“Inevitable?” Nick prodded.
“Those two probably couldn’t hold a marriage together with a gallon of Super Glue even if their lives depended on it. But why should they bother trying? There’s always Mercy to pick up the pieces. To listen to their sad tales of woe and heartache. Always Mercy who holds their hands until they find a new victim who makes them feel exciting and happy for a while.”
Suddenly everything clicked into place for him. Mercy had given up being happy so she could avoid being unhappy. She wasn’t scared of commitment. She was scared of love, scared it wouldn’t last. She was more scared of being hurt than she was of being alone.
“Remind me to send you roses, Sophie.”
“What you can send me is an invitation.”
“To the benefit? You got it.”
Sophie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I can see I’m going to have to be plain. I’m a lonely old woman since Art passed on last year. We never had children, so I’ve gotten in the habit of pretending that Mercy is mine. I’d like to see that girl walk down the aisle before I’m done, and you’re the first genuine prospect I’ve had. Don’t blow it.”
Nick made a show of adjusting Witch’s collar as he said, “I don’t suppose you’d mind bouncing a a grandbaby or two before you’re done?”
Beaming, Sophie said, “I believe we understand one another.”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe we do.”
Sunday morning Mercy kissed Nick good-bye and shut the door. Smiling confidently at Witch, she said, “See how easy that is? A couple of great nights and now it’s back to normal. No muss. No fuss. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”
Witch barked and wagged.
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“You’re damn right. We can cut it off anytime we want. Just ’cause I sleep with him doesn’t mean I have to sleep with him all the time. We don’t need some man cluttering up the house.” Mercy headed for the kitchen and leftovers. “Although this one can really cook.”
“What are you doing here?” Mercy asked in exasperation when she opened the door Monday morning. How was she going to run this affair according to her timetable if he was going to show up anytime he felt like it?
“Ah, chère, someone’s got to fix the back-fence gate before it falls off the hinges.”
“That someone doesn’t have to be you,” she told him firmly, making a point of not opening the screen.
“You gonna do it?”
“Eventually!”
“Right. You got a jigsaw to trim off the bottom of the gate where it’s dragging? A circular saw? Any kind of saw for that matter?”
Mercy wanted to shut the door in his face, but the truth was, she had missed him, even though a mere twenty-four hours shouldn’t be enough time to miss anybody. “Okay, Mr. Fix-It, what’s it going to cost me?”
“Nothing.”
Mercy blanched and clutched a hand to her breast dramatically. “Oh, my word! That much? Please. I’d rather pay than owe you.”
“Darlin’, I’d rather you owe me.”
“I’ll just bet you would.” Giving in, Mercy said, “Come in, but don’t expect me to entertain you or go to the hardware store. I’ve got work to do. You’ll just have to make yourself at home.”
“Believe me, chère, I intend to,” Nick murmured as he gave her a kiss and then headed for the back, toolbox in hand.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mercy whispered when he disappeared into the dining room. “And once you do, I’m afraid I’ll get used to having you around.”
By the weekend, Mercy found herself thinking in terms of “when Nick gets home” instead of “the next time I see Nick.” That stopped her cold, until she rationalized that the amount of time they spent together didn’t matter as long as she remembered the arrangement was temporary. She hadn’t done anything stupid yet. She hadn’t officially asked him to move in. She hadn’t vowed eternal love. She was safe. As safe as a girl could be around Nick Devereaux.
