by Beverly Long
He knew what he should do. But he couldn’t walk away. She looked more beautiful than ever—so overwhelmingly female, so lushly ripe with impending motherhood, and his body reacted in what was starting to become a most familiar way.
And he couldn’t hide it from her. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh my,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Damn, he cursed himself.
She scrambled to sit up in bed. “Uh. . .George?”
She was going to tell him to get out and not let the door hit his ass on the way out. Disappointment, sharp stabbing points, made his chest hurt. “Yes.”
A pink hue rose from her chest, spread up her neck and settled in her cheeks. “Did I do, I mean, cause that?”
Christ. She couldn’t expect him to stand here and discuss it. “It won’t happen again,” he promised, wanting to put an end to the conversation.
“How do you know?” she asked boldly.
He looked at the thick carpet and wished like hell for a hole to swallow him up. “Because I won’t let it,” he said.
“Oh,” she said.
“I’ve got to get cleaned up,” he said.
She stared at him. “Of course,” she said. “Please, go ahead.” She politely waved her hand at the door to the bath, as if the last five minutes had never happened.
“You’re not angry?” he asked. That worried him but what worried him more was that she might be scared of him. He probably had a hundred pounds on her and she no doubt knew that she’d be in no position to defend herself if he chose to force himself on her.
She shook her head. “Angry? No. I guess it’s sort of a compliment. I mean, unless this sort of thing happens to you regularly.”
Her voice had trailed off at the end, full of uncertainty. Now what was he supposed to do? He could lie—maybe let her believe that his reaction was nothing special. Would that make her feel any safer?
“Well?” she prompted. “Is it?”
She wasn’t going to let it go. Fine. Then maybe the truth was what she needed. “I haven’t had a woman in six months, nor have I felt the need for one. But in the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been hard for you three, no, make that four, times.”
She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out.
“I know that’s not what you bargained for when you asked me to play the role of your new husband. I know that I don’t have the rights of a real husband and I don’t want you to be scared that I’m going to take them.”
She looked surprised. “Being scared never entered my mind, George Tyler. I haven’t known you long but long enough to know that you’re one of the most decent men I’ve ever met. You would not take advantage of me.”
He’d stick a knife into his own belly first. “It might be a good idea if you got dressed while I’m getting cleaned up.”
She smiled and he thought she looked almost satisfied. “I can do that. Um. . .George, I don’t want you to feel bad about. . .” she stopped and waved her hand in the general direction of his unruly cock. “About that.”
That wasn’t getting any better. If truth be told, he had a slim grip on his own control. That by itself, was damn concerning. His whole life, he’d been the type that had planned and then executed, not simply reacted and then jumped. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation,” he said.
“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” she said and he was fairly confident that she wasn’t a bit sorry. She moved, slowly swinging her pretty legs over the side of the bed. He caught a glimpse of her womanhood, barely covered by that piece of lace between her legs.
His face heated up and he felt weak and needy. And when he finally managed to tear his gaze away and look at her face, it almost took him to his knees when he realized she’d done it on purpose.
He backed up a step and held up his hands. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. “Melody? What in God’s name are you doing?”
She didn’t answer. She simply stood there, her breasts so lush and full, her nipples tight under her little shirt. The skin on her belly was lighter than that on her arms and legs and he put his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out and stroking her.
She took a step forward.
The room felt hot.
Another step. She was close enough that he could smell her scent. Strawberries in cream. Sweet.
Another step. “Melody?”
He sounded like he was begging and he was. Begging her to keep coming forward, begging her to stop? He didn’t know.
She reached a hand out and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers, then ran the soft part of her thumb across his lower lip.
In his head, he heard the distinct snap of his control breaking. He slipped his hand underneath her damp hair and cupped her neck. He leaned forward, careful of her child, and bent his head.
When he kissed her, her mouth was warm and sweet-tasting and he meant to take it slow but reason and intent gave way to an almost-blinding need to possess her. He pressed his lips hard, her mouth opened, and he pushed his tongue inside.
It was everything but not nearly enough and he knew she felt the same when she pressed her warm body against his. He had to touch her, had to know the feel of her breasts in his hands. His mouth still consuming her, he slid his hand under her little shirt and cupped her breast. He stroked his thumb across her nipple, much like she’d stroked his mouth.
Her body jerked in his arms and he captured her groan. Then he felt her yank his shirt free from his trousers and when her hands raced across his bare back, it was he who was groaning.
She tore her mouth away and leaned her head back and he needed no further invitation. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. Her skin was warm, delicious, and so damn tempting that he knew he could not turn away. He was not strong enough.
“Oh, George,” she said. “Make love—”
A woman’s scream split the quiet afternoon. Almost simultaneously, the dogs started furiously barking. He jerked his hand out from underneath Melody’s shirt. He heard doors slamming and voices yelling outside. It was bedlam.
He grabbed Melody firmly by the shoulders. “Stay here,” he said.
“That was Grandmother’s scream,” she said. She reached for the robe at the end of the bed.
He thought she was right. “Please,” he begged. “Just stay here until I know it’s safe.”
She nodded and he ran from the room. He took the steps two at a time. When he got to the bottom, he saw Pearl and Bernard both on their knees, their backs to him. The dogs were still barking and running in circles around them. The front door was wide open. Tilly and Louis stood off to the side, unaware of his presence. They were staring at the woman on the wood floor.
Genevieve. Flat on her back. Three feet away from her, the large lamp that normally sat on the nearby table was on the floor, lying on its side, a ten-inch crack through the glass base.
He scanned the room, thinking that an intruder had somehow gotten in and in the split second it took for him to do that, he knew he would die first before he let anyone in this family be harmed.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
Pearl looked over her shoulder. Her face was pale and her eyes watery, like she’d been holding back tears. “Genevieve fainted,” she said.
It wasn’t good but it meant that Melody wasn’t in danger. He could feel his breath come a little easier. He took another step toward them and that set the dogs off into an even louder barking frenzy. “Be quiet,” he commanded and he made the hand motion he’d seen Genevieve make when she’d given them an order. By some miracle, they stopped barking. He looked them in the eye. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he said.
The two dogs crowded together, their ears up, their teeth bared. But they let him pass. When he got to Genevieve’s side, he saw that someone had put a pillow under her head. Her skin was pale and there was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her lips were absolutely colorless and one orange feather was half-crumpled under he
r shoulder.
He squatted next to her and reached for her hand. Her skin was cool and felt thin on her bones. She opened her eyes and regarded him solemnly. He forced a smile. “Genevieve?” he asked, hoping like hell she still knew her own name.
It took her a moment to answer. Then she licked her lips and said, “You’d think none of them have ever seen an old woman fall before.”
He felt the relief all the way through him. He reached and gently pulled the feather out from beneath her. He started to smooth down the edges but stopped when he heard footsteps on the stairs. A second later, he saw Melody. She stopped when she saw them, her hand over her mouth.
He stood up, moving fast. “It’s all right,” he said. He got close enough to put his hand under her elbow. “Your aunt fell but she’s fine.”
Melody broke away from his gentle hold, ran to her aunt, and dropped to her knees. “Are you all right? Did you hit your head?” She looked up. “Did someone call an ambulance?”
Call what? George looked at Pearl and Bernard but they were shaking their heads. “She won’t let us,” Bernard said.
Genevieve turned her head toward Bernard. “Quit talking about me like I’m not here. It makes me think I might be dead after all.”
That made Pearl smile. “Do you want to try to sit in a chair?” she asked her sister.
Genevieve nodded. “If my choices are that or lie here all day, I think I’ll take the chair. Help me up, George, will you?”
He squatted next to her and put one arm under her shoulders. He helped her sit up and when he saw that she was steady, he helped her get to her feet. Once there, she stretched out her hands and both dogs immediately came to her side. Several seconds later her cat, which had obviously been hiding somewhere close by, ran up and rubbed itself against her ankles.
George gave them all a moment and then he wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders. The closest place to sit was the piano room so he led her in there and got her settled in the middle of the couch. Pearl immediately sat on one side, Melody on the other. The dogs plopped down at Genevieve’s feet and the cat, not to be outdone, jumped up into her lap.
“What happened?” Melody asked again.
George kept his eyes on Genevieve, unwilling to look at Melody. He’d seen that she’d put the robe on but he knew exactly what she had on underneath, and it wouldn’t do him any good thinking about that.
Genevieve turned to her niece. “I was going upstairs to get ready for dinner. I got dizzy and suddenly knew I was going to fall. I think I tried to grab hold of the table in the foyer and managed to knock the lamp off in the process.”
Pearl leaned forward. “I heard the lamp hit the wood and by the time I got there, Genevieve was already on the floor. I think I may have screamed.”
“You did.” That was Tilly jumping into the conversation. She and Louis had taken chairs across from the couch. “That’s what caused me to come.” She looked at Genevieve. “I thought you’d had a heart attack so I ran outside to find Louis. He and Bernard were both in the wine shed.”
Genevieve’s pale face took on just a hint of color. “I guess I caused some commotion.”
Pearl shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. As long as you’re all right. Are you sure you don’t want to see your doctor?”
“Very sure.” Genevieve looked at the timepiece on her wrist. “Dinner is in a half hour. What I’d like is to enjoy a cup of tea now and then have my meal. Can we do that? Can we just forget this last half hour?”
Melody stood up. “I’ll make your tea,” she said. She left the room.
Bernard, who’d been quiet up until now, looked at Louis. “Perhaps we could finish our discussion.”
George saw something flash in Louis’s eyes and it resembled the look he’d seen often enough in men’s eyes right before the cell door slammed shut. It was arrogance tinged with fright. But he didn’t say a word. He simply nodded and the two men left.
Tilly, a puzzled look on her face, stood very still and watched them go. Then she walked over to the small table in the corner. With one hand, she grabbed a bottle of wine and the contraption they used to open it. With the other hand, a glass.
“Tilly,” Pearl said, her tone hesitant.
Tilly shook her head and gave her mother a brief smile. “Worry about Genevieve, Mother. Not about me.” She left the room without another word.
Once she was gone, it left just George, Pearl, and Genevieve. He handed Genevieve the orange feather that he still had in his hand. “For clarity of thought,” he said.
“My thoughts were clear,” she said, her voice serious. “Just unhappy.”
That confused him. He looked to Pearl for explanation. She reached out her arm and patted her sister’s hand. It struck George once again how similar their hands were and how similar they were to the hand that had helped Hannah pull him to this time.
He desperately wanted to ask them, wanted to be brave enough to know the truth. But now wasn’t the time. A question like that could cause all kinds of other questions and soon enough, he’d have both of them dropping to the floor.
“Genevieve and I were having a discussion about. . .” Pearl’s voice trailed off and she looked at her sister.
“Go ahead. I’m not going to slip off this couch,” Genevieve said, looking irritated.
“We were discussing how I want things handled once I’m gone. You know, my funeral and all the other things that come after that.”
He’d had to organize Hannah’s funeral and well-meaning people had asked him about music and prayers and what she should wear to be buried in. It had been horrible. He’d been ill-prepared and he’d worried that he was making choices that Hannah wouldn’t have wanted.
“I guess it’s good to have those kinds of conversations,” he said, careful with his words. He looked at Pearl. “Probably puts your mind at ease now.” He switched his gaze to Genevieve. “And will no doubt help you when the time comes to make those decisions.”
Genevieve frowned at him. “I generally like you, George, but not when you’re so damn reasonable.”
He smiled at her. “I generally like you, too.”
They sat is silence for a few minutes and then Melody returned with the tea. Steam rose from the two cups she placed in front of her grandmother and in front of her aunt. It smelled like the tea Hannah had loved.
Melody leaned forward and kissed each woman on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re both okay,” she said.
“We’re fine,” Genevieve said. “And unless you’re planning on wearing your robe to dinner, I suggest you leave us old women alone.”
“You’re sure?”
Both Pearl and Genevieve nodded. Melody looked over her shoulder at George. “I guess we should finish getting ready for dinner.”
Well, okay. But that wasn’t exactly what they’d been in the middle of. Unless getting ready for dinner was the modern way to say he’d been just about to bed her. He motioned for her to start up the stairs and he followed her. He shut the bedroom door behind them.
She stood three feet away from him, looking young and sweet. She ran her fingers across the edge of her robe. “Well? This is sort of awkward, huh?”
Fifteen minutes ago he’d had his hand wrapped around her breast, his fingers stroking her nipple. Yeah, he guessed awkward was as good a word as any. “I’m sorry, Melody. I should not have been so forward.”
“Forward?” She shook her head. “You weren’t doing anything that I didn’t want you to do. I mean, I think I was pretty clear. I wanted you to—”
“Please, stop,” he interrupted her. They should not be having this conversation. “It’s done. It’s over.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. She looked absolutely miserable and he knew it was his fault.
“We’re too. . .different,” he said. It wasn’t a good enough reason but the best he had.
She backed up a step. “So we’re just going to pretend it never happened?”
The hurt in her vo
ice almost undid him. He’d rather have taken a bullet in the back than hear that kind of pain. “Melody, you are a beautiful woman. And I would be a fool not to want you. But you know that I’m only here for a short time. It wouldn’t be right for me to start something with you.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “So you’re doing this to protect me?”
Her. Him. No one would be spared the pain. “Yes.”
She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. She poked him in the chest with her finger. “What if I said that I don’t need protecting? That I’m capable of looking out for myself.”
“I would tell you that I know you’re one of the strongest, most capable women I know. But that doesn’t change anything. A man makes choices, Melody. He can choose to do the right thing or the wrong thing. And while taking you to my bed would undoubtedly be a good thing, a great thing I suspect, it would be wrong and I won’t do it.”
She let out a loud sigh and let her hand fall back to her side. “I know this sounds crazy but I sort of wish you were a little less principled.”
He’d spent the last six months hunting down men, with full intent to kill them. He didn’t think that was what a highly principled man might do. “Don’t make me out to be a saint, Melody. I’m not.”
“Whatever.” He could hear the frustration in her voice and she wouldn’t look at him. She walked over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. She yanked out something that looked like a shirt, then wadded it up and threw it back in the drawer. She pulled out a second one and then did the same thing. It was like she needed something to do with her hands. “Look,” she said, giving him a quick glance over one shoulder, “you need to get cleaned up and while you’re doing that, I’m going to get dressed and go on downstairs.”
In other words, she wanted to get as far away from him as fast as she could. He felt sick to his stomach. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said.
“By the way, the dinner party is tomorrow night.” She sounded about as happy about that as a man who’d been told he was going to hang before sunset.
“Your grandmother told me.”
“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in Napa but should be back in time.”
