Not any woman, either. He needed Francine. Mallory didn’t know much about love. But he knew a hell of a lot about sex. What he felt for her was an off-balance configuration of both, he decided. At the moment the scales tipped toward sexual satisfaction, but not at the expense of hurting her.
Mallory needed Francine. The pounding in his loins was evidence enough of the physical desire he suffered, but it was the emotional craving he didn’t understand. Didn’t know how to appease.
He wanted her with him. At the end of the day when she walked out the door, he immediately calculated how many hours would pass before he’d be with her again. She dominated his thoughts. The monotony of many a long, torturous night passed while he filled his head with thoughts of her.
“Tim…”
All she said was his name, but the way she said it, low and sensual, warm and wanting, caused his body to tighten. He felt lost, and she was the home he’d never had. The love he’d never secured.
He struggled now, breathing hard in an effort to regain some semblance of control. He reminded himself she was a virgin. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that. Nor could he make love to her for the first time on the kitchen floor. But God only knew how long it would take him to drag his way into the bedroom with that cursed walker.
He eased her closer and bent forward and nuzzled his face between her breasts. Sliding his mouth to one side, he took her hardened nipple between his lips and sucked deeply. Francine nearly came off the chair. She moaned and clamped her arms around his head.
He continued to suckle her breasts, then gradually reduced the pressure. “Go to my bedroom,” he instructed her, kissing the underside of her jaw.
“Your bedroom,” she repeated as if she were a robot.
“Wait for me there.”
“But…”
“Please, Francine, just this once do as I ask.”
“Should I…do you want me to undress?”
“Yes.”
Reluctantly she moved away from him. Her parting word as she rushed from the room was, “Hurry.”
Mallory didn’t need any such inducement. He had his shirt off even before he was upright. His hands gripped hold of the walker, and he raised himself out of the chair, using the contraption for leverage. He wasn’t looking at any watch, but he suspected he made record time, shuffling his way down the long hallway.
His bedroom door was closed, but it would take a hell of a lot more than a little thing like a door to stand between him and Francine.
He walked inside, not surprised that she’d left the light off. Actually he preferred that they made love in the dark. Although Francine was intimately familiar with his body, Mallory found himself self-conscious. This was different.
He closed the door, and the room became pitch black. Slowly, he made his way to the bed.
“Tim, before we make love, don’t you think we should talk?”
“Later,” he promised gently. He appreciated her fears, but he wasn’t going to destroy this time with a lot of foolish chitchat. As it was, he felt as if he were about to explode.
Awkwardly he climbed into the bed next to her. Unfortunately there was barely room for the two of them in the hospital bed. Holding Francine close, he kissed her slowly, sensually, and felt a heady rush of desire at her ready response.
She’d done as he asked and removed her clothes. Mallory took several moments to run his hands down the silky-smooth texture of her skin. Soon she’d sheathe him inside her. Soon she’d find her release, as he would his.
The problem Mallory hadn’t anticipated was exactly how they were going to accomplish this. He hadn’t made love to a woman since his accident and feared he was incapable of the traditional missionary position. Nor was he sure his injured hip and thigh would support her weight if he positioned her over him.
Rolling onto his good side, he pressed her body flush against his. Her breasts snuggled against his torso, her nipples hard and hot. He lifted her leg and eased it over his scarred hip. She was as hot and ready as he was himself.
“What about…you know?” Francine said.
Mallory could hear the self-consciousness creep into her voice. You know? He didn’t.
“What about what?” he asked, hiding his eagerness as best he could and suspecting he did a damn poor job of it.
“Birth control.” Her tone was hesitant and unsure, her words barely audible.
In all his adult life, Mallory had never been so desperate for a woman that he’d forgotten something this important. Worse, he realized he didn’t have anything with which to protect her.
“I don’t have anything here,” he confessed.
“Oh.”
As much as he wanted to make love to Francine, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t love her and then worry that his seed had taken shelter inside her generous body.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered hesitantly.
“Unfortunately, it does,” he said between gritted teeth, and reached for the lamp on the stand next to the bed. “The last thing I want is to create another bastard.”
10
Cain had never wooed a woman. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how to go about it. When he arrived outside Linette’s apartment Saturday evening, he hoped he’d covered all the bases. Flowers. Chocolates. Chilled champagne.
To be on the safe side he brought along a fresh bouquet of flowers. Roses, carnations, yellow lilies, and a few other blossoms he couldn’t name. It was the biggest bouquet he could find, and it had cost him plenty. But he would have gladly paid ten times that fifty bucks if it would help his cause with Linette.
The box of chocolates was an ultrarich French variety, and the champagne was Dom Pérignon.
With his arms full, Cain had a difficult time ringing the bell. Linette opened the door and smiled when she saw him. Funny what a little thing like a smile could do, Cain mused. One tiny one from her, and he would have gladly trekked up three flights of stairs on his knees. She wore a pretty blue dress and was so strikingly lovely that for an embarrassing moment he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“I came bearing gifts,” he said finally, and stepped inside. His first thought was to set everything aside and drag her into his arms. Surely one small kiss wasn’t too much to ask. He didn’t, however, for fear he’d upset their evening. He dared not risk offending her.
“I’m a little early,” he said apologetically.
“I am, too,” she said, taking the flowers out of his arms and carrying them into the kitchen. Standing next to her sink, she closed her eyes and buried her nose in their scent. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
Cain set the frilly box of candy and the bottle of champagne on the countertop while Linette reached in the cupboard below and brought out a vase. She filled it with water and carefully arranged the bouquet inside it. When she finished, she set it in the center of the dining room table.
“Our reservations aren’t for another hour,” he told her. “Would you like me to open the wine?”
“Please.” She retrieved two flutes from the china hutch while Cain manipulated the top off the champagne bottle. The popping sound shattered the silence.
“I’ve never tasted Dom Pérignon before,” she said, smiling up at him. “From what I understand it’s very expensive.”
“It’s not too bad.” Hell would freeze over before he’d admit it was the most expensive wine he’d ever purchased.
Cain filled the two glasses. “Shall we drink to us?”
She bit into her lower lip, then nodded. “To us,” she said with a gentle smile. Cain touched the rim of his glass against hers.
They each sampled the wine.
“So,” he said, walking into the living room and taking a seat. He leaned back casually against the thick cushion. “How’d your blind date go?” He hadn’t intended to start off their evening with an interrogation of her evening, but a stomach-twisting bout of curiosity got the best of him.
He’d spent the majority of the night before wrestli
ng demons, thinking about Linette dining, laughing, and enjoying the company of another man. It wasn’t something he looked forward to repeating any time soon.
Linette laughed softly. “You don’t want to know.”
“Sure I do.” He’d feel a thousand times better if the blind date had turned out to be a horror story. They could laugh together over what one was obligated to do for well-meaning friends. He might even relate a couple of fiascos of his own just so she’d feel better.
“His name is Charles Garner.”
She wasn’t immediately forthcoming with details, so Cain helped her along a little. “What’s he do for a living?” She seemed to be studying the champagne bubbles.
“He’s an attorney.”
“Divorced?” Already Cain had him pictured as a greedy son of a bitch. To his way of thinking, a fair portion of lawyers were known charlatans. At least the ones he’d been in contact with over the years were.
“No. His wife died of leukemia. The same rare type that killed Michael.”
This was beginning to sound less promising. “So the two of you had a lot to talk about,” Cain commented with less enthusiasm.
“Yes, only we didn’t talk about leukemia. Neither one of us wanted to dredge up the pain of the past.”
“I see.” If Cain understood her correctly, she was telling him the two had formed this automatic kinship, born out of their shared experiences.
“Charles is probably one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He’s gentle and sweet, determined to be a good father to his two children.”
“So there’re children involved?” This didn’t bode well, either. Cain recalled how much Linette wanted a family. This man came complete, a package deal, something Cain could never offer her.
“Charles has two boys. Jesse’s seven and has bright red freckles and Steve’s five and as cute as a bug’s ear.”
Already she knew their names. Cain could fast see that the flowers, candy, and champagne weren’t going to cut it. At the rate this conversation was going, human sacrifice wouldn’t, either.
To listen to Linette speak, it was as if she’d found the perfect match. Mr. Impeccable was everything Cain wasn’t and would never be. Her blind date could offer her the security she needed. Something she sure as hell wasn’t going to get with him.
“He sounds wonderful,” Cain said with a sorry lack of enthusiasm.
“Charles is.”
If Cain had a lick of sense, he’d set aside the wineglass, reach for his coat, and walk out now. Instead he was a glutton for punishment. “When will you be seeing him again?”
It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for her to answer. “I won’t be.”
Cain’s head snapped up so fast, he heard a bone in his neck pop. “You won’t?”
“No.” The admission came soft and low.
“Why wouldn’t you? This guy sounds ideal for you.”
Linette rolled the stem of the glassware between her palms. “It wouldn’t be fair to Charles.”
“Not fair?”
“To accept another date would mislead him into thinking we could have a relationship.”
“You don’t want a relationship with Charles?”
“No.” She raised her head so that her eyes slammed into his. Her beautiful, expressive gaze snapped with irritation.
“The whole time I was with Charles, all I could think about was you,” she said, her lips pinched as if it cost her a good deal to admit this. “He took me to a fabulous, ultraexpensive restaurant, and instead of enjoying myself the way I should have, all I could think about was how much I’d rather be with you. What have you done to me, Cain McClellan?”
Cain had no answers to give her. Although he had several questions of his own.
“I was thoroughly miserable the entire night,” she admitted, and then added on a spirited note, “Don’t you dare smile, either.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You most certainly are. I shouldn’t have told you about Charles. I’m sorry now I did.”
“I’m very pleased you did.” He set aside his champagne glass, reached for her crystal flute, and placed it on the coffee table. Then he lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed the tip of each one. “I have a few complaints of my own about you, Widow Collins.” His lips moved over the inside of her wrist, his tongue making slow circles over her smooth skin. “You’ve haunted my dreams from the moment we met. It’s because of you I’m here in San Francisco when I promised myself I’d never see you again.”
“That’s another thing I want to discuss with you.”
He noted the irritation had left her voice. Draping one of her arms over his shoulder, he reached for her free hand, then repeated the procedure of kissing her fingers, turning over her hand and exposing her wrist to his mouth. Then he moved his tongue over the inside curve of her elbow and placed her unresisting arm on his shoulder. Her wrists dangled behind his neck.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to kiss me,” she said, her voice reedy and thin. Her resistance would be token at best, Cain guessed.
“Why not?” His heart clamored loudly in his ears, the way it always did when she was this close. His thumb and finger lifted her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes.
“Because every time you do…” The words trembled reluctantly from her lips. She paused.
“Yes,” he coaxed.
She shook her head, refusing to say more.
“Because every time we kiss,” he repeated, and then finished the statement for her, “you want me to make love to you.”
She pulled away from him immediately; her arms slid from his shoulders and fell free. The truth of his words burned in her eyes.
“How do you think I know this?” he asked her gently. “It’s because I want the same thing.”
“I can’t…I won’t become sexually involved with you.”
“I know that, too. It’s far better that we don’t make love.” There was danger in emotional commitment. Danger in allowing himself to become accustomed to her softness. This woman was deadly. He’d known that from the first. Yet he defied the danger again and again by seeking her out.
Cain hadn’t a clue where this relationship would lead. Didn’t know anything beyond the complicated realization that he couldn’t stay away from her.
Francine gladly accepted the shopping date with her mother. She’d been looking for an excuse to casually talk about her relationship with Tim. Martha Holden was both mother and friend to Francine. There were several important questions she needed answered, but she didn’t want to be obvious about her reasons for wanting to know.
They met at the Embarcadaro at Nordstrom. Who would have ever believed Francine would have the most important discussion of her life in women’s lingerie? Certainly not her.
It all began naturally. “How long did you and Dad date before you were married?” Francine asked. As she recalled, at the time her mother had been an English literature major and her father an apprentice plumber. Both families had been left shaking their heads in wonder at the explosive romance that developed between the two.
Francine’s father was a burly giant, reaching nearly six feet six inches. Everything about him was big. His hands were monstrous, his feet so large they had to special order his shoes. Her mother, on the other hand, was a full foot and two inches shorter and a delicate soul who loved poetry, classical music, and English literature.
As fate would have it, Francine had favored her father’s side of the family. She reached six feet by the time she was fourteen and was several inches taller than two of her own brothers.
“Your father and I met in September and married in October a year later,” her mother answered.
Actually Francine knew this but wanted to ease into the discussion. “What attracted you to Dad?”
Martha Holden smiled softly and held a black lacy bra against her stomach. She looked straight ahead and into warm memories, Francine suspected.
“I
was much too young to know about love,” Martha Holden began. “He was such a bear of a man, even more so then, but his heart has always been big and gentle. Soon after we met, I saw him bend down and comfort a little boy who’d fallen off his bicycle. There was something so tender and caring in the way he talked to that child. I think it was then that I fell in love with him.”
Francine made busy sorting through a rack of satin pajamas, her eyes avoiding her mother’s. “Did you and Dad sleep together before the wedding?”
Her mother, who’d been busy checking bra sizes, hesitated. “No,” she answered softly. “I realize that isn’t what you expected to hear. Not in this day and age, not then, either, for that matter. We met during the sixties, in the age of free love, when AIDS and the like wasn’t a consideration.”
“I admire your restraint,” Francine said, sorry now she’d brought up the subject, which was far more personal than anything she’d asked previously. “It must have been difficult being so much in love.”
“Congratulate your father, then. If it had been up to me, we would have lived together two months before the wedding. He was the one who insisted we wait. Trust me, Francine, I did everything I knew to break his resolve, but your father wanted things right for me.”
“Are you glad you waited?”
Martha laughed. “Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. You were born nine months to the day after the wedding. I don’t think either of us anticipated me being so fertile.”
Francine was certain her cheeks had turned crimson. She’d come very close to testing her own fertility with Tim. Hoping her mother didn’t notice her red cheeks, she picked out a pair of pajamas, a new bra, and some bikini underwear and paid the cashier.
“How’s the patient coming along these days?” her mother asked, broaching the very subject Francine had hoped to avoid.
“Good. He’s improving more every day.”
Her mother tucked her arm in Francine’s. “How long have you been in love with him?”
Someday Soon Page 14
