Everything But Marriage

by Dallas Schulze

  agnosed, we had tests run and found out that Bill was the one who carried the gene for Tay-Sachs. He felt as if it was his fault that she was ill."

  "I can understand that," Devlin admitted grudgingly. "But I can't understand how he could leave you alone to cope with it."

  "Some people just aren't strong enough to deal with something like that," she said, smoothing the tail of the shirt across her thigh. "He tried. He really did. But after a while, he couldn't even bear to look at her."

  "So he dumped you?" The incredible thing was that he couldn't hear so much as a hint of bitterness in her voice, not a trace of anger.

  "No. He moved out and I filed for divorce. But he continued to support us. I couldn't work, of course. Taking care of Mary was a full-time job. He paid for a house and all the medical expenses. We didn't have to worry about anything."

  "Conscience money." Devlin dismissed her ex-husband's motives without hesitation.

  "Maybe. But it was all he could give us."

  "It wasn't enough," he snapped, angry for her.

  "You can't ask more of someone than they're capable of giving," she said softly. "I don't hate him. I know he felt guilty about not being there for me, for Mary. He'd have continued to take care of me for the rest of my life if I'd wanted,"

  "Big deal."

  AnnaHse didn't try to argue any further. She couldn't really expect Devlin to understand Bill. Devlin faced the worid square on, dealing with whatever life threw at him. Until Mary's illness. Bill had never

  had to deal with anything more challenging than choosing the color of a new car.

  When he'd been faced with something that would have been hard for anyone to deal with, he hadn't had the strength to stand up to it. He'd run away. It was something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life. If he deserved a punishment, that was surely more than enough.

  She released a slow breath, aware that she felt incredibly tired and, simultaneously, lighter than she had in months. It was as if, in talking about what had happened, she'd shed some of the burden of the grief she'd carried for so long. She stifled a yawn.

  Devlin had been pacing the room with long, restless strides as if he needed to do something to wear off the tension. Now he stopped next to where she sat on the side of the bed. Annalise looked up at him, her eyes questioning.

  Hesitantly he reached out to touch his fingertips to her cheek, the tender gesture slightly awkward. She wondered if she was aware of the conflict she could read so clearly in his eyes.

  After a moment, his hand dropped back to his side and he half turned away, looking out the window where the rain was still falling in a steady patter. Darkness had fallen while they talked, hurried along a bit by the storm clouds.

  **I guess I ought to shut the doors, make sure I didn't leave any tools out in the rain."

  "Yes." It suddenly seemed too much of an effort to hold her head up.

  "Are you hungry? I could heat up some soup."

  "No, thank you." She yawned again. "I'm just so tired.''

  "Go to sleep, then. I'm going to check on... things," he said vaguely.

  Annalise watched him leave. She wanted desperately to fight the drowziness. There were things that needed to be said. But she couldn't think what they were.

  Sighing, she lay down, curling up on her side, her face buried in Devlin's pillow. She'd only rest her eyes for a few minutes and then she'd be ready to cope again.

  Devlin stood in the hving room, staring out the window at the steady fall of rain. Ice clinked against the side of his glass as he raised it and took a swallow of its contents. He felt the Chivas slide down his throat, creating a mellow warmth in the pit of his stomach.

  He rarely drank and never more than one drink. He'd had too much to drink the night Harold Sampson had murdered his wife and left all the evidence pointing m Devlin's direction. The fact that he'd admitted as much hadn't helped his defence any. But tonight, the Scotch helped ease his inner chill.

  He twisted the glass in his hands, watching the amber liquid shift around the clear ice cubes. There had been moments during the past few days when he'd entertained the thought that maybe, if he slq)t with Annalise, it would solve a whole host of problems, enabling him to stop taking cold showers and start

  sleeping at night. If he could make love to her just once...

  His soft laughter was self-directed and held little humor. Of all the hopeless male fantasies, that had to be one of the oldest and, apparently, one of the most enduring. Sex rarely solved more problems than it created. You would think he'd have known that.

  Not that knowing it would have stopped him from making love to Annalise. Nothing short of a cataclysm of truly spectacular proportions could have stopped him once he'd felt the depth of her response.

  Of course, that response hadn't been the result of anything likely to increase the size of his ego. Annalise hadn't been desperate for him to make love to her. She'd been desperate to forget, at least momentarily, the grief that gnawed at her.

  Devlin's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. It wasn't the sort of thing a man liked to hear from a beautiful woman to whom he'd just made love. His smile faded and he took another swallow of Scotch.

  For someone who didn't intend to get involved, he'd done a rather poor job of keeping his distance. He frowned uneasily. There was no more pretending that he didn't care about Annalise. But there was also no reason to let things get out of hand.

  He'd known for a long time that he wasn't suited to deep, personal involvements. He would never marry, never have children. His frown grew brooding as he looked into a future that stretched out ahead of him like a long, lonely road.

  But that was the way it had to be. There were risks you just didn't take in life. One of the ones he'd

  promised himself never to take was the chance of ever hurting people the way his father had. It was common knowledge that abused children grew up to become abusive parents. Not all of them certainly, but the statistics made it clear that the odds were against him.

  He couldn't quite picture himself striking a woman or a child, but it wasn't a chance he was willing to take. He was capable of violence. He'd known that even before he went to prison. The years in prison had sharpened that side of him—he wouldn't have survived without it.

  There were those who would argue that the situations were quite different. One was defending your life, the other was attacking a person smaller and weaker than yourself. Because he was capable of one didn't necessarily mean he was capable of the other.

  But what if that edge was sharper than he knew? What if the violence was so deeply ingrained in him that it came out when he wasn't expecting it? He'd lived with violence in one form or another most of his life. You couldn't just walk away from that kind of heritage.

  He downed the last of the Scotch, feeling it settle in the pit of his stomach, a smooth pool of fire that helped ease the ache.

  It had been, God help him, a relief to learn that Annalise couldn't have children. Not that he wouldn't have given his right arm if it would give her back the child she'd lost. But it wouldn't be his child—never his. It was a measure of how crazed he'd been that the

  thought of using protection hadn't even crossed his mind. All he'd been able to think of was that he had to have her.

  The truth was, he still wanted her. If he'd ever thought that his craving would be permanently eased if he had her just once, he'd been wrong. Scant hours after making love to her, he wanted her as much as if he'd never had her.

  Annalise came awake slowly, aware that, while her mind was still tangled with sleep, her body tingled with life. She shifted, moaning softly as she dragged her eyes open.

  The room was filled with the odd half-hght that came just before dawn, all gray shadows and softened angles. She was naked, the covers stripped down to the foot of the bed, yet her body felt heavy with warmth.

  Devlin knelt beside her, his eyes intent as he looked down at her. She blinked, trying to clear the sleq)y fog fr
om her vision.

  *'DevUn?"

  He didn't seem to hear her husky whisper. His hands settled hghtly on her shoulders, stroking downward until they hovered over her breasts, almost but not quite touching. From the sensitized feel of hei nipples, AnnaUse knew it wasn't the first time he'd touched her, literally stroking her awake.

  She opened her mouth to offer a shaky protest, but his palms settled on her breasts, his work-calloused thumbs brushing across the peaks, and her protest emerged as a moan.

  "Devlin—" He bent and covered her mouth with his, swallowing whatever she'd planned to say. His tongue traced the line of her lower lip, coaxing her to open for him. Helpless to resist—not at all sure she even wanted to resist—Annalise parted her lips, inviting him inside.

  The first time they'd made love, she'd set the pace. She'd been running from her hurt more than reaching for the pleasure she'd half sensed he could give her. This time, Devlin was in control. As the minutes stretched, it seoned as if he were not only in control of himself but in control of her.

  Her body responded to his touch as if she'd been waiting for him all her life, storing up edl the passion she'd thought she didn't possess so that this man could release it.

  He savored the time she'd denied him earlier, alternately coaxing and commanding as he led her down pathways she'd never traveled before. His fingers knew just where to stroke her, just when to touch as lightly as a butterfly's wing and when a firmer touch would set her shivering with need.

  He soothed. He demanded. He pleaded. And she gave him every trembling response he asked for.

  When the time came, she opened to him eageriy, her hunger as great as his. But even now, he wouldn't allow her to rush things. He caught her face between his hands, his eyes intent on hers as he lowered his head and closed his mouth over hers, his tongue plunging deep even as his hips sank into the cradle of her thighs. His mouth swallowed her cry of pleasure.

  He made love to her with fierce tenderness. She met his every thrust. Her hands moved frantically up and down his sweat-dampened back, feeling the ripple of his muscles.

  Inside her, a spring coiled tighter and tighter until her whole body was timed into that building tension, until she knew she would surely shatter into a million pieces if he continued.

  And then Devlin's hand cupped her bottom, tilting her hips to receive him more fully. Annalise's breath left her in a surprised cry as the spring suddenly broke loose and sent her spinning outward. For a moment, it seemed as if her heart would stop with the intensity of it.

  She felt Devlin swell inside her and felt the pulse of his release. His hands tightened almost painfully on her hips. A guttural groan tore from his throat. An-nalise felt her own pleasure sharpened in the knowledge that he trembled against her.

  The only sound was the rasp of Devlin's breathing. Annalise ran her hands slowly up and down his back, exploring the ridged length of his spine. He was heavy, but she liked the feel of him on her, within her.

  She felt at peace in a way she couldn't remember feeling in a very long time. Maybe it was the fact that she'd told Devlin about Mary last night. Maybe it was the wonderful feeling of physical fulfillment he'd just given her.

  Whatever it was, she knew deep inside that she'd finally turned a comer. She was moving out of the darkness now, moving toward the Ught. She'd never

  stop grieving for her daughter, but she'd finally accepted the need to move on.

  The healing had finally begun, and she owed it to the man she hdd in her arms.

  Chapter 9

  1 he next time Annalise woke, the sun was pouring in through the light curtains, cutting a warm golden path across the bed. Devlin's bed.

  She stretched, her mouth curving in a smile. She felt several unfamiliar, delicious aches, and her smile softened with sensuous memories. She'd always thought the writers who described sex as stars bursting overhead had rather vivid imaginations. But last night, she'd seen more than a few bursting stars herself.

  She sat up, reaching for the robe Devlin had draped across the foot of the bed. Her robe, she noticed, her smile deepening. Not only was he a devastating lover, he was thoughtful, too. All in all, a pretty terrific combination.

  Annalise got out of bed and shrugged into the robe, pulling her hair out from under the collar. She could smell coffee and bacon, and she was suddenly ravenously hungry.

  She went into the bathroom. Her attention was caught by her reflection in the mirror, and she paused to look at herself. She looked different. Just like in the books where everyone could tell the heroine had let the hero have his wicked way with her, she could see the difference in her own face.

  She looked younger. The lines of tension that had added years to her age were softened. Her eyes seemed brighter. For the first time since hearing the doctor pass sentence on her beautiful little girl, she was looking forward without a sense of dread.

  It didn't matter that her place in Devlin's life was ill defined. She wasn't going to worry about the future. She'd been taking each day as it came, and the results had been worthwhile so far. More than worthwhile, she amended, thinking how short a time ago it had been that she was living in her car, beyond caring how she'd make it to the next day.

  Devlin was standing at the stove when she entered the kitchen. Though she didn't make a sound, he must have felt her presence. She saw his back stiffen in the moment before he turned.

  There was a certain wariness in his eyes, as if he weren't quite sure what to expect from her. Which made them even, she thought, toying with the belt on her robe. Because she didn't know what to expect, either.

  "Hi." Devlin broke the silence.

  "Hi."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Okay."

  She stared down at her bare feet, wishing she had a little more experience with this sort of thing. Was there a proper thing to say or do at a moment like this? Should she pretend nothmg had happened? Or should she throw her arms around him? Something in between the two seemed a likely bet, but just what, she couldn't have said.

  "Look, I~"

  "I hope-"

  Both broke off and looked at each other.

  "You first," Devlin said.

  "No, you go first. I don't know what I was going to say, anyway," she admitted with a shy smile.

  There was an almost invisible easing of his shoulders. "Fm not all that sure what I was going to say, either."

  "Really?"

  "Really." His mouth relaxed in something approaching a smile. "I was probably going to ask you how you were again."

  "I guess there aren't any firm rules pn what you're supposed to say when you've just—I mean, after..." The words trailed off and she felt color come up in her cheeks.

  "When you've just become lovers?" he said softly, his eyes kindling with memories. He started forward, stopping squarely in front of her.

  Aimalise focused her eyes on the top button of his shirt, feeUng a newly familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach.

  "Is that what we are?" she whispered. "Lovers?"

  "Is that what you want us to be?"

  She lifted her eyes to his face, seeing the question in his gaze. He was just as uncertain about this as she was, she realized suddenly. It was a novd idea. She didn't think Devlin Russell was uncertain about very many things.

  "Yes." There was no hesitation in her reply.

  His hands settled on her shoulders, his thumbs stroking absently across her collarbone. His expression was still serious, his eyes still held that odd wariness.

  "Annalise, Fm not making any promises for the future."

  "I'm not asking for any."

  "There are things you don't know about me."

  "I know enough."

  "I don't want to see you get hurt."

  Her fingers touched his mouth, silencing him. "Let the future take care of itself. I'm not asking you for anything more than you want to give, Devlin."

  He closed his eyes, remembering her saying that her husband had given all h
e could—that you couldn't ask more of anyone than that. He'd dismissed the man as a sniveling coward. But was he really so different? Wasn't he asking Annalise to be satisfied with what he could offer?

  For her own sake, he should bundle her into her car and hustle her out of his life as quickly as possible. He

  opened his eyes and looked at her, seeing nothing but acceptance in her gaze.

  His hands tightened on her slender shoulders, drawing her closer. He knew he should send her away, but knowing and doing were two different things. He'd been alone most of his life. Would it really be so terrible to let her ease the loneliness that sometimes gnawed at him?

  If he was careful, if he didn't let it go too far, maybe they could each draw something from the other. And when the time came, they could walk away without regrets. There was no harm in being a little involved.

  As he bent to kiss her, he shoved aside the small voice that whispered that being a little involved was rather like being a little dead. It wasn't something you could do halfway.

  If Annalise had ever thought she wasn't a particularly sensuous woman, she quickly learned how wrong she'd been. In Devlin's bed, in his arms, she found out that she had depths of sensuality she'd never expected.

  If she'd been asked, she would have said that her ex-husband was a good lover. He'd certainly been kind and considerate, never demanding.

  Devlin demanded. He wasn't content to have her simply lie beneath him, accepting his possessions. He demanded her participation, coaxing it from her with his hands and mouth. His satisfaction wasn't enough. He wasn't satisfied until he felt her skin heating beneath his hands and heard the soft cries she was helpless to suppress.

  Though she tried not to, it was impossible to avoid comparing the only two lovers she'd ever had. She told herself she was being unfair. Bill had been young when they married, with little more experience than she. He'd never hurt her, never tried to coerce her into having sex if she didn't wish to. Making love with him had been a moderately pleasant if not terribly exciting act.

  It was bnly now that she realized just how much she'd missed out on. Sex with Devlin could never be described as "moderately pleasant." It was passionate, consuming, achingly tender. He was more attuned to her body than she was, teaching her that there were more erogenous zones than the obvious ones.