This was a side of Sunny Kirk had never seen. But he wasn't surprised. During the past two months he'd begun to realize there were depths to Sunny Bleecker he'd never imagined.
Allison Hyde, for all her worldliness and advanced degrees, couldn't hold a candle to his Sunny.
"So." Dad must have been reading his mind. "Who'd you go out with?"
"Oh, another teacher from Garrison. Art history."
"That's an unusual name," his mother noted with a smirk, clearly picking up on his lack of enthusiasm.
"Her name's not important. I'm not going to go out with her again."
When he'd dropped off Allison at her house, she'd clung to him as if their tiff over gossip had never occurred. She'd invited him in for a drink and to view her art collection, including her most recent acquisition, a series of etchings by the latest darling of the art world—male and female nudes she described as "whimsically erotic."
Tell me this woman isn't asking me in to see her dirty etchings, he'd thought, peeling her off him and mumbling some lame excuse.
Kirk turned to his mother. "What do you mean, you couldn't get in touch with me? I had the pager turned on all day."
"I called it and called it." When he started to respond, she snapped, "And yes, I did it right. But you never called back!"
"Too busy with the art teacher?" Dad snickered.
Kirk unclipped the pager from his belt and looked at it. The tiny LCD screen was blank. It should have shown the time of day. He stabbed the buttons, with no change. "Great. The battery died. Perfect timing. I knew I should have called to check up on him!"
"Now, don't start that," Mom said. "Don't you think I felt just awful that I told you not to call? Especially since it was my fault Ian got hurt."
"Now, don't you start!" her husband said. "The doc said it wasn't your fault."
"What did he say?" Kirk asked. "The doctor."
Mom said, "You'll have to ask Sunny for the specifics. She's the one who took Ian to him."
Kirk stared. "Sunny did that?"
Dad spoke up. "That girl really cares for Ian. It's plain to see."
"I know," Kirk said. "I know she does."
"Well." Mom folded the last item—a pair of Ian's baggy little neon-colored swim trunks—and set the stacks of clean clothes back in the baskets. "Now that you're home, we'll be on our way."
After seeing his parents off, Kirk made his way down the hall to Ian's room, and stood silently by the partially opened doorway. The room was dimly lit by the night-light. He could just make out Sunny bending over Ian's crib, stroking his back as she crooned softly to him. Kirk smiled, recognizing the familiar lilting melody of "Scarborough Fair," the only lullaby his son wanted to hear nowadays.
Her voice grew progressively quieter. After a while she stopped singing, but continued to stroke him, never taking her eyes off him. Finally she straightened, gradually lifting her hand from his back so as not to wake him. Silently she pulled the side of the crib up. Sunny stood staring at Ian for another minute, just watching him sleep. She pressed her fingers to her lips and touched his blond head, and turned toward the door with the most serene smile Kirk had ever seen.
She started when he pushed the door wider. He raised a finger to his mouth, and briefly touched her shoulder, passing her on the way to the crib.
If Ian had suffered some great trauma that day, Kirk could find no sign of it now. He slept peacefully, his little back rising and falling in the slow, regular pattern of sleep. "Good night, champ," he whispered.
Sunny was waiting for him when he quietly pulled the door shut behind him. "Thank you," he said, looking her in the eye, letting her see his sincerity and his gratitude and those deeper, richer feelings he wished he were free to express.
They stood that way for long moments, their gazes locked in silent communion. Finally she broke eye contact, with obvious effort. As the two of them returned to the living room, she said, "There's no need to thank me. I didn't do anything. It was Dr. Davidson who fixed Ian's elbow."
"But you got him there. You took care of him as if—" He didn't say the rest. He knew she heard it anyway. As if he were your own child.
He could be, he wanted to say. You have a family here, Sunny—not your dream family, perhaps, but certainly mine.
"Where are Fred and Marianne?" she asked, looking around the deserted living room. "Did they leave already?"
He nodded. "Mom told me to thank you again, for being—how did she put it?—so calm and levelheaded in a crisis."
"She would've done fine without me."
"What exactly happened?" he asked.
Sunny filled him in on everything, from Marianne's phone call to the doctor's treatment and his advice for preventing a recurrence of the injury. She glanced around the living room. "Where'd I leave my purse?"
"Don't go," he said. "At least, have a cup of coffee with me first. A glass of wine. There's no need to rush off."
"I've had a long day." A funny look came into her eyes, before she redirected her gaze to the framed picture over his mantel, the central star-patterned segment of a quilt his great-grandmother had made decades ago. "And so have you."
There it was. The dreaded subject. The Date. "Stay just a few minutes. Let's talk."
"I really have to—"
"What's waiting for you at home that's so important?" he asked. "Do you have to wash your hair? Press your waitress uniform?"
She sent him a sharp look. Did she think his words were some sort of gibe about her job?
"I didn't mean it that way," he said. "You should know me well enough by now."
"Should I?"
"You know I respect you, Sunny—everything about you."
She stared at him a moment longer, then her features softened into a wry smile. "That uniform is pure polyester. Never been touched by an iron. I just…"
"You just don't want to talk to me," he finished for her. Before she could respond, he said, "I had a miserable time today." He flopped down on the couch, shoving the laundry basket away with his foot. "She was another teacher, and I thought it would do me good to go out with someone else."
Sunny's smile held no humor. She sat on the easy chair he'd occupied earlier. "So this was some kind of therapy, this date. Is that it? Like choking down bad-tasting medicine?"
Though he knew her words were mocking, Kirk chose to take them seriously. "Yes. I shouldn't have gone. It wasn't my idea—she asked me."
"Is she pretty?"
"Yes."
Sunny's gaze sharpened at his prompt response. Perhaps she'd expected him to equivocate.
"She's attractive," he said, "on the surface. I'd assumed there was something else going on behind the pretty face, something worthy that would hold my interest, but I was wrong."
"You didn't like her?"
"She lacks character," he said simply.
Sunny digested this a moment. "Why did you assume she was more than a pretty face? At first."
He took a deep breath and let it out. "Her career, her education level, God, even the way she dresses and wears her hair. I admit it, I jumped to conclusions."
Sunny wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't look at him. "It didn't take long for you to get better acquainted, though."
Something in her tone of voice…
Kirk sat up straight. "Sunny, what do you think happened between me and Allison today?"
"Allison? Nice name."
"We walked around SoHo," he said. "The galleries. For five and half hours. That's it. Oh, and we went to dinner, but I couldn't stomach her company for another minute, so we never got around to dessert. And no, I didn't kiss her."
Allison had kissed him, though, when he dropped her off—a sloppy, poorly aimed smack that landed on the corner of his mouth. Sunny didn't need to know that.
"I thought…" she said, "when Marianne said you weren't responding to your beeper…"
"What, you thought I was preoccupied? As in doing the wild thing with Allison? On our first da
te? Our only date," he hurriedly amended.
She shrugged. "It could happen."
"The battery in my pager went dead. Mainly what I was doing today," he said, "was thinking about you. And trying not to." He watched her carefully as he added, "After all, it's not like you and I have any real hope of a future together."
She said nothing. Kirk's pulse accelerated. Was she having second thoughts? He knew better than to press her, yet he couldn't hold back the words that spilled out. "Watching you with Ian just now … you can't hide how much he means to you, Sunny. It's right out there for anyone to see."
"I—I never denied my feelings for Ian."
Just your feelings for me, he thought. But that wasn't strictly true, either. She'd admitted that she loved him—or at least that she had before everything had fallen apart.
"Come here," he said, placing his hand on the sofa cushion next to him. She shook her head. He rose and went over to her. In one agile movement he pulled her off the chair and sat in it himself, resettling her on his lap. She tried to rise, but his arms banded around her. She gave up the struggle, sighing in exasperation.
"I know you're confused," he said. "You want me to think you have it all figured out, that it's a black-and-white issue and your mind's made up. You'd probably like to believe it yourself. But that's not the way it is."
"Are you a mind reader now?"
She felt so good in his arms, and smelled better, that voluptuous citrusy scent that wafted from her warm, silken skin. "I don't have to read your mind," he said. "I see it in your eyes, the doubt, the feelings for me that you wish would go away."
On cue, she averted her gaze.
"You try to make this whole messy situation fit into these strict parameters you've set up in your mind," he continued, "but it's not so easy, is it, when your feelings won't cooperate?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. Define 'parameters,' Professor."
He pinched her bottom through her white jeans, hard enough to elicit an outraged yelp. "Don't give me that dumb little waitress act—you know exactly what I'm talking about," he said with a devilish grin. "You 'professor' me again and I'll spank you."
"You're trying to tell me I'm denying my true feelings, hiding behind these artificial barriers I've set up," she said. "Like my desire for a traditional nuclear family—including children of my own. Like my insistence that the man I share my life with not keep really really important secrets from me. Such as a vasectomy!"
"I've apologized for that," he said. "I wish I could say I'll never in my life do anything wrong or hurtful or just plain dumb again. I'll sure as hell try. I don't suppose you've ever done anything you're sorry for?"
She ignored that. "You make it sound like I'm so rigid. Like I'm fooling myself. I'm not fooling myself. I've always known what I wanted."
"It's good to know what you want." Kirk tried to pull her close to his chest; she stiffened. "It's good to be focused. But not to an obsessive degree. Then you're just a slave to some unattainable goal." She started to speak. He clamped his hand over her mouth. "I don't want to hear again about how everyone in the world but you gets to have this Ozzie and Harriet home life. We both know it's not true."
She waited patiently until he uncovered her mouth. "One crucial little detail seems to have slipped your mind. You're the one who broke up with me."
"And you're the one with the power to bring us back together again," he said. "Really back together. Not just going through the motions like we were those last couple of weeks."
"All I have to do is abandon my lifelong dream."
"All you have to do is listen to your heart." Kirk pressed his palm to her chest, to the smooth skin revealed by the V opening of her sleeveless, beige linen blouse. "Stop running from where it leads you."
She closed her eyes; he could clearly see the battle being waged within her.
"I know," he said, rubbing her back in circles, "I know how hard it is, how confusing. Don't give up on me, on us. That's all I ask."
Sunny's eyes opened. She looked so lost, so vulnerable. This time when Kirk pulled her close to his heart, she didn't resist. She leaned against his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his neck.
When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. "I admit this whole thing isn't as … one-dimensional as I wish. It's harder than I thought it would be to … to just end it." She snuggled a little closer to Kirk, as if seeking a refuge from the hailstorm of emotions buffeting her.
He bent his head, nuzzled her soft hair. "I may not be able to make all your dreams come true, but one thing I can promise you."
She raised hen glistening eyes to his.
"No one could love you more," he whispered.
She held his gaze, searchingly. He cupped her jaw and lifted her mouth to his. Her lips trembled under his, and it was a shock to his system how good she felt, how much he'd missed this.
Sunny didn't fight the kiss. It was as if he'd broken past some internal barrier and she was his once more.
At least for the moment.
Sunny's mouth moved under his, and when his tongue touched hers, she eagerly deepened the kiss. They clung to each other; he pulled hen legs firmly against him on the big chair, ran his hand up her thigh to her hip. The air left hen lungs in a breathless sigh as she drew her mouth from his at last.
"I have missed you so," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to her face. Hen breasts brushed his chest with each breath, inviting his hand to stray higher.
Sunny's eyes fluttered shut, briefly, as he lightly caressed hen through the beige linen. Automatically his fingers sought the sensitive peak, stiffening under her blouse and bra. Her breathing quickened; she leaned back a little, letting his other arm support her, to give him better access.
"I love the way you touch me," she murmured. "Your hands… You've always known just how to…" She ended on a breathy whimper.
Kirk soon became impatient with the fabric shielding her from him. She watched with slumberous eyes as he undid the tiny shell buttons running down the front of her blouse. Her bra came into view, cotton as always, with those luscious half cups, this time in blue checked gingham.
He ran a finger along the edge of the bra, following the slopes of her breasts. "You got a good tan this summer," he observed. "How far down does it go?"
She smiled impishly. "That would be telling."
"Then I'm forced to employ all the research skills at my disposal."
"The scientific method, huh, Professor?"
He mock-glowered at hen. "Didn't I warn you what would happen if you 'professored' me again?"
Hen smile grew mischievous. "You promised a spanking, as I recall."
He let his gaze rove up and down the length of hen, perched on his lap. "You sound almost eager for me to flip you oven my knee." Their sex play had never gone in that direction, but then, they'd only been together a couple of months before the breakup. As uninbibited as Sunny was, Kirk anticipated a lifetime of adventurous delights. If.
If they could find their way around this impasse. If they could manage to make their relationship work.
The kinky stuff would have to wait. All Kirk wanted at this moment was to share himself with the woman he loved and prove to her that she needed him as much as he needed her.
He pulled Sunny's blouse down her arms and tossed it on the nearby hassock. "I never saw this bra before. I like it."
"Thank you."
He toyed with the fly of her white jeans. "Do the panties match?"
He read the hesitation in her eyes. Without giving her a chance to stop him, he unzipped her pants and parted the fly to take a peek. Matching blue gingham, starting well south of her belly button. Sunny favored abbreviated bikini panties. The fact that they were cotton rather than some silky fabric was actually a turn-on for Kirk. He was a sucker for Sunny's brand of artless sensuality; she always managed to look sexy and innocent at the same time.
"This isn't a good idea," Sunny said as he swiftly stripped the jeans off
her.
"This is the best idea I've had all day." The jeans joined her blouse on the hassock. Kirk laid his palm over the satiny skin of her belly, and felt her stomach muscles quiver. The bare upper slopes of her breasts rose and fell faster as he lightly stroked her stomach, paying extra attention to her navel, which he knew to be exquisitely sensitive. Holding her gaze, he slid his fingers downward, just over the top edge of her panties.
"Kirk…" She sounded out of breath, even a little panicky. "I—I haven't changed my mind. I mean, I still don't want to."
He could make her want to. He knew Sunny. He knew her hot buttons, her weaknesses. He knew where to touch her to make her shudder and moan and melt in his arms.
He could seduce her. He ached to do just that. But the last thing he wanted was for Sunny to regret making love with him. He decided that when she gave herself to him again—if she ever did—she wouldn't doubt that it was the right thing to do. She'd want him as much as he wanted her.
Until then…
"I know that," he said, and leaned down to kiss her. "That doesn't mean I can't give you pleasure."
"Oh no, you don't." She let out a shaky laugh and grabbed his wrist. "That's the same thing, really."
"Is it?" His fingers moved lower still, tracing the shape of her. The thatch of pubic hair felt springy under the thin fabric covering her mound. "See, I don't agree with that. Not at all."
He continued to caress her, languidly, and eventually the fingers clamping his wrist grew slack and dropped away. Her legs parted slightly; she probably wasn't aware of it. Leisurely he explored her feminine cleft through her panties.
Sunny sucked in a sharp breath. Her hips moved restlessly. She was holding on to him now, as if clinging to an anchor.
"I love the way you look when I touch you," he murmured. Her color was high, her eyes half-closed. "You're so beautiful, Sunny. You have no idea how beautiful you are."
He saw her struggle to focus on his face, his eyes, saw her open her mouth to say something—to put a stop to what he was doing, most likely. Ruthlessly he intensified the caress, and her words died on a full-throated groan that made him even harder, if that was possible.
ONE EAGER BRIDE TO GO Page 12
