A Gift for All Seasons

by Karen Templeton

  Although, thankfully, the two women belonging to the arms had apparently said all they were going to say.

  * * *

  “But I don’t wanna stay wif Aunt Frannie, I wanna stay wif you.”

  God, just kill him now. And that was before he let himself look into those big, brown, teary eyes.

  A life of his own?

  Sex?

  On what planet?

  Patrick had gone over and over it in his head, to the point where he had no idea anymore what was right and what wasn’t. Whether all that “taking a shot” crap was based on anything more than being horny as hell, and how was that fair to anybody?

  Good God, could he be any more conflicted? Here he’d finally reached the point where he felt okay about letting his libido out of the gate, allowing himself to fantasize about what might happen tonight—not that he was being presumptuous, but he was prepared—only to have reality hit him right between the eyes. That his life wasn’t his own, and wouldn’t be for some time to come.

  “Go,” his sister said, hauling his now trembly lipped daughter into her arms and facing him with a brook-no-argument stare.

  “But—”

  “Now. She’ll survive, we’ll survive. And believe it or not, you’ll survive. So give Daddy a hug, sugar pie, and he’ll see you in the morning.”

  At that, Lili sent up a wail like a tsunami siren, her sobs shattering his heart as he accepted her hug, then reluctantly turned and retreated down his sister’s porch steps, Lili’s “Daddy! Daddy!” following him like bereft puppies out to his truck.

  Where he sat, feeling like total crap, until his brother-in-law rapped on the passenger-side window, making him jump. Blond, burly and affable as hell, Neil Solowicz was the kind of guy who never seemed to let anything faze him, not Patrick’s bossy sister, not their four kids, nothing.

  “Frannie’s right, you know. She will get over it.”

  “Except, it’s getting worse. All the times Lili’s stayed here...” Patrick pushed out a breath. “It’s like she knows.”

  Chuckling, his brother-in-law opened the door, climbed up to sit beside him and offered him a stick of gum, which Patrick took. They’d quit smoking at the same time, although Neil had fallen off the wagon at least twice that Patrick knew of.

  “Yeah,” Neil said, popping the gum into his mouth and folding his hands across his sweat-shirted belly, “kids definitely have a sixth sense about these things. Twerps can be zonked out for hours, but the minute we lock the bedroom door? Somebody’s knocking, wanting to know what we’re doing in there.”

  “Neil, for God’s sake. Boundaries.”

  “Dude, we’ve got four kids. Not like how we got them is a secret. Or that I really, really like your sister.”

  A smile pushed at Patrick’s mouth, followed by a sigh. “So what do you do? When they knock?”

  “Give them a glass of water, send them back to bed and pick up where we left off.”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, some nights go more smoothly than others, but yeah. Pretty much.”

  “But how do you separate them from...that? In your head, I mean.”

  “I dunno, you just do. Or sometimes you don’t. I mean, when I’m with the kids? It’s not like I can always stop thinking about getting your sister alone. Sorry,” he said when Patrick groaned. “Although when Frannie and I are...alone, I’m not thinking about the kids, believe me.” He frowned. “You didn’t figure this out when you were still with Natalie?”

  “Obviously not. Since I’m not still with Nat.”

  “Good point. Look, not that I’m any expert on this or anything, but considering me and your sister are still going pretty strong after thirteen years—” he grinned “—and all those kids, let me just say this. Sure, your kid comes first. That makes you a good dad. That doesn’t mean, however, that Lili gets to guilt you out of doing things for yourself. ’Cause the minute you give her that kind of power, you’re screwed. Or, in this case, not. Dude...don’t you dare let her hold you hostage.” He looked out the windshield. “Or use her as an excuse.”

  “For what?”

  “You know damn well what. Everything inside you’s screaming to back out, am I right?”

  “Not everything,” Patrick breathed out after a moment. “But a lot. A helluva lot.”

  Wordlessly, Neil reached over to quickly squeeze Patrick’s knee. Nearly ten years older than Patrick and having been with his sister since the ninth grade, sometimes he was more of a brother than Patrick’s own brothers. And not nearly as inclined to give him crap.

  He paused, then said, “I couldn’t help but notice, when we were out at the inn for Thanksgiving, the way April looked at you. Like...” He laughed. “Like you were a puzzle she was gonna figure out if it killed her.”

  “And what if it does?” Patrick grumbled.

  “Hey. You were the one who told me you found her hauling that fifteen-foot branch across the yard. Something tells me that one doesn’t go quietly into that good night. So like Frannie said—” Neil pushed open the door, climbed out. “Go. Get outta here. Have fun, for cripe’s sake.” Hands in his pockets, he leaned inside the truck, his expression suddenly much more serious. “This could be a really good thing, Pat. Don’t mess it up. And we promise to return your kid in more or less the same condition as we got her.”

  Neil slammed shut the door, giving a thumbs-up as Patrick drove off, his ambivalence riding shotgun—loud and obnoxious and constantly switching the radio between stations Patrick did not want to hear.

  * * *

  His obvious conflict practically bowled her over the instant she opened the door. Well, shoot. Because, her absurdly huge stash of condoms notwithstanding, she wasn’t about to drag the man into her bed. In fact, judging by the look on his face right now, she’d be doing well to get him to the dining room.

  Refusing to acknowledge the disappointment—or was that relief?—April plastered a smile on her face and said, “Come on in,” and Patrick actually did, even if he mentally had one foot still on the other side of the door. She caught a whiff of winter marsh on his brown wool jacket, worn open over a beige corduroy shirt, a newer-looking pair of jeans—his attempt at making an effort, she thought with a smile that felt more genuine this time. She tried to imagine him in a suit, however, and failed miserably.

  “You hungry?” she said, starting toward the dining room where a bevy of entrées and side dishes in chafing dishes awaited their critique. “Mel’s been cooking half the day—we open for business next week—so we get to play guinea pigs tonight.”

  “We’re staying in?”

  She turned, catching herself when she tried to finger the phantom rings. “Seems a shame to waste all this food,” she said mildly, even as she cringed at the trapped look in his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. “Patrick.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t want to be here, then please leave. Because I am not holding up both ends of the conversation tonight.”

  “No, no...” His smile was so brief she almost missed it. “I’m here.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He hauled in a breath big enough to make those shoulders rise an inch, held it for a good two or three seconds, then let it go. And if she caught the gonna-do-this-if-it-kills-me flash in his eyes...well. Far be it from her to stand in the man’s way.

  Or get out of his way, she thought when he started toward her, his eyes steady on her mouth, and whatever she’d been about to say flew right out of her head. Along with that earlier Well, shoot. Because that look in his eyes? Hoo, mama. No conflict there now, nope, none.

  For the moment, anyway. Since she sincerely doubted he’d done a one-eighty in the past two days about not being able to see past tonight. Her crazily beating heart, however, was having none of it, pulsing in some very interesting places even before he reached her. Slowly, carefully, he threaded his still slightly chilled hands through her hair to cradle her head, then lowered his mouth to hers and kisse
d her boneless, and everything zinged and zapped she figured was supposed to be zinging and zapping, and she thought, tears stinging her eyes, I want to make this man happy—

  She wanted to make him smile, and laugh, and act like a goofball. She wanted to wipe the doubt from his eyes, every last trace of it, to be the one person he’d know he could always count on. Always trust.

  And if he made her happy in the process, that was okay, too.

  But right now she knew this was only about this, and that was okay, too, they had to start somewhere. He pressed her spine against the doorjamb, lifting her, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, her arms around his neck, and kissed him back, hearing her own soft sounds of delight when their tongues touched, at how her breasts felt pressed against him, how he felt pressed against her...how the kisses went from tender to demanding and back to tender, how easy it was to follow his lead.

  Yep, quick study, all right.

  Still holding her, Patrick stopped, pushing out a short, embarrassed laugh before whispering, “Mel isn’t here, I hope?”

  April chuckled. “Now you ask this?”

  “Got carried away.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “Can the food wait?”

  “And if I said no...?”

  He kissed her again. And again. And shifted her so she could feel exactly how carried away he was. Not that she’d had any personal experience with carried away, but again. Quick study. Not to mention enough romance novels to choke a horse.

  “But you’re not going to say no, are you?” he whispered. Hoarsely.

  “Guess not,” she said, laughing, her eyes burning again at his grin. A full-out grin, the grin of a man in the here-and-now. Then she took a breath.

  “Um...”

  “It’s okay, I brought protection,” Patrick said, letting her go. Only to sweep her into his arms, hard enough to make her bounce a little, to make her laugh again, and haul her across the gathering room, past the lobby, through her den and into her bedroom.

  Where he came to a dead stop right inside the door.

  So sue her, she’d been hopeful.

  Not that there were strewn rose petals or anything. And the candles weren’t even lit, since the house burning to the ground would’ve been a real mood killer. But—

  “You turned down the sheets?” he said, still holding her.

  She’d left on a single bedside lamp, so if things did go as planned, she wouldn’t fall flat on her face stumbling to get to it. “Um, you know. Just in case.”

  He finally set her down. A little awkwardly, like somebody more used to hauling around bags of mulch and manure than people. People who weighed more than forty pounds, at least.

  O-kay...now what?

  Should she sit on the bed and strike a provocative pose?

  Yeah, right.

  Start undressing? Start undressing him? Make the first move or wait for Patrick to do it? Light the candles?

  Honestly, she was a half inch away from hyperventilating. Not exactly the modus operandi of a sexually experienced woman—

  Wait. He was taking something out of his pocket, crossing to the bedside, tossing it—no, them—on the nightstand.

  A moment before he leaned over to turn off the light.

  April giggled. Like a fourteen-year-old. Gah—this kept getting better and better, didn’t it? “Shouldn’t we have lit the candles first?”

  “No candles,” she heard him say in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting to the faint light coming through the window from the side yard’s solar torches, her brain even more slowly clicking in to what he was saying. Or not saying.

  “You want to do this in complete darkness— Oh!”

  And there he was, right there in front of her, his hands on her sweater buttons, slowly undoing them. “If you don’t mind.”

  She was about to say, heck, yeah, she minded—she’d always kind of thought when she finally had sex, she’d be able to see who she was having sex with. Just for kicks. Then again, this way he couldn’t see her, either. Or more to the point, wouldn’t be able to see all the “I have no idea what I’m doing!” faces she was probably going to make during the course of the evening. So on the whole, not necessarily a bad thing.

  But even as she said, “Not at all,” she realized why he wanted to do this in the dark, and her heart twisted...as did other things when, the sweater unbuttoned, he got to his knees to press a long, lazy kiss to her belly button, right above the waistband of her low-rider jeans. At her gasp, Patrick laughed. Against her belly.

  Oh. Dear. Lord.

  “You know what they say,” he murmured. Between kisses. And gasps. Hers, not his. “When one sense is compromised, the others are heightened.”

  Man wasn’t just whistling Dixie. Whoa. Then again—

  April clamped her hands around his face and jerked it up, his confused, amused gaze barely visible in the dim light. “That means I can feel everything I can’t see, too, you know.”

  “True, but—”

  “Hush.” Kneeling in front of him, she prayed her hands weren’t trembling as much as they sure felt like they were as she started to unbutton his shirt. This was her! Undressing a man! In her bedroom!

  “That I can see this—” she pushed aside the soft corduroy, immediately running into a broad swathe of puckered skin, shivering when he flinched “—as clearly as if there was a spotlight on it.”

  “It’s not the same,” Patrick whispered, his voice a little...strained. “Trust me.”

  “Maybe so, but...”

  She stood, her heart thudding as she unhooked her bra and dropped it at his knees, her nipples instantly puckering in the chilly room. “You can’t see me, either. Won’t that be a problem?”

  A laughing yelp escaped her throat when he grabbed her hand and yanked her down beside him on the thick, plush Chinese rug Blythe had picked for beside her bed, immediately cupping her bare breast to graze one rough finger across her nipple. “Not that I can tell,” he said, the grin in his voice making her heart sing. Not to mention the wicked deliciousness of what he was doing to her breast. Granted, she was probably about the same color as the roses in the carpet, but since he couldn’t see it, it was all good, right?

  She returned the favor, skimming her fingers over the scarred tissue, only to frown when he flinched again.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, plucking back her hand.

  “No.” He took her hand, kissed it. Put it right back where it had been.

  “Then why do you keep flinching?”

  His laugh was low. “Why do you think?”

  Okay, she might catch on yet. Hopefully before they both died of old age. She pressed her own kiss to his chest, then laid her cheek against it as she wrapped her arm around his rib cage, shoving aside his shirt, inhaling his scent. His strength and courage and goodness. Trying not to think of anything but that. “How long has it been,” she asked quietly, “since you’ve been touched?” She lifted her face. “Like this, I mean?”

  The heat kicked on, the draft like a caress. “Too long. You?”

  She did a little flinching of her own. True, things seemed to be going pretty well, there didn’t seem to be any reason to tell him. Wouldn’t want to ruin the flow and all that. That said, neither did she want to outright lie...

  “It feels like forever,” she said, blowing out a sigh of relief when Patrick got to his feet, then hauled her to hers before leading her to the bed. Where he posthaste removed the rest of his clothes, then—with equal speed—removed the rest of hers, at which point it occurred to her he might not exactly be in the mood to go slow. Not after however many months it had been.

  This could be an issue, since she had no idea if she was going be able to keep up. Or open up fast enough to not get hurt.

  So tell him....

  He pulled her against him, naked to naked, the sensation so incredible she might’ve passed out if she hadn’t already been lying down.

  Then he started to do things.<
br />
  “What do you like?” he said, somehow kissing her, touching her, everywhere at once, and through the haze she thought, Aw, thoughtful.

  “What you’re, uh, doing right now—” whatever that was “—is great, thanks...”

  Hel-lo, was he really going to...?

  He really was.

  And she was really going to let him, oh, yes she was, she thought, lifting her hips and basically—with an enormous sigh that made him laugh—giving in to The Force that was Patrick Shaughnessy’s mouth. His warm, soft, amazing mouth. Which she could feel smiling against her.

  Funny how she’d always thought she’d find this a little, well, awkward. If not embarrassing. Especially making these noises with an audience. But no. What this was, was...fun.

  And becoming more fun by the second, the moans turning into pants...and she gasped, clutching at the bedclothes like she was going to fly off if she didn’t, and then...bam.

  Bammity-bam-bam-BAM.

  Holy cow.

  Patrick laughed, which is when April realized she’d said that out loud. Which is when she also realized—as her brain cells began to float back into place—that it was her turn. I mean, that was only fair, right? Except, um....

  Hmm.

  “Listen,” he murmured into her ear, holding her close, “don’t feel obligated to return the favor, I didn’t do it for that reason.”

  “N-no?”

  He chuckled. “Nope. I mean, if that floats your boat, fine. But if it doesn’t, I’m sure we can figure out something else to keep us occupied. Although...” He kissed her hand, then pressed it to his chest again, “feel free to go where the spirit leads.”

  Man as Ouija board, heh, she thought, as she started to explore, frowning only briefly when she realized how much scarring there was, how much pain he had to have been in for so long. In a weird way, though, it gave her an out, that he’d think she was getting used to his body instead of getting used to a man’s body, period. It was amazing, though, how quickly she picked up on his signals—his moans and sighs, the changes in his breathing patterns, his sighs of obvious pleasure. Heartened that she might be able to pull this off after all, she got bolder, touching places she’d never seen except in pictures or the occasional cable flick, amazed at how natural it felt, with the right person.