She blinked. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yes. I think it’s better,” he explained. “If I stay, I’m afraid I’ll start pushing for more than you’re ready to give,” he admitted ruefully. He brushed her cheek with his fingertips, the gesture a sweetly tender one. “I want you, Rachel. I think you know that by now. But I won’t rush you.”
She didn’t quite know what to say. As strange as it felt to admit it to herself, she knew that she wanted him, too. But, as he’d so perceptively pointed out, she wasn’t quite ready to do anything about it.
He smiled. “You don’t have to say anything now,” he murmured, letting her off the hook. “Just think about it, okay?”
As though she’d been able to think about anything else during the past week! “Good night, Seth,” she said, settling for something safe and noncommittal.
Moments later, he was gone.
Long after the children were in bed, Rachel paced through her silent house, restless in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the things Seth had said just before he’d left. She wasn’t ready to consider his admission that he wanted her, nor was she quite prepared to deal with her own feelings, whatever they might be.
She decided to take a warm bath before going to bed. It had been ages since she’d had time for more than a quick shower before work. She pinned up her hair and filled the tub, impulsively adding a packet of the expensive, scented bath powder Celia had given her for her birthday. The floral aroma hung heavily in the steamy air, inviting her to relax and enjoy. She sank into the tub with a long sigh, closing her eyes as the water lapped seductively around her shoulders. Nice.
It took a bit more effort than she’d hoped to clear her mind. Seth’s face kept popping into it. She pushed him firmly to the back of her thoughts, promising that persistent image she’d deal with him later. This time was just for her. For a few rare, precious minutes, she intended to be thoroughly, lazily, hedonistically selfish. Reality and responsibility would catch up with her all too quickly.
The water had grown cold by the time she reluctantly rose and reached for a towel. Her eyelids still heavy, she patted the thick terry fabric over her wet, fragrant body. The warm water had left her skin soft and sensitized. Her nipples tightened as she passed the towel over them. A faint quiver ran through her when she dried the tender insides of her thighs.
She told herself she was only chilled.
The full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door was filled with her reflection. She glanced at it, looked away, then found her gaze slowly turning back to the mirror. The hand in which she held her towel dropped to her side.
Her face was flushed from steam, and damp little ringlets of hair had escaped the pins to cling to her neck. Her fair skin glistened slightly in the light, probably as a result of the moisturizers in the bath powders. She noted the flaws, of course, as any woman would. The faint tracing of stretch marks from two pregnancies. The tiny scar low on her right side from the emergency appendectomy she’d had when she was twenty. Her tummy wasn’t quite as flat as she would have liked.
But she was still slim and in reasonably good shape; her breasts, though on the small side, still firm and high. The stretch marks could have been worse—and besides, she could never be ashamed of those reminders that her body had borne two beautiful, healthy children. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, but she looked pretty good for a woman of thirty-one, she decided. Would a singularly fit and attractive twenty-eight-year-old man think so?
Realizing what directions her thoughts had taken, she gulped and reached quickly for her nightgown. What was she doing? Was she possibly considering taking Seth Fletcher as a lover?
Had she completely lost her senses?
She crawled into bed and pulled the covers to her chin. Her eyelids stubbornly remained open, her gaze focused unseeingly on the darkened ceiling.
By the time the first pale light of dawn crept through the lacy curtains at her windows, she’d had too little sleep and far too much time to think. She’d finally come to a resigned acceptance that she was strongly physically attracted to Seth Fletcher. She wanted him.
She just didn’t know if she was ready to let another man into her bed. She wasn’t sure that she even could without letting him into her heart, as well.
* * *
Rachel saw quite a bit of Seth during the next two weeks. He ate dinner with her and the children several evenings. Sometimes Rachel prepared the meals, and others Seth insisted on bringing takeout for everyone or treating them at a kid-friendly restaurant.
On the nights when they didn’t see each other, he called, usually waiting until after the children were in bed so that he and Rachel could talk without interruption. They talked about many things during those long, comfortable calls. Rachel’s work. Seth’s slowly but steadily building practice. The children’s progress at school. Current events. Politics. Religion. Whatever occurred to them. Rachel began to look forward to those calls with an enthusiasm that worried her when she stopped to think about it, which she didn’t do very often.
The one thing they didn’t talk about was their relationship. Seth made no secret that he was courting her, though Rachel wasn’t sure even that term was appropriate. He wanted her, yes. But was he actually thinking long-term here? Surely not. And yet—would a man who was only pursuing a physical affair seem quite so content to sit around her den playing video games with her kids?
She was growing very confused.
The only real contention between them during those weeks was over Rachel’s work. The first time she told Seth she couldn’t have dinner with him because she planned one of her take-out dinners for three at her office, he seemed taken aback. He offered to join them, but Rachel refused, telling him she didn’t think she could get any work done if he was there to distract her. He offered to baby-sit, but she turned him down for that, too. He didn’t say anything more about it.
The second time it happened, the following week, Seth wasn’t quite so reticent with his opinions. “What could you possibly have to do that can’t wait until tomorrow?” he asked.
“Taxes,” she answered succinctly. “I’m supposed to deliver a stack of paperwork to my accountant’s office tomorrow, and it isn’t finished yet. I had hoped to finish this afternoon, but several other things came up that had to be handled first.”
“Sounds to me like you need to hire more help.”
“That would be nice,” she answered tiredly. “But I can’t afford it.”
A sound from the reception area caught her attention. Paige and Aaron were eating egg rolls and chicken-fried rice from take-out containers and watching the small portable television Rachel usually kept in the storage closet. Rachel sat behind her desk in her office, her door open so she could keep an eye on the children. She snapped her fingers at them when a developing quarrel threatened to become noisy. They subsided into mutters in response to that familiar maternal signal. Rachel knew they were bored and tired of the offices; she was, herself, for that matter.
“Rachel, I admire your dedication to your business,” Seth said, though his voice didn’t sound particularly admiring when he called her attention back to the phone call. “But you work too hard. You really should take more time for yourself.”
“More time for you, you mean?” she asked, weariness and worry making her peevish.
He paused a moment, then said quietly, “No. I mean more time for yourself. And your children. I’d like to think being with me is something you do for pleasure, but mostly I’m worried about your health. You need rest.”
His gently reproachful tone made her wince. She started to apologize but bit the words back. The children were arguing again—she thought it had something to do with what program they were going to watch next—and the tax forms weren’t filling themselves in while she talked on the telephone. Her head was beginning to throb in earnest, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I’ve really got to go, Seth. I have to finish this tonight.”
“All right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”
She murmured a good-night and hung up the phone. “Paige, Aaron,” she said firmly. “Stop that bickering or I’m turning the television off.”
“But she—”
“He won’t—”
She interrupted them before they could continue to place blame. “I mean it,” she warned. “I don’t want to hear another word about it from either of you.”
Two gusty, supremely martyred sighs came from the other room, but at least the quarreling stopped. Before long, both the children were engrossed in the program they’d finally settled on. Though racked with guilt, resentment, exhaustion and depression, Rachel turned determinedly back to her figures.
Taxes, she’d heard, waited for no one. Not even single mothers.
* * *
The next day, Friday, passed with blessedly few problems at work. Rachel could see that she was actually going to get away close to her usual time. At five-thirty, she cleaned off her desk and dug into her purse for her car keys, satisfied that everything had been done that needed her attention that day. She would spend the evening with her children, maybe she’d take them to see that new Disney film they’d been hinting about since it had opened last week. Maybe Seth would like to go with them, she thought, biting her lip as she regretfully remembered the way she’d snapped at him on the phone the day before.
She looked up in startled question when she heard the outer door to the reception area open. Her drivers had finished their routes and gone home early that afternoon, and today had been Martha’s day off. She wasn’t expecting anyone else at this hour. She usually kept that door locked when she was here alone. She chided herself now for forgetting to lock it this afternoon.
“May I help you?” she called out, trying to see who’d entered. She stayed behind her desk, one hand close to the telephone—just in case.
She realized that there was good reason for her caution when Frank Holder suddenly filled her office doorway. One glance at his glazed, bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance told her that he’d been drinking. He leaned one meaty shoulder against the doorframe, probably to prop himself up.
She rested her hand casually on the telephone receiver. “What are you doing here, Frank?”
“I’m here to get my job back,” he replied, and his voice, though gruff, was surprisingly clear. Maybe he wasn’t quite as drunk as she’d first thought. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or more worried.
“Frank, you aren’t getting your job back. I’ve already hired someone else to replace you,” she said, using the firm, don’t-argue-with-me voice she had perfected with her children. “I’d like you to leave now.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would,” he said with a sneer. “But I don’t think I will leave. Not just yet, anyway.”
She sighed, carefully hiding her wariness of him behind a facade of impatient confidence. “Please don’t make it necessary for me to call the police. You’ll only be in further trouble if Chief Jackson finds out that you’ve ignored his warnings to you.”
“You ain’t calling anyone,” Frank assured her with a cocky certainty that made her even more uneasy.
Keeping a cautious eye on him, she slowly lifted the receiver to her ear. Her stomach clenched when she heard nothing from the instrument but dead silence. She scowled. “What have you done to my phones?”
His smile was chilling. “This is between you and me, Rachel. Jackson ain’t got no business interfering.”
Rachel slammed the receiver into its cradle, her temper igniting at his infuriating behavior. “Get out of my office, Frank,” she ordered him. “Now.”
He took a step toward her, instead. “You ain’t my boss anymore, remember?” he mocked her, and then moved another step forward. “You can’t tell me what to do now.”
Rachel visually measured the distance between herself and the door. Her desk was in front of her, and Holder firmly stationed on the other side. She clutched her car keys in one fist, ready to run in the opposite direction if he should come around one end of the desk after her. Firmness hadn’t worked with him; she tried logic, instead. “Why are you doing this, Frank? You can’t possibly hope to accomplish anything by threatening me like this.”
He raised both eyebrows in an expression probably meant to be exaggerated innocence, but which came across, instead, as an ugly leer. “Have I threatened you?”
“You’ve done something to my telephone. You’re trespassing on my property. If this isn’t a threat, what is it?”
“I’m here to teach you a lesson,” he said. “You give a woman a taste of power, and she gets carried away with it. Thinks she’s as tough as a man. We’re going to see how tough you really are, Rachel.”
“Don’t do this, Frank.”
He laughed shortly. “Now you try begging,” he said, though she hadn’t considered her words a plea. “Well, it’s too late. You pushed the wrong man when you pushed me. Maybe none of the rest of ‘em have the guts to put you in your place, but I have. I ain’t got nothing to lose, anyway.”
“That’s not true,” she countered quickly, shifting her weight when he moved a couple of inches to his right.
“Sure it is. You’ve cost me my job and my woman. You gave me all those smiles and nicey-nice ‘good mornings’ when I came to work for you, then you cut me cold when I tried to be nice to you in return. Your problem is you been too long without a man, and I mean a real man, not a fuzzy-faced boy like that lawyer you’ve been playing with.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. How did Holder know she’d been seeing Seth? Had he been watching her that closely? She thought of the rusty truck that had caused her such concern before she’d forgotten it in the confusion of her growing feelings for Seth. She knew now who’d been driving that truck, as she’d suspected all along, darn it. Why hadn’t she mentioned it to someone? Why had she allowed herself to be so careless?
She’d given up on trying to reason with him. Instead, she gripped her keys more tightly, wedging them between her clenched fingers as she’d been taught to do in a self-defense course she and Celia had taken at the local recreation center. Go for the eyes, they’d told her. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but she was ready, if it became necessary. She had no intention of allowing Holder to hurt her. Not without one hell of a fight, anyway.
Holder took another step to his right, moving him fully out of the path of the door, and Rachel abruptly decided it was time to get out of there. She was younger, in better shape, and sober. She figured that gave her the advantage when it came to making a dash for it.
She shot around the desk and sprinted toward the door.
Holder moved with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his size and condition. He caught her by the shoulder just as she reached the door, spinning her around and slamming her against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of her.
“That wasn’t so smart, was it, boss lady?” he mocked her, his face close to hers, his breath sour enough to make her eyes water. “Now what are you going to do, huh? You going to start giving orders again? You going to fire me again? You going to yell for that police chief buddy of yours?”
Rachel shoved against him. “Get away from me!”
His fingers dug cruelly into her shoulders. He laughed. “Yeah, still giving orders,” he taunted. “You really don’t learn very fast, do you, Rachel?”
He lowered his face toward hers. He was going to kiss her, she realized, recoiling at the very idea. She turned her head away from him.
He caught her chin with one hand and forced her to face him again. And then he moved closer, his dark, blurry eyes gleaming with an intent that made her stomach churn.
She took a deep breath, raised her fist and slashed at his face with the keys protruding from between her knuckles. The sharp edges of the keys raked his unshaven skin, leaving ugly red welts in their path. Holder cursed and jumped back, raising a hand to his abraded cheek.
Rac
hel took advantage of the opportunity to run.
He caught up with her again just before she reached the outer door. He grabbed the hem of her suit jacket and jerked backward, nearly pulling her off her feet. His curses were low and vicious, his intentions worded in specific, obscene language. Rachel fought him with all her strength, aware now that this was what he’d planned all along. He was here to rape her, if not worse. And she would not make it easy for him.
She kicked, bit, scratched. Holder backhanded her with one huge fist, and the pain was enough to make her gag. No one had ever hit her before, she thought dazedly, staggering to remain on her feet. And it had hurt even worse than she’d imagined it would.
She was groping blindly for support, terrified of what would happen if she should fall, when her hand fell on the lamp that sat on a small table between the two vinyl chairs in the reception area. She swung the lamp automatically, ripping the cord from the wall socket and smashing the heavy glass base against the side of Holder’s head.
He stumbled, going down on one knee.
Rachel jerked the door open and threw herself over the threshold, drawing a deep breath of the cool outside air. She hoped an ear-piercing scream would be heard by someone nearby, since she wasn’t sure she could make it to her car before Holder caught up with her again.
The scream was cut off with a choked cry when she collided with something warm and solid.
“Seth!” she whispered, clutching at his shirt and gasping for breath. “Oh, thank God.”
“Rachel?” He steadied her, his eyes anxiously searching her flushed and bruised face. She knew exactly how she must look. Her hair had tumbled loose around her shoulders, her blouse was disarrayed, her jacket ripped. She’d lost a shoe.
Holder appeared in the doorway, bellowing her name. Rachel noted in satisfaction that he didn’t look any better than she did from their encounter. His cheek was still raw and reddened from her keys, and a nasty-looking lump was now forming at his temple, where she’d hit him with the lamp. Blood oozed in a thin line from the left side of his mouth; she thought in satisfaction that at least one of her wild swings must have connected.
A Man for Mom Page 14
