by Cait London
“Well, what’s next?” she demanded. “You can’t go out the window—”
“Breakfast is next,” Stefan answered, before drawing her into his arms. This time she came more easily, he noted, all fresh and warm and fragrant from sleep. Her lips gave him more than he’d ever known, her arms locked tightly around his neck, her body arching to his. He caught her closer, wanting more of her, of that natural sweetness that was Rose’s alone. When her fingers caught his hair, her lips parting beneath his, Stefan fought his need to lay her on the bed, and eased her away. “Breakfast in twenty minutes,” he whispered against her lips. “Then I’m finishing the roof.”
There were other things he wanted to finish, Stefan thought grimly as he whipped eggs for an omelet. The image of Rose in her little nightie caught him and he swallowed—very little kept him from going upstairs to…It was a good thing his mother sent a good supply, he decided, as he opened the back door and called to the small crowd staring up at Rose’s window— “Breakfast!”
Late that night, in the bedroom that served as his office, Stefan replaced the business telephone he used to communicate with his main office. He sat back from his desk, rubbed his hands over his face and groaned when his aching muscles protested. The price for showing off for Rose had settled into his body and he resented the long night without her in his bed. He turned to his mother and daughter who had just entered the room, their expressions a mix of humor and love. “Rose called you, no doubt. I cooked breakfast for half the town this morning and then her two ex-fiancés helped me finish the roof, so that I could be gone from her. They suspect I will hurt her, you see. In the middle of the pregnant one’s logical argument about why I should leave Rose alone, she came up to the roof and started some nonsense about reclaiming her life and territory. She waves her hands when she is emotional. The one who admits to sharing his pregnant wife’s symptoms had to lie on the roof for a time because of his morning sickness. Rose went immediately to his side, cradling his head and stroking his brow. The sheriff’s loudspeaker asked if Rose needed help, and if the pregnant one was lying so still because I’d hit him. Then the sheriff came up to help finish the Grangers’ roof. There is no privacy in this entire town…and I am sore from muscles I have not used. It does not help to know that I am old and out of shape.”
Yvette shook her head. “Poor Stefan. Brooding about how he is to come back into life.”
“Daddy, you can’t just take control of her. You act as if she were a business you were planning to take over—or a kitchen that you needed rearranged. Rose has managed her life and her father’s for the most part. She’s run her own business, and she’s had terrible heartbreak. She’s very independent and you’re pushing too hard.”
Stefan bit into the apple that Yvette had just handed him with a plate of cheese and crusty bread. He studied the apple and placed it aside as he remembered the shape of Rose’s two perfect breasts. “Women,” he finally muttered as his daughter came to kiss his cheek and his mother kissed the other side.
“It’s because you are so protective, Stefan,” Yvette stated gently. “You feared that something would happen if you did not control everything, make us safe. When your father suddenly died of a heart attack, you tried so hard. Rose is not a woman to have her life controlled.”
“I am frustrated,” Stefan admitted unevenly. He was unused to spreading his needs before his family; for years he had tried not to worry them. “I want the best for her. She is angry at me.”
“Poor Daddy,” Estelle murmured with humor.
“You think this is funny,” he said, studying her. When had she become so lovely, so caring? How much of her life had he missed?
“Very.” This time, she was grinning at him. “Daddy, if you’re worried about that one gray hair, there are dyes for men now, though I can’t see you using them…so far as I know, you have never dated, even when women pursued you. I bet you don’t know how.”
The truth, spoken by his daughter, nettled Stefan. “Of course, I do. What could there be to dating? Dinner, dancing and—”
Estelle crossed her arms and shook her head. “Not very inventive.”
A mouthwatering vision of how he’d want a date with Rose to end, danced through his head. Stefan wondered what to do with this girl, his daughter—the woman. On impulse, he reached for her and tickled her until she squealed and squirmed. “You think you are too old for that, huh?” he asked as she giggled.
The family telephone rang and she ran out of the room. Yvette lifted her eyebrows. “My, my. You’re changing, Stefan. Not so grim. This move—or someone—has also been good for you.”
“And you. I saw several men around you in the hardware store. You seem to enjoy country life.”
“I like men, you know that. I like the look of them, the fresh-shaved smell, the way they talk. I always have. But you know that I have never given my heart, or my body to any man but your father. By the way, do you need anything at the lumberyard? Oh, and we didn’t know what had happened at Rose’s until you told us. Stop pushing her so hard and let her make up her own mind and come to you.”
“It seems to be my nature to push. I have to go back to Chicago. Another restaurant is courting our chefs and business manager. Will you be all right here?”
“Stefan, I am at my happiest. I feel so good. My first batch of cheese is in the wooden rounds and aging. The mushrooms are growing in the root cellar, I’m preserving jams and the pleasure I have from feeding my chickens and gardening has added even more joy. I love milking cows, the daily routine with animals who return the love you give to them. With your father, it was necessary to live in the city, but I am most at home in the country. Will you bring Louie back with you? Or will you take Rose with you?”
“A definite no to the first part, and the second thought is a good idea.”
Estelle ran back into the room, her face alight. “Daddy, it’s Rose on the telephone, and she’s really mad. I think she wants a showdown, like in the Western movies. She wants to pay you for the roofing job and she said that check for your day’s work at the store hasn’t cleared her bank account. She wants to know if you want her to write another one, adding on the roofing job.”
Stefan listened to the crickets in the June night. He wanted privacy for the discussion he wanted with Rose, away from interruptions. He wanted her for himself. Rose wasn’t a woman to wait, once she’d made up her mind. If his plan worked, she would come to him. “Tell Rose that I’m busy and I’m leaving for Chicago in the morning. I’ll talk to her when I get back in a month or so.”
“It’s been two weeks since I tried to talk with you and you wouldn’t answer,” Rose began as she sat facing Stefan, across his massive office desk. She was glad she had chosen the black business suit, despite the mid-June heat in Chicago. She wanted to present a picture of an independent, knowledgeable woman who knew exactly what she was doing at all times. She’d never traveled and the safety of Waterville was far away. Despite the strange hurried ways of the city, she was determined; she wanted her discussion with Stefan to be businesslike and effective.
She tried to focus on her mission. Stefan had to see how unsuitable they were for each other; she wanted to pay her roofing debt to him. She did not want to owe Stefan anything. Just moments before, she’d been stunned by the expensively groomed power-businessman who had her ushered into his meeting with associates. His answer to the competing company who wanted his chefs was to buy them out. He wasted no time in itemizing details, or arranging dismissal of the top executives who had tried to undermine Donatien’s operation. With the exception of a few tender moments in which he recognized her presence, Stefan was curt and to the point. He had finalized the meeting with a cold nod.
His associates had slanted Rose curious looks, her inexpensive black suit, blue blouse and practical walking shoes at odds with the sleek interior of the office. Stefan had briefly introduced her, had given her a light kiss as though greeting an old friend and then had asked her to stay while busi
ness was concluded.
The man facing her across the desk did not look like the man who had kissed her after the piglet-episode. His expression was grim and taut as if he’d lost too much sleep. She ached for the shadows beneath his eyes and the lines between his brows and bracketing his mouth.
“It’s pretty dramatic, isn’t it? Coming all this way to set me straight?” Stefan stated quietly, looking too powerful in his expensive gray business suit. His whiskey-brown eyes drifted warmly over her and his grim expression seemed to ease. “Come here.”
The anger that had simmered since the night she’d tried to set the rules between them came to a boil. Stefan was the only man who could nick her temper. “Oh, no. I came here to say my piece—to set the rules between us.” She hitched up the large traveling tote in front of her, propping it on her lap for protection. With Stefan, she always felt very unsafe, and she didn’t trust her reaction to him. He had an easy way of moving around her, as if his body recognized hers, and all his antennae were focused on her. “If you’re going to stay in Waterville, you’ll live by the rules. You worked on my house and my store, therefore, you get paid. You can’t just run off with me owing you wages. With that kiss in the field and the town talking, it will look like I’m paying you with something other than money.”
“I’m staying.” Stefan turned a very expensive-looking pen between his fingers and studied her. “Come here,” he repeated too softly. Then he dropped the pen to the desk and the metallic click mirrored the warmer one in her body.
That familiar quiver started deep in Rose’s belly, but she tried to push it away. She glanced at the elegantly furnished office, the walnut paneling, the leather couches and chairs, the lush silver carpeting and the skyscraper view of Chicago burning in the early-afternoon heat. Stefan was a part of all this, not a part of her life. “I can’t play games,” she whispered, her throat drying as Stefan stood and moved around the desk. “You belong here, not in Waterville. You’ll get bored soon enough, and I can’t afford all that sympathy again. I’ve already gotten one sympathy tuna casserole for losing another chance at marriage. You can’t just stir up a town, Stefan. There are consequences.”
Stefan leaned down to pick her up. He carried her to the couch and sat with her in his arms.
“I’m dressed for business,” Rose said shakily, when she could speak. “I mean business,” she said in an effort to sound more firm. She sat very straight, her mind blanking as she saw Stefan’s dark gaze roaming her body. His finger prowled down her buttoned blouse. “People will think we’re doing something here that we shouldn’t be.”
Stefan stroked the side of her throat with his finger and then eased her hair away to nuzzle her skin. “Shall we?”
“You know that I’m out of that game,” Rose whispered unevenly as his lips warmed the sensitive skin at the corner of her lips and his fingers began unbuttoning the blouse she wore beneath her jacket.
“I’ve never been in it—until now,” Stefan murmured against her throat as his hand slid inside to cup her breast. “I’ve missed you.”
Rose tried not to sigh in pleasure, for her body had just remembered everything her mind was telling her not to do. “If you’re trying to soften me up, it’s not working.”
“Isn’t it?” Stefan eased away her jacket and her blouse and settled her on the leather couch. She knew she should be saying “no,” but her body ached for his touch. His hands trembled as he tore off his own jacket, tie and shirt. That slow, flickering look down her body caught Rose, pinning her.
“It is hot outside,” she whispered as Stefan slowly lowered himself full-length upon her. He closed his eyes as if drawing pleasure into himself and Rose watched, fascinated. “I’ve made love before,” she said. “It wasn’t that good. You wouldn’t like it with me. It leaves me all—restless.”
Stefan made a growling noise and seemed to shiver. He closed his eyes, groaned and pushed himself upright. He glanced at her, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I promised myself this wouldn’t happen. But one look at you and—”
He stared grimly out of the window as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “It’s true, then, just like Estelle says. I do not know how to play or to romance. All I want is to be in you, against you, breathing the air you breathe, holding you tight. I sense that if we made love, I would only want you more.”
Rose tried to catch her breath. Stefan seemed so vulnerable, so frustrated, and her senses told her to comfort him. She had always been very good at comforting men. She patted his bare, taut shoulder. “You’re worried about performing, aren’t you? About that too-soon release? You said you hadn’t loved anyone since your wife and people say that men lose their edge when they don’t keep in practice. It’s like any other sport, I suppose. Practice counts.”
He glared darkly at her. His words were stiff and grim. “I would hope that I do not have that ‘too-soon’ problem, and I do not wish to discuss it with you.”
She buttoned her blouse and briskly patted his knee. “Well, then. We have other things to discuss, don’t we? Before I leave? Like exactly how are we going to deal with the gossip about us? And another thing, I don’t like having to run you down to have a conversation about setting the rules between us. Your mother didn’t know when you’d be back and she suggested it could be months. I will not owe you for all that time. I had to close the store for one whole day to make this trip. I’m going to probably make mistakes on the cash register tomorrow because I’ll be tired. Dad and the other men in town are too busy riding their bicycles with your mother. So let’s just clean up all the muck and I’ll be on my way.”
Stefan’s large hand encircled her wrist. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you think I like this…this lack of control with you? With you, it is natural to love. With me, it is difficult to show those feelings and yet, when I see you—touch you—”
“Well,” Rose said, trying to help Stefan deal with his emotions, “there are some people who are talkers, and there are others who show their feelings by actions—take for example, how you moved your life to Waterville, to keep your mother and daughter happy.”
She patted his knee again. “You’re a man of action, Stefan, and that might be more important than words. You express yourself in cooking, putting all those tender little touches to the basil leaves and the patés. I’m a fried chicken and potato salad girl and sugar-in-iced-tea myself, but I see how much of yourself you invest in cooking and the presentation. There’s always that little flourish, as if you can’t resist leaving your work.”
“Always so kind,” he murmured darkly as he studied her hand on his knee, taking it into his own and placing it over his heart.
The hard beat jarred Rose, traveled straight up her arm and into her body. She stared at him, her senses humming, echoing the heat between them. “Come up to my apartment, Rose,” he whispered unevenly. “We can discuss all this there.”
“Just us?”
He brought her hand up to his lips and sucked her fingers gently. Over their hands, his eyes were dark and soft and warm. “Just us,” he repeated huskily.
Six
Stefan watched Rose roam through the modern apartment living room, used for private meetings. He stayed in the corporate building, rather than reopen the Donatien home, because he had every intention of returning to Waterville as soon as his business was finished. In the short time he’d been there, he’d never known such peace, and then there was Rose.
She softened the apartment’s sterile decor, her shoulder-length hair catching reddish lights from the sunlight passing through the ceiling-high windows. Always in motion, she touched the sprawling leather couch, skimming her hand over the smooth surface. Everything about her was feminine and graceful and soft. She took in the chrome-framed abstract paintings, and studied the gleaming ultra-modern kitchen. Rose glanced at her wristwatch. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a plane to catch and just enough time to tell you off. Do not come near me with those lips.”
His
lips still tasted of her, his body hardened and ached to hold her long, lithe one close. She’d taken the bait and had come to him. Now he was angry with himself for trying to control her and their relationship. He’d been selfish in his needs, and he didn’t like that image of himself; he usually placed his needs after his family’s and the business’s. “You look tired. Would you like to have a nap before dinner?”
She shook her head. “You’re very busy. I won’t keep you. And you don’t look so hot yourself.”
“I have had difficulty sleeping. I missed you. I need you in my bed.” He regretted rapping out his emotions as though they were corporate plans. His uncertainty weighed heavily upon him, while his senses told him to go to her, hold her and tell her more gently of the rigid man losing control. Stefan closed his eyes momentarily—he was feeling delicate, a man awash with frustration, desire and much softer emotions.
For just a heartbeat, Rose met his intent gaze and then looked away to the city below, a blush quickly rising on her cheeks. “This won’t do, Stefan. You can’t just tell me things like that.”
Of course not. I should have— But in the land of uncertainty, Stefan opted for a direct approach. He had to tell her what he’d done without her leave, and take the consequences. Avenging his lady love’s honor was important. “Then you tell me. My daughter tells me that when you were little, you believed in faeries and elves. Think of me as a large elf, happy in my work. But then your ex-fiancés were there, too, weren’t they? And the sheriff. Did you offer to pay them?”
“No.” Rose turned to him. “Henry and Larry always help. And I help them. That’s the way it works. I baby-sit for the sheriff sometimes when he wants a romantic evening with his wife. Most people won’t baby-sit for them because their children are pretty inventive. They once handcuffed Mrs. O’Reilly to a rocking chair while she slept…and you’re too big to be an elf.”
