A Loving Man

by Cait London

  Rose didn’t know what to do except to lean against Stefan’s back. He seemed so alone and brooding and she wanted to help. She knew the comfort in being needed. “I do. I need you. I haven’t eaten tonight and I’m dying for your tournedos.”

  His “Hmm” sounded disbelieving. She placed her cheek against his back, smoothing the strength of it. She realized how much she liked holding him, comforting him and sharing. The hours were flying by now, when Estelle would go to college, and Stefan would eventually return to his business. “Are you back in control now?”

  “No, stay there. It is the only good thing that has happened all day—your breasts against my back, your hands on me.”

  Yvette walked to them and smiled tightly at Rose. Clearly her anger at Stefan was still brewing. “I have not finished. He thinks Maury and I are having an affair. That is not so. Maury and Leroy and Maggie White and I were going to double date tonight, but since Stefan is no fit company to chaperon, I invited them over to show these young people how to swing dance.”

  “My father? Dancing?” Rose asked and rummaged through her memory. Not a trace of Maury’s dancing appeared. But Maggie White was an excellent swing dancer.

  Yvette faced Stefan, a woman determined to make her point. “I think I will marry Leroy, Stefan. He loves cows and good cheese as much as I do, and we have much in common. I have been lonely for years, despite my social life, and it is time I had a man in my bed. You see, passion is not only for the young, and Leroy seems to be getting more so all the time. He is a gentle man, if not the first love of my life. If you have objections, they will wait until we are alone.”

  “Maggie White,” Rose murmured and walked to sit on the picnic bench. She rubbed the ache in her temple. It all made sense now. No wonder her father was trying so desperately to get in better shape. No wonder he needed rest. No wonder he took lengthy noon breaks. No wonder Maggie had been so friendly lately. “I always thought I’d lose him to poor health, not to a woman,” she said as the summer night swirled around her.

  “Rose…” Stefan’s tone was concerned.

  “Huh? I don’t want to be here when Maggie and Dad arrive. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me. I’m going home.”

  Stefan ran his hand through his hair, studying her closely as if he feared for her. “You haven’t eaten.”

  Then because he looked just as uncertain as she, Rose said, “Bring carry-in. Those tournedos things.”

  Rose hurried to find that special dress in the back of her closet. Stefan had looked so stricken at his mother’s announcement, and nettled by his daughter’s food preferences, that Rose wanted to dress especially for his tournedos with cream or whatever else he wanted to cook. Cooking provided Stefan with a release, she’d discovered, and while he would be polite to his guests, he would be brooding about his empty nest.

  She was used to empty nests, and when her father told her of Maggie, she would be prepared to be happy for him, if not for herself. Was it so selfish to want to keep him with her? To know that he was always there—snoring and safe—in the next room?

  What kind of a woman was she anyway, to want to keep her father from love? Just because she’d had heartbreak as a child, didn’t mean that others should give up their lives for her. Rose blinked, shocked by the idea flashing in her mind—maybe Maury had drives she hadn’t thought of—maybe he had needed alcohol to get a reprieve. After that night of lovemaking with Stefan, Rose better understood the result of denying the body’s and the heart’s needs.

  Rose eased herself into the dress then shivered delicately as she stared at her freckles rising on her breasts in their too-tight confinement. She could almost feel his mouth against her—a tingling shot down to her lower body as she remembered his lovemaking.

  Rose closed her eyes, remembering what Stefan had said—he’d only made love to his wife and then no one else until Rose. He wasn’t a man to take lovemaking lightly, rather he gave it the same intensity as he did everything else. Stefan was not a hit-and-miss guy; once started on a course, he usually followed it until the end.

  The preparation and serving of food would soothe Stefan and she would share how she felt, and she would listen, and perhaps he wouldn’t feel so alone.

  Rose frowned. Alone was not a good feeling. She didn’t want Stefan to feel alone. She wanted to give him something, and because she was just a bit selfish—she wanted to take something, too. She added a little shade of smoke to her lids, to darken her eyes. A little lip gloss and a few pins to lift her hair off her shoulders in an attempt at sophistication, and she was ready for Stefan’s dinner. She studied the tight black dress, which emphasized her long legs. She turned, viewing her backside in the mirror, then inhaled whatever courage she could rummage. Stefan came from a sophisticated world, and she didn’t even have perfume to go with the outfit. Rose thought about cooking vanilla and dismissed the idea—Stefan would recognize the sweet scent immediately.

  She turned to face the mirror. “This is it—all I’ve got for a fancy dinner. Just a plain old dress that I’ve really grown out of, and some Christmas candles on the table. So much for giving Stefan something else to think about.”

  Maybe it was wrong, but she was just selfish enough to want one more night in Stefan’s arms. She wanted to hoard the taste of him, the feel of his body against hers, that rush of his breath across her cheek.

  She heard the doorbell and smiled briefly—Stefan was always so proper. She looked in the mirror once more, noting the flush on her cheeks, the excitement dancing around her. She almost felt sorry for Stefan, because he was coming for consolation and dinner and she intended to zap him. They’d grown to be friends, running together each day, and walking together in the evening. He would be unsuspecting….

  She tossed away her guilt on the way downstairs. Summer was coming to an end and Stefan would be gone soon. She cared for him, trusted him with her body, and he had not disappointed her with his gentleness. A woman had few chances in life to experience a man like Stefan before she settled down again into the comfort of spinsterhood and godmothering. Rose smoothed her dress and breathed deeply and opened the door to Stefan.

  His gaze ran down her body, touching on the bodice that was too tight and pushed her breasts upward. His eyes darkened as he studied the tight fit covering her hips and the hem that just barely touched her midthighs. When he placed the basket on the floor, just inside the door, she thought she’d lost him. Then his darkened gaze ran back up her body to her lips, which she moistened because she was terribly nervous. He didn’t speak, but his body tensed—she could feel the impact upon hers as Stefan stood, considering every feature of her face and those slow looks down her body caused her to shake.

  “The dress is old, but I thought it might suit your fancy dinner.” Rose Granger didn’t like uncertainty, and now she knew that she’d lost trying to seduce the man who had become her “bud.” In fishing terms, she’d just lost the nibble. The bait wasn’t right; the hook wasn’t set.

  “The dress is fine. I like it very much. I like the way the light dances over the freckles on your breasts. They are creamy and soft and quivery every time you breathe…. Take it off,” Stefan said huskily as he stepped inside her house and closed the door behind him.

  Rose had just time to blink in disbelief and then Stefan’s arms were around her, his mouth on hers and that wild, sweet hunger shot through her like a lightning bolt. His hand tugged down the zipper, flattened to her back and searched. “No bra,” he whispered unevenly as if he had discovered the ultimate delight. He seemed to vibrate, held still by the thought before diving into the kiss.

  She was certain a volcano had struck Waterville; she could almost feel the ground rumbling, if Stefan hadn’t lifted her off her feet. The dress slid from her and she arched into the kisses that ran from her lips to her throat and downward. Stefan was hot and hard and shaking against her, and she needed him to be complete, the ache growing almost painfully.

  “Rose,” he whispered roughly, swinging her
up into his arms. Once again, he carried her upstairs, to the small feminine room that was hers. But Rose stopped him, nodding to another room. There in the shadows, with the window air conditioner humming and the world shut outside, Rose watched Stefan’s tight expression as he lowered her to the double bed and quickly stripped off his clothes. The dim light outlined his tall body, those shoulders, that tapering waist and narrow hips and long, powerful legs. Just the sight of him eased Rose’s tension, because she knew he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. That knowledge wiped away any idea that she wasn’t appealing, or feminine and nestled within her like a warm, sweet flower bud. She reached out to touch him, needing no gentle time between them, only the doing, and the pleasure.

  When he came down on her gently, his body shook, and all the heat and lightning of a summer storm enclosed her. The bed was old and creaked with his weight as he braced himself over her. He smoothed her hair over the pillow, kissed the slender hand that tenderly stroked his warm cheek, comforting even as she aroused.

  Stefan’s hand slid down the sweep and dip and softness of the woman he loved. Just there was her soft hip—he dug his fingers in slightly, possessively, wildfire raging within him. Her thighs were smooth and quivering, desire dancing between them. He tensed as she found his nipple, gently biting it, and then Stefan touched her intimately, and the jolt flattened her to the sheets. He whispered to her quickly now, the rush of sweet, dark words careening around her, sweeping up inside, heated by his lips on her body.

  She opened to him, the blunt pressure filling her, completing her, Stefan holding her so closely they were one. The storm came quickly, flashing and pulsing and still he wanted more, and she gave more, gathering him close to her, stroking his back, nipping his shoulder as the world whirled and caught fire and blazed, her muscles straining for release that seemed so close.

  Stefan’s body flowed with hers, familiar and bold and hungry. His lips and tongue battled gently with hers for she would have the taste of him, the desire that sparkled and tormented and pleased. His hands ran over her, caressing, cupping, touching. She dug her fingertips into his upper arms, caught the power there and took it into her, hoarding it. Within the pounding rhythm came a bloodred heat and she clung to Stefan, matching him until the world quivered and stood still and released its warm flood.

  She rested her cheek on his chest as he came to lie close and snug against her, their passion still joined as each was reluctant to leave what had passed. She stroked his taut body, his heartbeat slowing its race, and enjoyed the soothing of him, this man she had taken. He kissed her forehead and smoothed back her hair. “I missed you.”

  Rose moved to lie over him, her lover, pinning him to the bed. She looked down into his face, those blunt cheekbones, those dark brown eyes, and traced a thick eyebrow. “I missed you,” she returned, praying that he wouldn’t leave her too soon.

  The admission startled her, for she was not one to give it lightly, intimately. Stefan smoothed her cheek, studying her. “It’s not good away from you, Rose,” he said too quietly.

  “I know.” She waited for the panic that came when people got too close and it didn’t come. She knew how much she missed him, how she dreamed of him holding her warm and safe. This time their kisses were more gentle, the first fiery hunger fed. Slowly, carefully, their lips fitted and brushed and lifted and Stefan’s caresses treasured her breasts, her back, her bottom. He stroked her intimately then, and the motion became a soft desire and then Stefan’s body completed them as they rocked gently, savoring the intimacy, the pleasure, the completion. In the creaking of the old bed, she found comfort and safety. In Stefan, she found answers that both frightened and pleased her.

  Later, she lay quietly in his arms, listening to the old house settle. The branches of the old oak tree scraped gently against the rain gutter she needed to clean. But all she wanted to do now was rest in Stefan’s arms. She realized that peace wasn’t a commodity she’d experienced very much in her life; she’d had to battle too hard to keep her walls up.

  “This isn’t your room,” Stefan noted softly as the shadows quivered around them.

  “No. It’s hers. I redid it years ago. I scrubbed away everything that was hers and still she stayed in me. If she would have lived until I was grown up, I’d have told her how awful she was—to tell a child she loved her and then to run away on a cheap thrill and never come back. I spent hours up in that tree, watching the road for the first sight of her coming home. Before I gave up hope of becoming a mother, I feared how awful I would be, and would I have enough love for a child. And then after telling me she loved me she would tell me the truth—that I was unwanted and an ‘accident’ that trapped her. Would I want to abandon my own child?” Rose wished the bitterness weren’t there, but it was. She’d released it to no one else, but Stefan.

  “You would love your child,” Stefan said firmly and his hand flattened low on her stomach. He caressed it gently, thoughtfully. “And I do not think that you should completely give up that idea. You would make a wonderful mother.”

  She struggled against the tears that burned her lids and slid, one by one, onto Stefan’s bare chest. “It’s silly, I know. I never cry. Never. I haven’t told anyone else, and now I have someone else to remember in this room.”

  She lifted suddenly, feeling very vulnerable and feminine. “Stefan, I planned to seduce you tonight. You just wouldn’t fit into my bed, so—”

  “I am honored. I very much enjoyed the pleasure and it’s a lovely room. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  “I’m not done with you yet.” She looked down to where Stefan had placed his mouth—on the tender skin between her thumb and her index finger. He gently nibbled and sucked and she realized she couldn’t breathe. Sensations were already purring and revved, simmering and hungry. “That’s nice. Keep it up.”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  Later, Stefan spread his reheated dinner on the kitchen table. He mourned the sauce’s texture and lit the Christmas candles. He wanted a life with Rose, a wedding and a family. He would have to move very carefully so as not to frighten her while she dealt with her ghosts. He knew that she had shared more with him than with anyone else, and that they were cruising into trouble—abstaining for a takeover had been difficult and he’d almost asked her to marry him. He would have to make the right decision for Rose and for his family. Yvette and Estelle and he had worked together as a team on the old house and were growing closer every day. But he needed Rose. Was it asking too much to marry the woman he loved? He wanted to wake up every morning in their marriage bed.

  The telephone rang, and Rose answered. She frowned slightly as if puzzled. “Yes, that’s Stefan’s pickup outside. You want to speak with him? Henry has plans for tonight? What do you mean, Henry has plans?”

  Stefan hurried to take the telephone from her. He spoke in a hushed, firm tone, similar to those in spy movies. “Not tonight. I will contact you.”

  Rose studied him as he disconnected the line. Stefan had sounded very determined. “What’s up?”

  “I’m trying to bond with your ex-fiancés. We’re having an all-men’s night soon. I apologize, but I will be unavailable to you at that time,” Stefan said very carefully as he admired the long, curved line of her body beneath his T-shirt. It all seemed too good to be true, cooking in a home kitchen, wearing his boxer shorts while his love hungrily eyed dinner.

  “Henry and Larry used to invite me along for those late-night fishing trips. When we were younger, I had to dig and provide worms. They’re older, and they left me alone in a cemetery while we were snipe hunting. Dad made them apologize and explain to me that there weren’t any such creatures—you’re getting ready to leave Waterville, aren’t you? You’re bored and ready to get back into the swing of things. That’s what your mother was talking about, wasn’t it? That you miss the city and the action?”

  Stefan turned to face her. He placed aside the plate he had just filled. He concentrated on finding the right
words and not frightening Rose. “Surely you know that I have found enough ‘action’ here, with you.”

  “I can’t imagine you staying here permanently.” Rose’s bald statement hit the room. She gripped the back of a chair for an anchor. She would miss him all her life, but she’d had this unique time to remember and cherish.

  “My mother is happy here, so is my daughter. They are already planning holidays. There is no reason I could not be happy here, too. I am considering making arrangements to remain here—with you.”

  The kitchen was suddenly too quiet and tense, waves of emotion hitting Rose. “I’ve seen you in a business meeting. You’re tough and there’s an excitement dancing around you, like a warrior going into battle. Estelle and Yvette may stay, but you need that edge, that challenge. It’s as if you’re pitting yourself against all odds and enjoying it. There’s nothing to fight in Waterville, Stefan. If you came back at times—that’s visiting, not living day-today, watching the gardens and the children grow and the elderly age.”

  “True, and those are good battles, ones to fill the heart. Do you think so little of me, that I have no heart?”

  She couldn’t bear to hurt Stefan’s feelings and returned quickly, “You’ve got a marvelous, generous, loving heart. Look what you’ve done—no easy matter to take time away from your company to live here. But that other part of you needs something else.”

  “Yes, it does need something else—you.”

  Rose placed her hand on her throat, which had just tightened as she panicked. “Did you think, my darling,” Stefan said too softly, with an edge of temper brewing in his words, “that I would want your body and not your heart?”

  “That last faerie is a little slanted, old buddy. If her tutu tips any more, I’ll see up her skirt,” Larry noted as he sipped his beer, then placed the bottle on the sundial held by a faerie statue. “Better prop that wooden one up straight before it falls on that fern.”