Driven To Distraction

by Judith Duncan

  Groping for her ruined underwear, Maggie stuffed them into the pocket of her dress, the utter blackness leaving her disoriented. She heard Tony do up the zipper on his cutoffs, then he reached for her, sliding his palm down her arm to grasp her hand. “You ready, Freddie?”

  She smiled, tightening her fingers around his. She felt like a teenager, sneaking around in the dark. “Sure am, Sam.”

  He gave her hand a shake. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Then he fumbled for the door and pulled it open.

  Maggie’s eyes were so dilated from the blackness that it took her a minute to adapt, and she gripped his hand even tighter. Once outside, Tony pulled the door closed and draped his arm around her shoulder. “This time,” he said, humor in his tone, “I’m going to walk you home.”

  They were just about to go up the steps to the deck when Maggie stopped dead, horror washing through her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “They’re in the kitchen making popcorn.”

  Tony grasped the top of her head, shoving her down; then he grabbed her hand, dragging her behind him in a commando crouch until they were out of the rectangle of light spilling from the kitchen window. It was so ridiculous, two adults sneaking around in the dark, that Maggie wanted to laugh.

  Reaching the side of the house, he flattened his back against the wall, and Maggie knew he was definitely up to no good; she thought he was insane. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he caught her around the neck, clamping his hand across her mouth, and she probably would have laughed out loud if she’d been able to.

  “Geez, woman,” he whispered in her ear, his voice quivering with his own suppressed laughter. “Be quiet. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to try explaining what we’ve been doing in the garage for the past half hour.”

  Fighting to contain herself, she nodded, her shoulders starting to shake. Tony let go and warned her to silence; then he turned, his hands on his hips as he studied her bedroom window—the very bedroom he’d climbed into less than a week ago. The sill was a good seven feet off the ground, and as far as Maggie was concerned, it might as well be seven miles. He looked back at her, his eyes glinting in the faint light coming from the alley. Reading his intent, Maggie shook her head, held her hands up and backed away, nearly overcome by a fit of silent giggles. If he thought she was going to climb in her bedroom window—in a dress, with no underwear on—he was out of his mind.

  Shaking off her resistance, he gestured that it would be a piece of cake. She shook her head again, but he totally ignored her. Grasping the wooden ledge, he hoisted himself up and popped out the screen, then jumped down, dusting his hands off on the seat of his jeans. Turning to her, he grinned and locked his hands together, indicating that he was going to boost her up. Drawing a deep, quavering breath to control the laughter that kept bubbling up, she held out her skirt in a fake curtsy, silently indicating that she was hardly dressed to scale a wall.

  He looked from her to the window, then, before she realized what he was thinking, he grasped the sill again. Without making a single sound, he pulled himself up, the muscles across his shoulders straining. Hooking one arm over the sill, he hauled himself into the aperture, then disappeared from sight.

  Tony reappeared at the window. Bracing his weight against the wall, he leaned out and motioned for her to raise her arms. Feeling like Rapunzel in reverse, she took a deep, tremulous breath, giddily wondering if he had hernia insurance.

  She really wasn’t much help. With a lot of grunting and straining, he finally pulled her up. Once she got her knee on the sill, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her in. She very nearly knocked him over, and he grabbed the window frame, his arm going around her to steady her. He was breathing heavily, partly from exertion, partly from laughing, and he weakly rested his forehead against hers, his chest heaving. “That’s the last time I rescue you,” he whispered, pulling her against him. “You’re no bloody help at all.”

  Stifling another fit of laughter, she slid her arms around him and turned her face against his damp neck. “We could have just used the ladder, you know.”

  She felt him smile. “Now she tells me.” He brushed her hair back with both hands, then, tightening his hold on her face, leaned down and kissed her, his mouth warm and moist and unbearably tender. Maggie experienced a rush of emotion so intense that it made her lungs clog up. Suddenly the laughter was gone, replaced by something very painful. She wondered how long it would be before the bubble would burst and reality would sweep in, and all this magic would disappear from her life forever.

  Tightening his hold on her face, Tony released his breath and drew away. His expression sober, he stared down at her, the faint light from the alley casting shadows on his face. His eyes fixed on hers, he said quietly, “What’s up, Maggie?”

  Trying to smile, she shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just—”

  He pressed his thumb against her mouth, his gaze unwavering, as if he was assessing her. There wasn’t a trace of amusement in his voice when he spoke again. “I only want to know one thing. Are you planning on bailing out again?”

  There was something in his tone that made her heart roll over, and for a minute, she was afraid her eyes were going to fill up. She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  His expression very somber, he drew his thumb across her bottom lip; then he met her gaze again. “This isn’t some game I’m playing, Maggie.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He continued to watch her, his expression still thoughtful; then he spoke, an angry edge in his voice. “You really have a problem with who you are, don’t you?”

  Feeling as if he’d pulled the ground out from under her, she stared at him. It was as if he’d peeled away some protective layer, leaving her without any defenses, and blood rushed to her ears.

  He stared a second longer, then gave her a small, twisted smile and let her go. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. He gave her one last, soft kiss, and before she could collect her fragmented thoughts, climbed back out the window, lowering himself to ground with barely a sound. Her expression frozen from the emotional jolt he had given her, Maggie watched until he disappeared around the corner of the garage. Then she closed her eyes and rested her head against the window frame, suddenly very shaky inside. She didn’t like the feeling in the pit of her belly. She didn’t like it at all.

  Chapter 11

  It was not a good night. Tony’s comment about her having a problem with who she was had scored a direct hit on a big, exposed nerve. And Maggie spent most of the night huddled in the corner of her bed, feeling like she had when she was four years old and afraid of the dark. Like something unknown and indistinct was hovering out there in the darkness, and she was afraid to reach out and touch it for fear of what she’d find. With all that racing around in her mind, there was no way she could fall asleep.

  Of course, the damned mosquitoes didn’t help. With the screen off the window, they invaded her bedroom like squadrons of miniature attack bombers, circling around her head, their annoying buzz worse than Chinese water torture. Around four, Maggie finally got up, went outside in her nightshirt and retrieved the screen, then stomped back into the house, muttering threats to the entire mosquito population. Once back in her room, she fitted the screen into place, then fumigated her bedroom with enough insect spray to kill every bug within a hundred-mile radius. Holding her breath against the dense fog of insecticide, she snatched a pillow and a light throw from her bed, then left, slamming the door behind her. They could all rot for all she cared; she was going to sleep on the sofa.

  But Maggie couldn’t get comfortable on the sofa, or at least that’s what she thought. One minute she was wrestling with the blanket; the next, bright sunlight was streaming through the window and someone was shaking her awake. She buried her head under the pillow, trying to block out the voice.

  “Come on, Ma. Time to get up.”

  Maggie clasped the pillow over her ears and considered suffocating herse
lf.

  Kelly gave her a solid nudge. “Nice try, Mary Margaret, but I know you’re faking it,” she said, yanking the pillow away. “Now up and at ‘em.”

  Her defense gone, Maggie groaned and rolled over onto her back, squinting at her daughter. “You’re as irritating as the mosquitoes.”

  Kelly grinned down at her. “I just love it when you don’t make any sense, Mother.” She caught Maggie’s arm and gave it a solid tug. “Come on. There’s a crazy Italian loose in our kitchen, and he’s scrambling eggs in the wok.”

  The mention of a crazy Italian brought Maggie sharply awake, and her stomach gave a little lurch. She draped her free arm over her eyes. Tony. Breakfast. Oh, God. After spending most of the night feeling like a four-year-old, she wasn’t sure she could face him. Or look him square in the eye.

  Ignoring her lack of enthusiasm, Kelly braced her foot on the edge of the sofa and dragged Maggie off. “Not a chance, Mother. You’re getting up, whether you want to or not.”

  Dumped onto the floor, Maggie gave her daughter a baleful look, resigned to the fact that she didn’t have much choice. Kelly made a happy face at her. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

  Maggie was considering the pros and cons of debate, but Kelly never gave her a chance. She waggled her fingers, then headed toward the kitchen. Maggie watched her go, feeling as if she had an overinflated tire in her head. This was not going to be a good morning. She could feel it in her bones.

  Her bedroom smelled only faintly of insecticide when she went to get clothes, and by the time she’d brushed her teeth and had a shower, she felt considerably better. She still had the jitters about facing Tony, however, and what made it worse, she wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was because she felt as if she’d done something wrong. That she had upset him. But that didn’t make much sense. He was here making breakfast, wasn’t he?

  Bracing herself with a deep breath, she ran her hands down the front of her light cotton slacks, then plucked up her courage. She couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

  The tantalizing smell of food greeted her the minute she opened the bathroom door, and her stomach responded. Maggie wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the mouth-watering aroma or from the butterflies struggling to get out, but by the time she reached the kitchen her insides were in full revolt.

  Tony was standing in front of the stove, a spatula in his hand, his attention focused on something he was cooking in the skillet. He was wearing another pair of cutoffs and a faded yellow tank top, the pale color accentuating his dark tan, the cut of the garment revealing the heavy muscle development across his chest and shoulders. There was something about the sight of him standing there watching breakfast cook that struck her. And Maggie knew that, no matter what happened, this image of him would be forever imprinted on her mind.

  Trying to will away the butterflies, she spoke, her voice not quite steady. “Good morning.”

  He turned and looked at her, his face unsmiling, a thoughtful expression in his eyes that set off another war of nerves in her stomach.

  Rubbing her hands down her slacks once more, she tried to dredge up a smile, feeling closer to tears. “You’re here awfully early.”

  Tony stared at her as if he was taking her apart piece by piece; then he set down the spatula and came toward her. His gaze still solemn, he hooked his knuckles under her chin and lifted her face and studied her. Not even sure why she felt like crying, Maggie gazed up at him, a terrible weight forming in her chest.

  “Hey,” he said softly, “it’s okay.” Catching her by the back of the head, he drew her against him and wrapped her in a big, comforting embrace.

  Closing her eyes against the sting of tears, Maggie slid her arms around him and turned her face against his neck, finally letting her breath go in a shaky rush. God, but she loved him. And she wasn’t quite sure what she would have done if he hadn’t shown up this morning.

  Tucking his head against hers, Tony rubbed his hand up and down her back. She tightened her hold and pressed her face deeper into the curve of his neck, grateful for him. So grateful.

  Tony continued to massage her back, and Maggie was finally able to release the terrible pressure in her chest. Taking a shaky breath, she ran her hand across his shoulders, the tension seeping out of her body.

  He smoothed his hand up her neck and nestled her closer, his jaw resting against her temple. He didn’t say anything, but continued to hold her until she was able to let go and totally relax in his arms. Then he tipped his head lower and gave her a little, attention-getting squeeze. “Don’t you want to know what I’m cooking up, Burrows?”

  Five minutes earlier, Maggie would never have thought it possible, but he actually made her smile. “You’re always cooking up something, Parnelli. And not necessarily on the stove.”

  He chuckled and gave her another squeeze. “You’ve got a dirty mind, you know that?” Letting his arms settle around her hips, he gave her a little shake. “So ask me. Come on, ask me.”

  She smiled to herself, then decided to humor him. Using the same tone she used on the kids when they exasperated her, she asked, “What are you cooking up, Tony?”

  She felt him grin as he pinched her bottom. “I’m cooking up scrambled eggs and bacon. I’m cooking up hash browns and sourdough toast.” He slid his hand down her bottom in a very explicit, intimate caress. “And I think I’m cooking my own goose.”

  With laughter bubbling up in her, she lifted her head and looked at him. “Then maybe you better turn down the heat, Parnelli.”

  He stroked her bottom again, giving her that slow, lazy smile that always made her pulse flutter. “So,” he said, his tone low and suggestive, “do you want to check out the garage?”

  She held his gaze, watching for his reaction. “Yes,” she answered evenly. “I do.”

  It was as if she’d touched him with a hot iron. He went stock-still, then let out his breath in a rush. “Geez, woman,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Don’t do that to me first thing in the morning.” Then he grasped her face in his hands and gave her a kiss that could have fried eggs at twenty paces. When he finally broke it off, he was breathing heavily and so was she, and Maggie felt as if every nerve in her body had been incinerated. Tony let go of her and abruptly turned away, raking his hand through his hair. “Big mistake. Really big mistake.”

  Closing her eyes against the squall of sensation, Maggie put her hand against the fridge to steady herself, certain that if she moved a muscle, she’d turn into a big puddle on the floor.

  She heard Tony give a low, unsteady chuckle. “Good,” he said with pure male satisfaction. “I don’t see why I should be the only one around here ready to jump out of my skin.” There was a slight pause, then he expelled a heavy breath and took her by the arm. “Come on,” he said softly. “You need to sit down.”

  Feeling more than a little inebriated, Maggie let him lead her over to the table and shove her into a chair. Grasping her jaw, he leaned down and gave her another kiss, only this one was unbearably sweet and tender. Tightening his hold, he drew away and looked down at her steadily. “If you had any idea,” he said, his tone gruff, “how much I want to take you to bed right now, you’d go into the bathroom and lock the door.”

  Maggie shivered and tried to make her lungs work. “I couldn’t make it to the bathroom if I tried.”

  A glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes, and he gave her hand a reprimanding squeeze. “You’re doing it again, Maggie,” he warned.

  The back door slammed, and Kelly came bouncing into the kitchen. “Hey, you guys. Quit goofing off. I’ve watered the flower garden and set the table outside, and exactly what have you done, Mother?”

  “I think,” Maggie said, looking directly at Tony, “that I’ve just had a stroke.”

  Kelly grinned. “Nice try. But you still have to help.” The teenager went to the stove and leaned over the skillet, inhaling the mouth-watering aroma. “Mmm. Smells terrific.”

  Resting his free hand on his hip, To
ny tightened his hold on Maggie’s fingers and watched Kelly, a wry expression tugging at his mouth. Maggie wondered if he felt like stuffing her daughter down a hole right then; she knew she did. He absently stroked her palm with his thumb, then looked down at her and gave her hand one final squeeze, a silent message in his eyes. Later, he was saying. Later.

  Maggie swallowed hard and squeezed his hand back. She felt as though she had a million buzz bombs zipping around in her bloodstream. As if tuned in to her thoughts, Tony suddenly grinned and let go of her, then waved his fingers back and forth as if he’d just got burned. Maggie braced her elbow on the table and covered her face with her hand, trying not to laugh. He could say more things without saying anything at all.

  They had breakfast out on the deck, and afterward, Maggie stretched out in one of the loungers and soaked up the sun, watching Tony and Kelly at the picnic table. He had given her daughter an old carburetor to disassemble, and Kelly had been thrilled to bits. They were sitting across from each other, various tools scattered on the table between them, and as Kelly took the thing apart, he explained how everything worked. Maggie smiled to herself. A match made in heaven.

  She caught a flash of black out of the corner of her eye and lazily turned her head, watching as Captain Hook sprang from the fence to the roof of the garage. Maggie smiled again. Good old Hook. Out doing the rounds.

  She watched the cat groom himself, then shifted her gaze, noticing the Harley parked by the back fence and two helmets lying on the grass just inside the gate. She looked back at Tony. “Don’t tell me you rode over here this morning, Parnelli.”

  He glanced up, giving her a long, level look. “No, I did not ride over here this morning. I had to go to the store to pick up some stuff for breakfast.”

  She stared back at him, keeping her face straight. “Of course you did.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t push your luck, lady.”

  Feeling as lethargic as Hook, she responded by smiling sweetly, then sticking her tongue out at him. Which was the wrong thing to do. He got up, stepped over the bench attached to the picnic table, then came toward her, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Ah, Maggie,” he said. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Before she had a chance to react, he grabbed the chair, collapsed the brace and folded her up in the heavy tubular frame. With her knees wedged under her chin, she was truly trapped, and she started to laugh. Darn it, she couldn’t get away with one thing with him. Pleased with himself, he left her to struggle for a minute, then got down so he was eye-toeye with her. “Take it back, Burrows.”