“Oh, please …”
“Please do that?” He stroked her, and her nerves tightened another notch.
“Please, Ross, not without …” Another caress, another gasp, more steamy, tingling heat. “Not without you,” she whispered, and, like that, he stopped. No more erotic kisses, no more wicked caresses, no more heat and hunger and need except her own, and it was untamed, clawing through her like something wild and primitive.
He moved to the end of the island, put distance between them, then touched his cool fingers to her burning face. “I like that look on you—aroused. Womanly. Purely sexual.”
She took a breath. Another. And another. When she could focus, she fixed her gaze on him. When she could speak, she softly, without rancor, murmured, “Bastard.”
“You asked me to stop. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?” He tried for a smile, but it wouldn’t form. He dragged in his own deep breath, and his eyes turned dark, his voice thick. “Forget the cookies. I want you now.”
Her smile came as easily as his refused. She could play the same game with him, could tease him and make him ache, make him beg, then make him wait. She could toy with him until his body was tingling, straining, threatening to find its own relief without her.
She turned away from the island and took a roll of plastic wrap from the cabinet. Gathering the remaining dough, she rolled it into a ball, wrapped it in the plastic, and put it in the refrigerator. She transferred the last batch of cookies to the cooling rack, set the dishes in the sink to soak, turned off the oven, leisurely washed and dried her hands as if she had nothing better in the world to do. Then, trailing her robe behind her, she left the kitchen.
It took him a moment to follow her, and when he did, he found her robe at the foot of the stairs. Her pants were draped over the railing at the top. Her T-shirt lay on the floor outside her bedroom door.
He stepped inside the room, turned on the overhead light, and dropped the clothes. She wanted to protest the light, but didn’t. She wanted to see him. He had the right to see her. He came to the bed, stripped off his clothes, pulled away the covers. For a long, long while he studied her body and she studied his face. She looked hard but found no revulsion, no distaste, nothing but need, hunger, and pure, sweet lust.
As he joined her, joined with her, she felt a moment’s regret that in the kitchen she’d eased his fears about pregnancy with the truth. She wished this were exactly the right time, wished she could know that this act—this loving—would result in the greatest gift he could ever offer. She wished she could be assured that whatever happened, she would always have a part of him in his child.
Then sensation overtook conscious thought. Her brain turned fuzzy as the promise of satisfaction began building in her belly. He gave her all she could bear and greedily demanded of her more, ruthlessly, relentlessly, taking her harder, pushing her further, until she couldn’t bear any more, until her hands clenched and her body shuddered, torn into a million pieces as he filled her, as she found her own release.
Minutes passed. The night air cooled their skin. The faint aroma of cookies drifted through the house. Her fingers slowly uncurled their grip on his arms, and the tension seeped from her muscles. There was nothing more vital than that glorious moment of completion, nothing more wonderful than the lazy, well-loved languor that followed. One was best, the other better. She wasn’t sure which was which.
Well-loved. The innocent words pricked her indolence and stirred a quiver of sorrow. If only the words were true, if only Ross loved her—not the habit of a long-married man for his wife, but real love, of a man for a woman—she would be the happiest woman in the world.
But, at least in one sense, the words were true. She had just been well and truly loved. No other man could have done it better. While it wasn’t everything she wanted, it was more than she’d had any right to expect.
They lay facing each other, her head on his arm, his leg bent over her hip. She touched her fingers to his jaw, rough with beard, then brushed them, just the tips, across his mouth. He automatically kissed them before giving a rich, deeply satisfied sigh.
“Ross?”
His eyelashes flickered.
“What do you call it?”
He opened his eyes, and she saw that he knew exactly what she was asking. Making love, having sex, whatever you prefer to call it, she’d said downstairs. There’d been no opportunity for him to tell her what he preferred, though with his next words he’d called her beautiful. At the time she’d needed to hear that more than she’d needed to know how he would describe what they had just done.
Now she needed to know.
He touched her hair, her cheek, her throat—touched her tenderly, as if she were fragile. Precious. Silently coaxing her forward, he kissed her—nothing passionate, no tongues, no erotic dances, just a basic, simple kiss—and then he answered.
“I call it the best part of my life.”
Chapter Thirteen
As the highway led into the valley below, Tom Flynn eased one hand from the steering wheel, flexed his fingers, then repeated the process with the other. The drive from Buffalo had been uneventful but long, reminding him why he’d used the company jet last time. This time he was in no hurry, so he’d thought he would waste a sunny Monday and see what the fascination with road trips was.
He still didn’t know. Driving? He’d rather take flight anytime. Seeing the countryside? He preferred his trees in parks and better neighborhoods, the only places he’d ever seen them growing up. Witnessing these slices of small-town America? God save him.
He wouldn’t have come to Bethlehem at all if he hadn’t found a file near the bottom of the stack Ross had given him his last day in the office. The records had been put in order according to the date by which they required Tom’s attention. He’d been looking ahead to end-of-the-month assignments when he’d opened the thin manila folder. First thing that morning he’d left Buffalo.
The highway became Main Street, and the speed lowered accordingly. He noticed all the Christmas decorations just as he noticed the people crossing the street, the cars, the buildings, but they made no impression. Like Thanksgiving, Christmas was just one more day to work. It required a little planning, since so many people weren’t accessible, but for the same reason it was usually a very productive day.
He turned off Main, came to the intersection with Hawthorne, and found no big brick house on the corner. A double check of the street sign showed that he’d turned one street too soon. Maggie’s house was a block to the right, so he continued on. He parked out front, crossed the street, and went straight to the door. The bell sounded faintly through the solid wood, and after a brief wait, the door swung open.
“Did you forget your keys—” Ross broke off. “Tom. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Obviously he was expecting Maggie. Tom was glad she wasn’t home. It somehow made his being there easier. “I wanted to discuss something with you, and I thought in person would be best.”
“Come on in.”
They settled in the office. Ross waited expectantly while Tom removed the folder from his briefcase. “I came across this last night. I think you need to reconsider your instructions.”
Though Tom offered the folder, Ross made no effort to take it. His expression indicated that he knew exactly what was inside, and it suggested that Tom might have wasted ten or twelve hours that would have been better spent working.
Rather than return the file to his briefcase, he laid it on the edge of the desk. “I really don’t think I should handle this. I know you think it’s going to be a simple procedure, but it’s not. Once Maggie’s lawyer gets a look at your net worth, he’s going to start making demands.”
Ross remained silent.
“I can recommend a couple of attorneys who are much better qualified to handle it than I am. I know you want to wait a few more weeks, but these aren’t people you call at the last minute. Even for you, it’ll take some time to get a slot in their schedules.�
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Ross still said nothing, but his expression had grown darker, colder. Over the last eleven years, Tom had become a pretty good judge of his boss’s moods, but he couldn’t get a handle on this one. Ross would never lose his temper merely because Tom was looking out for his best interests. Hell, that was what he paid him the big bucks for. And there was nothing less in Ross’s best interests than the instructions he’d outlined in the file. If he didn’t feel so damn guilty over the wreck, he’d see that.
“You just can’t go into a divorce settlement with the kind of offer you’ve got here. This house, the car, the jewelry, anything she wants from the house in Buffalo and a thirty-percent share of the company? For God’s sake, that alone is a fortune.” He knew almost exactly how much it was, give or take a few million, but so did Ross. “You can get out of the marriage for a fraction of that amount. It’s not as if she ever had anything to do with the business. She never invested money in it. She never worked in it. All she did was live off the profits as soon as there were any. There’s no reason she should continue to do so once you’re divorced.”
Finally Ross broke his silence. “No, she never did work in the business. But she waited tables, cleaned motel rooms, clerked in a convenience store, and emptied bedpans in a nursing home to put me through school, to get me started.”
“And you paid for her to finish her degree. You’re even now.”
Ross’s smile was thin and empty of humor. “No. We’ll never be even. But you’re right. I have been reconsidering. I’m not sure—”
A creak in the hallway was followed by the closing of the front door. Ross looked toward the hall, and Tom followed his gaze. A moment later Maggie appeared in the doorway. She wore only a sweater against the day’s chill, and her hair was windblown, her cheeks pink. Her arms were filled with two large platters. In spite of the red and green plastic wrap that covered them, he smelled chocolate.
“Hey, Ross—” Whatever she’d been about to say was forgotten when she saw Tom. Her smile disappeared and her behavior became a shade more subdued. “Hello, Tom.”
“Maggie.”
She looked good. Strong. The fragile air she’d had for so many months was gone, along with the hesitance and unsureness. This was a Maggie he’d never really known—the Maggie when he’d first gone to work for Ross. The happy one. Though she wasn’t his type at all, he found himself noticing that she was beautiful. Vibrantly, passionately beautiful, in ways that the women in his life could never match. For the first time, he understood why Ross had stuck around so long.
Then he looked at his boss, who was looking at his wife, and felt the first hint of concern. I have been reconsidering, he’d said before she interrupted them. Tom had thought he’d meant the divorce settlement. Now he knew he’d meant the divorce. He was thinking about staying with Maggie.
The idea didn’t sit well with Tom. It wasn’t that he had anything against her, but he recognized a bad marriage when he saw one. For years they’d done nothing but fight. Ross had nothing to give a marriage, and Maggie had had nothing to give him.
But it looked as if that had changed.
She came farther into the room, setting the plates on the desk. “I just came over to get some pans and parchment paper.” To Tom, she explained, “We’re making candy at the neighbors’. Would you like some?”
“No, thanks.” Tom had few weaknesses. Cool, elegant blondes were one. Fine liquor was another. Chocolate didn’t make the list.
She gave Ross a look that plainly said she wished they were alone, then picked up one plate. “I’ll put these in the kitchen, then I’d better get back. Nice seeing you, Tom.”
She wasn’t even out the door, when Ross excused himself. Too wired to sit still, Tom paced to the nearest wall, examined the titles that filled the bookcases there, then was turning toward the back wall, when a sound from down the hall drew him closer to the door. Ross and Maggie were standing just the other side of the doorway into the kitchen, talking quietly, and he was combing his fingers through her hair, undoing the disorder the wind had brought.
It should have been a meaningless gesture—hell, Tom had done the same thing on occasion with one woman or another, and it’d been careless, thoughtless—but this wasn’t. Maybe it was the way they were standing so close, or the way they were looking at each other. Maybe it was the way she touched his jaw, then squeezed his fingers. Whatever the explanation, there was absolutely nothing meaningless about the scene.
Feeling uncomfortable for spying, Tom returned to his chair. When Ross had told him that he was going to Bethlehem to live for two or three months, Tom had thought he was crazy. He’d thought he would never last two months away from the office. He’d been positive Ross would never survive two months alone with Maggie.
It seemed he’d been wrong.
A moment later Maggie left and Ross returned to the office with two cups of coffee.
“You mentioned you’ve been rethinking the settlement offer,” Tom said.
Ross swiveled his chair around to stare out the window, and Tom knew without looking that he was watching Maggie, knew when he turned back that she’d disappeared inside the neighbor’s house. “No,” he said flatly. “I’ve been rethinking the divorce.”
Damn. Tom hated to be wrong, but this was one time when he wouldn’t have minded. “So Maggie’s agreed to move back to Buffalo.”
“No. I wouldn’t ask that of her.”
“Why not? You’re the only one with a job, and that job is in Buffalo.”
“The office is in Buffalo. The job is wherever I want to do it.”
“So you’re considering staying here.” Tom gave a cynical shake of his head. “That must make Maggie happy.”
“I haven’t discussed it with her yet.” Ross briefly toyed with a pen on his blotter. “When Dr. Allen asked me to come here, it never occurred to me that we might get along just fine. I mean, our marriage was ended. It was all over but the formalities. She was ready to be free of me, and I was ready for …” He faltered, lowered his voice. “For life without her.”
He was ready—implying that he wasn’t anymore, Tom thought. Cold feet? He knew from eleven years of business deals that Ross didn’t suffer from last-minute doubts. More likely a reassessment of the situation. With the knowledge that the divorce they’d both wanted was just a few short weeks away, there’d been no pressure. They could both relax, put the past behind them, and just be themselves. Take away the hostility, the resentment, and the anger, and they were left with the people they really were—the people who had fallen in love all those years ago.
It was a nice trick—but it didn’t satisfy the cynic within. “You think it’ll last this time?”
Ross didn’t answer.
“You tried this deal before, and it fell apart. You ended up miserable and hating each other.”
“I never hated her. I just lost sight of what was important. I got too ambitious. Too greedy.”
“You’re still ambitious. You’re still driven.” But even as he said it, Tom knew it was no longer true—at least, not to the degree it’d been before. For eleven years he’d watched his boss put in hundred-hour weeks, year in and year out, and thrive on it. Business had been the sole purpose of Ross’s existence, taking precedence over everything else, including his wife and their marriage.
Since coming to Bethlehem, he’d worked only a fraction of his usual hours. He’d forgotten deadlines and details. He returned phone calls when he thought about it, if at all, and ignored e-mails and faxes. Even when Tom or Lynda was able to get him on the phone, he sounded distracted or was impatient to get off and on to something else.
“I’ve worked so hard for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to have a life,” Ross said quietly, his expression distant, almost as if talking to himself. “In Buffalo it seemed normal. Everyone I knew worked hard. But here … People spend time with their kids. They go ice skating with friends. They build parade floats and take wagon rides and go to church and vi
sit with their neighbors. They have families. They have fun.”
And Ross had never had much of either. Tom knew, because he’d grown up the same way—maybe even a little poorer in both aspects. They’d both busted their butts to get through college. They’d dedicated a hundred and fifty percent to making something of themselves, to becoming someone no one would dare look down on or scoff at. They’d craved power and respect and the wealth that supplied them, and they’d worked damn hard to get enough, but their ambition had blinded them to exactly how much was enough. Tom had more money than he’d even dreamed existed twenty years ago, but he still didn’t have enough.
Maybe, finally, Ross did.
“You said you haven’t discussed staying here with Maggie. Why not?”
“She wants a divorce. She’s got big plans for her future.”
Maybe she’d had big plans when she came to Bethlehem. Maybe she still did. But it wasn’t likely they included divorcing Ross. Tom had seen the way she’d looked at him in the kitchen, the way she’d touched him. He was no expert on relationships, but he knew those serious marriage-and-forever kind of looks. He’d faced more than a few of them himself, but he’d always escaped intact.
It didn’t look as if Ross was going to.
“Did she tell you this?” he asked.
“When we first came here.”
Tom made a dismissive gesture. “That was a preliminary opinion. Maybe she’s changed her mind since then. You did.” When Ross’s expression remained bleak, unconvinced, Tom suggested, “Ask her. Tell her how you feel. Find out how she feels.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“She still doesn’t remember what happened the night of the accident. When she does—” Breaking off, he shook his head.
No one knew what happened that night except Ross. All he’d told the sheriff was that they’d argued. All he’d told Tom during the endless hours of Maggie’s lifesaving surgery was that she’d left him, and all Tom had learned—guessed, really—since then was that the bracelet he’d given Father Pat was somehow involved. “Is whatever you did so unforgivable?”
Some Enchanted Season Page 24
