Reclaim My Heart

by Donna Fasano

  He grinned in the darkness, remembering her fury. She’d slugged him in the arm with a loosely closed fist and had jammed her finger in the process.

  Later on, he’d learned that she’d run away from Oak Mills—from him—and planned to give up their baby for adoption, his first thought had been of the fleeing girl. Taking the easy way out was just what he’d expect of an overindulged princess.

  The powerful resentment he’d clutched so tightly had allowed him a certain amount of haughty self-righteousness. Enough, at least, so that he could live with what he’d done, how he had gone about attaining success.

  But after these weeks of living with her, of hearing all she’d endured, what she’d sacrificed and suffered in order to raise their son on her own, all he felt was awed. Her strength amazed him, her determination stunned him. Single parenthood would have bested him.

  It hadn’t defeated his father. Lucas rubbed a hand over his jaw. His dad would also have been in his late teens when Ruth Yoder had handed over their newborn son and walked away. Lucas had great memories of his dad. As a kid, Lucas had felt loved and wanted and worthwhile. He’d like to think he’d have risen to the task too, if he’d been presented with the opportunity. But he had serious doubts.

  Richard Whitlock’s smug face swam in his head, a bad memory that made him scowl. But it was Lucas’s own behavior that absolutely sickened him. He’d been unconscionably quick to snatch the money and run.

  He’d meant it when he’d told Tyne that her life would have been easier had she simply gone along with her parents’ plan. However, because of her unyielding resolve he was now enjoying the blessing of being a father, he was getting the chance to play a real role in his son’s life. He owed her a hell of a lot. He imagined telling her the whole truth, pictured the pain and disillusionment that would surely distort her beautiful face and shatter her heart into a thousand pieces.

  A light touch on his bare back made him start.

  “Sorry,” Tyne whispered. Once he turned to face her, she slid her fingers up his bare chest and rested her palms on his shoulders. “I thought sure you must have heard my door open. Those hinges need oiling.”

  Soft moonlight glowed against her creamy skin and made her pale eyes glisten with a mysterious iridescence. Something in her gaze sent a rippling, liquid heat flowing through his body.

  Her palms skimmed to his neck, and he marveled that she didn’t seem to notice the fire smoldering just under his skin.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, “for listening to me tonight.”

  She lifted up on tip-toe, pulled him toward her and kissed his mouth, gently but fully. Lucas thought he might lose his mind.

  “Thanks for not judging me.”

  Her voice was as feathery as her second kiss. Her fingers slipped up to his jaw.

  “Thanks for not being angry with me.”

  She kissed him again, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body up tight against him.

  “You were a kid.” The words grating roughly in his throat. “A scared kid who was only weighing all her options. I can’t be angry about that.”

  She pressed her open mouth to his. Her hair spilled between his fingers like fine silk as he cradled the back of her head in his hand. She tasted like heaven. Her full bottom lip shined in the silvery light that slanted through the windowpane, and knowing the wetness was his had him growing rock-hard.

  She stepped away from him and took his hand in hers. “Come on. Let’s go to my room.”

  “Whoa. Hold on now.” He resisted, and she turned to look into his face, her hungry eyes eating him up. “Should we really be doing this?”

  His heart hammered while he awaited her response.

  “You’re not sleeping,” she pointed out softly. “I’m not sleeping. Besides that, I’m horny as hell. Come on.”

  He was utterly amazed that her smile could turn brazen and coy at the same time. Now he was sure he’d completely lost his senses, but still he hesitated.

  “Yes, Lucas.” She nodded, sliding her free hand over his erection. Then she kissed him on the jaw. “We should be doing this.”

  Her silky top felt cool to the touch as he slid his hands under her arms and across her back. He crushed his mouth to hers, and in one swift move, he picked her up, turned, and perched her on the edge of the granite countertop. Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him so close, his teeth raked her lips. A whispery apology rang in his head, but the need thrumming through his veins wiped it out before it had a chance to fully form.

  Her legs wrapped around him, her ankles locking at the small of his back. She tightened her thigh muscles and he found himself pressed up tight against her crotch. The searing heat of her made his already explosive desire intensify.

  Lucas slid his hands up over her flat belly, gently urging her away from him. She followed his lead and reclined against the window. The pale light from the moon seemed to magnify as it reflected off her long, blond hair. Her eyelids slid closed and the sigh she emitted was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. One of the corded straps of her top slid over her shoulder, revealing her milky skin to his voracious gaze. The sill that braced the middle of her back forced her breasts into an upward thrust. The erotic sight made him salivate. The dark circles of her nipples were visible through the cream-colored fabric, the twin taut, sharp points added a tactility that stole away all thought. From where he stood, moonlight gilded her hair, her face, her shoulders, her torso. He wanted to touch her. Smell the scent of her. Taste her sweetness. Hear her breath quicken and know he had caused the reaction in her.

  He slid both his palms up over her breasts and couldn’t help but notice that they were larger, fuller, riper than he remembered. Lucas kneaded, more roughly than he’d intended. But to his surprise, not only did she not stop him, she moaned softly as if urging him on. He couldn’t fight the overwhelming desire to taste her.

  Bending forward, he cupped one lush breast and laved it right through the silk. Her heart thundered beneath his palm and her chest rose and fell just a little faster. He straightened and took a moment to savor the wet stain he’d left on her top. The fabric clinging to her skin had gone nearly translucent, her nut-brown areola as visible as if she were naked.

  Lucas traced his fingertips down to her waist, her hips, and slid beneath the hem of her flimsy top. The lace of her panties was gossamer soft. She lifted one hip, then the other, and he quickly tugged them off her body.

  The mound of light-colored curls yielded as he brushed the backs of his fingers across it. The fleshy folds were hot. And supple. And damp.

  She rested her heels on his hips, parted her knees, and arched the small of her back. Lucas took his time, smoothing and teasing. The sounds of pleasure—murmurs, groans, sighs—that grated from her throat lit a fire in his groin that one thing and one thing only would extinguish. But they had all night, and rushing this was the last thing he wanted to do.

  His massaging became more steady, more rhythmic, and progressed to light tugs and pulls. Without thought, he lifted one hand and inhaled. The musky scent of her was enough to drive him over the edge of reason.

  Reaching up, she planted a palm on the glass, splayed her fingers, and strained to raise herself up to him. He knew what she wanted, knew what she silently pleaded for, and he didn’t disappoint her. Lucas shifted her feet to his shoulders, and then he kissed and nuzzled, licked and teased.

  Her orgasm was quick. And fierce. He watched the glorious tension in her face, and he smiled. His crystal-clear memories of their lovemaking told him she wasn’t finished, that she wouldn’t be satiated for a while yet.

  Tyne panted, dragged her eyes open. Her gaze met his and she grinned at him. She elbowed herself away from the window sill, wincing and muttering, her legs now dangling on either side of him. “That was wonderful, but I’m too old for this kind of acrobatics.”

  “Oh, no you’re not,” he whispered. “No, no, no.” Each tiny word was emphasized with a kiss.

 
; “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.” She nibbled on his neck and her lips spread as she added, “But this is worth a few achy muscles.”

  Tyne hugged him, caressed his shoulders, his back. “Lucas, this place smells like sex.”

  He couldn’t contain his grin. “Yeah, it does.”

  “What if Zach wakes up? What if he needs a drink of water or something?”

  Lucas chuckled, and then he kissed her, deeply, thoroughly. Damn, if he didn’t feel her naked body against his soon, he would go absolutely nuts.

  “Let’s fix that,” he told her. “Let’s go to bed.”

  He lifted her knees and she automatically wrapped her legs around him again. Lucas freed himself from his sleep pants, scooted her off the counter, and slid himself into her as deep as he could go. Her eyes went wide with surprise. She fit him like a tight, wet glove, and Lucas feared he might lose all control. He gritted his jaw, determined to rein in his need. At least for the moment.

  Desire smoldered in her gaze, and soon she was wiggling and shifting against him. Her brazen kiss scorched his mouth, her tongue inviting him to do as he wanted. “Yes,” she pleaded. “Let’s.”

  Lucas carried her into her bedroom and closed the door.

  • • •

  Fresh, hand-pitted cherries sat in a bowl on the countertop, macerating in kirsch that had been diluted with an equal part of water. In a second bowl, a mixture of flour, ground almonds, baking powder and cocoa had been thoroughly blended. The whites of six eggs were in a third bowl. Tyne crooned a wordless melody as she used a wire whisk to beat the egg yolks together with a couple ounces of powdered sugar in a fourth bowl, watching closely for the ingredients to reach that perfect pale fluffiness.

  Although she loved preparing any type of food, everything from vegetables, meats and fish to grains, pastas, fruits and nuts by any method of cooking, roasting, steaming, smoking, broiling, braising, simmering, sautéing, she had to admit that baking was her true forte. Bread was both fun to make, and nothing beat the luscious smell of a fresh loaf browning in the oven, but baking sweets made her hum with pure happiness.

  When the yolks were a light lemon yellow, she mixed in melted butter and vanilla, then reached for a rubber spatula and folded in the dry ingredients. The alarm on the stove sounded, letting her know the oven was pre-heated.

  She liked to work alone in the kitchen. There was something about measuring and stirring, whipping and folding that calmed her. And after waking up in Lucas’s arms at sunrise and remembering how intense, how carnal, their love-making had been the night before, she’d felt the need to find some way to compose herself. She was waiting at the market when the shop owner unlocked the doors for business, and as soon as she’d returned home, she’d shooed Lucas and Zach out of the house with a promise of something sweet and spectacular.

  Zach had peeked into the grocery bag, his eyes lighting up when he spied the cherries, the cocoa and flour. “Black Forest cake,” he’d exclaimed. The confection had long been his favorite.

  She’d playfully smacked his fingers away from the ripe fruit and told him to get lost for the rest of the morning.

  With the batter nicely mixed, she started whipping the egg whites.

  Her thoughts turned, yet again, to Lucas. Her behavior last night had been overly aggressive. She wasn’t sure if that was because she feared he would reject her or what, but once they were in her bedroom, she’d pulled off his pajama bottoms, nudged him down onto the bed and then slipped out of the silk cami she usually slept in. She’d touched him, kissed him, straddled him, fitted him inside her…‌and rode him. Slowly at first, and then with increasing swiftness, as if something or someone were chasing her.

  The whisk clattered against the rim of the bowl and she saw that the egg whites were stiff and glossy. She began folding them into the cake batter.

  Nerves chirruped in the pit of her stomach as she tried to figure out why she’d been so bold with Lucas, so unreserved. He hadn’t seemed to mind; in fact, judging from his response, he’d enjoyed himself.

  Their ruined evening at Reflections interrupted her sensuous musings, and quickly following were thoughts of Vera and Earl Denver. Maybe Vera wouldn’t blab to her mother about seeing her at the restaurant. Maybe.

  The mere thought of seeing her parents caused her hands to tremble. They’d brow-beaten her to the point that they’d wrung every ounce of self-worth out of her; by the time she’d left for Florida, she’d felt like an old cleaning rag, floppy and completely used up. But despite all her hurt and anger, she still felt guilty that she’d disappointed them, and that triggered a strong annoyance at herself for allowing them to manipulate her. God, what a vicious cycle of negative emotion. She released her hold on the bowl and the spatula, rested her palms on the countertop and gulped in a deep breath.

  She was being chased. By the past. And it was surely going to catch her.

  A couple of hours later, that’s exactly what happened.

  She had pulled the three round layer cakes from the oven and set them on the counter to cool. Then, with the rich scent of warm chocolate hanging heavy in the air, she’d taken a long soak in the tub with a good paperback and realized what a luxury a mid-morning bath could be. She’d gotten dressed, dried her hair, reapplied her makeup and was pulling out the whipping cream to make the filling for the cake when the doorbell rang.

  The screen in the door obscured the man who stood on the front step, but before she had a chance to voice a greeting, her brain kicked in.

  “Daddy.”

  Funny how a single word could make her feel twelve years old again.

  “Tyne, honey. It’s so good to see you.”

  Shock froze her muscles, solid as ice. His hair was still thick and wavy, but instead of the rich chestnut she remembered, it had gone granite gray. And his smile pressed deep grooves all over his fleshy face. He must have put on forty pounds or more since she’d last seen him.

  “Earl called me last night, honey.” Her father lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “He said he and Vera had run into you.”

  So Vera had kept her word. Sort of. But she got her husband to rat her out. Damn it.

  “Tyne?”

  The timidity she heard in his voice sounded utterly foreign to her. Her father had always been assured to the point of being imposing. Frighteningly so.

  “Honey?” He blinked, waited, and when she said nothing, he asked, “Will you invite me to come in for a minute?”

  He looked so…‌old. So…‌unsure. All of a sudden, she felt the same.

  The metal handle of the screen door was cool against her fingers when she pushed it open. Her dad stepped over the threshold, but didn’t move any further.

  She feared he meant to wrap his arms around her, but she didn’t think she was ready for that. Physically, he was close, awkwardly close, as he gazed into her face, yet the accusations and blame and disappointment jarring her insides were as spiky and dividing as a barbed wire fence.

  There was no graceful way to move away from the door, away from him, but that didn’t stop her from trundling backward a few feet. She couldn’t miss the flash of dejection that clouded his gaze.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked. The question had enough sharp edges to cut the most calloused of skin. So she tried hard to soften her tone when she added, “Tea, fruit juice, ice water?”

  “No. Thank you. I can’t stay long. Have to get back to my office.” He rubbed his hands together, then let them fall to his sides. “I have a meeting with Mike Masters, the town treasurer, in an hour.” There was more palm rubbing as he shuffled from one foot to the other. “I would have been here earlier, but I had a breakfast meeting I couldn’t get out of—” his chuckle was forced “—it seemed to go on forever.”

  Lots of people shared a common misconception; they attempted to crowd out the uneasiness in a room by filling the air with words.

  He tipped up his chin and inhaled. “Something smells awfully good.�
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  Ambivalent about responding, she waited a moment or two. She’d developed her cooking skills to the point that she earned her living on them with little help and absolutely no encouragement from this man. But it seemed absolutely rude not to make some kind of reply to his comment. Finally, she told him, “I baked a cake.”

  He nodded, and silence settled over them.

  “You look good, honey,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman.” Pride shined in his smile. “The image of your mother.”

  His eyes went misty.

  When Tyne had been exiled to Florida for the duration of her pregnancy, she’d considered hacking off her hair and dying it flaming red or sable brown just so she wouldn’t be reminded of her mother every time she looked into the bathroom mirror, but she feared the chemicals might harm the baby, and once Zach had been born and she’d decided to go it on her own, food and lodging took priority over those things that became trivial matters, like the vanity of her appearance.

  It seemed that someone had flipped her politeness-auto-pilot switch because she heard herself asking, “How is Mom?”

  “She’s well. Still busy with her groups; bridge, garden club, tennis. She’s always out and about.” He smiled. “She’s been busy in the backyard. Had a pool put in. A pool house built. You wouldn’t recognize the place. She coordinated the whole project herself. Oh, and she joined the Red Hat Society.”

  Tyne found it difficult to imagine her mother sporting a floppy red hat.

  “She’s healthy. Fit and trim as ever,” her father said. Rubbing his paunch, he added, “Unlike me.”

  A frown bit into her brow. “You’ve got health problems?”

  Her silence for the past sixteen years might have revoked her right to even ask such a question.

  “Oh, nothing serious, honey. A touch of arthritis, achy joints. The normal problems of aging, I guess you could say.” His grin went lopsided. “All those extra desserts I sneak don’t help, I’m sure.”