Never again, she thought, her heart clenching. She would not risk that.
She couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour when the sound of a crying child yanked her awake. Disoriented, she realized the pitch of the voice wasn't quite right—not one of the twins. Emma.
But by that time her mother's instinct had her out of bed and halfway across the room. She slipped into the hall and saw no sign that John had awakened yet. Emma's door stood open, the faint glow of her nightlight showing around it.
"Emma, honey," Marian soothed, hurrying to the child's bed. She sat upright, huge sobs shaking her. Marian switched on the bedside lamp and sat down, drawing Emma into a comforting embrace. Her cheek against the five-year-old's soft hair, she hugged and murmured and gently rubbed Emma's back.
The first coherent words out of Emma's mouth were a wailed, "I don't want you to go!"
"Oh, sweetie." Marian's arms tightened and her eyes prickled with unexpected tears. The sadness she'd felt all day tore open, exposing something huge and desolate. Guilt, because she had let Emma love her. Hurt of her own, because she had come to love Emma.
"I missed Helen so much," the little girl mumbled against her breasts, "but Daddy said she couldn't come back and I knew she didn't want to come back..." A hiccuping sob interrupted her. "And Daddy says he'll hire a new housekeeper, but I don't want a new one! I want you! Why can't you stay? I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Even better than I was for Helen."
Marian's face was wet with tears when she tilted Emma's chin up so she could look into the overflowing brown eyes. "Helen didn't leave because you weren't good, Emma! You are a wonderful, sensitive, funny child. Helen needed somebody of her own to love, just like your daddy loves you. My leaving has nothing to do with you! You could be a monster all day long and...and spill grape juice on the carpet and stuff up the toilet and roller skate on the wood floors and color on the walls, and I'd still like you! Oh, Emma, I'd give almost anything to stay."
A huge fat tear dripped off her chin. "Then...then why?"
Marian stared down at Emma and realized she didn't know the answer. Why was she so determined to leave? Because she needed to prove something to herself? Because it hurt to pretend something was true that wasn't?
Or were those only excuses, designed to hide her biggest terror: that Emma's father would break her heart?
Whatever was the truth, they were all selfish reasons. Anna and Jesse would be happier and safer here. Emma needed her. And her own life would be easier. She wouldn't have to work from six in the morning to ten at night. The possibility of losing even that fragile security would no longer be lurking one step away.
All she would risk was her heart. And what did that count for, compared to Emma's?
In a voice that cracked, she said, "I guess I was afraid to love you." And your dad. I'm still afraid to love your dad. "But I was wrong. If you still want me...if your dad still wants me to stay, I will."
"You will?" Emma said disbelievingly. "You really will?"
Marian hugged Emma hard. Her smile trembled, but she said, "I really will."
"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"You're welcome," Marian whispered. Through a fresh sheen of tears she looked over Emma's head and saw John, standing silently in the bedroom doorway. Her gaze locked to his, and she realized he had heard every word.
CHAPTER 8
Emma never realized her father was there. The storm of tears had tired her, and she was now contented enough to let Marian soothe her to sleep.
John disappeared from the doorway, and Marian prayed that he had gone back to bed. She knew it was a futile prayer, however. He would be waiting, and she was in no state to talk to him. Her tears had dried, but her heart felt sore. She sat here on his daughter's bed in a filmy nightgown that left her shoulders bare but for thin straps, and, in the right light, hid very little else. Why hadn't she grabbed her robe?
Finally, Emma's slow deep breaths became childlike snuffles and snores, and Marian had no excuse to delay any longer. She stepped out of Emma's room, easing the door shut behind her. With a sense of inevitability, she saw John waiting, just as she had known he would be. He wore only pajama bottoms, and even in the hall's dim light she could see that his chest was sleek and muscled. Marian quit breathing when his hungry gaze trapped her.
They simply looked at each other for a long moment. Then he said huskily, "If I still want you? What do you think?"
All she managed was his name. "John..." Was she protesting or begging? She hadn't any idea.
But it was enough to bring him to her in one long stride. The tension that had simmered between them all day crackled into searing life. There was no gentleness in him this time; no tentativeness, no chance for her to escape. He yanked her up against him and took her mouth in one devouring move. Instinctively she lifted her hands to push him away, but when they found powerful, bare shoulders with muscles that jerked at her touch, her fingers curled to hold on instead of reject. Blood tumbled madly through her veins when she felt John's tongue slip inside her mouth, tasting, pleading, demanding, until her own met his. He had her backed against the wall, the length of his hard body trapping her as effectively as one look from him had done. This madness between them was like a squall at sea, rising with frightening suddenness and sweeping all before its ferocity.
Marian had forgotten—had she ever known?—that she could feel this way. Her body had become boneless and pliable. Pleasure at his hungry touch had her shivering with delight. One big hand cupped the back of her head to hold her mouth for his to plunder, while his other hand moved restlessly over her waist and hips, pressing her against the obvious evidence of his arousal, kneading her flesh through the thin fabric until she whimpered against his mouth. It was insane, terrifying, and yet so perfect.
And then she heard another whimper. From her? She wondered, suddenly confused. John's hands stilled, and she realized the sound had come from Emma's room, through the closed door just beside them. John lifted his head and took a shuddering breath that Marian echoed.
She wanted him to kiss her again, to sweep her into his arms and carry her to that huge bed in his room. She wanted his hands on her breasts and his weight over her. She wanted...
To lose everything? Marian heard the voice of sanity as clearly as if someone had spoken aloud. She was unbearably tempted. Above her his face was taut, his gray eyes smoldering, his breathing harsh. All she had to do was smile or lift a hand to touch his rough cheek. All she had to do was press her lips to that sleek chest, taste the saltiness of his skin... All she had to do was ask.
Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a sideways step, pulling free from his grip. When she opened her eyes and saw the flare of frustration in his eyes, Marian took another involuntary step backward.
She had to lash out to defend herself, not from John, but from her own need. Her voice was raw. "Do you think I agreed to be your mistress? Is that what this is about?"
His eyes darkened. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I said I'd stay for Emma's sake. Not yours. If this is what you expect..."
"I'm not in the habit of keeping lovers in the same house as my daughter," he said grimly. "And I've never made love with a woman who didn't come to me wholeheartedly. But I'm not going to lie, either. I want you, Marian, but only when you're ready."
Ready? Oh, Lord, if he only knew!
"I..." Abruptly the words died. What could she say anyway? She was no more willing to lie than he was. She did want him. Her body was achingly, recklessly, ready for him. But her mind was confused, her heart afraid. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?" she faltered.
"Go to bed," he said wearily. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, as though he wanted to shut the sight of her out. "Now."
She went, fleeing both him and her own desperate need.
John didn't watch her go, but he could feel the hall's emptiness when she was gone. His heart was still slamming against hi
s chest and he was sweating, though the night air was cool. He hadn't wanted a woman this badly in years, or been as frustrated. It would have been funny, if he'd had any sense of humor left.
Had he just implied that he wouldn't make love to a woman in his own bed, in his house, because his innocent daughter lived here? God! He did laugh, mirthlessly, at the perversity of it. He had fallen in love, but he couldn't touch her until he was invited and he couldn't make love to her in his own bed. Without going out of his mind, how the hell was he going to court Marian?
*****
Somehow they managed breakfast without ever quite meeting each other's eyes or addressing each other directly, but also without the children noticing the tension. Emma bounded into the kitchen after John had rousted her from bed. Marian, heavy-eyed and head aching from her sleepless night, was setting cereal and milk out on the table.
Emma's huge dark eyes were touchingly vulnerable. "Are you really going to stay?" she asked.
Marian smiled, but heaven only knew how. "Well, your dad and I haven't talked about it yet..."
"You are." She hurtled across the kitchen to hug Marian fiercely. "I thought maybe I dreamed it. I dreamed once that Helen came back, but she didn't."
"Well, I'm here," Marian said firmly. "Tired and cranky this morning, but definitely here."
"I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad!" Emma caroled. "Anna...Jesse!" She whirled away. "Where are you? Did you know you get to stay? It'll be like you're my sister and brother. Not really, but we can pretend."
John came into the kitchen, his face drawn, and Marian hurriedly turned away to look in the cupboard for bowls. How could she stay, after last night? How could she not, after she'd promised Emma?
With Emma safely off on the school bus and the twins settled in front of the television in the living room, Marian gave a wide berth to John, who still sat sipping his coffee and gazing bleakly out the window toward the barns. As quietly as possible, she piled dirty dishes in the sink and was about to sneak out of the kitchen when his voice stopped her.
"Marian, we need to talk."
She hesitated, her back to him. "Now?"
"No." His voice was tight and very controlled. "I propose a neutral setting. Sort of like the arms talks. I'll get a baby-sitter and we can go out to dinner tonight."
Out to dinner? "But..."
"We can't be honest with each other if the kids are in earshot."
She didn't know if she wanted to be that honest. But she pushed her hair back from her face and said in a constrained tone, "Yes, that would be fine."
"Six o'clock?"
"Fine," she said again. "Do you know a babysitter?"
A hint of humor crept into his voice. "Actually, I was hoping you could recommend someone."
She had to turn, though meeting his clear grey eyes was one of the hardest things she had ever done. "Crystal has an older sister," she said. "I've never used her, but they're a nice family."
"Do you want to call, or shall I?"
"I don't mind," she said.
John pushed back his chair. "Then I'll get to work."
Crystal's sister, Lisa, was happy to baby-sit, with the result that four-thirty found Marian hopelessly studying her meager wardrobe, hung in the oversize closet. She hadn't bought a new dress in—what?—four, five years. Before her pregnancy, anyway. Of course, what she looked like shouldn't make any difference. She didn't want to attract John McRae. Did she?
Marian finally dragged out a suitcase that she hadn't bothered to unpack for their short stay here, and reluctantly settled on a featherweight wool jersey with a softly draped neckline and a skirt that swirled. Ruby red, it flattered her more than she remembered. She finally left her hair loose, except for clipping it back from her face. It hung to her waist, a heavy silk curtain that rippled with her every movement. Walking downstairs carefully in the unfamiliar high heels, she felt horrendously self-conscious. This was worse than her first date! Suppose John intended to take her to the pizza parlor. Or MacDonald's. What if he had on jeans and a sweatshirt? What if...
But he waited at the bottom of the stairs in a dark suit, his jaw clean-shaven and his hair still damp. His expression was inscrutable, but when he saw her, something incendiary flickered in his eyes. A blush warmed her cheeks, and she hurried past him to kiss the kids good night.
"We won't be gone long. You be good for Lisa."
John had the front door open and his car keys in his hand. Marian turned to the teenager. "I made a casserole..."
"Mr. McRae told me. I already put it in the oven," she said.
"Do you have John’s phone number?"
"Yep," John said. "Ready, Marian?"
Wishing desperately that she had some excuse not to be, she finally nodded. He held open the door for her, and then the car door, before going around to get in on the driver's side. They had driven in silence for several minutes before Marian finally asked, "Where are we going?"
"I made reservations at Giulia's. Unless you hate Italian food?"
The restaurant was elegant and expensive. It was also a twenty-minute drive. And, she realized, this was the first time she had ever been totally alone with John. "No, that's fine," she said hurriedly. "I enjoy almost any kind of food."
"You don't look like it."
"What do you mean?"
"I haven't seen you put away a good meal yet. You're too busy waiting on everybody else."
She turned to look at him, but his attention appeared to be on the road. "Is that a criticism?"
"An observation. I wish you'd relax."
Marian opened her mouth to snap, "Of course I'm relaxed!" when she realized that she was taut as a bowstring, with tension that ran up her neck and tightened like a band around her forehead. She was the farthest thing in the world from relaxed.
She would still have lied if she'd thought she could get away with it. Unfortunately, she had too expressive a face. So she did something worse. She babbled. "I'm...just nervous, I guess. I'm sorry. This is difficult for me. These last few days..."
He let the apology pass. "I've put a lot of pressure on you, haven't I?"
"No." Marian heaved a huge sigh that drained some of the anxiety away. "I don't know what I would have done without you. The trouble is, I hate admitting that."
Without taking his eyes from the road, John reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. The gesture was undoubtedly meant to be kind and reassuring, but didn't have quite that effect.
"My mother came to stay with Emma and me after Susan died," he said conversationally. "I was grateful, but after a couple of weeks I realized that I felt like I had to explain myself every time I stepped out the door or told Emma what to do or wandered into the kitchen for something to eat. I love my mother, we're good friends, we talk on the phone regularly. But living with her..." He shook his head. "It just didn't work. I regressed about twenty years in age. No adult likes to depend on anyone else."
She gave him honesty for honesty. "I feel like a guest," she said. "Always uncomfortable. Your house isn't...isn't home.'"
He shot her one unfathomable look. "The way I kissed you hasn't helped things, has it?"
She was surprised to feel a tiny spark of amusement. "The way you kissed me? I don't know if there would have been any better way."
His mouth curled into an easy grin, and Marian was suddenly light-headed. She could fall in love with him so easily.
She was in love with him. She was shocked by the truth. It was already too late. She loved John McRae.
Of all the impossible times to fall in love. Of all the impossible men! A stubbornly fair part of Marian insisted on reminding her that he wasn't impossible at all. He was gentle, good with the children, kind, humorous, fun to talk to, and sexy. He also thought nothing of parking his lonely daughter wherever he could whenever it was convenient. Maybe she wasn't being fair about that—he certainly hadn't deserted Emma like Mark had done to his children. But he wasn't there for her as a normal father would be, either. And espec
ially, as a single father should be.
They reached the restaurant a few minutes later, and John escorted Marian in as if she were one of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit models. He held open the door, steered her gently after the waiter with a hand on the small of her back, pulled out the chair for her before the younger man could get to it.
Marian had to keep reminding herself that this was not a date. She was an employee receiving instruction on her duties. Except that she couldn't kid herself that it was usual for him to have taken a new housekeeper to a place like this. But then, he didn't think of her quite as he did his usual housekeepers—unless there had been more between him and Helen than he or Emma had ever hinted at.
John was well aware of Marian's mixed emotions. So far, so good, he thought. She'd let him con her into a dinner away from the kids. While they'd have to talk about real life—her role as a housekeeper—he had told her the truth: he really didn't have much idea what Helen did. Marian was great with kids, a superb cook, and, as far as he could tell, a decent housekeeper. That covered the job as far as he was concerned. What he wanted was to learn more about her. About the woman, not the mother, day-care provider, housekeeper.
So he selected a wine from the list and poured her a glass despite her protests. "Don't drink it if you don't want it," he said.
Marian eyed the glass as though it held poison, but after a few minutes of very casual conversation, she took a cautious sip, then a longer one.
As naturally as possible while they ate pasta and tender veal, John steered the conversation toward parenthood, which made the jump to his marriage not too startling.
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