“Old Lady Witherspoon kept a diary?” Gabe picked up one hardbound journal book and stared at it. “What would she have to write about?”
“She wrote about everything,” Melanie said breathlessly. “Her thoughts and feelings, what she did every day, Bloomfield and all the people. Do you know a man named Robert Carper?”
“Sure. He used to be the manager at Winkie’s Market. He retired at least ten years ago. Why?”
“Mildred had a thing for him, that’s why. She said he reminded her of Clark Gable.”
Clark Gable? Well, Bob did have big ears, but any other similarity, Gabe thought, was lost on him. “That’s hard to swallow. I was only a kid at the time, maybe fourteen, but I worked there one summer as a bagger. Before Mildred had her groceries delivered, she used to come in twice a week and every time she complained about something.”
“That was so she could talk to him,” Melanie explained. “She said he made her heart flutter.”
“Bob?” Gabe gave a dry laugh. “Any flutters in Old Lady Witherspoon’s chest had to be a heart condition.”
Melanie rolled her eyes. “Is it so hard to believe she had feelings?”
“Yes.” Gabe sat down beside Melanie, felt his own heart slam in his chest when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Well, she did. She admitted it hurt her when she wasn’t invited to Claire Wilson’s wedding.”
Now it was Gabe’s turn to roll his eyes. “Claire and Harry Wilson just celebrated their fiftieth anniversary, for God’s sake.”
Melanie sighed. “It seems that Mildred had a long memory.”
At this moment, Gabe thought, his own memory was quite short-term. All he could think about was how close he’d come to kissing Melanie earlier, about the kiss they’d already shared. About how badly he wanted to pull her in his arms and kiss her again.
“In fact,” Melanie went on, “Mildred had something to say about you.”
“Me?” Gabe dragged his mind from where it didn’t belong back to the conversation. “She said something about me?”
Melanie smiled slowly, then reached for a journal behind her and handed it to Gabe. “Open this.”
Wary, Gabe took the journal, then opened it to the page where something had been slipped between the pages.
A dried, flattened rose.
A yellow rose.
Gabe glanced up at Melanie, saw the delight dancing in her eyes as she watched him.
“Read that page,” she said softly.
He looked back at the journal, noted the date at the top of the page. Saturday, October 15, 1979.
That was twenty-one years ago, Gabe realized. Stunned, he read on.
Little Gabriel Sinclair—well, not so little, the child must be nearly six feet tall!—knocked on my door this morning and informed me that he was here to do four hours of chores for me and asked what I would like him to do. I told him to rake the leaves and not to knock on my door and bother me until every last leaf was raked. Oh, my, the look of fear in his eyes did make me chuckle when I closed the door. What a pleasure it was for me to watch him work that day. How it reminded me of when I was a child and I would run and laugh and fall into the mountains of leaves I would sweep up. But that was before Papa died and Mama forbid any laughter in the house. I made a glass of lemonade and sat by the window, watching Gabriel the whole day. I know he was too afraid of me not to finish and though I wanted to tell him to stop, to come and sit and have a glass of lemonade with me, I was too afraid. What if he laughed at me, told all his friends what a crazy old lady I am. I know that’s what they all say, anyway.
The next entry was Sunday, October 16.
Little Gabriel knocked on my door again today. A rose! He brought me a beautiful yellow rose. The most beautiful rose in the world, I’m sure. For a very long moment, I was too stunned to speak, then all I could manage to do was slam the door before he saw the tears in my eyes. I am such a silly old fool, but never in my entire life has anyone ever given me a flower of any kind. He is a handsome one, Gabriel. I pray he will not break hearts, the way mine was broken so very long ago.
Dazed, Gabe looked up at Melanie. Her eyes were bright with moisture. “She kept the rose I gave her?”
Melanie nodded. “I skimmed most of the journals and she mentioned you several times. Maybe a comment about how tall you’d grown, or how handsome. How brave you were at your parents’ funeral, and how well you took care of your brothers and sister. She was quite fond of you.”
“Because I gave her a rose?” he asked incredulously. “I can’t believe she even remembered.”
“She more than remembered.” Melanie leaned close, her eyes wide. “Gabe, she left her house to the Shawnessy Foundation because of you, because of that rose.”
“What?” He was glad he was sitting because he was certain she would have knocked him over on that comment. “What are you talking about?”
“She was familiar with the Killian Shawnessy Foundation because of the fund-raising you and your brothers have done here in Bloomfield County. She mentioned an annual Chili Bake-Off just three months ago, which I understand your sister always wins,” Melanie added with a smile. “Mildred didn’t attend, but she read in the paper that Sinclair Construction sponsored the event and all the proceeds went to the center. That was enough for her. She decided then to call her attorney and have him make the foundation her sole beneficiary.”
Gabe stared at the rose. It was the palest yellow, the leaves had long crumbled and the stem had turned brown. But this single rose had been something extremely important in Mildred’s life.
And now, in his life, too.
Because he never would have come to this house after Mildred had died, wouldn’t have met Melanie and Kevin, wouldn’t be sitting here right now with a woman he wanted more than any woman he’d ever met in his entire life.
He sucked in a breath, looked at Melanie and actually managed to speak. “She said her heart had been broken. Did she say who the man was?”
“I found her earlier journals,” Melanie said. “She wrote about her love for a man named William McDaniels. He was a drifter, doing odd jobs around town. Her mother had hired him to make some repairs around the house. Mildred fell instantly and madly in love, and she thought that William loved her, as well. They were going to run off and be married, Mildred thought, even though her mother disapproved. When William’s wife and two children showed up in town looking for him, Mildred was devastated. She never got over it, never really trusted anyone after that. She never told anyone.”
“Who would have thought?” Gabe shook his head. “Old Lady Witherspoon was once young and in love.”
“Everyone falls in love sometime,” Melanie said quietly as she gently closed the book and replaced it in the box. “And everyone has their heart broken, too. Some people get over it and some don’t.”
He realized she wasn’t talking about Mildred, but herself. He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, lifted her face to his. “Who broke your heart, Melanie?” he asked.
The wistful look in her eyes made his chest tighten. “I was young and in love, too, and when I married, I truly believed it was forever. My husband didn’t.”
Dread welled up in Gabe’s chest. Was that why she kept her distance, he wondered. Why she wouldn’t let him close? Because she still loved her husband?
“Do you still love him?” he asked tightly.
“No.” She leaned into his hand, and he felt her warm breath on his wrist. “But I don’t want to talk about my late husband. Not now.”
The texture of her smooth, soft skin fascinated him, aroused him. He skimmed the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. “You don’t?”
“No.” She pressed her mouth to the palm of his hand, and he sucked in a breath at the touch of her soft lips. “Gabe?”
“What?” He had to struggle to get the single word out.
“Make love to me.”
Chapter 8
Gabe went very still. It almost
seemed to Melanie that the entire world had stilled. A quiet calm settled over her, and for the first time since she’d met Gabe, for the first time in her life, she felt completely at ease, confident of who she was and what she wanted.
She wanted him. And if it could only be for this one night, then she would accept that.
“Gabe.” She said his name again, a whisper, then covered his hand with hers. “I want you to make love to me.”
She saw the surprise in his deep green eyes, the hesitation. She understood it. After all, she’d pushed him away at every turn, even made him promise to keep his distance. Why would she expect him to believe her now that she was sincere?
But from the beginning, this need had been here between them. She’d tried to deny it, to refuse it, but she couldn’t any longer. She might as well deny her next breath.
How strange to think that it was Mildred herself who’d tipped the scales, Melanie thought. That a story about yellow roses and a lost love would make her see what was really in her heart? She wanted—needed—Gabe to know how important he was to her, how important he would always be to her.
“Melanie.” His hand tightened under hers, tension radiated from his body. “You have to be sure.”
“I’m sure.” She turned her head and pressed her mouth to his hand. It was large and callused, the texture rough against her lips. She’d watched those hands hold a hammer, sand wood, mix cement. Throw a baseball to her son.
And now she wanted them on her.
When she took his hand and brought it to her breast, she heard his muffled groan.
Lifting her gaze to his, she saw the raw desire in his eyes. The intensity took her breath away. When he glanced down to where their hands were joined over her breast, she saw that desire darken. Heat flooded her body, made her limbs feel soft and liquid, her skin tight and tingly.
“Melanie.” His voice was ragged, hoarse. “As badly as I want you, I don’t want you to regret this.”
She shook her head slowly, held his dark gaze. “No regrets.”
His gaze narrowed, dropped to her mouth. “I haven’t slept since I met you. You’ve been driving me crazy.”
“I haven’t even started yet,” she said, shocked by her own brazen manner, then ever-so-slightly moved her hardened nipple against his hand.
On a groan, he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her against his rock-hard chest. His mouth swooped down and covered hers, a hard, demanding kiss that made her senses reel. She wrapped her arms around his neck, met the deep thrust of his tongue with her own. He tasted like minty toothpaste, his aftershave smelled spicy and masculine. She felt her blood rush through her veins, hot and wild, building in pressure.
He kissed her over and over, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. A long, hot, never-ending kiss that left her gasping. No one had ever kissed her like this, she thought dimly. So completely, so thoroughly, so desperately. She’d been a virgin when she’d married Phillip, and sex between them had always been straightforward, an activity that a husband and wife engaged in, and though she’d never thought it unpleasant, she’d never experienced anything even close to what she was feeling at this moment with Gabe. She’d never even imagined this kind of passion.
The thought exhilarated her as much as it frightened her. There would never be anyone like Gabe again, she was certain of that. There couldn’t be.
But there was no going back now; she wouldn’t even if she could. Every moment in her life had brought her here, to Gabe. Even if it was only for one night, this was where she belonged, with Gabe. She knew it in her heart and her soul.
She felt the tension and need shimmer from Gabe’s body into hers, knew that he needed her every bit as much as she needed him.
His name shuddered out from her lips.
The urgency increased, and in one quick movement, his hot mouth rushed over her jaw, down her neck. She shivered, let her head fall backward, offering herself to him, wanting his mouth and hands on her everywhere all at once.
“I wasn’t going to come here tonight,” he said roughly, then gently sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh under her earlobe. “I couldn’t stand being so close to you and not touching you. I knew I would have to break my promise to you.”
“Oh, Gabe.” She sighed, ran her fingers through his thick hair while he busied his lips with the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat. “I was a fool to think I could stop this from happening. We’re not children, we both knew what we wanted from the beginning. But you frightened me.”
He stilled, then lifted his head. His eyes glinted darkly with passion; confusion furrowed his brow. “I frightened you?”
“No one’s ever looked at me like you did, like you’re looking at me right now, with such fierce need. You overwhelmed me, but excited me at the same time. Sometimes I’d watch you working, and I’d want you so badly it was all I could do to keep myself from throwing you to the ground and jumping you.”
Surprise lit the darkness in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, chuckled when he touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Sweetheart, you are one great big mystery to me.”
She reached for him, drew his mouth back to hers. “No more talk,” she whispered. “Touch me.”
Gabe had thought that he would never hear those words from her, and her soft plea stretched the already thin thread of his control. She’d said they weren’t children, but his need for her raged inside him so fiercely he felt like a randy teenager in the back seat of his father’s Buick.
Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he slowed himself down, struggled to contain the urge to take her fast and hard. With her hands roaming over his shoulders and her lips nibbling on his, he was certain that taking it slow was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
When she leaned forward and pressed her soft breasts against him, when he felt the hard buds of her nipples burn into his chest, he thought that slow just might kill him.
He eased her back onto a neatly folded, cream-colored knitted afghan lying on the floor of the closet. Her lips were swollen and wet from his kisses, her cheeks flushed. Opening her eyes, she watched him through a glaze of passion.
His throat felt dry; blood pumped through his body, pooled below his waist. This was what he’d dreamed of night after night, but the reality was so much more than the fantasy. He reached for the soft cotton edge of her tank top, slowly edged his hands underneath. Her stomach was flat and firm, her skin warm and smooth, the texture of silk. Her eyes narrowed when he spread his fingers wide, covering her belly, and when he slid his hands and fabric upward, she bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes again.
He paused just below the underside of her full, round breasts, skimmed the soft flesh there with his knuckles. She whimpered softly, squirmed.
“Touch me,” she breathed. “Please.”
Barely holding onto his control, he pushed the fabric up out of his way, felt his heart jump into his throat as he stared at her. God, but she was beautiful. So perfect.
And for the moment, she was his. Completely his.
He leaned down, kissed the soft, ultrasensitive skin around one rosy nipple, then took the beaded tip into his mouth. She arched upward, dug her fingers into his scalp as she gasped. He lavished his attention on that sweet spot, used his tongue and lips to pleasure her. Her fingernails raked over his head and down his back, igniting every nerve along their path.
“Take this off,” she said roughly, tugging at his T-shirt. “I need to touch you.”
He rose to his knees, reached for his shirt. She surged upward. “Let me.”
Her hands slid underneath the black cotton and pushed the fabric up. He yanked the shirt off, then sucked in a breath at the touch of her soft fingers on his chest. When she pressed her lips to his skin, as he had done to her, a thunderbolt of pleasure shot through his body. She nuzzled him with her lips and tongue while her fingers slid through the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. When her hands moved down
ward, over his belly to his belt buckle, he moaned.
Maybe slow wasn’t such a good idea after all.
They were both on their knees, torso to torso, hot bare skin to hot bare skin. He struggled to breathe while she unhooked the buckle of his belt, and when she looked up at him, he gripped her shoulders and once again caught her mouth with his. Her tongue met his, stroke for stroke, and he felt a sudden fury to possess this woman body and soul. The thought staggered him, but when her busy hands unsnapped his jeans and reached for the zipper, he was way beyond thought.
Melanie’s breath caught at the fierce grip Gabe had on her shoulders. She felt his need shudder from his body into hers and when she reached blindly for the zipper on his jeans, his assault on her mouth bordered on violent. She felt raw and exposed, every nerve turned inside out as she met his need with her own. She’d never considered herself short, but kneeling in front of Gabe, nearly naked, with his tall, muscular body dwarfing her, she suddenly felt small and vulnerable.
And yet, strangely, knowing that he wanted her with such intensity also made her feel powerful, as well. His kiss was hungry, consuming, and tiny shock waves of pleasure rippled through her as he tasted her again and again.
She slowly lowered the zipper on his jeans, and the feel of his arousal against her hand excited her. With trembling hands, she slipped her fingers under the band of his jeans and briefs and tugged them down.
At the same time, Gabe’s hands slid down her arms, slipped under the elastic waistband of her sweats and eased the garment down.
His work-roughened hands slid over the curve of her rear end and cupped her. She drew in a breath at the exquisite feel of his callused palms on her skin, and when he pulled her against him and she felt the hard, velvet-steel of his erection against her belly, she gasped.
Her arms snaked around his neck and she rose against him, her body hot and aching for him. She wanted, needed him inside her.
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