He didn't give a damn.
Making love to her tonight was all sensation. John didn't let himself think, only feel. He skimmed the sweater over her head to find her braless, her breasts plump and white, the nipples puckered already. His blood thickened and he groaned, a primal sound. Those breasts in his hands, in his mouth, sent undiluted pleasure to his groin. There should be words—but he couldn't let himself think what they should be. She seemed not to mind, giving small gasps and murmurs he couldn't make out, her breath coming quickly between parted lips, her fingernails biting into his shoulders as he suckled her breast.
Perversely, he took his time, when all he wanted was to bury himself in her slick warmth. She made love to him even as he did to her, unbuttoning his shirt so that her mouth could move hotly over his chest, her tongue flicking the nubs of his nipples, her fingers tracing muscles that hardened at her touch. She tossed his tie aside and tugged his shirt from his waistband, pushing it off his shoulders.
Into the fog of sexual hunger came the realization that he wore a gun. Drawing ragged breaths, he pulled back long enough to unhook the holster from his belt and toss it aside. He tried to do it unobtrusively. The sight of it would have killed Debbie's interest in sex. But Natalie only reached for his belt buckle and he groaned and pressed one of her hands to his erection.
When he kicked off his pants, he had just the presence of mind to apply protection—he'd been carrying a condom in his wallet since the moment she'd packed her bags. Their legs tangled, they fell onto the bed, sinking into the thick comforter. John wrestled his way to the top, holding back as he explored her belly and the nest of curls and her long white thighs. He kissed a scar on her knee, her anklebone, her curled toes. When he moved above her, she waited with parted legs and open arms, the welcome he'd so desperately needed. He sank home, muffling a guttural shout in the smooth skin of her throat. Her spasms tore the bonds of his restraint, and he emptied himself inside her, finding relief and oblivion.
He must have slept briefly, John realized when he surfaced. The overhead light was still on, and Natalie was curled against him, her lips parted, her breath even. He looked with pleasure at silky, pale limbs and the swell of her hip and breasts. Her dark hair tumbled across the pillow and his arm and partially hid one breast. He was getting hard again when his gaze intersected his watch.
Damn! It was nine-thirty.
He showed his teeth in a silent grimace. His mother was still with the kids after patiently spending most of her weekend with them and making sure each got to their Saturday soccer games. He'd imposed enough. He had to go.
John eased away from Natalie, watching regretfully as she stretched, murmured, sighed and snuggled into the comforter. He gently tucked it around her for warmth. He got dressed, returned the holster to the small of his back and stood above Natalie for a long moment, aching to climb back in with her and to hell with his mother and kids.
What would Natalie think when she woke up and he was gone? That he'd come for a quickie and fled into the night? He could leave her a note—but that almost seemed worse. "Thanks, I'll call," was insulting.
He couldn't remember the last time they'd talked. Really talked. After they made love the first time, life had closed in. Kids, family, work. Had she been glad to escape his house? She was nice to Maddie and Evan, but they weren't hers. Given a taste of his messy life, had she concluded she didn't want to share it?
Did she guess that he wanted her to share it? He sure as hell hadn't said so. And tonight, he wasn't sure he'd spoken ten words. He couldn't remember what he had or hadn't said, except, I need you.
He swallowed, remembering the way she had walked unhesitatingly into his arms in response.
"I love you," he said softly, but she slept on.
He made himself back away, step by step, until he bumped against the door frame. With one last, hungry look, he turned off the light and left, resetting her alarm system on his way out the front door.
They had to talk. She knew the burdens he carried. When he said Marry me, her answer would tell him whether she was willing to carry them with him.
The fact that he had no idea whether that answer would be yes or no scared him to death.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Natalie awakened in the middle of the night, cold. She groped for her bedding and encountered an unfamiliar texture. For a moment she went completely still as she struggled with her disorientation to remember where she was. In the pitch-dark, no digital clock offered a green glow. Her exploring fingers found a fluffy fabric covering the thick comforter.
At the same instant that she realized she was naked, Natalie remembered. Hesitantly she reached beside her and found no one. John was gone.
Finally she sat up and turned on the lamp, comforter clutched to her breast. No note, either, unless he'd left one upstairs. He must have covered her, or she wouldn't have slept this long—her internal clock told her it was the middle of the night. Since she'd also been lying atop the comforter, it was no wonder she'd eventually found her way out from under the fold he had laid over her.
She thought about going back to sleep here, but it felt so strange. And she might oversleep without her alarm clock. Eventually she pulled her baggy sweater on, turned out the lamp and made her way upstairs, turning lights on and off as she went. The neighbors would wonder, if any were awake to note her procession through the house.
Sasha sat in the middle of Natalie's bedroom floor, eyeing her critically. The cat's cool stare made Natalie feel like some kind of floozy, creeping home in the middle of the night.
"I love him," she told the black cat, who wasn't impressed.
She brushed her teeth and her hair and slipped between cold sheets on her side of the bed. She lay very still, reaching out with her senses, wondering, if there were such a thing as a ghost, whether Stuart would be one. Did his hidden, ill-gotten money constitute the unfinished business they always said kept a soul restless?
But she had never seem him except in her memory and didn't now.
Which left her free to speculate about John. He did have children. She wasn't bothered that he'd had to slip away tonight. If only it didn't feel just a little sordid, having a man arrive at eight-thirty at night, not want to talk or even have a cup of coffee, only to have sex, then sneak out while she slept.
Would he call tomorrow?
Undoubtedly—he was gentleman enough to do at least that much. But Natalie dreaded the idea of another stilted conversation that left her lonelier than if he'd never phoned.
He wanted her, at least, and she was grateful for that much. He had seemed truly desperate for her tonight. For an instant she wondered if he had just been hungry for life-affirming sex, or for her in particular, but in her heart she knew better. All she had to do was remember the look in his eyes as he said, "I need you."
But as what? An occasional lover? A friend?
He had let her pack and leave his house with no more than, it seemed, token arguments. He appeared often on the verge of saying things to her and then stopping himself, as if he had inner conflict. Why? she worried. Was he sorry he had ever touched her? Did he like her but not love her? Was he completely uninterested in remarrying, considering the obligation he still felt to Debbie? Or had Natalie herself frightened him, with her admitted inability to let anyone close?
She punched her pillow.
And would she be able to ask him any of these questions? Or would she, uncomfortable with emotional intimacy, be a polite, pleasant acquaintance on the phone tomorrow?
In other words, a coward?
How had it happened that they made soul-searing, glorious love but could no longer talk like the friends they'd been this past year? Why did the one mean the loss of the other?
Staring into the darkness, Natalie wondered unhappily why she couldn't have lover and friend both.
John looked at the telephone a dozen times that morning and thought of calling Natalie at work. But he ha
d people wandering by his desk, and she probably did, too, assuming she was even at it. What kind of conversation would they have? He could just hear it. How are you? Fine. And you? Did you, um, sleep well?
He couldn't say, You have no idea how much it meant to me when you accepted me without questions last night. When you wanted me as desperately as I wanted you. Or, Can you live with me, my kids and my ex-wife?
John swore under his breath. That sounded twisted. Think of a better way to put it. When my ex-wife calls, I have to go running. Oh, yeah. That was really calculated to make a woman swoon with delight at the bargain she was getting. Two school-age kids, a husband who was a cop—she'd have already learned from Stuart the erratic hours and gruesome nature of the job—and a financial and emotional obligation to an invalid ex.
Put that way, he figured he might as well save his breath. Let her find a better deal.
Bleakness swept over him as he had a flash of her walking down the aisle toward another man.
One way or the other, Natalie had figured as part of his future for a long time now. It wouldn't be just the vital, loving woman he'd held in his arms last night who he would lose, but also the one person to whom he'd been able to talk about his fears and frustrations and losses.
His desk phone rang and he answered automatically, although his mind was still on Natalie. Did he have a chance with her?
"John?" his ex-wife said in her small, breathless voice.
His attention snapped into focus. "Debbie. What's up?"
"I haven't gotten my alimony check," she said timidly. "I was just wondering…"
"Jeez." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've been caught up in a couple of cases at work and I haven't paid my bills yet. I'm sorry. I'll get it off tomorrow."
"That's all right. I just thought … was afraid…" Tears threatened. She cried easily these days.
He couldn't blame her. "You don't have to worry. I'm not going to cut you off, I promise."
She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I have too much time to worry, I guess."
Something drove John to say, "You know, I used to think about putting an addition on the house. An apartment for you, so you could see the kids all the time, be involved in their lives." He was regretting his big mouth even before he finished. What? Did he want to sabotage his chances with Natalie? He finished uncomfortably, "I always figured you'd say no."
"Of course I would have! Who would take care of me?" she said with sharp fear. "You're never home. I couldn't count on you. You don't understand my limitations."
"I do understand them," he said, forcing himself to be patient. He swung his chair around so that his back was to a scuffle on the other side of the squad room. "I know you'd need round-the-clock nursing care." With genuine puzzlement, he asked, "Wouldn't you like to be closer to the kids?"
"No!" she cried. He heard her tears. "No. I feel safe here. I miss them, you know I do. Sometime, when I'm in remission … but right now, I need my parents. When I call them, they're always there."
Unlike you, was the subtext. You were never there.
"What about a nursing home here in Port Dare?" They'd had this discussion before, but he had to try again. "Your parents could drive up a couple of times a week. It sounds like it would be good for you and Maddie and Evan if you were closer."
"What's wrong?" she asked meanly. "Are you needing someone to watch them after school?"
He never had liked this woman. John shook his head. Okay, he could live with her self-pity—he might have felt the same way dealt her cards. He hoped he would have hidden it better, especially around their children, but he could understand it.
What he didn't get was her fear of life. Fact: she had a cruel disease. But why not try to do as much as she could? It was as if she'd crawled back, if not into the womb, at least as close as she could get. She was a little girl again, and as selfish as one. She wept over Maddie and Evan, but she always thought of herself first.
He had done his best by her, but she could never resist jabs. I couldn't count on you.
"I don't need you for day care. You know better than that," he said evenly. "I was thinking of you."
"That's what you always say!"
He had a bad taste in his mouth. "And you just can't believe it?"
"Why didn't you think of me when we were married?"
It was a blow to the gut, considering he was thinking of asking another woman to marry him. Reeling from it, he asked, "Was I really such a bad husband?"
Debbie sniffled. "No! No, of course you weren't!"
Unkindly he figured she'd just remembered which side her bread was buttered on.
"There was just always something more important."
He glared at a sergeant trying to drop something on his desk. "You mean, my job," he said into the phone.
The sergeant retreated with his sheaf of papers.
"Yes!" Debbie exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how many dinners I threw away? How many times I cried, because you didn't come home when you'd promised to?"
"You know I can't walk away from an accident on the highway or a crime scene because it's dinnertime."
"You could have changed jobs. If you didn't have other family, I would be so frightened for Maddie and Evan. Do you ever make it to parent conferences, or … or…?"
She didn't even know what he should be making it to, because she hadn't paid enough attention when they talked.
"Yeah," he said. "I make it. When I can. They understand when I can't."
"Do they?" she said starkly.
Another blow, but he recovered from this one more quickly. His kids were pretty damned well adjusted given their mother's situation, if he did say so himself. They didn't seem to feel a speck of doubt about his love. They needed reassurance, sure. Kids did. They didn't need him to prove it constantly by sacrificing little bits of himself.
He gave a grunt that might have been a laugh if it had held any humor. "You don't miss me at all, do you?"
She was silent for a moment, then chose to answer indirectly. "We should never have married."
"No," he said. "We shouldn't have."
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, wretchedly. "I blame you, but I wasn't the right wife for you, either."
"Will it bother you if I remarry?" He felt surprised that he'd been driven to ask. It wasn't as if he could make choices based on what bothered his ex. Hell, everything bothered her.
In fact, he anticipated a sharp, self-pitying comeback. Instead, after a brief pause, his ex-wife said quietly, "No. I only wish I had the chance…"
"You'll get better," he said heartily.
"Maybe. For a little while at a time." For a moment she sounded very adult, a woman instead of a sad child. "But it would be good for Maddie and Evan to have the kind of mother I'll never be."
Stunned at her utter selflessness, he was ashamed of his earlier assessment of her character.
"If they forget me, I'll understand," she added softly, a small sniff adding to the martyrish tone.
He gave a reluctant grin at her return to form. "I won't let 'em."
She didn't ask who he was considering marrying, either from lack of interest or because the idea was mildly disturbing. He was just as glad.
John renewed his promise to send the check, reminded her that this was their Sunday to visit, and they said goodbye.
He looked at the phone and thought again of calling Natalie, but it was almost time for the press conference about the Portman murder, and the desk sergeant was circling for another try.
Later.
"Later" meant picking up his kids from after-school care. Maddie was distraught because she hadn't turned in a homework assignment that day, and she'd told Grandma last night she didn't have any homework, which meant she'd been able to watch TV.
"Grandma will think I was lying, but I wasn't!" Her face was turning red. "I forgot! And Miss Miller looked so…" She hesitated.
"Disappointed in you?"
"Yes!" Tears began to spu
rt.
"Well, you know what you'll be doing this evening." John glanced in the rearview mirror. Evan was falling asleep, his cheek against the car window. It was rare for him to need a nap anymore. "He okay?" he asked Maddie, nodding over his shoulder.
Wiping her tears, she frowned toward her brother. "Well … he was kinda quiet at day care. Jenny asked if he was all right."
The teachers hadn't said anything to John. Talking quietly to Maddie about why she hadn't kept her assignment sheet up-to-date, he parked at home and went around to wake Evan and help him unbuckle.
He could tell the minute he opened the car door that his son had a fever.
Evan came awake sluggishly, but when he did, his eyes popped open. "Dad." He struggled against the seat belt, his voice urgent. "I don't feel so good."
John got the belt unsnapped and pulled the boy out of his booster seat and the car just in time. He threw up his lunch on the driveway, just missing John's shoes.
"Eew!" Maddie screeched, jumping back.
That was pretty much John's sentiment. But he was the grown-up, so he got to clean Evan up, take his temp and put him to bed with a bowl, then go out and hose off the driveway.
Washing his hands at the kitchen sink, he said, "Go see how your brother is. I'll figure something out for dinner."
"I don't want to go near him."
John reached for a hand towel. "He kept you company when you had chicken pox."
"That's 'cause you wanted him to get them, too." She sighed melodramatically. "I sat with him on the day care bus. So it's probably too late anyway."
"Yup." John opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents. "Unless this virus is something you've already had."
She brightened. "You think?"
"We can hope." He popped the Tupperware top and scrutinized some leftovers his mother had deemed still edible. Another eew. Disposal fodder.
Maddie trudged out. John found a couple of microwave dinners in the freezer and a bag of frozen peas. His daughter would be perfectly happy. To think he had actually considered calling Natalie and suggesting they all go out to dinner. Here was another example of the thrills and chills she'd be taking on if she agreed to become Natalie McLean.
HIS PARTNER'S WIFE Page 20
