Lost in His Arms

by Carla Cassidy

  “Talbot?”

  He didn’t turn to look at her, and for a moment she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

  “Are you okay?” She took a step toward him, fighting the impulse to place her hand on his rigid back, smooth away the tension in muscles she knew were bunched just beneath the surface of his skin. Instead of reaching out to him, she balled her hands into fists at her sides.

  “My father lived for two days following the car accident that took my mother’s life instantly.” His voice was deeper than usual and held the slight tremor of emotions barely contained. Still, he faced away from her and out the window, as if the answers to any questions would be revealed by the coming of the night.

  “For those two days he drifted in and out of consciousness. He knew he was dying, and I think he embraced death because he knew my mother was waiting for him. In those two days, he told me he wasn’t worried about me or the business. He wasn’t worried about the house or things left unfinished. But he was worried about Richard.”

  Talbot’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, and again Elizabeth fought her need to touch him, to somehow ease the pain she could hear in his voice. She moved closer, so close she could reach out and touch him, so close the scent of his aftershave wrapped around her.

  “Dad knew Richard could be thoughtless…careless. He wasn’t a bad kid, he just didn’t think things through, didn’t consider the consequences of his actions. Dad made me promise I would always take care of him.” He finally turned to look at her, his eyes glittering and haunted. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

  She placed a hand on his arm, felt the tension that knotted his muscles. “You can’t be in control of everything, Talbot,” she replied.

  “But I made a promise, a vow.”

  She wondered if he recognized the irrationality of his words. “There are some promises that can’t be kept no matter how badly you want to keep them,” she said softly.

  She dropped her hand from his arm, but didn’t move away. “Talbot, you’ve done your job. You have fulfilled your promise to your father. Richard is an adult. You can support him and love him, but you can’t carry his burden for him. He’s going to have to get strong for himself.”

  Talbot raked a hand through his hair, then clenched his hands into fists, the tension that radiated from him almost palpable. His eyes seemed unnaturally bright, and she could tell he was fighting for control.

  “I’m so angry,” he said. “I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m…” He allowed his voice to trail off, but Elizabeth knew what he’d been about to say.

  “I’m afraid, too,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.

  For just a moment, she thought she’d gone too far, invaded his emotions and thoughts too deeply. He glared at her as if nonverbally demanding she take back the words, as if refusing to acknowledge his own fear.

  “He’s my only brother, the only family I have left.” His voice held the deep ache of loss.

  “And he’s my son’s father, the only father Andrew will ever have.”

  The air in the room was charged, as if lightning was about to strike or an explosion was about to detonate. She saw him fighting the battle for control. And control won.

  He sighed, some of the tension leaving him. “I’m sorry if I messed up the pizza party.”

  “You didn’t mess up anything,” she replied. “Richard spoke thoughtlessly, and it’s only natural that his words would upset everyone.”

  “Where is he now? Where’s Andrew?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned back against the window frame.

  “They went to a movie.”

  He shook his head, a rueful half smile forming on his lips. “Typical. He stirs things up, then makes his escape.”

  Even his partial smile had the power to send rivulets of warmth through her. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she stood in his bedroom, mere feet from the huge, four-poster bed.

  The bed, with its navy-plaid spread and large, fluffy throw pillows seemed to beckon a body to fall in and enjoy. A warning whisper echoed in the deepest recesses of her mind.

  “Speaking of things stirred up, I need to get back to the kitchen and deal with the mess. Rose would have a heart attack if she saw the present condition of her kitchen.” She needed to get out of this room, get some distance from him.

  “I’ll help,” he said.

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested quickly. “I really don’t mind.”

  “I’ll help,” he repeated firmly. “I was a party to making the mess, so I’ll be a party to the cleanup.”

  She wanted to protest more strongly, tell him she could do it herself, that his help wasn’t necessary. But she couldn’t very well tell him to stay out of his own kitchen.

  He followed her from his bedroom and down the stairs. She was aware of him with every step she took. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, sweeping across her shoulders, sliding down the length of her back, lingering on her buttocks. Or was it just her imagination working overtime?

  She was grateful when they reached the kitchen and together began to put away food, wiping countertops and filling the sink with dishes that needed to be washed.

  Elizabeth wondered how it was possible for a kitchen so large to suddenly feel so small. No matter where she cleaned, Talbot was too close to her, filling her senses with his masculine presence.

  “You can tell me the truth while Richard and Andrew aren’t here,” he said as he filled the sink with soapy water.

  “The truth?” She eyed him curiously.

  “My pizza was the best.” The shadows that had darkened his eyes had lifted, leaving in their wake the self-assurance, the slight edge of arrogance she’d always found so attractive.

  She laughed. “To be perfectly honest, they all tasted about the same. Although I must admit yours was certainly the neatest. I could tell just by looking at them whose was whose. Andrew’s was loaded with his favorite topping—pepperoni. Richard’s was a sloppy mess, and yours had the look of a neat, compulsive overachiever.”

  She was grateful that he laughed, the rich, deep sound shooting warmth through her.

  “What did you get as a prize for the winner?” he asked as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, then plunged his hands into the soapy dishwater.

  “An ice-cream cake decorated like a pizza.” She picked up a dish towel and moved next to him, steeling herself against any pleasure that might sweep through her by being so near. “I figured that way everyone could share in the spoils of victory.”

  “Good idea.”

  She watched as he rubbed the sponge across a plate. She tried not to notice the strength of his bare forearms, his long, sensual fingers as he scratched at a stubborn splash of sauce. She could almost feel the stroke of those long fingers across her flesh.

  He handed her the plate to dry. “In fact, when we finish with the cleanup, I think we deserve a piece of that cake.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Perhaps the ice cream would cool her off, make her stop having inappropriate thoughts about Talbot.

  For a few moments, they worked in silence. He washed, she dried, their fingers touching briefly as they passed the dishes from one to the other. Elizabeth wondered if he felt the electric sparks that fired off each time their hands brushed.

  He didn’t appear to. In truth, he seemed distant, and she found herself wishing she could crawl into his head, see into his thoughts.

  “Do you ever worry that you’re doing too much for Andrew?” he asked as the last dish was put away in the cabinet.

  “Sure,” she replied. “I worry that I’m doing too much. I worry that I’m doing too little. So, you want a piece of the ice-cream cake.”

  “Definitely. Why don’t you get the cake and I’ll make some coffee?” he suggested.

  Within minutes, they were seated at the table, a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of cake before each of them. “Why did you ask me that about Andrew? Do you think I do too much for him?”

/>   “No, not at all,” he said firmly. “You’re a terrific mother.” He rubbed the rim of his mug with his thumb and frowned thoughtfully. “I just sometimes worry that I didn’t do enough, or I did too much, where Richard is concerned.”

  She smiled. “And you worry that you were too hard on him or too soft. And you worry that you spent too much time with him or too little. Sounds perfectly normal to me.”

  He nodded and cut into his cake. “I was just wondering if maybe you and I haven’t made it really easy for Richard not to be responsible and grown-up.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, defensiveness rising inside her. Surely he couldn’t blame her for Richard’s problems with maturity. She had married a boy—who had remained a boy, in spite of all their years together, all their marital angst.

  “Relax,” he said. “This isn’t an indictment of your skills as a wife.” He took a bite of the cake, then continued, “I was just thinking that both of us suffer from the same condition.”

  “And what condition would that be?”

  “A self-reliance that is perhaps a bit daunting to others.” He took another bite of his cake and eyed her. “In all the years of your marriage to Richard, you never once asked for my help. When Richard forgot to pay the electric bill and your service was cut off, you didn’t call for help, you simply handled it. You handled a million different crises and never asked me for help.”

  “I would have cut off my arm before I would have asked you for help.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I knew you didn’t approve of our marriage, that you thought we were too young…and I knew you weren’t sure at all that you approved of me. Besides, it wasn’t your responsibility. I was and always have been accustomed to handling my problems on my own.”

  She stared down into her coffee mug, unable to tell him the real reason she’d never asked him for help—that she’d been afraid if he ran to her rescue, she would have to face the fact that she’d married the wrong brother.

  She’d closed off from him. A moment earlier, her eyes had been windows into her thoughts, allowing him in, but now they were firmly shuttered.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Again a sweeping range of emotions filled Talbot. He was angry at fate, worried sick about what the future held, and for the first time in his life he was scared to death that he was going to have to face it all alone.

  He suddenly wanted Elizabeth back with him. He wanted her to once again be open with him, sharing with him. He reached out and lightly touched the back of her hand. “I’ve made you angry.”

  “No,” she protested. “I was just thinking about what you said.” She ate the last bite of cake, then shoved her plate aside and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was so used to taking care of myself and my life, I never really gave Richard an opportunity to share in the responsibilities.”

  “And maybe if you had attempted to make him share more of the responsibilities, he would have run for the hills, because I never gave him the tools to cope with real life.”

  She smiled, and Talbot reveled in its warmth. She had the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. It lit her from within. “So what is all this? A culpability party? The two of us are responsible for Richard’s immaturity and he isn’t?”

  “No.” Talbot returned her smile with one of his own. “No, Richard has to accept his part in who he is—and who he is going to be in the future.” If he has a future. Unexpectedly, emotion tore through him again, and he felt the burning press of tears in his eyes.

  Aware of Elizabeth’s gaze on him, steady and knowing, and aware of an uncharacteristic vulnerability, he jumped up from the table and turned his back on her to rinse his plate.

  With the water running in the sink, he didn’t hear her approach, didn’t know she’d left the table and stood just behind him until he felt the warmth of her hand seeping through his shirt.

  “Talbot, you aren’t in this all alone. I’m here for you—if you need me.”

  If he needed her? Heaven help him, right now his need for her positively consumed him. The plate clattered to the stainless-steel bottom of the sink and he whirled around to face her.

  In the instant it took for him to reach for her, he knew someplace in the back of his mind that he’d lost control, and he didn’t even attempt to gain it back.

  Before she had time to protest, before he gave himself an opportunity to think, he wrapped her in his arms and claimed her mouth with his.

  He could tell he’d shocked her by the way her body momentarily went rigid against his. But her unyielding stiffness lasted only a mere heartbeat, then she seemed to melt against him.

  Her arms, which had hung at her sides, came up around his neck, and her lips opened beneath his, like a flower blossoming to the warmth of the sun.

  Madness. It was utter madness, and the insanity apparently claimed them both. Talbot pulled her more firmly against him, wanting to feel the warmth, the sweet feminine curves of her body against his.

  He felt the need to savor every sensation, to capture every nuance of the woman, the kiss and the intimacy of their bodies pressed so close. He knew all too quickly sanity would return and with it regret.

  But regret seemed far away as he plundered the sweetness of her mouth, his hands roaming at will up and down the slender curve of her back.

  Neither of them spoke, as if knowing a single word, a mere whisper, might shatter the magic of the moment. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, and he could feel her heartbeat crashing against his, a counter-rhythm of desire.

  He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, carry her to his room and lose himself in her. He wanted to see her on his bed, her silky skin naked and her honey hair splayed against the blue of his bedspread.

  A door slammed someplace in the distance. The front door. “Mom?” Andrew’s voice called out.

  Talbot released her and she stumbled back from him, her facial expression one of shell-shocked horror. She raised a trembling hand and touched her lips, then turned toward the kitchen door as Andrew and Richard entered.

  “The movie stunk. We left after half an hour of suffering,” Richard said. He looked from Talbot to Elizabeth. “Everything all right here?”

  “Fine. Everything is just fine. We were just finishing the cleanup in here.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual.

  Richard turned his gaze again to Talbot. “And have you forgiven me for my stupid remark?” His eyes were the soft brown of contrition.

  In a flash, all the love Talbot felt for his brother filled his chest. He nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Emotions are running high. We’ve all said and done things tonight that were crazy and stupid, things that are best forgotten.”

  He knew Elizabeth got his point from the way her shoulders stiffened and emotion flashed in her eyes.

  Regret filled him, and he wasn’t sure it was a regret that he’d kissed her, or a regret that he’d dismissed the kiss so casually.

  “I’m going to hit the sack now. I’m beat.” He murmured a good-night, then left the kitchen and escaped to the privacy of his bedroom.

  Once there, he closed his door, but instead of getting into bed, he stood at the window and stared outside into the darkness of the night.

  He’d been a fool. Kissing Elizabeth had been the most foolish, thoughtless thing he’d ever done. The taste of her still lingered in his mouth, and her familiar, feminine scent clung to him.

  He’d fantasized kissing her many times in the past, but the fantasy hadn’t lived up to the reality. She’d been softer, sweeter, hotter than he’d ever imagined. A desire more intense than any he’d ever experienced had rocketed through him as they kissed.

  And now, in the wake of that desire, came shame. Flashes of memories whizzed through his head, memories of Richard.

  He would always feel the warmth of Richard holding tight to him as they ran away from the pond. “Save me, Talbot. Save me,” Richard had screamed as they�
��d run from old man North and his gun.

  “Don’t worry, Richard. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you,” Talbot had promised.

  He closed his eyes as he remembered the many nights Richard crawled into bed with him after being frightened by a storm or a nightmare.

  And Talbot remembered the night he’d had to tell his brother that their parents were dead. Richard had wept like a baby in Talbot’s arms, not only grieving the loss, but also fearing the future.

  Talbot had assured his brother that everything would be okay and that he would take care of him. Talbot turned away from the window with a sigh of disgust.

  And now Richard needed him more than ever. And Richard needed Elizabeth. And what was he, Talbot, doing? Lusting after Elizabeth.

  As he undressed for bed, he thought of the flash of hurt that had darkened her eyes, the quick brace of her shoulders when he’d said that everyone had done or said something stupid tonight.

  He knew his words had affected Elizabeth like a slap in the face. For he knew she’d been as caught up in the kiss, in the desire, as he had been.

  It was better this way, he thought as he climbed into bed. Better that she be wary of him, keep her distance from him. He didn’t want to have any more deep talks with her, didn’t want to be in her head. He didn’t want to share her thoughts or know her dreams. And he didn’t want to share his own with her.

  It was bad enough she’d nearly witnessed his emotional free fall while they’d been in his bedroom. It had frightened him, how close he’d been to losing it. And he absolutely had to remain strong—for Richard.

  The devil in lipstick. He’d invited temptation into his home, and for a brief moment, he’d yielded to her temptation. But no more.

  He was not about to sacrifice Richard’s well-being for an irrational lust for Elizabeth.

  Chapter Eight

  “Everything all right?” Richard asked as Talbot left the room.