Roomful of Roses

by Diana Palmer

  "You know so much about it," she flashed. "You and your sexy heroes and your oh-so-eager heroines!"

  "Where did you get these archaic notions about sex?" he asked, exasperated. "Not from your father, I'll bet."

  "I live in a small town," she reminded him.

  "Your aunt, I suppose," he sighed, watching her flush. "Well, honey, I wish you'd keep in mind the fact that Aunt Katy Maude never married and probably thinks sex consists of five minutes of painful groping in the dark."

  She blushed to the roots of her hair. "Don't you make fun of my aunt!" she growled.

  "Look at you blush," he laughed softly. "Is that what you think sex is, too?"

  Her eyes fell to his chiseled mouth and she felt herself go trembly. "No, I don't," she muttered.

  She felt his breath on her nose as his face moved down. His hands tilted her chin up, and his eyes held hers.

  "If it weren't for Andy, my leg, your morals and a few other irritating obstacles," he breathed, "I'd carry you to bed and love all those repressions right out of your mind, Wynn."

  The flush got worse. "Surface relationships are cheap," she ground out.

  "Sure they are," he agreed quietly. "But what we'd give each other wouldn't be that, and you know it. If I took you, we'd share something neither of us would ever get over."

  That was what she was afraid of, although she couldn't admit it.

  "You're supposed to be looking out for my interests," she reminded him shakily.

  "Oh, I am," he assured her, bending. "And I'll let you know the minute I find them. Kiss me, Wynn."

  She tried to protest, but the minute her lips opened, his found them. It was the night before all over again, the silken webs of sensation taking her into their folds, making her weak and trembly as he drew her body into total contact with his. She felt the hard warmth of him with a sense of awe at his strength, even in his battered condition.

  His hands left her face when she didn't struggle, to catch her hips and draw them close against his.

  She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.

  "Don't fight, darling, you'll hurt my leg," he breathed at her lips.

  "McCabe, don't hold me ... like that," she protested.

  "Andy never has, I gather." He kissed her lazily, knocking her protests away while his thumbs did impossible things at the edges of her hipbones, finding their way to her warm, soft belly and making it contract wildly.

  She cried out at the rush of sensation and he released her swollen mouth long enough to study her eyes.

  "What a waste," he whispered, and his voice sounded husky and deep. "Andy will never satisfy you. Not in a hundred years."

  "But you could?" she whispered shakily, trying to force sarcasm into her tone.

  "I hope I could," he said softly. His Bands moved slowly up to her waist, }pressing there. "You're ... so uninhibited, Wynn. All softness and sweet fire. You make me feel weak at the knees."

  He did the same thing to her, but she was beyond telling him that. Her eyes looked up into his and she felt his hands moving restlessly at her waist.

  "You're tangling me up in a web I don't like," he murmured absently.

  "I didn't ask you to come here," she managed.

  "Yes, I know. But I needed something," lie said. His hands shifted onto her rib cage, and he drew back to watch them against the soft green fabric of her dress. "I didn't even know what, at the time."

  "And now you do?" she asked breathlessly as his hands smoothed up and down just above her waist.

  "I think I needed to know that it would matter, if I died," he said unexpectedly, lifting his eyes to catch the surprise in hers. "Do you know what Ed told me, Wynn? Ed said that you wouldn't even watch newscasts about Central America."

  She swallowed down a surge of nervous energy. "I don't like international news," she said inadequately.

  "Every reporter likes news of any kind," he replied. "It's in the blood. Were you afraid for me, Wynn?"

  She dropped her eyes to his chest, seeing the shadow of hair under it, and wondering uncharacteristically what would happen if' she opened his shirt and touched him.

  "I'd be afraid for anyone over there," she parried.

  His hands on her waist contracted. "Just anyone?"

  "I've known you for a long time," she muttered, lowering her gaze to his chiseled mouth. "Of course it matters."

  "Why don't you go into politics?" he asked. "You're so damned good at avoiding the issue, you'd be a natural."

  "I'm not avoiding anything." She pushed at his chest. "Oh, McCabe, stop confusing me!"

  "Then stop avoiding the issue," he murmured, bending his head. "Stop throwing Andy between us."

  She lifted her head to protest, but beforc she could get the words out, or he could carry through with what his eyes were threatening, the phone rang again and broke the spell.

  He let her go reluctantly and went to answer it, and she made a beeline for her bedroom, leaning back exhausted against the door. McCabe was tearing her safe world apart, and she didn't have the faintest idea how to stop him.

  Chapter Six

  Eventually Wynn had to come back out, but she went straight to the kitchen to get her sandwiches without glancing at McCabe. She put them on the table and sat down beside him with her coffee.

  He looked odd, as if the phone call had disturbed him.

  "Something wrong?" she asked with studied carelessness.

  "No," he murmured, glancing at her with a frown. "Just the office, checking on me. I told them I was on the mend."

  She dropped her eyes to her plate and began to eat mechanically. His face was lined, as if with pain. "McCabe, are you keeping that bandage changed properly?" she asked.

  "Jess did it for me at the office," he said.She nodded, and he moved the conversation to a safe topic. That night set the pattern for the next week. McCabe kept conversation general, and so did Wynn. She said nothing more about having him move out, having realized just how much pain he was actually in. Sometimes he just sat for hours at a time, as if he dreaded the agony of trying to stand up. She felt her heart go out to him, but only for old times' sake, she told herself. If he wanted to go off and risk getting himself killed, that was his concern.

  At least he seemed to have temporarily called a halt to interfering with Wynn's engagement. But she was unsure about his intentions, and he was unpredictable. And since that long, hot kiss she'd exchanged with him, she was understandably nervous.

  Andy had accepted her stumbling explanation of McCabe's interference, but he remained stiff when she mentioned the other man's name.

  After a hectic week, Andy took Wynn to dinner. McCabe hadn't said anything when Andy came to pick her up, aside from a curt nod and a glare for Wynn.

  "Well, at least he's stopped grinning at ine like a Cheshire cat," Andy remarked over dinner. "That made me nervous. Maybe he's finally accepting me."

  Wynn didn't believe that for a minute, but she held her tongue.

  "He isn't making passes at you?" Andy finished.

  She grabbed up her coffee and almost spilled it. "No, he isn't," she said with a hard glare, hating both herself and Andy for the lie.

  Andy flushed. "Well, don't blow up at me," he exclaimed. "I haven't done anything."

  She drew in a steadying breath. It was always like this, with Andy on the defensive while she felt like a heel for snapping at him. Just once, if he'd snapped back. . .

  An image of McCabe flashed into her mind, the way he'd forced her down on the sofa, the way he'd held her and enjoyed feeling her fight him. He had enjoyed it - there was no mistake about that. His eyes had glittered and he'd smiled. She couldn't picture Andy with that hot enjoyment iii his eyes, that purely sensual appreciatioii of her spirit. Andy would be frightened if she attacked him.

  "Would you like dessert?" Andy asked after a minute, smiling as if nothing had happened at all.

  She sighed. At least he didn't sulk - not often, anyway. That was a blessing. But th
e making up could have been so sweet, if he'd been like McCabe. She hated herself for that thought, and reached out and squeezed Andy's hand because of it.

  "I'm sorry I snapped," she said gently.

  "Yes, well, I guess it's something you can't help," he agreed. He squeezed her hand back. "Want to go to a movie?"

  She felt ruffled but she smiled and nodded.

  They went to see a violent picture that Andy wanted to watch, a thriller with blood and gore that made her ill. She sat stiffly beside him with her eyes lowered through most of the picture.

  "Why do you like that kind of movie?" she asked as they were driving home. "It's terrible. Nothing but savagery and horror."

  "I don't know," he said mildly. "It's exciting, I guess. Don't you like excitement? Isn't that why you like being a reporter?" he added deliberately.

  "If you mean do I enjoy the gory side of my job, you're out of your mind, Andy," she said hotly. "I don't have a blood lust; frankly, violence makes me ill."

  "Then why do it?"

  She leaned her head back against the scat and sighed. "You couldn't understand in a million years," she said quietly.

  He glanced at her angrily. "You keep telling me that, as if I'm totally stupid. No, I don't understand why a woman would want to subject herself to that kind of work. I used to think it was because you used to have such a crush on McCabe, that you felt you had to follow in his footsteps."

  She blushed angrily. "I never had a crush on him!"

  "My sister said you did," he persisted, his eyes narrowing. "She said you used to watch him like a hawk and find all sorts of excuses to walk by his house when he was out in the yard."

  To her shame, she had, but she hadn't expected that Marilee, her best friend, would ever rat on her. And to Andy, of all people! Thank goodness, Marilee was married and living in Virginia or heaven knew what she'd make of McCabe staying in the house with Wynn.

  "I was just a kid," she reminded him.

  "You aren't now. And he looks at you .. . oddly," he said, studying her. "Didn't you see the glare he gave me when I pu i my arm around you? As if you were hip personal property! I tell you, Wynn, you've got to get him out of that house People are starting to talk all over tows i about it."

  "Andy, you know what kind of condition he's in!" she exclaimed. "You've seen yourself that he can hardly stand up."

  "He manages to get to the office every day, though, doesn't he?" Andy asked. "And he hobbles around there very well."

  "That doesn't mean he's capable in other areas," she said hotly.

  "How do you know?" he asked suspiciously. "Have you tried?"

  It was a good thing they were pulling into her driveway, because she'd have jumped out onto the highway rather than put up with another second of his suspicions.

  "How can you say such a thing about me?" she burst out.

  "Well, you blush every time I mention his name," he muttered, studying her like some new insect. "You get hot and bothred the minute he walks into a room. And there's more than one position for people to make love in."

  She blushed at the insinuation and slapped him. Andy just looked horrified.

  She swallowed. "I'm sorry you have such a low opinion of me," she said unsteadily.

  He rubbed his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said in a strangled tone. "I'm sorry I said that, Wynn, I know you're innocent."

  "Do you? How?" she asked coldly.

  He cocked his head. "Well, I assumed ..."

  "As it happens, you're absolutely right about McCabe and me," she said, feeling the words burst out of her in indignation and anguish. "We're lovers. I sleep with him every night. He's wonderful in bed, Andy, really wonderful."

  He blanched and his hand lifted. He slapped her with the strength of his arm behind his thin fingers, and she didn't even cry out. Slowly she took the ring from her finger and dropped it on the floorboard. Then she opened the door and got out, leaving him alone in the car.

  The house was quiet, although there was a light burning in the room where McCabe slept. Wynn didn't even wonder if he'd gone to sleep with it on. She went to the liquor cabinet where she kept a bottle of bourbon for the rare occasions when Andy brought business acquaintances over for dinner. She poured a generous measure into a glass, added ice and water, and proceeded to get soused.

  It had been a cool night, and she way wearing a well-fitting black skirt with a lacy white blouse and bolero jacket. Bot now it was getting hot, so she took off the jacket and unbuttoned the blouse until her lacy bra showed under it. She took down her hair, too, because it was oddly constricting piled tightly on her head. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the couch, feeling more relaxed by the minute.

  She was halfway through her second glass when McCabe made an appearance. He was still dressed, although his shirt was out of his pants and hanging open. His thick blond hair was ruffled, as if his hands had worried it, and he was limping badly.

  "What are you doing?" he asked, running his eyes over her as she staggered to her feet.

  "Getting drunk," she said.

  "I can see that. But why?"

  She lifted the glass in an exaggerated toast and swallowed the rest of it down quickly. "Ahh" she sighed, closing her eyes briefly with a smile. "How delicious. Isn't liquor great? I wonder why I never drank before?"

  He moved closer, his eyes seemingly drawn to the unbuttoned blouse even though he dragged them back to her face. 'Then he saw the livid red mark on her cheek and his eyes exploded with anger.

  "Did he hit you?" he asked coldly.

  "Who, Andy?" She laughed and turned to go back to the bottle, but he threw down his cane and jerked her around to face him. Sober, she'd have been frightened of the look on his face.

  "I said, did he hit you?"

  "Yes, he hit me," she muttered. "And it's all your fault, McCabe. All your fault." She broke his grip only because he let her, and moved away from him to the darkened window. She felt morose and reckless, all at once.

  "You're my lover, did you know?" she asked with a laugh, turning in time to catch the utter shock on his face. "Andy

  thinks so. So does everybody else around here, from what he told me."

  "That's a lie," he said curtly. "Everyone with any sense knows I'm your guardian. I'm twelve years your senior!"

  "Yes, I know, but your old age doesn't fool anyone," she murmured. Her eyes ran over his broad bronzed chest with the thick wedge of hair that ran down it to his belt buckle. "You have the most marvelous body," she said, as the liquor dragged the truth out of her. "And you're good to look at and famous and you write books that only an experienced man could write, so what do you expect people to think? Most of them don't know you think of me as a wet-behind-the-ears grade-school kid."

  His eyes darkened even as she spoke and his face hardened. "Wynn, you're drunk."

  "I sure am, darling. Isn't that what you called me the other night before you kissed me? I didn't tell Andy you kissed me,

  McCabe."

  "I'm glad about that, at least," he muttered.

  "No, I just told him we were lovers," she continued, and laughed at the shock that widened his eyes. "Well, it was what he wanted to hear. It just confirmed all his evil suspicions."

  "What got into you?" he burst out, running an angry hand through his hair.

  "Don't you realize he's going to repeat it?"

  "Let him," she said carelessly. "I even gave him back the ring." She put down the glass and leaned back against the small bar. "Why don't you come to bed with me, McCabe, and I'll let you have your wicked way with me?" That sounded Victorian and amusing, and she laughed.

  He was looking wilder by the minute.

  "You'd better shut up before you say something you'll regret."

  "Oh, I'll be like that famous French singer and regret nothing, darling," she said in a mock accent. Her hands went to her blouse and she unbuttoned the last two buttons and unclipped her bra, pulling the whole crumpled mess down her arms before he could get to her.
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  "I'll even take off my clothes she was offering.

  He caught her, pushing her roughly back against the bar while he clipped the bra back in place, his face oddly strained, his eyes dark and glittering. He took her arm and pulled her toward the hall.

  "But don't you want my clothes off?" she asked dizzily.

  "Get in there," he said harshly, "and put on your gown while I make some black coffee. You're going to hate us both in the morning, yourself most of all!"