FANTA C

by Sandra Brown

  The wisdom of her decision was again put to the test when she raised her hand to knock on his back door. She hesitated, but one glance down at Megan and Matt prompted her to knock firmly. She waited several seconds and, hearing no sound of approaching footsteps, knocked again.

  "See, Mom, he doesn't answer."

  "He's dead."

  "He's not dead," she emphasized to her morbid son. "In fact, I'm sure there's nothing wrong." Cupping her hands around her eyes, she peered through the screen. As the children had said, the kitchen table, which she could see through the connecting doorway, was cluttered with what appeared to be the dishes of several meals.

  "Go in and see. The door is unlocked."

  "Megan, I can't just walk into a man's house!"

  "How come?"

  The inquiry in their eyes was so innocent and earnest that Elizabeth found herself groping for an answer. "It isn't polite, that's why." What she couldn't explain to her children was that Mr. Randolph wouldn't want to be disturbed if he was frolicking in bed with a girlfriend or sleeping off a drinking binge or... Few other possibilities came immediately to mind. In spite of herself, she was mystified. What was he doing in there?

  "What if Thad's sick and you don't help him?"

  "Yeah, he might die and it'd be your fault. Your fault, Mom."

  "All right!" she cried. Laying on a guilt trip worked every time and how well her kids knew it. She opened the screen door and then the wooden one, finding both, as Megan had told her, unlocked. She took one step inside. Both children followed close on her heels. "No, you two stay here." She didn't want her children to see their idol in a compromising position – or any kind of position – with a member of the opposite sex.

  "We want to come too."

  "No. Stay here. I'll find out if anything is wrong and then come right back."

  As a safety precaution against disobedience, she latched the screen door behind her, then tiptoed across the enclosed porch. Before entering the kitchen, she called his name. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud. It echoed through the empty house. He was probably out with a friend and this was a gross violation of his privacy which she'd have to explain to him later.

  But his being out with a friend didn't explain the dirty dishes that were scattered on the table and piled high in the sink. He wouldn't let his kitchen get this messy unless he had a very good reason.

  Not knowing exactly how the rooms of the house were laid out, she followed her nose toward the front door and called his name again. The living room, she discovered, was tastefully decorated. Nothing fancy certainly, but contemporary and arranged with a sense of style. Several magazines were neatly stacked on the coffee table. Newsweek, Time, Esquire. Not a naked girl among them.

  "He probably keeps those in the bedroom," she whispered to herself.

  Encroaching dusk had made the dark day even darker. The rain she'd driven home in had caught up with her and was now beginning to patter against the windows. She hadn't turned on any lights. The large rooms were gloomy. This whole thing was getting spooky.

  "Mr. Randolph? Thad?" She paused to listen. Receiving no answer, she gladly turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

  But she'd taken no more than a few steps when she heard the low moan. She froze, pausing to be sure she'd heard right. Yes, there it was again. Louder this time.

  Her heart began bumping crazily. Was it a moan of pain or passion? Agony or ecstasy? Possibly both? Good Lord, she didn't want to know. But her children would never let it rest until she found out.

  Reversing her direction, she started down the hallway. As she drew nearer an open door, she could hear the whisper of cloth against cloth. Bed linens to be sure, but two bodies or one? She took a deep breath and peeped around the door, jerking her head back quickly after registering what she had seen.

  The room was unmistakably Thad's bedroom. Against the wall opposite the door was a king-size bed. He was lying on it. Thankfully alone. Though not restfully.

  In the split second she had allowed herself to look into the room, it became apparent that he was ill. His arms and legs were moving restlessly and his head was thrashing from side to side on his pillow.

  Elizabeth garnered her courage and entered the bachelor's bedroom with the trepidation of a young soldier going into battle for the first time. One did one's duty.

  "Thad?"

  She wasn't surprised that he didn't hear her. Her voice was quaking and hushed. His moaning, which had grown louder, easily drowned it out. He slung one arm out to his side and gave the sheet a vicious kick.

  He was naked.

  She was spared from seeing everything by one corner of the baby-blue sheet, which fortuitously was twisted around his hips. One bare foot and calf were poking over the edge of the bed. The other leg was covered, but clearly defined beneath the sheet, which was pulled taut. His chest was bare. His concave stomach was heaving up and down with labored breathing. His navel—

  Elizabeth glanced away from his navel, but not before noting that it was sexy and deep and surrounded by a whorl of dark hair. A silky thread of hair perfectly bisected his torso and connected his wide chest to his narrow abdomen. His nipples should have been relaxed. They weren't.

  She tiptoed toward the bed as though a slumbering beast lay there and not a harmless man. His eyelids were closed but they were fluttering spasmodically. He mumbled something that she couldn't understand and let out another deep groan.

  Moved to pity, she raised a knee onto the bed and leaned over him. "Thad? Are you ill?"

  One of his hands reached out blindly. The other one—

  She hadn't noticed that until he covered it with his hand, though how it had escaped her attention she couldn't imagine. Maybe she had noticed it, but her mind had refused to acknowledge it. It had no choice now.

  Her eyes were too dry to blink. She began panting through her parted lips. A ringing sound, as loud as Quasimodo's bells, filled her head. She felt faint.

  He flailed his arm again. His fist landed solidly against her chest. His fingers uncurled and touched the softness of her breast. That must have stunned him out of his troubled dream, because his eyes popped open. He stared up at her, as astonished to see her standing beside his bed as she was to have his large hand covering her breast.

  He snatched his hand away from the lower part of his body and, with the other, yanked the sheet up to his waist. Both ignored, or tried to, that the sheet was tented over his lap.

  "What are you doing here?" He was hoarse. He ran his tongue over parched lips in an attempt to moisten them.

  It took several attempts before she could speak. When she did, she could only stutter. "I – I— The children— Are you sick?"

  He laid his forearm over his eyes. "I'll be all right."

  His macho refusal to admit that he was ill infuriated her. "Are you sick or not?"

  "Yes, I'm sick," he muttered. "Flu, I guess. You'd better get out before you catch it and give it to the kids."

  "Do you have fever?"

  "I don't know. Do I?"

  He lowered his arm. Elizabeth hesitated for just a moment before laying a cool hand on his forehead. It was clammy, but still warm. "I think you have some."

  "It broke earlier. I started sweating. Kicked the covers off." Beyond the foot of the bed, a soggy bedspread and blanket were lying in a heap on the floor.

  "Do you have a thermometer?"

  "In the bathroom cabinet."

  Grateful for any excuse to put distance between them, she left his bedside and went into the adjoining bathroom. On the second shelf of the cabinet over the basin she located a thermometer. Resisting the urge to investigate what else might be found in the cabinet, she carried it and a plastic bottle of aspirin into the bedroom.

  He had straightened the sheet and pulled it up to an inch or so above his waist. Both legs were now covered, but his chest was still bare and his nipples were still erect. In as detached a manner as possible under the circumstances, she shook down the mercury
in the thermometer. Leaning forward, she waited for him to open his mouth, then laid the thermometer under his tongue.

  "Have you taken any of these?" She held out the bottle of aspirin. He shook his head no. Giving him an exasperated look, she said, "I'll be right back. Keep that thermometer under your tongue."

  Megan and Matt were dancing with impatience when she opened the screen door. "You were right," she began before they had time to fire their thousand and one questions at her. "Thad is sick."

  "Can we come in and visit him?"

  "No."

  "You're s'pposed to visit sick friends. That's what they say in Sunday school."

  "But not when your friend is contagious. You could catch the flu."

  "You could catch it too. How come you can visit Thad and we can't?"

  "Because I'm a mother and mothers don't catch diseases the way kids do." She hoped they would buy that. They didn't.

  In unison they said, "But, Mom—"

  "No arguments." Her stern expression silenced them. "I'm going to clean up his kitchen and heat some soup for him. While I'm doing that, why don't you check on Penny and the puppies? Make sure they have fresh water."

  Having dispatched them, she filled a clean glass with cold water and returned to the bedroom. She caught Thad in the process of taking the thermometer out of his mouth. He passed it to her. "What does it say? I never could read the damn thing."

  "One hundred point four," she told him as she shook the mercury down again before returning the thermometer to its plastic case. "Take two aspirin." He dutifully swallowed the tablets with the water she'd brought for him. "Will you remember to take two more around ten o'clock?"

  "I'll try."

  As soon as he'd swallowed the aspirins, his head weakly dropped back onto the pillow. Elizabeth noticed that it was hard and lumpy and that the pillowcase was damp with sweat. "Would you like for me to change your bed?"

  He glanced down his body, then back up at her. "No."

  She didn't argue. Actually, she was relieved. Not that she would have minded the chore. But just the thought of getting a naked Thad in and out of the bed left her feeling weak-kneed. "How about switching pillows then?"

  He let her do that, raising his head long enough for her to replace the pillow with the one she found on the far side of the bed. "Where are your extra blankets?"

  "Linen closet in the hall, but I'm hot."

  "If you don't stay covered, you'll get chilled." Maybe that's why his nipples were still hard.

  She located the linen closet and found his sheets and towels neatly folded on the shelves. Bringing a blanket back with her, she whipped it high over the bed and let it float down to cover him. She did not put it into place. "Rest while I heat the soup. I assume you have a can of soup in the house."

  He nodded but waved his hand in protest. "You've done enough, Elizabeth, I just need to sleep this off. Tomorrow I'll be back at work."

  "If you are, then the day after that you'll be in the hospital." She aimed a finger at him. "Stay put. I'll be back shortly."

  While the chicken noodle soup was simmering on the range, she rinsed the dirty dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher. She also sponged off the countertops and table and replaced food items that had been left out. The soup was ready by the time she had finished. She ladled some into a bowl and placed it on a tray along with a glass of orange juice, a spoon, and a paper napkin.

  It was when she paused on the threshold of his bedroom, holding the laden tray, that her most recent fantasy elbowed its way into her consciousness. This wasn't the French countryside. She wasn't a farmer's virgin daughter, and Thad wasn't a wounded fighter pilot, but the uncanny similarity between the fantasy and this reality made her shiver.

  She moved to his bedside, set the tray on the nightstand, and switched on the lamp. The bulb was hardly brighter than candlelight. The soft light fell on Thad's face. He was dozing. His eyelashes cast sweeping shadows on his cheekbones. His chest rose and fell faintly with each breath. The aspirin was working.

  She spoke his name softly. His eyes came open. They penetrated hers in a way that was almost sexual. A trill of sensation spiraled up out of her belly like a rising phoenix. "Do you feel like eating something?"

  "I guess so." She offered him the glass of cold orange juice. He drank it down in one swallow.

  "You should have been drinking more liquids," she chided gently as she passed him the napkin. He seemed at a loss as to what to do with it, so he just held it in his hand.

  "I didn't feel like getting up for anything."

  "Matt and Megan are seeing to Penny and the puppies."

  "Thanks. I knew the puppies wouldn't starve, but I was worried about Penny. I came down with this yesterday morning."

  So he'd probably kept his date Monday afternoon, Elizabeth reasoned. She started to ask him how his lady friend had liked the teddy, but she really didn't want to know. "Can you feed yourself?"

  "If you'll hold the tray, I think I can manage."

  She gingerly lowered herself to the edge of the bed and lifted the tray onto her lap. He bent over it, supporting himself on one elbow. Lifting the spoon awkwardly, he dipped it into the soup and slurped it into his mouth.

  "It's good. Thank you, Elizabeth."

  "You're welcome."

  He ate most of the soup before setting down the spoon. "That's all I want for now."

  "All right." She moved the tray off her lap and returned it to the nightstand.

  Before she could lower her arms, she felt his hand at her waist. It molded itself to her shape and drew her around. "You feel so cool," he murmured.

  Elizabeth stared down at him in mute dismay as he rested his head on her thigh and buried his face in the fabric of her skirt. He ground the tousled crown of his head against her stomach.

  She went very still and let every feminine, maternal, giving, loving fiber of her being have its way. Easily, her caution was conquered. Then, acting instinctively, she laid her hand against his flushed cheek. He sighed and reached up to cover it with his own. Her other hand smoothed the damp strands of graying hair off his forehead.

  After several moments, he raised his head and looked up at her. "Was I dreaming, or did I really kiss you?"

  "When?"

  "A few minutes ago. When you first came in." He stroked her cheek and toyed with the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun.

  "You must have been dreaming."

  "I wasn't touching your breast?"

  Breathless, she shook her head no. "You sort of socked it."

  "No, I remember that. In my dream, I was caressing it, stroking it with my thumb." His eyes traced a hot path from the cameo brooch at her throat to the row of buttons on her blouse. "And you were caressing me."

  Remembering the placement of his hand, she went hot all over. "I'd better go. My kids will be wondering..."

  He lay back against the pillow. She picked up the tray and all but ran from the room. Her hands were shaking, the very hands she had wanted to use to draw his head to her breasts and let it rest there for as long as he wished.

  She quickly cleared off the tray and reloaded it with a pitcher of ice water and a clean glass. She avoided looking at Thad directly as she set the tray on the nightstand.

  "Don't forget to take the aspirin. And drink plenty of water. I won't bother you again unless you call for help. And please do if you need to. Well," she said, clasping her hands together and nervously backing toward the door, "bye."

  She turned to flee, but he caught her hand. "Elizabeth, I'm glad you came by. Thanks for everything." He ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist. "But in a way, I wish you hadn't woken me up when you did. I'd like to know how that dream ended."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  I trembled before him, more terrified for my virtue than for my life. At least dying had dignity. Being the sexual slave of a pirate king didn't.

  Coarse, bearded, foul-smelling men had kidnapped me from
my bedroom and carried me, bound hand and foot, to this ship. I was still blindfolded, but I knew we were on the open seas now. The creaking deck heaved beneath my feet and I could hear the popping canvas sails above me.

  The wind was high. My cloak billowed around me and plastered my thin white nightgown to my naked body. I shivered, not with cold, but with the intuitive knowledge that he, the commander of this band of cutthroats who had ordered my abduction, was standing not far away, complacently observing me like a malicious cat with a trapped mouse.