Another strike-out for Kip Webster, father extraordinaire.
He tried again. “If I were Santa Claus, what would you ask for?”
“I dunno.”
If he heard one more “dunno,” he was going to wash the kid’s mouth out with soap. Well, not that, but he’d ban the words from Jonathan’s vocabulary with some kind of stiff penalty attached.
Although what that would be he had no idea. Nothing mean. Who could be mean to a little guy who tried as hard to please as Jonathan did.
Kip’s knee started to hurt—an old football injury—but he remained in place long enough to give Jonathan a chance to reconsider his lack of response. With his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth, the boy pushed buttons. Beeps beeped and verses played.
And then there was a falling sound, followed by a computer-generated “game over.” Jonathan didn’t seem to mind that he’d lost.
He glanced up at Kip, over at Leslie, and back to Kip.
“Are you gonna get married?”
“Me?” He asked to buy himself time. Of course you, idiot. Who else would he be talking to when he’s staring straight at you?
He stared back at the boy. It was becoming painfully clear that he needed a crash course in answering the awkward questions kids could ask.
“You and Aunt Leslie,” Jonathan clarified.
Okay, well, now he felt better.
He could feel her standing there. Don’t look at her, man. Just don’t look.
“Uh…your aunt Leslie and I…haven’t known each other very long and—”
“You knowed each other forever,” the boy said, not quite glaring at him.
“Yes, well, that’s true, but not as adults,” he said. What he really wanted to do was draw Jonathan’s attention back to the computer game that had been holding him in such thrall.
“Daddy’s fun’ral was Thanksgiving.”
“Yes.” Kip nodded, completely unaware of how the switch in topic had come about, but not willing to question a fate that had smiled on him.
“You and Aunt Leslie knew each other then cuz you was together.”
He’d work on the grammar later.
“Yes, we did.” Did it give the child some comfort, knowing that? He’d like to think so. So much of the time, the little boy seemed emotionally self-sufficient. Too self-sufficient. Not that Kip was an expert on children, but he didn’t think Jonathan’s stoic attitude was natural.
“Them guys on the movie met at Thanksgiving, and Santa made them married for Christmas.”
Leslie coughed behind him.
He’d walked right in to that one. He was going to have to be smarter to be Jonathan’s father.
“Well…yes.”
“I want Santa Claus to bring it to me and Kayla, too. ’Cept we don’t need the house cuz we already got that—but maybe a baby brother would be okay…”
Kip had no idea how he replied. His thoughts were on fleeing. And as soon as he could, he did.
MIDNIGHT CAME AND WENT, and Kip still hadn’t returned. Clara had long since gone to bed, telling Leslie not to worry about Kip Webster. He’d always known how to take care of himself, she said.
And he’d take care of Jonathan, too. Of that Clara was certain. She didn’t mention the abandoned shopping plans. As was her way. She presented her opinion—but in the end, she was the master giver of space.
Glass of wine in hand, Leslie sat, dressed in the black slacks and red sweater she’d donned for shopping, in the armchair across from the couch where she and Kip had kissed that first night—and several nights since then. Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. Ornaments glistened. But she couldn’t find the peace she craved.
Or the hope.
Her fingers found the red-and-black Sorrelli necklace at her throat, one of her favorites, antique gold with little chains of crystals hanging down. Tonight it seemed to be fresh out of strength to lend her.
Her arm, on the side of the chair, was bare except for the matching Sorrelli bracelet. She’d grown too warm and pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. She should be cold.
She couldn’t sit on that sofa knowing that Kip was out making love with another woman. She’d spent her teen years dealing with this kind of pain. She would not spend her adult life the same way.
Taking a small sip, she set the glass down. It was still three-quarters full. She really didn’t want any wine. She wasn’t in the mood for the distraction—or the forgetfulness—it offered.
With Kip, sitting at home while he was out with another woman, would be a way of life. He was a playboy. Came by it naturally, both from his environment and maybe genetics, too, if that was possible.
The man loved women. And didn’t see anything wrong with enjoying them.
It has nothing to do with the fact that you wouldn’t even let him kiss your breasts.
Of course it does. A man with Kip’s experience needs far more than chaste kisses.
So tonight he’d gone somewhere else, to someone else. He was probably with her right then, naked, his body sinking into hers.
Would he sigh when he found release? Or was he one of the noisy ones who grunted and punctuated everything with ah?
No, not Kip. He was definitely a sigher.
Sighing in some other woman’s ear, holding her. Touching her naked body. Letting her touch his.
Giving her a part of himself he’d never given Leslie.
Taking from this unknown woman things he’d never had from Leslie. Knowing her better than he knew Leslie.
What was he like as a lover?
Did he pound in hard, or was he slow and gentle, aware of the body he was entering?
Stop it!
She was a grown woman now, not a messed-up teenager with a warped attitude toward sex and too much time on her hands. She—
The garage door opened.
She should go to bed. Grabbing her wine, Leslie stood and turned to the hall. And then sat down again. The last time she’d gone to bed before he was home, he’d come visiting. Clara was staying at her end of the house. She didn’t want her mother knowing Kip was in her room.
She sipped her wine. Tensed at the thought that he might go straight on to bed, ignoring the lights in the living room. Ignoring her.
Tonight he’d no doubt been satiated. He sure as hell didn’t need conversation with a neurotic frigid housemate, even if she was helping him raise his child. She closed her eyes against the vision of Kip and some beauty lying nude together, laughing. Maybe even at her?
Get a grip, woman. You don’t need conversation with him, either. A kiss or two would be nice. Wild sex you could enjoy would be great. Short of that, what you need is to finish your wine and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you shop.
“I’m sorry.”
Leslie’s eyes flew open. Inside she jumped a mile high. But she managed to take a slow sip of wine and smile softly. “For what?”
“Running out like that.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Kip.” She sounded calm. Just as she’d planned earlier in the evening when she’d still been more or less sane. Presenting to the world exactly the woman she wanted it to see. Confident. Unaffected. “Other than your responsibilities to Jonathan, you’re a free man, and tonight his grandmother was caring for him. A perfect opportunity for you to go out.”
He dropped down to the couch, his weariness making it a little difficult for Leslie to maintain her composure. The woman had been that good, huh? Good enough to wear out the legendary Kip Webster?
Or maybe he was losing stamina in his old age.
Of thirty-three.
Like hell. The man was in his prime.
She had to have been that good.
Damn her.
Who was she? Some bimbo he just met? A college professor with beauty as well as brains? A cover model?
“We were going shopping,” he said.
Leslie frowned at him. He was actually planning to tell her about it? Surely even Kip couldn’t be that dense
.
It took her a full minute to realize he’d been talking about the two of them.
“We hadn’t actually agreed on anything specific.”
“I…it’s just…”
“It’s okay, Kip,” she said, finding another smile and hoping she didn’t need many more, since this one might’ve been her last. “What you’re doing for Jonathan is incredible. You’re one of the most decent men I’ve ever known. Don’t go beating yourself up over something so unimportant. You obviously had another commitment….”
Now, if he wanted to hit himself a time or two for leaving Leslie’s arms empty while he screwed another woman…
“You want to know how I spent the evening?”
No! Don’t say a word. Leave me that, at least. “How?”
“Driving. Until I ran out of gas on some desert road and had to walk a mile and a half to find a gas station that was open.”
Driving. Alone. Walking. Alone. Out of gas. “I thought your Expedition had a low fuel warning.”
“It does.”
“It didn’t work?”
“No, it worked. I just didn’t notice.”
He’d been that distracted. And not by another woman. Leslie went for the bottle of wine she’d left in the refrigerator. She returned with an extra glass and sat beside him on the sofa. After handing him a full glass, she rubbed one hand down his back.
It wasn’t like her to be that familiar. But at that moment, she couldn’t not touch him. Offer him whatever comfort she could.
“You want to tell me about it?”
“All my life I’ve been a winner.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, staring into the glass he held. “Not because I’m anything special, but because I always saw life as a game and I always knew the rules, which meant my plays were right on target.”
She would’ve described him that way once.
He turned his head and looked over at her, his brown eyes shadowed. “I don’t know the rules anymore.”
“Welcome to life.”
He shook his head, setting the glass of wine next to the empty goblet she’d left earlier. “I mean it, Leslie,” he said. “I’m completely unsure of myself.”
“If this is a first, then your life truly has been blessed.”
He met her eyes. “There’ve been times I haven’t known what to do,” he said slowly, as though measuring his words for accuracy. “But I can’t remember a time when I felt so awkward. So ignorant.”
“You’re a very lucky man.” Or maybe not.
According to Juliet, if you didn’t falter, you didn’t grow and learn.
“Me?” he said, nodding toward her. “Look at you. You’re at the top of your career at thirty. You own a great home. You’re smart as a whip. You lose a business deal and have another half-dozen waiting in the wings. Your brother dies and leaves you a kid and you’re an instant model mom. Nothing seems to throw you. It happens and you deal with it.”
She didn’t know what to say. He had it so wrong. But it sounded so good.
“You have a sense of what’s right and wrong for you, and you stand by it.”
“And you don’t?”
“It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it right now. Tonight, while I was driving, I actually thought about quitting the whole thing, signing Jonathan over to you and Clara and walking away.”
And she’d thought he’d been having sex.
“Why didn’t you?”
His gaze was intent as it held hers. “Because there was something here bringing me back.”
“Because you have a sense of right and wrong, too, Kip Webster, and you love that boy, just as you loved my brother. You want to be there for him.”
“Wanting it and knowing how are two different things.”
“Oh, and is this perhaps borrowing trouble from the future?” she asked him, smiles flowing freely. Funny how a heavy heart could lighten so quickly.
“He asks so many questions that seem like life or death,” he said, turning toward her as he took her hand between both of his. “I get the feeling that my answer is crucial—that it could affect the rest of his life. The most important game I’ve ever played and I’ve never even seen the rule book.”
“You love that boy,” Leslie said again, feeling as confident about this as Juliet had ever sounded about anything. “In this game, that is the rule book.”
“Jonathan wasn’t the only one bringing me back.”
Leslie’s aching heart soared. Her teenage, hurting self had just been vindicated. The worst evening of her adult life had been erased. Elation, sure and sweet, warmed her body, thrilling her with a well-being she’d never known before.
She held his gaze as long as she could.
And then she poured herself a second glass of wine. If she drank enough, could she be normal? Or at least be capable of pretending so well that he’d never know?
Wouldn’t life with Kip be worth the pretending? Wouldn’t it be better, so much better, than another evening like the one she’d just spent?
But wait—sleeping with him wouldn’t guarantee that there’d be no more nights exactly like this one. Just because she’d brought him back tonight didn’t mean he was hers forever. Kip wasn’t a forever kind of guy.
He liked her. But he liked a lot of women.
And if he ever did go to another woman, after she’d slept with him, she’d suffer much more than she had tonight. She wouldn’t be imagining what he was doing to that woman, she’d know.
And she’d know she hadn’t been enough to keep him.
“Say something.”
“Kiss me.” Let me lose myself for a few minutes in the only ecstasy I’ve ever known. I’ve had a hard night.
Kip’s mouth came closer, but it wasn’t opening to cover hers. It was moving.
“Marry me.”
Leslie took a sip of wine. A long sip. So long the glass was empty. And she felt sick.
“I’ve never seen anyone do that with a glass of wine before.” Kip’s tone was gentle, his expression a mixture of apprehension and humor. “Beer, whiskey, a bottle of water, I’ve seen. But wine…” Taking the glass out of her hand, he pulled her body into the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest just beneath his chin.
“So…was that a yes?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT to stop a moment that had already happened, Leslie pressed her lips to his. She opened to him, using every wile she’d learned from her experience with the opposite sex—and tried for ten years to forget. Her lips softened, moving against his, her tongue tasting his lips, his tongue, the inside of his mouth. Slowly, seductively, she imitated the mating ritual, moving her tongue in and out of his mouth.
Having sex was an art she’d perfected with practice in college, learning the secrets of the trade. It was all about technique. Skill and confidence were the greatest sales tools. And she had a load of crap to sell.
Kip didn’t seem to notice that her kisses were different. He didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t answered his question.
Or was he taking her sudden sharing of her expertise as a yes?
His tongue darted inside her mouth, igniting that strange compulsion to spread her legs. She answered with a thrust of her own tongue—one that happened of its own accord, not calculation.
Leslie was having a hard time controlling her breathing.
As a matter of fact, she wasn’t controlling it at all. Her breasts ached, her nipples tingled uncomfortably with the need to be touched by him, and her crotch was…getting wet.
With trembling hands, Kip lifted her sweater. She’d done that to him, made him need her so much he was shaking with it. The knowledge was heady, powerful.
Reacting, she pressed her breasts forward, eager for him to unclasp her bra, to free her swollen breasts, expose them to his view, his touch.
The clasp released. Her breasts were in plain view. Leslie’s instincts turned on and she opened her eyes, to remind herself that this was differe
nt from anything that had come before.
Kip was gazing at her as though she were pure clean water in the desert and he was a man dying of thirst.
It was an expression, a desire, she’d seen before from a man she trusted. A man who couldn’t control his own need for her even when it was sinful. Wrong.
Against the law.
A man who knew she’d give him what he wanted.
What she saw was not the man before her now but a man who’d been there, in her life. The only man who could possibly have stopped the events that had changed an innocent little girl into an experienced, tormented little girl. A girl who had nothing in common with the children who used to be her friends, but who’d learned how to keep secrets better than any of them.
“Les?” Kip was holding her away from him, staring at her with horror in his eyes.
She didn’t blame him. Anytime she looked back, she was horrified, too.
Reaching to pull down her sweater, she was surprised to find that it was already pulled down, fully covering her. And her bra was fastened.
And she was still sitting just as she’d been when Kip had asked her to marry him. Her lips were dry. Untouched.
She hadn’t kissed him. She’d imagined it all. The pretense. The passion.
Or rather, she’d been remembering both.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” He ran his hands over her shoulders, down her arms to take hold of her hands. “You’re sweaty and shivering and your hands are freezing. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I swear you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
He’d been talking to her and she hadn’t even known it.
“I CAN’T MARRY YOU.”
Kip’s hands dropped to the thighs of his black jeans. If he’d thought about it, he would’ve expected the rejection—knew of at least a dozen reasons marriage between them wasn’t a good idea—but he had no explanation for the severity of her reaction to his impromptu suggestion. A laughing “no” would have sufficed.
“Why not?” he asked, hoping for some insight that would put him back on even ground, or at least ground that wasn’t shifting so rapidly beneath him that it left him reeling. Something was going on. Something he didn’t know about. Something bad.
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