boy kisses the girl just before he leaves?"
"This is the part." Her voice sounded oddly disembodied to her own ear.
"Good," he replied softly, "that means I didn’t forget how it’s done."
Cupping the back of her head with his hand, Bruce softly brought his mouth down to hers. He told himself that he’d had no intention of kissing her when he brought her to her door. He’d only wanted to make sure she was safe.
It was he who wasn’t safe. He found himself a prisoner of the very action he initiated. No, it couldn’t be called action, it was impulse that had led him to this. Impulse, that wild, fleeting thing that urged a man to do things he shouldn’t. Things that were dangerous. Like skydiving with an untested chute, or hang gliding.
Or kissing Margo.
He probably would have been better prepared for the first two than the last. She took his breath away from the very first second his lips touched hers.
Until now, he’d considered himself a normal male who’d had a genuinely satisfying relationship with a woman he had sincerely loved. That meant that there were very few surprises left on the male-female front. Or so he’d thought.
He was wrong. Very wrong.
A rush went through him and he could only go with it, traveling to wherever it deigned to take him. Reflexively deepening the kiss, it was a struggle to keep himself grounded, to keep the world from spinning away.
They were right, Margo realized. Those people who claimed that Still Waters Run Deep, they were right. Bruce might have been quiet by nature, but in no way was quiet equated with dull. Not in this ease. She’d sensed his sexiness, but she’d never sensed the quiet power, the delicious taste of the man.
Margo’s hands curled along the hard muscles of his biceps as she let herself be drawn into the center of the kiss. She was surprised by the force, by the passion of her own response. Surprised and delighted.
This was better than any movie she’d ever watched, any vicarious experience she’d ever conjured up. This was like running into a storm and being swept up in its embrace, in is power.
And then, abruptly, the storm ended. Just like that. Bruce drew away from her, leaving her dazed and wanting more.
She was careful not to exhale too loudly, afraid he’d detect just how shaky she felt right now.
Oh, boy. She felt as if she was perilously close to being knocked off her feet.
"You didn’t." she murmured, surprised that she could still form words and get them out of her mouth.
He felt shell-shocked. And something more than that. Something he didn’t like feeling. "Didn’t what?"
Was something wrong? He sounded so stiff, so formal. "Forget how it was done." She studied his face. There was something wrong. "It’s done just this way," she continued quietly, afraid of making him disappear if she raised her voice. "Except not always quite this good."
He made no comment, no effort to sustain what had just happened or follow it to its logical conclusion. Another man would have asked for that nightcap now, and taken her, once they were upstairs. Instead, Bruce looked at her like a man who’d just realized he was standing in a patch of poison ivy.
"Good night, Margo." And with that Bruce left. Quickly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bruce supposed, as he turned his car down Main Street
the next afternoon. that some men would have called him crazy, or at the very least, inordinately stupid. His best friend. Paul Giordano. would have probably volunteered to drive him to the nearest shrink.
From the outside, he had to admit that it must have made for an incredible scenario. There he’d been with a beautiful, vibrant and seemingly willing woman, and rather than see where the evening could go, all he could think to do was backpedal as fast as he was able and get the hell out of there.
His father, had he still been alive, would have been vastly disappointed in him. But then, his father had never believed in or understood what it meant to have a lasting love. The truth of it was, Bruce didn’t want to find out where the evening could have gone. Because he really didn’t want to go there. Not if he examined his heart in the cold. sober light of day, and that was what ultimately counted.
He’d loved one woman his entire adult life, and he figured that qualified him as one of the lucky ones. He wasn’t out for another relationship which, for him, was the only real reason to be on intimate terms with a woman.
But he was out, he thought, ambiguous feelings once more taking residence within him. Out among the living, to quote Bess on the subject, a subject she dearly loved harping on lately. His sister had turned up her volume now that he and Lance were finally reconciled.
The woman desperately needed a hobby.
And as for him, he needed to hurry up or he was going to be late. He was going to the airport to pick up Melanie and Lance. When he’d arrived home last night, there’d been a message on his answering machine from Lance, asking him if he could be there.
He smiled to himself. It felt nice, being asked for a favor by his son. There was absolutely nothing about this newly restored relationship that he intended to take for granted. Checking to his left, he shifted lanes. Their plane landed at two. Following Murphy's Law, planes were only late if you weren’t. If he arrived late, the plane would undoubtedly land on time, if not early.
Bruce pressed down on the accelerator. just squeaking through a light that was about to turn red. He figured that his son and new daughter-in-law would be tired after their long flight from Hawaii. There’d been forty-five-minute layover at LAX before they boarded the plane that would bring them to John Wayne Airport in Orange County. The last thing they needed was to stand around a crowded airport, waiting for him to show up.
Taking advantage of an opening, Bruce changed lanes again, then jockeyed for position until he managed to get all the way over to the left. Traffic was heavy this time of day but he finally reached the no-man’s-land known as the airport parking lot and then sprinted toward the U.S. Airlines terminal that was three parking lots away.
At least his early mornings at the gym weren’t wasted he thought, weaving his way past a slow-moving group of five.
When he made it past the terminal’s electronic doors, he paused to catch his breath and glance at his watch. Five minutes to spare. Congratulating himself, Bruce took time for two deep, cleansing breaths before he walked toward the nearest arrival-departure board.
Looking up, he searched for Lance and Melanie’s flight number.
"The plane’s landing at Gate Five," the smoky voice to his left informed him.
Like a film in slow motion, Bruce turned around. Somehow he’d manage to walk right by Margo without even seeing her.
He was probably the only man in the terminal who hadn’t. She was wearing light blue shorts, the edges just brushing the tops of her thighs, a navy halter and three-inch high white mules. Typical sunny California attire. She looked, for all the world, like a woman who had several years to go before she reached her thirtieth birthday.
Bruce had to remind himself to breathe.
Last night flashed vividly across his brain like lights during a power surge. Last night, when he’d behaved like nothing short of a jackass. He had absolutely no idea what to say to her, how to begin to explain why he had left her so abruptly.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved, mystified or wary, because Margo acted as if nothing had happened.
"l wasn’t sure if you were supposed to be picking them up." She appeared pleased to see him there. "So I thought it wouldn’t hurt to play it safe and show up, just in case."
She glanced toward the rear of the terminal, but there was no activity at Gate Five, except for a flight attendant who was unlocking the double doors.
He was acquainted with that, with playing it safe. It was the only way he knew how to play. Gingerly Bruce picked up the thread of conversation Margo had extended to him. “Lance asked me if I would. Pick them up. I mean."
She nodded. He was avoiding her eyes. Pr
obably would feel better if he could avoid her altogether, she thought. Well, it wasn’t going to happen. Not until a few things were set right.
Margo had slipped her hands into her pockets, making the material around her hips strain as it hugged each curve that much closer. Bruce drew in another cleansing breath. He figured his heart could use the oxygen.
"Well, I’ll just stick around, anyway," She paused, letting that sink in, then moved in for the main event. Running into him like this spared her the trouble of making a phone call. "I thought it might be nice if I made them an early dinner, so they wouldn’t have to bother going to a restaurant to eat." The champagne and finger sandwiches she’d left in their refrigerator were for later tonight. "That way they don’t have to worry about food until, oh, Thursday or Friday." She smiled, thinking how nice it might be, living on love and little else. "I made enough for a small army. You’re welcome to come, too, if you’d like."
His first reaction was to turn her down. But there was something at war with his choice right from the start.
"No, I--you cook?" He couldn’t imagine her in the kitchen. In the bathroom he could, taking a bubble bath; in the bedroom, wearing a smile and little else; even in the boardroom, slaughtering the opposition; but not the kitchen. That was far too mundane a place for someone like Margo.
Her shoulders. as smooth and creamy as the center of the candy bar that was his weakness, straightened as she informed him proudly, "Damn straight I do." And then that same sexy smile, the one that had nearly undone him last night, slipped over her lips. "I’m a woman of many talents."
Of that he had absolutely no doubt. "On second thoughts yes, I’d like to come."
As far as he could ascertain, she seemed perfectly willing to let last night’s behavior slip quietly into the land of past, inexplicable deeds. Bruce debated following her lead. Gratefully. At least she wasn’t one of those women who picked apart and explored every action, every word, from all sides. His best friend’s ex-wife had been one of those. She'd almost sent Paul over the edge before he’d finally called it a day.
But because Margo made no reference to the way he’d left her last night, he found himself thinking that she deserved an explanation. He just wasn’t certain he could give her one, at least not a coherent one.
Still, he had to try. He figured he owed it to her. "l--Margo--about last night." This was going even worse than he'd anticipated. Bruce tried again. "l didn’t mean to..."
"Bolt and run like a rabbit in hunting season?" she supplied pleasantly when his pause threatened to trail off indefinitely.
"A rabbit?" His dark brows drew together in a frown. "Is that what I looked like?"
"You didn’t look like a rabbit," she conceded graciously. Her eyes washed over his torso. If the man had an ounce of fat on him, he was carrying it around in his pockets. "Not unless rabbits are suddenly working out. But you did bolt like one." Her smile was as warm as it was amused. "I had no intention of skinning you and using you pelt as a trophy."
Without meaning to, she’d made him feel like an even bigger fool. But there had been a very valid reason for his abrupt departure last night. At least, it had seemed valid at the time. Now he was having difficulty finding the words.
"I didn’t mean to leave like that. It’s just that--that--"
Seeing the look on his face, she read between the lines. It wasn’t difficult. Languages might have been her vocation. but studying people was her hobby.
"You felt guilty kissing someone who wasn’t your wife?"
It was more than that. The kissing part didn’t matter, although it had knocked his shoes off and curled his socks. It was the feeling behind it that had mattered, that had startled him into retreat.
He had felt something when he kissed Margo. Felt a desire that he hadn’t experienced since Ellen died. A desire that was so large it had almost overwhelmed him. He’d wanted, in that one passionate instance. to take Margo to bed. To make love with her and enjoy her.
That was what he was feeling guilty about. About being disloyal.
About being alive while Ellen wasn’t.
But it was all much too complicated to begin to explain. After all. they barely knew one another.
So he took the easy way out and nodded. "I guess that was it in a nutshell."
There was more to it. Margo thought. looking into his eyes. But everyone needed their privacy. She was the first to know that.
"You weren’t cheating on your wife. Bruce." she said gently. She laid her hand on his arm. creating an intimate. impervious force field around them. Though there was the roar of planes overhead and noise all around them, he heard only her. "You weren’t cheating at all, except maybe on yourself. It’s okay to feel again. lf Ellen was half the person you led me to believe she was, she wouldn’t have wanted you to bury yourself. She would have wanted you to be happy."
"l am happy." he insisted. The response was automatic. He’d uttered it often enough when Bess got on his case. "Relatively happy." he amended when she continued to look at him with her wide, luminous blue eyes. Eyes that weren’t about to allow him to get away with a half-truth.
Margo knew when to back away. She’d said what she had to say about the matter. The rest would take care of itself. Life always did.
"All right." she said brightly, "then you’ll come for dinner? It’s at Elaine’s. I thought we’d take them over there first, then go to their apartment after they’ve had dinner."
She was saving the apartment for dessert, she thought, looking forward to seeing Lance’s reaction to her handiwork. Their handiwork, she amended, remembering the good-natured way Bruce had put up with being ordered around the entire afternoon.
"I’ll come to dinner," Bruce agreed. The way he saw it, he really had no choice. He couldn’t very well not be there for Melanie and Lance’s first official meal back. Not after it had taken so long to mend relations between his son and him. Besides, he had to admit he was a little curious about Margo’s so-called culinary abilities. He was still skeptical that she could do anything beyond zapping prepackaged meals in a microwave.
A movement in the rear of the terminal caught his eye. Looking over Margo’s head, he saw the first of the disembarking passengers trickling through the gate. "I think their plane just landed."
As she turned around to look, Margo linked her arm with his in one fluid motion. "Let’s go." She gave his arm a gentle tug, drawing him toward the gate as the number of people in the general area multiplied.
Searching through the crowd for either familiar face, Bruce was vaguely aware of the satisfying sensation generated by having her arm joined with his.
Just as he predicted, Bruce saw Lance’s jaw slacken and drop the moment he walked through the door of his apartment later that evening.
Stunned, Lance stared at the re-creation of the throne room from Knights of The Round Table. His expression was reminiscent of Dorothy’s the first time she laid eyes on the munchkins in Oz. Bruce thought.
It took Lance almost a full minute to recover his voice. When he did, he turned to look at his father. "What the hell happened?"
Margo moved between the two men. Taking Lance’s hand, she drew him into the room. a mother coaxing her child into the barber’s chair for the first time.
"l took a few liberties." She studied his face, waiting for shock to give way to pleasure. It was already there in her daughter’s expression. But then, Melanie had grown up around this kind of thing. "Don’t worry, all your things are safely stored at your father’s house. This all has to go back by the end of next week."
"Next week?" Lance echoed. How was he supposed to live with this for the next six days?
Like a man trapped in a dream he wasn’t fully convinced was not a nightmare. Lance walked toward the bedroom. He stopped dead in the doorway. The bedroom was even more incredible than the living room.
The sharp, pleased squeal behind him told Lance that Melanie, at least, was thrilled with what she saw. He supposed, given her b
ackground, he could see why she would be.
But there had been very little make-believe in his background. He wasn’t sure he could handle this.
Lance looked from his father to Margo. That his feet-firmly-planted-on-the-ground father had taken part in this surprised him almost as much as the decorating job did.
"What are we supposed to do with all this for a week?" he wanted to know.
Melanie smiled up at him before either Margo or Bruce could answer. She ran her hand along the circular bed, which was basically one huge. round pillow that took up half the room. Filmy curtains hung from the ceiling, swaying seductively in the breeze coming from the window. It reinforced the seductive look in her eyes. "Oh, a few things come to mind."
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