It Started with a House...

by Helen R. Myers

  “Genevieve. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Not if we stand again.”

  “Oh, God, that was wonderful. You don’t know how many times I’ve relived it in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  He’d been stroking her from shoulder to hip and now slid both of his hands to her breasts, caressing her nipples with his thumbs until the hard peaks radiated an almost unbearable ache. She arched into his touch, praying he would never stop.

  “I didn’t get to do this enough that night,” he said on shallow breaths. “I didn’t get to learn the taste of every inch of you.”

  Nor she him. She stroked his shoulders, finding the increased tension there as lean muscle and tendons flexed and stretched under her touch. Then she returned to his front to lightly score his chest with her short fingernails. She won a deeper moan from him as she learned how his nipples could make him ache just as he made hers.

  “Wet me again. I promise I’ll do that and more for you.”

  First she caressed him repeatedly with her nose and hair to sensitize him. By the time she grazed him with her teeth and closed her lips around him, his hands were moving more boldly under her tunic and inside her briefs to cup her bottom and rock her against his powerful arousal.

  She’d noted before that he had the hands of a pianist. He used them with sensitivity and control, one moment exploring and coaxing, the next soothing and reassuring. Genevieve knew she would climax from his touch alone if he didn’t enter her soon. Gliding her hand along the zipper of his jeans, she entreated, “Don’t you want to lie down?”

  “Soon.”

  First he slid his hands up her rib cage, lifting her tunic along the way. Seconds later it was over her head and gone. His caresses grew more decisive and passionate after that, his kisses damper until she had to cling to his shoulders to keep her balance.

  “Lean back,” he coaxed. “You know you’re safe with me.”

  As he coursed a sensual river of hot caresses down her body she thought she would die from the exquisitely mellow, sometimes piercing pleasure. And still he continued, down her belly and over the waistband of her briefs, his breath hot between her thighs as he finished undressing her. She began to stop him from where he was going. Only one man had ever touched her like that. But he wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t be denied.

  By the time he lowered her onto the couch, she was trembling and crying. Marshall rose over her and quickly wrapped her in his arms.

  “Genevieve, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “It was so beautiful.”

  “You’re what’s beautiful.”

  “You make me ache.”

  “Ache bad or ache good?”

  “I want you.”

  “Hold on.”

  His slow invasion was easier this time, yet still had her arching her back and lifting her hips off the couch. “Easy,” he instructed, his voice almost a raw rasp. “We have all night. Don’t let me hurt you.”

  But she needed to be closer, needed him deeper.

  Her eagerness was his undoing. When he started to withdraw and she refused to let him, in fact wrapped her legs around him to keep him close, he uttered a deep growl and crushed her against him.

  “You make me crazy,” he said before locking his mouth to hers. “Ah, Gen—”

  Unable to stop, he drove back into her again and again. Each thrust won a soft keen from her as she felt herself driven back to where he’d already brought her once. The pressure built. Droplets fell from his forehead and chest as he struggled to prolong things. But as she greedily licked at every drop to take everything he offered, she also took the last of his control.

  In his climax, she found her own, and as he fell onto her in exhaustion, she clung to him, convinced that his weight was the only thing to keep her from floating away in ecstasy.

  At some point he moved them to make her more comfortable and they lay in each other’s arms for a small eternity, panting yet continuing to stroke and calm each other. Genevieve might have drifted off to sleep, she was that content, but he began to speak.

  “I think you’re going to hate me by daylight. I kept trying not to rip you to shreds with this beard. You’re too tempting for your own good.”

  When he began to withdraw, she immediately tightened her arms and legs to keep him close. “Please don’t go.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re not used to this.”

  “I loved your passion.”

  “You inspire me.” As he teased her with a slow, gentle rocking of his hips, he added, “Truth is, I don’t want to let go of you for fear that you’ll escape.”

  “I won’t go farther than my bed—if you’ll take me there.”

  He lifted his head and searched her eyes. “Do you have an extra razor?”

  “I just bought a new supply.”

  With a satisfied growl, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

  When Marshall woke, his first reaction was a bursting feeling in his chest. Although he shifted his hand against his chest, he was fairly confident that he wasn’t having a heart attack, but could a man die of too much happiness? Last night had tested that theory.

  He hadn’t quite gotten over the habit of wearing a watch and, lifting his arm, he saw it was almost seven in the morning. They had been at each other so much through the night, he doubted they’d had three hours’ sleep. At first he’d worried about the baby, but each time their lovemaking had been slower and more sensuous, unlike the impatient and desperate madness of their first union.

  Genevieve. Just thinking her name made his eyes burn and throat ache with emotion. She’d been a dream, so generous, so responsive. If he’d had any doubts before—and there were virtually none—he knew he loved her. There was still much to learn about her, but the thought of spending the rest of their lives doing so filled him with a sense of rightness, as well as excitement.

  He watched her shift onto her side, her movements cautious. Was she sore, or was she being thoughtful and trying not to wake him? As she reached out to check the clock, he was tempted to tease her by growling, “Get back here, woman.” Her soft sound of surprise had him smiling anyway. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late either.

  Something changed then. She stiffened and he watched as she eased up on one elbow. He could barely see what she was staring at but caught enough to realize it was a frame. That was when he remembered what else was on that bed stand. Adam’s picture. In the midst of all their passion, they’d both forgotten that they’d been in the presence of that all night. He groaned inwardly and wanted her to turn away from it and make her reach for him. Instead, he watched in growing misery as she carefully turned it facedown on the night table.

  And then, abruptly, she bounded out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Seconds later he heard her gagging.

  Marshall winced for her misery. Morning sickness was bad enough, but to know she had suddenly gotten so upset from realizing all that had happened in the presence of that picture was more than he could bear. His heart had been so full of joy a moment ago; now he felt as if he was being eviscerated. Throwing aside the covers, he reached for his clothes.

  By the time he was dressed, things had quieted in the bathroom. He made himself go to the door. “Genevieve—are you all right?”

  “I’m sorry. Not really. I—I just need a little more time.”

  “I understand.” Turning to look back at the facedown frame on the bed stand, he thought, More than you know.

  He crossed the room and set the photo upright again. “You win,” he murmured.

  Genevieve didn’t immediately think anything when she emerged from the shower and found Marshall gone. From her perspective, she couldn’t imagine any man wanting to witness what she was going through, regardless of how pleased he was about a pregnancy. She figured he’d gone and used the main bathroom or was making coffee in the kitchen.

  “I’m drying my hair,” she called. “Join you in a few minutes. Cou
ld you make me a cup of instant decaf while you’re brewing regular for yourself?”

  When there was no reply, she still didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t as if she needed it so badly that she expected him to bring her the coffee back here. She wasn’t even sure her tummy could handle more than a sip or two.

  Time-wise, she realized that she wasn’t really running late. It was barely past eight o’clock now and although Ina was often at the office by 8:30, she, Avery and Raenne sometimes didn’t arrive before 9:00 if it was a slow day.

  That said, when she finally was dressed in a black knit pantsuit over a red short-sleeved sweater, she came out into the living room, then checked out the kitchen, and was startled to realize that the house was empty. In fact there was no sign that Marshall had ever been there.

  She looked for a note and didn’t find any. That sent her back to check the other shower, and she discovered that it hadn’t been used. It was when she looked outside and saw no Mercedes that she accepted the truth. He must have left right after she’d told him she needed a little time. Had he misunderstood and thought she’d meant space?

  Returning inside, she went back to her bedroom and viewed her messages on the BlackBerry. There were several, but his wasn’t among them.

  Despite taking a deep breath and warning herself not to panic, another wave of nausea struck her. Setting the device right in front of Adam’s photo, she ran to the bathroom.

  Her phone was playing Beethoven’s Fifth when she next emerged. Not in the mood to deal with her mother, but resigned that she’d better or else Marshall wouldn’t be able to get through if he wanted to, she keyed the button to take the call.

  “Morning, Mother.”

  “How are you feeling, darling?”

  “I thought I was fine the rest of yesterday and through the night, but almost as soon as I woke this morning, I was sick and ten minutes later I was sick again—and I haven’t had so much as a sip of juice or water.”

  “Poor dear. I’d hoped you would be one of the lucky ones to escape that condition. Where’s Marshall? Does he know?”

  No way was she about to tell her that they’d spent the night together. But she didn’t quite know what to say instead. “I don’t know where he is,” she said, trying to act casual. “That’s fine. He’s done enough. He needs his time and I certainly need mine.” Her heart wrenched painfully as she heard herself speak such nonsense, but she wanted to make her mother quit talking about him. “At any rate, I’m heading to the office shortly.” As soon as she applied another layer of foundation to try to hide the whisker burns. Marshall had shaved after bringing her to bed, but the number of abrasions on her body was testament to the intensity of their lovemaking beforehand.

  “I can’t see how that would be wise. At least wait a bit until you’re sure the symptoms have definitely ceased. You’ll have those women mad at you thinking you’re exposing them to germs, and you won’t be able to correct that without them putting two and two together. I’ve always believed our sex doesn’t need a sixth sense in figuring out who’s suffering from morning sickness.”

  “You’re not helping, Mother.”

  “Well, if I’m not supposed to speak, do you want me to come over and run errands, clean?”

  And see her stressing out as she waited for some explanation from Marshall? Or falling apart if he didn’t call? Or question her careful movements because of the love spots that had made it a small agony to put on a bra and panties this morning?

  “No, not to worry. If things get any worse, we can discuss it.”

  “All right then. But call your doctor!”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “And let me hear from you when you know something.”

  “I should be in touch by noon.”

  As he tossed his suitcase onto the bed, Marshall’s gaze was drawn to the BlackBerry a foot away where he’d flung it earlier. He willed it to ring, but that didn’t happen.

  No, he couldn’t do it. Genevieve had been clear—she wanted to be left alone. When she was ready to speak to him, she would let him know. In the meantime, he needed to do something and driving was a good start. He had no idea where he planned to go; he just knew he couldn’t stay here in this house where he’d first held her and made love to her. He would finish losing what was left of his sanity if he did.

  When the house phone began ringing, he frowned. Having been his real estate agent first, Genevieve had gotten into the habit of calling his BlackBerry instead of the house number. But on the chance that his assumption was incorrect, he grabbed the remote before the answering machine was triggered.

  “Roark.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sydney demanded.

  Marshall was surprised at her agitation, but wary, too. “Nothing that I know of,” he said evasively. “Why?”

  “I just called Genevieve and she’s planning to go to the office. Why aren’t you talking her out of it? For that matter, why are you at home? You said you’d watch over her. You can’t let her keep taking such risks with her health.”

  “She must be feeling that she can manage that,” he said.

  “You don’t know? You two haven’t talked? She says she didn’t know where you were.”

  She knew; he suspected that she just didn’t want to tell her mother what happened last night any more than he intended to. “I was going to check on her after a while.” At some point he needed to let Genevieve know that she could still reach him if need be—although he doubted that was likely to happen.

  “Did you two have a quarrel?” Sydney countered. “She said that you needed your space and she needed hers.”

  Marshall all but dropped the phone. She’d said that? Only minutes ago? Things were even worse than he expected if she’d exposed that much to her mother, who didn’t seem to be able to keep a confidence to save her life. “No. No quarrel.” He could barely get those words out.

  “You didn’t pressure her again, did you? Forgive me for venturing into personal territory, but she is my daughter. She told me that you had a tendency to be controlling. She quickly excused you, of course. She said it was a residual effect of having been Cynthia’s caretaker for so long. I hope that’s all it is and not something deeper-seated.”

  Marshall’s insides roiled, even as he reminded himself that a daughter had a right to speak to her mother, particularly when she was the only family there was available to discuss things with. But that didn’t mean he had to.

  “Sydney, I really don’t feel comfortable talking about my relationship with Genevieve with you. Just know that the matter has been discussed and leave it at that. All I care about is her health and happiness.”

  “We both do, that’s why I’m calling. I really am on your side, Marshall, leery though I am of rebound marriages. On the other hand, I’m walking proof that they work, aren’t I?”

  Her girlish giggle grated and had him all the more anxious to get off the phone. “Yes, you are,” he said politely, keeping his skepticism to himself. “And thanks for the vote of confidence. Now I need to finish packing.”

  “Packing?”

  “A business matter has come up.” It was the first thing to pop into his mind.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably not more than a few days.” He figured his new security system was competent, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to know that he wouldn’t be around. Sydney Sawyer was undoubtedly better than a watchdog and equal to his house’s alarm system.

  “I see. Does Genevieve know this?”

  “I…only just found out myself.” Pacing, he rubbed at his forehead, trying to keep his impatience from entering his voice. “I intend to call her as soon as I finish packing.”

  “Oh, good. Well, then have a safe trip, dear. I’ll watch for your return.”

  Disconnecting, Marshall muttered, “I’ll bet you will.”

  He hadn’t intended to try calling Genevieve until he was on the road, but under the circumstances, h
e keyed her number within seconds. He didn’t need her mother beating him to it—and adding her twenty cents.

  “Marshall,” Genevieve said upon immediately answering. “I’m glad you called. I’m sorry—I mean, I obviously upset you.”

  “Well, it was pretty clear you were embarrassed, although there was no need to be. But I respected that you wanted some space.” He used those words specifically hoping she understood that he knew about her chat with her mother.

  After a slight hesitation, she replied, “I am having more trouble adjusting to this condition than I expected I would.”

  With her condition and with being his lover, he thought, feeling as though he was bleeding internally. As painful as that truth was, he still cared too much to make things more difficult for her. Rubbing at his forehead, he said, “Maybe when I get back, you’ll have some answers.”

  “You’re going somewhere?”

  “Yes, a business matter has come up. It can’t be helped. It should only take a few days, but—look, you have my number. If you want—if you need anything, you know how to get hold of me.”

  She didn’t answer right away and he knew she was waiting for him to explain said business. He didn’t dare try because he didn’t have a clue.

  “Did we get disconnected?” he asked instead.

  “No, it’s…oh, this horrible condition. I needed a second to let it pass. Okay then…I’ll see you when you get back?”

  Where was the “Don’t go!” entreaty he was desperate to hear? He’d become addicted to hearing her say it last night as in, “Don’t stop,” “Don’t let me go.” He could even survive with a bland, “I’ll miss you.”

  “Yes,” he replied gruffly. “Take care of yourself, Genevieve. Keep that doctor’s number handy.”

  “Actually, we talked minutes ago,” she replied. “I’m going in today. The near fainting spell worried her and she’s determined to fit me in.”