by Donna Fasano
For several long seconds he said nothing, only looked at her, and Heather felt a tiny spark of fear. Maybe she’d overstepped the bounds. Maybe she’d been presumptuous.
Maybe the party wasn’t as good an idea as she’d imagined. Maybe a party would only make him miss Mia more.
Nerves danced in her belly. She tucked her top lip between her teeth, applying enough nervous pressure to cause her pain.
Maybe he felt celebrating without Mia would be utterly ridiculous.
And maybe he’d be right.
“Heather.”
His voice was barely a whisper, but the sound of it snapped her out of her miserable reverie and caused her to flinch. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.
He set the bags of gifts on the table and turned his full attention on her, lightly cupping his hands on her shoulders.
“This is the most wonderful idea I have ever heard.”
His words along with the gratitude softening his features, snuffed out any semblance of fear she’d felt. He smiled down into her face.
The warmth of his skin permeated her blouse, and she became acutely aware of the scent of his cologne. Powerful vibrations pulsed from him. Veneration? Esteem? Adoration? Heather wasn’t completely certain, but the discomfort she felt was a call to action and had her shrugging out of his embrace.
“Well, let’s get this party started,” she exclaimed, and then she immediately checked the volume of her tone.
She began pilfering in the bags he’d brought home.
“Aw, a teddy bear.” She pulled the brown, fluffy stuffed animal free, stroking his soft fur. “I love his coat. And look at that scarf.”
“He has a suit,” Daniel said. “And a pair of pajamas. Mia loves teddy bears.”
“Daniel, it’s perfect.” She set the bear down and reached for the plastic bags. “And what’s in these?” Before he could answer, she let out a little squeal. “Beach toys!”
“On a whim, I stopped at Sunsations.”
Heather began pulling out the toys.
“I bought a bucket and shovel,” he said. “And a beach ball—”
“We should blow it up.”
“And a t-shirt that changes color in the sunlight.”
“Oooo,” she crooned, “Mia will love that.”
“There are some other little doodads in here.” He rested his hands on the back of one of the dining room chairs, watching Heather remove each item. “A dolphin necklace and ring set. A glass paperweight shaped like a starfish. And a pink rhinestone tiara.”
“You found a tiara at Sunsations?”
He shook his head. “No. I bought that in Salisbury. Where I found the teddy.” He ripped open cellophane wrapper covering the beach ball and began blowing it up. “I think she’ll like everything,” he said between breaths.
She peered into the now-empty bag, and then looked at him. “Wrapping paper?”
“I didn’t think about that,” he confessed. He forced a long breath into the ball’s plastic nozzle. Then he paused long enough grin. “I didn’t know we were going to have a party today.”
“No worries. I have plenty of paper in the closet in my office. I’ll run and get it. Tape and scissors too. Get that ball blown up! Be right back.”
They spent the next half hour wrapping Mia’s presents. Heather rolled the t-shirt into a cylinder, and by the time she’d finished, it looked a lot like a huge, brightly colored, ribbon-festooned Tootsie Roll. She laughed when she saw Daniel’s attempt to cover the ball. And her comment that he’d used just as much tape as paper had him chuckling too.
Finally, the gifts were displayed around the cake, and while he lit the candles, Heather rounded the table to get her cell phone.
“Are you ready?” she asked. “You sing, I’ll video.”
“Got it.” He leaned over the table, resting the weight of his upper body on his splayed hands. His brow creased and he looked up at her. “Sing with me?”
His sudden bout of misgiving had her smiling.
“Of course.”
As they sang the birthday song, Heather was careful to keep the phone as still as possible. She framed his face in a close-up shot, and slowly pulled back to reveal the cake and gifts. When the song ended, Daniel continued to look directly into the camera so Heather continued to let the video record.
“Mia, sweetie,” he said, “I know you’ll be home soon. I’ve missed you, honey. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you. We’re going to be together before you know it. I hope you’re having a happy birthday.”
His dark eyes went glassy with emotion.
“I wanted you to know that, even though we’re not together, sweetie, I celebrated your birthday just like always. You might be thousands of miles away, but I can close my eyes and picture your face, and it feels like you’re right with me. I think about you every moment of the day.”
He lifted one hand and pressed it to his chest, and Heather’s sight went blurry as sudden tears welled.
“You’re in my thoughts,” he continued. “Constantly. Every day. You’re in my heart. I love you, sweetie.” The smile he offered took great effort. “I love you so very much.”
Heather was mesmerized by the image on the small three inch by four inch screen. She watched him straighten, and the light from the birthday candles gleamed against the trail of tears that had slipped down his cheeks. He took a ragged breath and swiped his knuckle under each eye.
Seeing that he was no longer looking into the camera, she stopped the video. And only then did she realize that she too was crying. Her eye sockets burned, and the thick emotion that clotted in her wind pipe made it difficult to breathe.
He cleared his throat and took a slow, deep inhalation. The moment was so powerful, so raw. He missed his child, was worried sick about her, felt helpless over the whole ugly situation, and being apart from Mia on this special day magnified those feeling and tore him apart.
“Daniel, I’m sorry. This party was a bad idea.” She shook her head slowly. “For some stupid reason, I thought it would be a happy thing. I should have realized you’d be upset. I’m very sorry that I’ve made you so sad.”
She set the phone down on the table gingerly and rounded the table. If anyone on this earth needed a hug right now, it was him.
His hand rested on the top rail of the chair and he was turned slightly away from her. With his chin dipped low, it was clear that he was struggling to get himself under control. Heather wrapped her arms around him and rested the side of her face against the broad expanse of his back, and even though the action had been solely intended to offer him comfort, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t cognizant of deeper, more intimate, reactions stirring inside her.
His scent, warm and masculine, enveloped her like a cozy blanket, rousing to life a jittery feeling. Achy. Needful. Dangerous. Beneath her cheek, the knitted cotton of his sweater could not hide the rigidity of his trapezius muscle. Other parts of their bodies made contact, the small of his back and her stomach, their biceps, her hands on his chest. He felt so good, so solid, that all she wanted to do was surrender to her desire to sink further against him. But before she could, he reached up and took her hands in his. In one deft move, he gently broke free of her embrace, turned to face her, and positioned her hands back around his waist. His fingers slowly trailed along her upper arms.
His touch left behind fiery, current-like tendrils that spread across her skin soft and velvety as liquid smoke.
He placed a sweet kiss on her forehead.
“Please don’t apologize,” he said. “I am upset. And I am sad. But this party was a great idea. When Mia has a chance to see the video, when she sees the cake, the gifts, the decorations, she’ll know I was thinking about her on her birthday. And that will make her one very happy little girl. I have absolutely no doubt about that.”
He dipped his head and placed a kiss on her lips. “Absolutely.”
He kissed her again. “No.”
Another kiss. “Doub
t.”
As he stared down into her face, he captured a lock of her long hair and positioned it over her shoulder.
The light, butterfly kisses made her smile.
“There,” he said. “That’s better.”
The corners of his sexy, glistening lips curled up. Heather studied his face, the easy smile juxtaposed against dark eyelashes still damp with his tears, and something peculiar happened to her. She was overtaken by a fierce need to protect him.
From what, she wasn’t quite sure. Physical harm. Emotional injury. Mental anguish.
Yes, that. All of that. She just didn’t want him to hurt any longer.
“Mia will be home with you soon,” she whispered. “I just know it.”
His smile widened, painted with myriad emotions: hope, fear, despair, even shaky optimism.
“Of all the places I could have traveled to during this awful time in my life, of all the people I could have been with,” he said, “I am so damned glad I’ve been here. With you.”
A potent energy blazed in his eyes, and almost instinctively her chin began to lower. But he reached up, tucked his curled index finger beneath her jaw, and forced her gaze to reconnect with his.
“I want to kiss you, Heather. And I’m not talking about a little thank you kiss. I want to kiss you long, and hard.”
He continued to stare down into her face, and her heart thudded like rapid cannon fire.
“I want to kiss you until you can barely breathe. Until I can barely breathe.”
The words rushed at her, but his body remained utterly still. And Heather realized that, in his hesitation, he was asking her for permission. Now was her chance to say no. Now—right now—was the moment she should step out of this sensuous circle they had created.
But she lingered, motionless except for the rise and fall of her chest.
“I want to kiss you until you feel what I’m feeling.”
He paused long enough to lick his lips, and watching his tongue drag along his dusky skin, Heather felt time slow to a crawl.
“Until the need raging through me rages through you. Until my heat sets your body on fire.”
Curious sensations overwhelmed her; her heartbeat fluttered, yet her blood seemed to go thick and sluggish, excitement crackled across her skin like icy electricity even while heat beat like a drum at her very core.
“Heather?”
Realizing that his breathing was just as ragged as her own was what sent her over the limit of reason.
“Shut up and kiss me,” she whispered.
His kisses were vehement, vigorous, and she gave as good as she got. She drove her fingers into his hair, pulling him tighter against her. Their breathing became panting, their desire very quickly turned to insatiable hunger.
He kicked off his shoes right there in the dining room, and she heard one of them hit the wall with a dull thud.
Moving almost as one, they kissed their way to the stair landing, fumbling blindly up the steps. She caught her heel on the header at the top of the staircase and she’d have fallen on her butt had he not grabbed her around the waist. They shared a burst of laughter that was both relieved and laced with frenzy, but the passion they had ignited quickly consumed them once again.
He tugged his sweater over his head and tossed it aside, and she slipped off her faux fur slippers. He pressed her up against the hallway wall, kissing her senseless, his hands planted against either side of her head, his body pressed against hers. She grew moist and need throbbed at the apex of her thighs.
The top-most buttons of his shirt came undone with ease, and then she fumbled beneath the shirt’s hem and found his belt. He turned the door handle, and the two of them burst into the bedroom with enough force that the door slammed against the metal doorstop.
She had caught fire, just as he’d promised. She was frantic with wanting.
He stopped kissing her long enough to say, “It doesn’t matter, Heather. I want you to know that.”
Far off, she heard the sound of his zipper, the clinking of his metal belt buckle, as he removed his trousers. She bent and lifted her skirt, shimmying out of her panties.
They fell onto the bed and his lips were everywhere, on her temple, her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He stroked her arm with his fingers and she wondered at how such a light touch could wrest such a reaction in her. Blood whooshed through her ears bringing with it a light-headed, dizzy feeling she found exhilarating. And the feel of his body beneath her fingertips—the knotted muscles of his biceps and shoulders, the firmness of his belly and thighs—ramped up her exhilaration to sheer euphoria.
And still he continued to kiss her. His hot mouth moved slowly down the length of her neck and he nibbled his way along her collarbone. The open facing of his shirt dangled down as he hovered over her, the weight of the fabric brushing across her breast. She felt it through her top and her bra underneath, a sensation so rare that it felt nearly erotic.
She reached down and encircled the silky, cylindrical hardness of him, and she delighted in his raspy intake of breath.
With slow deliberation, he slid her full skirt up the length of her thighs. As the fabric swept across her skin, Heather held her breath, letting herself get lost in the passion emanating from his ebony gaze.
He touched her, the pads of his fingers grazing the soft mound of her curls and she closed her eyes, relishing each gentle caress, each seeking, exploring stroke.
“I’m serious,” he said.
The rumble of his voice had her dragging her eyes open.
“The surgery. Your mastectomy. It doesn’t matter to me. Your… your reconstruction. And… and—”
His lips came together for a moment and a tiny frown creased his brow. The fog that enveloped her was too thick with yearning for her to take much note of it.
“Shhh.” Sensing he wanted to say more, she reached up and pressed a quelling finger to his lips. “Not now, Daniel.”
She shifted her hips, slid her legs further apart for him, and then gathering his shirtfront in her fist, she pulled him closer.
* * *
Heather’s eyes fluttered open and she felt an instant of near panic as she realized she wasn’t in her own room. But everything quickly came flooding back to her, and she smiled. Darkness cloaked the room in deep shadows; the glowing numbers on the digital clock read 1:12.
In the quiet, she listened to Daniel breathe, slow and rhythmic.
Her smile widened.
It wasn’t as if she were a virgin; she’d made love with a man before. But in so many ways this felt like the first time for her. Daniel had aroused a yearning in her that made her feel… well, as horny as a Texas lizard.
Humor bubbled up into her throat and she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling.
She’d wanted him for so long; weeks of thinking and pondering and dreaming about what it might be like to touch him, kiss him, be touched by him. And now that they’d slept together, she realized just how paltry her imagination had been.
Nothing could compare to the taste of his mouth, the weight of his body on hers. Nothing would ever again make her feel so… womanly. So feminine. So desired. Yet falling asleep in his arms had been sheer paradise. Lying there in his embrace, surrounded by his scent, his warmth, had been absolute heaven on earth.
A twinge of discomfort forced her to move her shoulders, arch her back a bit, and she nearly gasped as the underwire in her bra speared painfully into the side of her breast. The elastic had shifted while she slept and it dug into her armpit. Finally fully aware of her physical state, she realized that the voluminous fabric of her skirt had become twisted so tightly around her waist that she felt like a lassoed cow at a rodeo.
She could hardly breathe. No wonder she’d woken up.
As carefully as possible, Heather sat up on the edge of the mattress. She waited just long enough so that she could make out the bed’s footboard, the dresser, and the position of the desk chair, then she stealthily made her way toward the d
oor.
Her feet bare, she padded across the chilly wood floor. She slipped into her room and softly closed the door. The one lamp she snapped on offered plenty of light for her to see how rumpled her outfit had become.
Heather tugged off her clothes, headed for her bathroom, and turned on the faucet in the shower. While she waited for the hot water to make its way through the pipes, she turned to face the mirror.
Why she would ever do such a thing was beyond her.
Mirrors were her enemy, the bearer of horrific images, the reminder of why she hated her body with such a passion, and over the years she had become deft at avoiding them. Especially when she was naked.
But now she found herself staring at her face, and her gaze slowly lowered.
Scars were curious things. In and of themselves, they were mostly harmless. A manifestation of the body’s healing process. When skin was damaged—say, from a scalpel’s blade—the body released collagen that resulted in a protective scab. Once the scab flaked off, a scar often formed. The extent of scar tissue was affected by many things, the size and location of the wound, ethnicity, heredity, even age.
Although Heather’s scars had faded over the years, they remained pink and thick and slashed horizontally across the center of her breasts. But what sickened her the most was that which was no longer there. Where she used to have pretty, puckered nipples and areola the color of rosewood, she now had jagged, bubblegum-hued lacerations. In some areas, they were narrow as a thread, but the weight of her implants had caused the scars to grow wider in some spots. Thick as a flat, cotton shoestring.
She looked at her reflection and the only word that came to her was grotesque.
What man would look at the mess on her chest and find her desirable?
Daniel had whispered that her mastectomy didn’t matter. But he had no idea what he was saying.
She couldn’t imagine getting dressed in the same room with him. Or sharing the same bathroom. The humiliation of it would be unbearable.
Your mastectomy. It doesn’t matter to me.
