“To pry into my sex life?”
“In a manner of speaking. I want to make your sex life my business, if you will let me. This wouldn’t be the most subtle proposition you’ve ever had, but given that we’re sitting in a car in the middle of peak hour traffic, it’s the best I can do.”
“Well, you’re a man in a hurry. I shouldn’t expect chocolates and roses.”
“I suspect you would rather have a sealed floor and new front gate.”
“Damn you, Hagen. You know I would.”
“So, if handyman porn turns you on, first I’m going to get you back home, and then I’m going to put the last coat of sealer on your floor. What happens after that, well, it’s up to you, but I think I should buy us pizza and we should discuss the matter.”
She sat silent. He couldn’t look at her. If she planned to reject him all over again, he wanted the words over and done with. He needed to know he had no hope. He needed to go on with the rest of his life.
“Did you bring condoms?”
“What!”
“You heard. I’m not currently using contraception.”
His breath stilled. “I haven’t used a condom for years. Of course I didn’t bring any. How confident do you assume I am?”
“This is why I asked.” She carefully unfurled her hands, spreading one on each of her thighs.
He waited for the lights to change and, his jaw ticking with tension, he sped across, whipping over two lanes to get to the outside. “The time is now four-thirty and the pharmacist at the shopping mall will close at five. Please excuse my haste.”
“I’m pleased to see how enthusiastic you are.”
He covered her closest hand with his. She snaked her thumb out and caressed his skin before he needed both hands on the wheel. The hole in his chest filled with warmth, and he didn’t know how he had gotten away with any of his words. When she wanted to be prickly, she could be an echidna but when she wanted to be warm she was hot.
Today luck was with him and as his car muttered through the car park he spotted a space right outside the double glass doors of the pharmacy. He parked and shot inside, checking his back pocket for his wallet. A woman stood by the cash register. “Good afternoon. I’m after a packet of condoms.”
She looked unfazed. “What size?”
He mulled saying king sized and his lips twitched. “Average, I suppose.”
“Colors?” She turned to the shelf behind. “Any preferences.”
He rubbed his chin. “Something generic will do. I don’t suppose you sell chocolates and roses here.”
“You’ll find them in the supermarket at the end of the mall.” Her mouth ticked into a smile.
He glanced around the shop. “Let me find a substitute.” Lying right in front of him on the counter was a rose-pink umbrella that folded to the size of a hand. Then on a cosmetic counter two steps away, he saw a bottle of the perfume that looked classy enough to buy for Marigold. On the way back, he picked up jellybeans in boxes and transparent bags. He handed the lot to the assistant who happily took his credit card. She started packing everything.
“Don’t put the condoms in the bag. I’ll take them, minus the box.” He had the idea he was making the assistant’s day. Her mouth widened with enjoyment while he removed the cardboard box and stuffed the packs of condoms into his back pocket.
“Enjoy,” she said with a smile as she handed him his bag of goodies. Gripping the handles tightly, he hurried back to the car.
He opened the driver door and slid in, placing the bag onto Marigold’s lap. “For you.”
“Condoms? Judging by the weight of this bag, I’m going to have a wearying time meeting your expectations.” Marigold stared at the bag, looked at him, and gave a spluttering, overwhelmed, half-hysterical laugh.
“Likely, after all the years of abstinence, I won’t live up to my expectations, either.”
“All the years?”
“Stress is making me exaggerate.” He started the engine and turned to glance out the back window while he backed out of the parking space.
“I would be interested to know what you have to be stressed about.”
“The condoms, for a start. I have no idea what I bought. Apparently, I’m supposed to know my size and discuss it with a strange woman who will then hand over my color and design preference.”
“What color did you buy?”
“I’m hoping you will find out eventually.”
“Your whole proposition was so strangely unemotional that I’m sorely tempted.”
He turned and grinned at her. “I think you might find that only my words are unemotional. The rest of me is amazingly reinvigorated.”
Chapter 7
Marigold put the bag she had carried inside onto the kitchen counter top, peeled off the sealing tape, and looked inside. Not a condom to be seen. Puzzled for a moment, she stared at Hagen.
He shrugged.
She shook out the bag and a rose-pink umbrella; five boxes of the tiny, tasty jellybeans; two bags of the big glucose sort; and a bottle of an expensive perfume she had craved tumbled out onto the laminate surface. “Well, almost chocolates and roses, or the pharmacy’s version of same,” she said, laughing. She put her hand on his forearm, lifted up her face, and kissed him on the cheek.
The smell of his skin, an indefinable earthy warmth, brought back memories of his last year at school when he had asked her to dance at the school formal. “This is adorable, Hagen,” she said, wanting to rip off the cellophane and squirt herself with a prettier scent than the wine and quiche she’d consumed for lunch.
He’d done something adorable back in those days, too. She’d had a hard time finding a date for that night, and her heart had leaped into her throat when he stood smiling in front of her in the balloon-clustered school gym, the venue for the formal. Calli and Tiggy each had boyfriends and one had found a friend to ask Marigold. The boy hadn’t been much interested in her, and as soon as they arrived at the formal, he had dragged her onto the dance floor and performed his version of a cool rap all around her, while she moved from foot-to-foot wondering how stupid she looked.
Apparently, too stupid, and he didn’t bother with her from then on. She stood in a girl-group for a while, watching the in-crowd dance, while she wondered why the sophomores had compulsory lessons on how to waltz and perform the fox trot. She had practiced each of those alone at home.
Probably half way though the evening, Hagen appeared in front of her. “I don’t suppose you can waltz?”
If she hadn’t been frazzled by feeling like a dork all night in the awful dress her mother had found for her to wear, she might have been more polite to him. He was, after all, the school captain, and she should have been honored. Instead, she was hurt that, although she had known his family for a couple of years, he hadn’t had the courtesy to talk to her for quite a while. “I’m pretty certain you can’t,” she said with an upward tilt of her nose, aching inside because she thought he was gorgeous and he thought she was a kid.
“There’s a challenge.” He offered his confident smile. No one could tamp the golden boy down. Grabbing her hands, he pulled her onto the floor. “I’m supposed to be setting an example, but my date can’t waltz. I suspected Old Money could.”
She aimed a resentful glance at him. “You’re not supposed to notice we sophomores exist.”
“Mainly I don’t, but you’re in my home day and night. I would have to be blind not to notice you. Your hair is the color of marigolds.” He had laughed.
“Weird, when that happens to be my name.” And then she couldn’t talk because he moved her into a wild waltz all around the edges of the room.
People stopped to stare at the strange couple who had clearly lost any decorum they might have possessed. Marigold started laughing like a crazy person, and Hagen joined her. A few of the other seniors started waltzi
ng, too, and then people who didn’t know how to do the steps and only wanted to be whirled. Marigold had almost the best ten minutes of her life.
And she realized her crush had turned into a longing she couldn’t suppress. The music finished, and he moved back, giving her a courtly bow. She curtsied without feeling like a dork. Being with Hagen did that to a girl: made her think she was some sort of princess.
“See you around,” she said.
And he said, “Probably not. You’re still jail bait, Marigold, and I would prefer to see you in a year or two.”
She had watched him leave and gather his date to chummy up to the school principal. He couldn’t do that with a sixteen-year-old sophomore.
The next summer at their beach house, he spent most of his time sailing. By then he had been accepted into the university to study engineering.
And now he was an engineer working for his father in the family company. Hagen’s life had been mapped for him long ago, and he had grown up motivated, conscientious, and responsible. Since the first moment she had met him she had realized he was the sort of man she wished her father had been, and the only sort of man she would ever want.
In the meantime, not a thing had changed. He was still all she had ever wanted and even now he hadn’t let her down by treating her like a widower’s opportunity. When he had put his purchases on her lap in the car, although the bag was too big to be merely holding condoms, she would have been disappointed in him if he had truly been prepared to have convenient sex with her. Instead, he hadn’t bought any condoms at all. She moved back and noted his rueful smile.
He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you recognized my apology for propositioning you in such a crass way. I’m not saying I don’t want to have sex with you, because I do, but I can see this is neither the time nor the place. And I should do a little wooing first.”
“Wooing, Hagen?”
“Uh-huh.” He picked up her left hand and brought her palm to his mouth. After placing a soft kiss on her skin, he closed her fingers. “That’s to keep. You have a date at the end of the week with Morgan. But after that, perhaps on Saturday night, you would have a date with me?” His gaze questioned her.
“A real date?”
“Real-ish. Would you be interested in a movie?”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, holding his precious kiss tightly in her palm, “I would like to see Love and Friendship.”
“That sounds appropriate.”
“You don’t know what it is, do you?”
“Nope.”
“It’s a Jane Austen movie.”
“I’m sure I can manage that. Perhaps we could have a casual meal afterwards.”
“That’s a date. I’m so glad you really didn’t buy condoms. It would have been so awkward when I don’t have any sort of suitable space in the house to entertain you as your comfort woman.”
His eyebrows queried her. “Comfort woman?”
“The one a widower has sex with before he goes out into the world again to meet a rich, beautiful woman he wants to marry.”
“I’m not about to do that in any hurry. First, I need to seal your floor.” He rolled up his sleeves, smiling at her as if he had all the time in the world.
“I could probably do that myself.” She watched him pry open the lid of the glossy paint.
“I’m sure you could, but then you won’t owe me a favor, and I won’t get my house done in time for Christmas.” He grabbed the can and the long-handled wool pad he had used to spread the first coat on the floor.
She stood watching him. “Well, I could go out and get pizza.”
“You could make us a cup of coffee. I won’t take long.” He strode to the new blue bedroom while she found mugs and coffee bags and switched on the electric kettle.
And he didn’t take long. The kettle had barely boiled before he arrived back in the kitchen. “I think it’s easier to throw away the sealer pad than to try to clean it.” He untied the mop-head and tossed the matted pad into her kitchen bin. “I don’t think you’ll need another coat.”
“Thanks, Hagen. You’ve done a great job, and now I owe you a couple of hours of design time.”
“Four hours to be exact. Now I’m off the get a pizza,” he said drinking his coffee standing up.
She didn’t think he would want to eat pizza in the formality of the dining room, so after he strolled out, she put a couple of mats on the kitchen table, glad she didn’t have a bottle of wine in the house, or she would be too tempted to make an occasion of this. The sooner he went home, the better, while she was in this sentimental mood about him.
He brought back her favorite margarita pizza, and she wondered if he remembered or if that was his favorite now, too. Eating the pizza together was companionable and when he had gone, she thought about her condom comment. Maybe she wouldn’t have minded a bout of recreational sex with him, except for having to face him at work. Fortunately he had changed his mind, or he hadn’t been serious. Even more fortunately, he hadn’t realized for a minute or two she had been.
Other than with him, she had never contemplated sex with anyone, but she owed it to herself to give another man a chance to impress her—if Morgan intended to try. But when she took the cellophane off the perfume box, and dotted the perfume on her wrists, the fragrance reminded her of Hagen’s kiss in her palm, and she wept for all the lost chances and all the lonely years that she had spent wishing she hadn’t walked out on Hagen after they had finally, after five years of longing on Marigold’s part, gotten together.
* * * *
Hagen settled into his study with his weekend homework in front of him, realizing that he had dodged a bullet. Whether by instinct or pure rat-cunning, he had stored the condoms in his pocket. Marigold hadn’t been serious, and he was surprised with himself for thinking she might be.
Comfort woman? She had never been that. The one time, six years ago, he’d almost had sex with her had been testing because he had held himself back during two long dates beforehand. To finally get her into his bed, not only willing but also eager, had seemed to be a dream come true. She made no secret of being inexperienced, and he was willing to go slowly and not obey the cravings of his own body.
Okay, so she wouldn’t even consent to oral sex, but she had two beautiful breasts and once he had kissed her he hadn’t wanted to stop. Even now, he couldn’t say why she wasn’t like anyone else, but he saw her as twenty times sexier. That night, while he had been basking in his luck to have finally found the right time with the right woman, she was sitting on his bed staring at him, knotting her incredible hair and staring back.
“I have to go home now,” she said, her face stiff.
“We haven’t done anything, yet,” he’d said, on edge.
“That’s as much as I’m going to do.”
His heart dropped. “What happened?” he asked, puzzled.
“It was an interesting experiment but not an interesting experience.”
He had dressed in a daze. He’d been overconfident because she was the sort of woman he wished he could spend his life with, one whose beauty came from within. He doubted he would ever feel the same way again about another woman. When he dropped her off, she told him she would see him from time to time because of his sisters but as far as she was concerned, the episode had never happened.
During the intervening years, he hadn’t lost his head with another woman though he had appreciated quite a few. Eventually he had moved on, and he had finally married Mercia. Now he discovered that Marigold’s conscientiousness had led her to cut him out of her life. All along she had been planning to be her mother’s caregiver. Full time. She hadn’t expected to have a life of her own. She had never been anything other than responsible, and he should have known.
Since Mercia’s death, going to work had been his way of shutting out his guilt about her. In the past two weeks, h
e had looked forward to running into Marigold, hearing her odd comments, her sudden laughter, and her opinions about anything she cared to share. The sun in his life finally shone. Now, no matter how difficult, he planned to push his way back into her life.
He opened the door to his office the next morning, cheery rather than dedicated to making a success of himself.
“Morning,” Sandra called. “Did you have a good weekend?”
She always asked that, and he said as he always said, “Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“Spent time with friends, eating, etcetera.”
“How was your dinner?”
“Splendid, Sandra, splendid, the food, the company.”
“I thought you were entertaining pollies?”
“And they were entertaining me,” he said light heartedly.
Then Marigold strolled in. “Morning, all. Good weekend, Sandra?”
“Lazy and quiet. All around good. I hear your dinner went off well.”
“Extra well for me. I got a date out of it. This is a great job. I can’t work out why Tiggy disappeared.”
“She was having too much fun. She thought she ought to make herself more miserable elsewhere.” Sandra slid behind her desk. “That’s only a guess, mind you. Maybe she was just sick of work.”
“She hardly ever had time off. I think she needed it.” Hagen pushed his hands into his pockets. “How about you, Marigold? Did you have a good weekend?”
“Very productive. I painted my new bedroom top to bottom and then I stripped and polished my floor. What did you do, Hagen?” She stood there, her fine eyebrows raised, her eyes expressing silent laughter.
He considered his answer for a moment while his body responded with a thump of desire. “Hot air ballooning in the Barossa followed by visits to a few wineries,” he said, expanding on Marigold’s flights of fantasy.
“You did not,” Sandra said, pushing her spectacles down to the tip of her nose and staring over the top. “You sat at home thinking up ways to keep me busy today.”
Hagen sighed. “I’m too predictable, I fear. Perhaps that’s a plan for another weekend. Do you believe Marigold painted her whole room?”
Golden Opportunity Page 11
